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The Language of the Flowers was a popular method to express feelings where words might be improper, but did you know other means of doing so? Some ladies used their parasols, as well as their fans, gloves, and hankies to flirt with a gentleman (or alternatively, tell them to shove it!). — Bree ( Submit your own)
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This boy, then. He wasn't new. Wasn't one of the worst people in the common room, those rotten rich boys - like Mr. Jailkeeper - who could not fathom a world beyond their own farts. Was a good working class lad, so he'd heard. Had a bit of a weird looking face, and a bit of a weird thing for preaching. Still.Aubrey Davis in The Under-Sofa
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If It Kills Me
#1
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November 22nd, 1888 - HH, Creature-Induced Injuries
@Tilda MacFusty

By the time Eugene had been let into the exam room, he could feel the blood soaking through his shirt into his jacket. The tattered fabric was starting to get stuck in the wounds and he was basically a mess. Fortunately the idiot keeping a very illegal tebo in his backyard was facing some hefty fines and a possibly time in Azkaban.

Unfortunately for him and his colleague, the damn warthog-like creature was rather nasty and had the wonderful ability to turn itself invisible. Eugene managed to get his coat off, careful of the pocket that contained his likely rattled niffler, though Ginger was fine, cranky, but fine. He'd already checked on her and she had been appeased with some treats and his cufflinks to add to her mounting collection. Setting his coat on a nearby chair, Eugene gingerly perched himself on the exam table and started to unbutton his shirt. He'd been on his way home, his ministry robes in his locker in the department, when he'd gotten the last minute call to assist. Boy had he regretted that one.

Peeling the bloodied shirt away from his torso, Eugene surveyed what was a really nice gash to his side. It could have been worse he supposed; he could have been gored. Of course it was accompanied by a battery of bruises and abrasions thanks to being tossed about the cellar in which the idiot in Wellingtonshire had been keeping the tebo. Hissing in pain, he let the shirt fall back into place just as he heard the door open.

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   Tilda MacFusty


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#2
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She'd nearly escaped. Tilda had been particularly excited to get away from Mr Bigot-Male-Coworker at the end of the day. He'd been on her case about some paperwork she'd filed earlier in the week wherein she'd accidentally misplaced a letter in his last name. It'd been a constant game of hide and seek between the two, with Tilda getting increasingly annoyed at playing a game she sorely wished she hadn't signed up for. If she were honest with herself, she had provoked it. He was such a smart-mouth, that the coding in her DNA refused to let him get away with him and she found herself doing things around the work area that she knew would get under his skin.

Harmless things such as re-arranging the tools in his kit to such a certain degree that it was impossible to discern what had gone where before. Or, slowly nicking the antiseptic cloths from his personal kit one by one so they were slowly depleted and by the end of the day, all gone. She replaced them at the beginning of each work day seeing as she didn't want anyone but him suffer her wrath. The harm became now, that he'd either figured out it was her, or just wanted to get on her nerves.

She had just slipped the last one out of his kit and was on her way out when the head matron had stopped her and told her there was a patient to see to. She knew it was her co-worker that had told the matron she was still here. Tilda had shot the closed door where her intended patient sat waiting a withering glance before rolling up her sleeves and taking the clipboard from the matron.

Casting a glance at the clipboard, Tilda read the name and read it aloud as she walked into the room. "Mr. Eugene Scamander?" she flipped through the pages, skimming the description of what happened. She couldn't help but wince as she read it. "I'm Tilda MacFusty, I'll be dressing your wounds this evening." She gave him a smile and with that, she took out her wand and bade the clipboard to a tiny hook on the door before she began summoning the first aid cart to her. It wheeled serenely in her direction.

A glass of water flew towards the patient. She'd aimed for his shoulder, but her present mood had sent the glass slightly off target and instead hovered somewhere around his ear. "Apologies I can't offer you anything stronger than that," she said, situating herself in front of him and examining his wounds. They were by no means life threatening but she still sucked in a breath through her teeth as she saw the damage up close. Her eyes flitted back up to the man and she gave him another small smile. "I've read the paperwork, but why don't you tell me in your own words?"



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#3
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If Eugene weren't feeling a little annoyed by the turn of events this evening, he may have registered some kind of embarrassment at being caught half-undressed as the pretty young redhead walked in. Instead he peeled the shirt away again and let the blasted wound breathe for a minute. "Evening, Miss MacFusty," He nodded with a ghost of a smile. He knew that surname pretty well, but she was certainly not one of the big, brawny, Scottish giants he was used to associating it with.

