All Quiet In The Hospital ~ PPAU Quest

    Okay, so Plover may have an unhealthy relationship with the hospital wing. 

    Yes, Nessa, they could admit it. 

    There, that was the truth. Plover used the hospital as a crutch for social anxiety. It kept them busy and away from prying eyes. It was controlled and regulated. Surprises in hospitals were the kind you could prepare for by reading textbooks. 

    Plus, it was the only sterilized place in the castle.

    And right now…

    Plover dabbed at their nose with a fresh tissue as they set the teapot aside. They paused, catching the sneeze in the tissue rather than their mask, before standing up, ready to return to work. 

    So, yes, Plover used their job at the hospital wing as a crutch. But could you blame them when the rest of the world was trying to land them here anyway? 

    This was the hell they suffered every spring on Mezzo when this island of horrors, filled with dreaded oaks, decided to bloom. And everyone else, who didn’t suffer from allergies, thought this was a lovely time of year to throw open their windows and let in the breeze. 

    Last year, Plover locked themself in their room, trying to hide away from that (and other things, including their then-new magical curse), when Mezzo proved to be a sadist, and the faux tree in their room began pollinating like no tomorrow. There was nowhere to hide from the pollen except the Hospital Wing, as the hospital staff was courteous and strict about the clean-room rules, keeping the halls clean and clear of pollen-carrying dirt–

    At that point, someone came swooping in, carrying a dust devil made entirely of pollen.

    “Oi– No flying without decontamination!” snapped Gossamer after the fleeing person, shaking his head.

    Plover, in the meantime, hacked and went back to fill up their teapot. Again. 

    Well, at least there wasn’t much work to do– January’s critical cases were finally starting to be discharged, and the recent Leaf Kingdom mission left only Begonia admitted. Nowadays, the severe cases were just concussions and broken limbs– not rearranged organs or sludge for blood. Thank the gods.

    On the other hand, when the hospital wing was this q– stable, Plover mentally corrected: even in their head, the q word was off limits. General track students could get hands-on medical experience when the hospital was stable. Now, Plover would agree that hands-on was the best way to work, but– 

    Trailing behind the first dust-devil intruder flew in the rest of the general track students, furiously flapping to keep up. Plover tuned out Gossamer’s furious screeching as they turned to their saline solution, plunging their head into it. But, unfortunately, it did little to muffle their screams. 

    Even without their previous life-threatening cases, today would be a long day, but at least it would be interesting. 

    Plover spent the thirty minutes it took the visitors to clean up with their head in the solution, only daring to lift it once they’d been given the all-clear that nobody was tracking in more pollen. Then, finally, they wandered back over to the group, still dripping with saline, as they sat beside Bloodletter and the other hospital wing residents. 

    They ignored his annoyed sigh in their direction, instead sitting up straight as a soldier as Bloodletter began his speech. 

    “You’ve all shown you can be trusted to work in controlled conditions– these are anything but. You’re here to observe and assist as directed by myself or with our volunteers– Drs Cassian, Fulcrum, and–” he paused for a tiny eye roll– “Plover.” 

    Plover smiled brightly and waved toward the newbies. The newbies shot confused looks between a cheerful and dripping Plover and an increasingly dead-inside Bloodletter.

    “Now, you will not ask any questions until Dr. Plover is out of the room, understood?” 

    “Why aren’t we allowed to ask Plover any questions?” muttered a tall dark-scaled Nightwing at the back of the assembled crowd. Though it was supposed to be quiet, apparently, the newbies hadn’t learned the hospital wing had excellent acoustics. 

    Bloodletter’s gaze flicked up and narrowed, but he, having dealt with this (Plover’s magical compulsion to answer any questions directed towards them or the group they were in, and this qualifying as a disability that, no, Bloodletter could not fire them over) before, made no move to try and explain.

    “While Dr. Bloodletter appreciates my work ethic, he’s annoyed by how I constantly cut him off, especially during demonstrations,” Plover chimed. 

    Bloodletter didn’t roll his eyes much (and Plover perked up at the progress and not being yelled at again), focusing his anger on the Nightwing questioner instead. 

    “Clearsky, you’ll be working under Dr. Plover. I want a write-up on every patient that comes through our doors. Dismissed,” he snapped, pointing a gigantic claw toward the doors before turning back to the other students (now sitting up straighter than before). 

    But even as Bloodletter scowled, Plover smiled, waving over the tall Nightwing– Clearsky– as they started walking. 

    It took Clearsky a moment to snap out of his stupor, and his face was dark purple instead of blue when he caught up with Plover with his head ducked. 

    “What did I do?” Clearsky muttered to himself, apparently having not learned his lesson. 

    “You wondered out loud why you couldn’t ask me questions, ignoring Dr. Bloodletter’s order and annoying him. So now you’re doing paperwork with me,” Plover chimed, pausing to huff at how annoying they sounded before smiling, lifting their tail to tap against Clearsky. “Hi, I’m Plover, and you need to work on your whispering skills.”

