There Is No Cure For Snobbery [Blink!]

[Paladienne]

What exactly did I do to deserve this?

It wasn’t the first time this thought had crossed Tempest’s mind, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. But it was the third time in the last thirty minutes that she had thought it, and she wasn’t sure when the thought would stop being in the forefront of her mind.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true.

She knew exactly when that thought would stop being in her mind, and that would only come when her current patient was discharged.

The redheaded woman normally wasn’t one to be salty toward the patients she cared for. She wasn’t the type to be salty at all, even when someone probably deserved her ire. Sure, her patients could be caustic and rude and mean, but then, they were in pain and they didn’t want to be confined to their bed or their room or cooped up in the hospital any longer than they needed to be, even if the reason for their stay meant that they had to be. Tempest was normally able to convince those kinds of people that if they cooperated with her, and did what they were supposed to, they would get out sooner. She was kind to them. She took care of them as if they were her own family, and spent hours of her personal time keeping total strangers company.

But this time wasn’t one of those. If anything, it was on the far opposite end of the spectrum.

Ever since this one patient had been brought in and Tempest had been assigned to look after her and ensure her care, this woman had been driving Tempest insane. Nothing Tempest did was good enough. Nothing she did made the woman happy. Nothing she did made the woman’s husband happy.

Well, Tempest thought, scowling at the computer screen in front of her, which displayed her patient’s file, that’s not quite true. They’re happy complaining about me, especially when I can hear it.

In fact, they liked to complain about everyone - the other nurses on first and second shift, the doctors that came in to tell them what they did or didn’t want to hear, the staff that served the food, and the food itself - and no one was safe from the sharp sides of their tongues.

Tempest currently sat in her chair in the nurse’s station, her elbow on the chair’s armrest and her chin propped on her fist, staring at the computer screen in front of her just to delay the moment where she had to go into her patient’s room and check the woman’s vitals. She wondered what the complaint would be today. Sometimes it actually was something new, an insult or complaint she’d never heard before, but usually it was an old insult or old complaint phrased in a new way.

Tempest wasn’t pretty. She knew that. She was a little on the plump side, no matter how hard she exercised or trained. Her red-gold hair was always in a braid, slung over her shoulder, and her emerald green eyes showed her emotions, even when she tried to keep her face stern. She wouldn’t apologize for what she was, and she wouldn’t apologize for what she couldn’t be. But, she realized, if she took any longer, she would have to apologize for being late. She only hoped that, if Mrs. Weaver’s vitals checked out, and there seemed to be no reason to keep her any longer, the doctor might just sign the release papers and Tempest could put that woman and her husband out of her mind. But she would never know that if she kept procrastinating, so it was with a heavy sigh that Tempest hauled herself out of her chair, rounded up her tablet and her equipment, and marched it all down the hall from the nurse’s station to the dreaded room.

Hearing voices on the other side of the closed door, Tempest took a moment to school her face into a proper pleasant but neutral expression, as if she was actually happy to be there in that room. She took a deep breath and released it. Took another and released it. Then she lifted her hand, curled into a fist and knocked loudly before opening the door and stepping inside.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Weaver. It’s that time again, but I come bearing good news.” Tempest said as cheerfully as she could as she headed toward the woman’s bed. “If everything checks out, we might be able to send you home today. I’m sure you’re anxious to get out of here.”

[Blink]

Standing outside the hospital Orion drew in a deep breath, preparing himself for the onslaught of questions that he was sure to have thrown at him in a matter of minutes. Visiting his parents wasn't always a tiring event, but it was always full of the many opinions his mother and father had on quite literally everything. At one point in time, Orion loved the constant buzz of gossip and 'what's what' of everything, but now it was nothing more than noise. In fact, most of life was just noise anymore. Orion had grown bored with practically everything, with the exception of keeping tabs on the Hellions 24/7. That in itself was impossible to make boring with the accidents they seemed prone to walking into. One of which had just come to an end with the return of their esteemed Commander.

His mother's sudden collapse couldn't have come at a better time with this, in fact, it was almost too convenient. For weeks she had been bugging him to visit home, refusing to accept the fact that the publicity in Adstreia was taking priority over leisurely family visits. Then suddenly as soon as Grisham's return was made public his father sent a message saying Orion's dearest mother had been transported after a dizzy spell that ended with her on the floor.

Shoving hands into his pockets Orion finally walked in, not removing his infamous sunglasses as he strolled towards the elevator. With each passing floor and the ding that followed Orion remained unaffected. His hands still in his pockets, shades still over his eyes as patrons entered and exited on each landing.

When he had finally reached his mother's floor he stepped out, looking at the beige signs plastered all over the walls directing him to where each group of room numbers were. It wasn't like he needed them anyway, he could hear his mother's protest to something from the end of one of the corridors passing the nurses station.