"Pity you don't keep whiskey stocked," He added with a little chuckle, though it kind of hurt so he quickly stopped. He plucked the glass of water from the air and took an appreciative sip all the same. She looked all business and was probably ready to leave soon herself, which Eugene could appreciate as it was exactly what had landed him in this position in the first place. "Well you see," He grimaced a little as he tried to put the water down and readjust his position to fully slide the one side of his shirt off and show the full impact of the tebo to the healer. "People are idiots and think that exotic animals make great pets." It was a doozy and that shirt was likely ruined.

"But they're not and then I have to deal with it and tebos are not known for their friendly nature, or willingness to come quietly as it were." Not how he usually would have addressed a lady, but for one, he was pretty sure she'd dealt with worse and two, he was feeling a little extra salty at this point in his day.



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#4
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His wounds were consistent with a few animals she had in mind, and she'd sorely hoped she had ms-read the chart. At his lament she gave a shrug and a small smile. If it were her home back in the Hebrides, she would have a hearty case of whiskey stocked to his heart's content, courtesy of her family.

He slipped off the rest of his shirt on the side that was affected. If she weren't a MacFusty and had to patch up her brothers as well as the rest of her family, she would be a bit more shy - given her healer status though, that modesty card had flown out the proverbial window. She examined the wound, thoroughly invested in how this man had come in contact with such an animal.

His sardonic tone let Tilda know it likely wasn't his own stupidity that got him in this pickle. Sure enough, as the story progressed, so did the furrow in Tilda's brow. Her eyes widened as well as he let her know that some idiot had tried to keep a Tebo as a pet.

Her family being dragon keepers and tamers, Tilda knew it could be potentially heavy handed for her to critique someone trying to keep such a dangerous animal. Still, she judged and she judged harshly. "No," she said, her voice incredulous. "No they are not." What idiot kept a tebo as a pet?! She exhaled through her nose. Sometimes she wanted to pummel people. This was one of those days.

She set about waving her wand to summon various remedies to her; ointment to numb the area, dittany, bandages, etc. As she took the ointment, she shook her head in disbelief. "Stupid people, thinking they can control animals when they just can't..." she muttered under her breath. She rose her voice to a normal level as she spoke to Mr. Scamander. "And I assume once you arrived the chap keeping the pet started to talk about how it's usually so friendly, yes?"


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#5
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Eugene tried to get more comfortable as Miss MacFusty set about her work, but he doubted there was a way to sit that didn't aggravate the wound. Thankfully the water had gotten rid of the metallic taste in his mouth, thanks to the split lip that was really starting to swell. He looked like he got into a bar brawl with a troll.

At least Miss MacFusty seemed to understand where he was coming from. "Actually no, he called the department to come take care of it be cause he couldn't handle it. Surprise, surprise. Didn't stop him from trying to explain away the "completely legal" way he acquired it." Eugene scoffed. "Did get the name of the guy he got it from though, following up on that."  He added with a wicked grin. While typically an easygoing kind of guy, Eugene really got his feathers ruffled when people were purposefully ignorant of the danger they put themselves, other people and the creatures in.

"That wraps all the way around the back," He would have twisted to show her, but that would physically render him useless, so instead he peeled the rest of the shirt off, oblivious to how inappropriate that would be under most circumstances.



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#6
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Despite her wrong assumption, that excuse was all too familiar. The witch let out a small "Tuh!" of disbelief and shook her head. She couldn't help but appreciate the knowledge the man had about magical creatures - not to mention the obvious respect and smarts. He seemed to be the type of person to keep his wits about him when everyone else was in a frenzy.

Tilda eyed the wound and peered further in between his torso and his shirt. She could see that the wound wrapped around, but from this angle she couldn't quite ––– before she even finished the thought, he seemed to read her mind and he took the shirt off. "Ah!" she exclaimed in a eureka! sort of way. Being a healer Tilda was far from being modest about partial nudity at this point; at the same time, she couldn't help but note how pleasant the man was to look at. She'd never have voice that opinion out lout, however.