    “Oh, uh– Clearsky, but you already heard that,” Clearsky replied, returning the tail tap with a brittle smile. “And yeah– I’ll try to be quieter in the future.”

    Plover recognized the trend of Nightwings covering up their feelings to make other people happy in conversations and resisted scoffing and slapping Clearsky upside the head. “Hey, don’t worry, everyone annoys Dr. Bloodletter – he’s pretty particular in his methods,” they said instead. “You don’t need to be quiet; he’s not the boss. That’s Needlepoint. 

    “Besides, this job is fine for a newbie, especially if you have decent handwriting. Or even if you don’t.”

    Clearsky chuckled with a shake of his head. “Sweet Clearsight– well, at least I’ll be helpful here. Mine’s not the best, but– I think it’s better than a doctor's. It’ll be good enough to help,” he huffed, and though he tried to be subtle, Plover didn’t miss the furrow in his brow.

    “You don’t need to work hard to do that,” Plover scoffed before smiling softly. “But hey, the hospital only works with many hands on the metaphorical deck. And this kind of work is what keeps everything together. This is helping. Hells– you show them your comparably masterful calligraphy skills, and you’ll get a one thousand gold salary by noon.” 

    And that made Clearsky laugh, and Plover smiled, clapping their claws together with a chime of, “Well then, let’s get to work!” 

    So work they did– even without the Baikal cases, the Hospital Wing doors revolved for a reason, and someone was always waiting to be admitted. Just today, they’d written up the reports for four people who’d gone farther than they should have during sparring and come in with deep cuts and bruises, three people from bar fights with intoxication and concussions, and a menagerie of random ‘I don’t even know how you managed that’ injuries, from a spoon stuck in a Seawing’s gill to a Silkwing who managed to dislocate their arm while trying to weave a wrist band. 

    Plover didn’t blink an eye– you quickly got desensitized to the confusion in the Hospital Wing. A patient was a patient, no matter how cartoonish their injuries were. Besides, it was intriguing work that kept you engaged.

    But when Plover looked over toward Clearsky, their gaze landed on the single paper in front of him, with many crossed-out lines as he tried best to explain how a Skywing had snored and set their tail on fire in their sleep. 

    Clearsky huffed, shaking his head as he stared at Plover's finished stack of paperwork. “How are you already done? I’m barely started.”

    “I’m a quick writer– the second fastest draw in Hospital Wing,” Plover preened, tapping their quill to their chin with a smirk.

    “Just the second fastest? Who’s the quickest here?”

    “Needlepoint.” 

    “Ah– I can see why!” Clearsky laughed, though he quickly trailed off at Plover’s blank look. He coughed. “The name– Needlepoint. Like– the tip of a pen or something.”

    Plover blinked before eventually shaking their head with a chuckle. “You got there eventually.” 

    The two sat there in silence for a moment as Clearsky went back to trying to politely call a patient an idiot (a skill critical for a doctor) while Plover stood to drop off their completed paperwork in the correct folder. Then, finally, they turned around, trying not to laugh at the tongue poking out of his mouth.

    But really, Plover had to smile. Despite Clearsky’s clear apprehension about being helpful, he was working hard and throwing himself into it. But, honestly, Plover didn’t understand why Clearsky was so apprehensive– the Hospital wing would’ve snatched him up as an intern before he could blink. Yes, he was inexperienced, but that could be fixed. 

    That’s what he was here to do– some hands-on work. And he was hyperbolically killing it. 

    If he was actually killing his hands-on hospital work, that would be an issue. But he wasn’t, so Clearsky was doing great and would eventually be a great doctor. And Plover–

    Was getting way ahead of themself.

    “Say, are you planning on transferring into the medical track, or is this just a one-off venture?” Plover chimed, cocking their head to the side. 

    Clearsky hummed. “I don’t know– I mean, if the Hospital Wing is always quiet like this–”

    Any and all of Plover’s respect for Clearsky went out the window. 

    He was a moron.

    He was a fool. 

    He would kill them all. 

    Plover snarled, launching themself across the space between them to slap their claws across his snout– too late to stop that curse from leaving his lips. “Don’t say that. Do not under any circumstances say the q word here.”

    “The… q…” Clearsky’s brow furrowed as his eyes went wide. “Quiet?” he mumbled against Plover’s palm.

    “Yes– no! You do not say that here– it’s like saying the name of the Icewing Play in a theatre,” Plover snarled, dropping their claws from Clearsky’s snout to furiously scramble for any and all medical supplies nearby. “Bad things happen when you say that word here.”

    “What– what do you mean?” Clearsky croaked, glancing around the room as if searching for the curse he’d summoned.

    He wouldn’t need to wait long. 

    “What I mean is the last time someone said that word, the Baikal teams burst through those doors.”

    “Oh, merciful Clearsight.”

    Plover would’ve sworn as well, but they were busy putting on their mask and gloves, counting down the seconds. “Three, two, one–” 

    The doors slammed open. And unfortunately–

    Plover was one of the first patients taken down by the wall of pollen the emergency brought in.

    Hey, at least today would be interesting, even if they only got to treat themself.