“They sent you again? I swear this hospitals PR department will be getting a very lengthy message from me as soon as I am discharged. The staff on this floor is simply dreadful.”

Orion stepped in just as his mother had finished her statement, his eyes rolling behind his shades. “Seems to me you are feeling perfectly fine mother.”

“Oh, Orion! So it takes your poor mother on her deathbed to get a visit from you?” Her words clearly dramatized.

“Come on, how would the world ever get along if you were dead?”. Orion looked at the nurse with a slight grin, overdramatizing his own words to match his mothers as a joke. “So how much longer are you... I mean my mother going to be suffering in here?” He couldn't help but chuckle at his own humor as he walked to his mother's bedside.

Bending down Orion placed a delicate kiss on her forehead, a genuine smile across his lips as he looked her over. “Seriously Ma? Hurry up and get out of these poor people's hair and come have lunch with me?”

It was truly amazing how much better his mother looked at the mention of going somewhere with her son. Yes, she drove him up the wall crazy with her entitled ways but at the end of the day she was his one and only mother and he loved her dearly. Meanwhile, his father just nodded at him, the same smile to match his son's. Even he knew how dramatic his wife could be from time to time.

[Paladienne]

Tempest somehow managed to keep a neutral face at the woman’s griping. She’d been saying the same threats and complaining about Tempest, as well as every nurse who came in to care for her, ever since arriving and being admitted, so the flame-haired nurse had very quickly learned to ignore her. Still, upon the arrival of the young man, Tempest had to breathe a sigh of relief. A quick glance to his face confirmed his identity to her - Pilot Noble Orion Weaver, PR for the Adstreia Hellions - but that was all she had time to assess about him before she began to get to work. No offense to him, but she wanted to get rid of his mother as fast as she possibly could. The woman was absolutely dreadful and Tempest wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to control her tongue. And based on her son’s comment, Tempest wondered if the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Granted, she wasn’t sure if it was a joke or serious commentary, but she wasn’t about to rise to any bait those words may or may not have held. Instead, Tempest only smiled and replied, “It shouldn’t be much longer, Pilot Weaver. I just have to check a few things and make sure her vitals are normal. If all is well, she should be able to get out of here in a few hours, maybe sooner, if the doctor agrees with me and signs her discharge sheet.”

Turning to the machines that were hooked up to the woman, Tempest began to get to work. She skillfully ignored Orion and his parents as she checked the woman’s vitals and checked off notes on her tablet. Thankfully, everything looked normal. Tempest’s trained eye couldn’t pick up so much as a flicker of anxiety or any other malady that Mrs. Weaver could possibly have - or had claimed to have upon being admitted to the floor. The nurse quickly opened up a new window on her tablet and began writing out the discharge orders. They would need a doctor’s signature, of course, but Tempest could at least get the ball rolling. The sooner they could get this woman and her family out of here, the happier Tempest and the rest of her colleagues would be.

Schooling her face to try and seem as cheerful as possible, Tempest turned to the small family and smiled brightly. “Well, good news! It looks like you’re in perfect health, Mrs. Weaver. Let me get these discharge notes to the attending, and you will be free to go in just a few hours. Just in time for lunch, I promise.”

Clutching her tablet to her chest, Tempest strode out of the room and into the hallway. Her smile fell quickly, and she trudged toward the nurse’s station, setting the tablet down on the counter before leaning against it and letting out the breath she’d been holding. She took another deep breath and released it, then sent the discharge orders to the attending to sign. He’d have to deal with Mrs. Weaver’s official discharge, giving her another once-over before the orderlies that came with him could load her into a wheelchair and take her down to the front door. Once that was done, Tempest moved around the counter to sit back in her chair and make sure the discharge orders went through in the system.

She was certain she’d be able to hear the moment when the orderlies brought the wheelchair, anyway, so once that woman and her complaints were shipped off home, Tempest decided she’d be able to breathe a little easier and her stress levels definitely would drop.

Her hand unconsciously lifted to her neck and she covered the brand there with her palm. Her eyes closed even as her mind drifted back to the events that had caused her to have that brand. Her anxiety and stress levels had been astronomical since that event, and even though she had managed to work through the worst of it, people like Mrs. Weaver seemed to have an uncanny knack for dredging those feelings back up when Tempest believed she had finally put them to rest. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to Mrs. Weaver and those like her, but Tempest couldn’t stand the idea of anyone putting down - or hurting - anyone they deemed weaker, or less, than themselves.

Dropping her hand and opening her eyes, Tempest watched as the discharge was accepted and once it was official, she turned her attention to the patients who actually enjoyed her work and her company. No one needed her attention yet, or was requesting it, so at the nurse’s station she would remain. Which offered her a lovely view of Mrs. Weaver being wheeled out of her room, her husband and her son on either side of her.