Instead, she focused on the situation at hand. Entirely focused on her work and forgetful of how improper this would be under normal circumstances, Tilda unceremoniously stuck the handle of her wand in her mouth to render her hands free. "This might sting a little, Mr Scamander," she said, though with her wand stuck in between her teeth, she could have been speaking gibberish to him. Realizing this, the healer took the wand and stuck it in the pile of red curls atop her head instead. She repeated the statement as she un-corked the bottle of ointment in hand, and lightly dabbed some ointment on the wound which instantly fizzed and smoked as it worked its magic.


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#7
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Oh she didn't give him much warning, did she? Eugene hissed out a complaint after she applied the ointment, but stayed resolutely put so as not to make it harder for her to do her job. He'd had worse. This gash was nothing. Burns, burns on the other hand, he loathed. "Yep, that smarts." He said through gritted teeth as he remained as still as possible. Eugene found himself in this ward so often that he probably should have recognized the pretty redhead upon entry, but then again sometimes he was a little out of it when he came in.

Feeling an overwhelming tickle at his side now, Eugene listened as the ointment fizzed and popped, though the pain was now considerably less than it had been. "Well, will I live?" He joked, thinking the only way to get through this was with a little added humor. "I'd hate for this to be the one that bested me." He continued, squirming ever-so-slightly at the tickling at his side. "What is that?" He questioned a little more seriously. Did they sell it? Could he have some on back up if he ever needed it. Since Eugene did tend to find himself n these situations rather often, he supposed if there was something to assist like this, he should probably have it in his kit for emergency's sake.



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#8
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It wasn't the most gentle of remedies that she had, but it was the one that would heal the fastest with the least risk of infection setting in. Tilda couldn't help but grimace sympathetically as the patient let out a noise of protest. "I'm sorry," she said, eyeing the wound carefully for signs that it was working. Sure enough, the blood was starting to clear and the reddening of the wound was slowly disappearing.

He moved, as Tilda was sure he could feel the faint tickle that the ointment left in its wake. Slipping her wand back out of the crown of hair atop her head, Tilda squinted at the wound as she listened to Mr Scamander's questions. She chuckled. She figured a bottle of it would be terribly useful for him. "Yes and no," she replied, twirling her wand at the remaining bottles and carts around her. "You can purchase it at the Apothecary, but in a diluted form. Too much of this and it can cause some nasty side effects." Swelling, burning, and in unique cases, uncontrollable tickling. She took the bottle and showed it to him before looking at the injury again. It looked about ready to be sealed. Just a few more seconds... "It'll be under the same name, though."


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#9
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Waving away her apology with his opposite hand, Eugene wasn't really fussed. It was uncomfortable yes, but already less painful than it had been when he'd come in. "Yes and no, I might live?" Eugene quirked an amused eyebrow at her, wondering if he'd missed something or she hadn't heard his question. He figured the latter was more likely, but he would be a little put out if this was going to leave lasting damage. He wasn't short on scars, but he did like his job, in which mobility was pretty key.

She did seem to pick up in his interest in whatever it was that she'd just used on him and Eugene was glad to know he could get his hands on it. "Nasty side effects?" That was a drawback, obviously, but if he was cautious with it, perhaps it would come in handy. Not to mention when he was actually out in the field too. Anything could be useful when faced with an angry creature of some kind. Today was a prime example.



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#10
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He was taking the pain of the wound better than a lot of her patients would have, which impressed her. Many (excluding those younger than say, 12) would have continued to show ill manners despite her being there with the sole purpose of seeing them healed and on their way. And he was good-natured which was also hard to come by, especially after being poked and prodded at.

As if his question was posed for a test, Tilda rattled off the side effects she'd mentioned: "Fever, coughing, excessive sneezing - and I do mean excessive, mind - in addition to some hallucinations and uncontrollable laughter." That last tid bit had caused her a lot of trouble a few years back with the laughing plague. She cast a rueful smile at him. "Everything good can be dangerous in large quantities, Mr. Scamander, as I'm sure you're more than aware of, working in a profession such as yours!"

The fizzing and smoking had stopped, which Tilda took as the sign. She eyed the wound as she gave the orders. "Oh - alright, Mr. Scamander, you're about ready to be off. Just...don't...move...." She took her wand, eyed the wound and without warning, gave it one sharp poke. Instantly, the wound sealed up, leaving only a faint sign of battle wound. Judging by the look of it though, Tilda figured it'd heal up and leave no trace of having ever crossed paths with a Tebo within the next few hours. "And there we have it!" she proclaimed with triumph.


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