The sick bay

"Speed it not an issue; care is - handsomely, handsomely... Excellent. Now, the nightshirt, if you please - Thompson, hold him up."

"Aye, sir," Thompson said, hopping along a little to help hold the surgeon up, being very careful of his head.

"Yer need a hand, there, Thompson? Yer not putting any weight on yer ankle, now?"
THere was a pause as M'Clure again took in the depressing sight of Crozier, hardly in his normal state of mind, before adding to Maturin, "Sorry, sir. Can I help, now?"

"You can - are you the assistant surgeon, sir? My name is Maturin."

M'Clure looked down, forgetting they hadn't actually be introduced yet, "AYe. M'Clure, sir. Pleased ter meet yer."

"I only wish it had been under happier circumstances. Ah, there now - Thompson, if you could cover his legs with that blanket, and Bridgens, please take these away - it does not matter where for the moment as long as they are not in here."

M'cLure watched everything being organised and suddenly felt compeltely surperfluous. "err..sir? Is there anything I could be doin? Will someone be sitting with him, ternight?"
Not that he needed a sleepless night, but with no Crozier, he'd have to get used to a completely different set of circumstances, adn he wasn't wanting that, now.

"I will have to sleep at some point to be in a fit state to perform the operation - I will need you there, of course, but someone will have to be with him at all times, checking pulse and breathing. We will take watches - I have also pressed Thompson here, and Bridgens will aid us."

M'Clure nodded, looking forwards to the operation more than anything else. "Yessir, of course."

[ooc- and what time is it now? meal time, or bed time or what?]

"I need to see the purser - Mister M'Clure, you are in charge; Private Thompson, please to continue in your duty," said Stephen as he walked out of the sickbay.

[OOC: Dinner time.]

[ooc- just checking. thanks]

"Yessir." M'Clure turned back to have a proper look at Crozier, carefully not touching anything.

Thompson pulled the blanket down, took his trousers and turned to change as quickly as he could. Doing so in front of other people didn't bother him - couldn't, after so many years of living on the lower deck.

He blinked at Doctor Maturin saying he was going to help out with looking after Doctor Crozier. Not that he minded, of course. It would give him something useful to do, rather than trying to find busy-work.

M'Clure waited in silence for a while, considering everything that had happened, before attempting to start a conversation as best he knew how. "Hurt much, Thompson?"

"A, uh, a bit, sir. Had to stand on it to get Mister Crozier out of danger, sir. Then I ended up kneelin' and twisted it a bit then. I... well, I don't want to put you out at all, sir."

M'Clure turned to look at the man fully, "Did Dr Maturin have a look at it? Or is it not changed from Dr Crozier?" He was happy to have a look at it, not like he had anything else much to do at the moment.

"Doctor Crozier was the last one to look at it, sir," Thompson said, fastening the last button on his trousers. "An' I don't want to be any trouble, sir, really."

M'clure shrugged. "No trouble. Let's see it, then."

Thompson hopped back up onto the working table and swung his leg up so that M'Cure could see.

"Sorry about the, uh, smell, sir," he said. "Ended up kneelin' on the deck of the hold, in all the dirt, tryin' to keep Mister Crozier's head clear of it all."

M'Clure nodded, "It's alright. I've had worse."

he had a strong whiff of various odours, but bent closer to have a look. "Don't kick me, if you please." he muttered, remembering the first time they'd done this. "I'll give it a bit of a prod, but just hold still." he added, louder, and suited actions to words.

[ooc- can't remember. it's just bandaged and splinted at the moment, yes? I think I'll just tightent he bandages up a bit, keep it immobile as possible.]

"I'll hold still, sir. Only, please don't poke it too much."

He braced himself, leaning forward to hold his leg still in case he ended up kicking out reflexively.

(OOC - I think Crozier took the splints out. And please replace the bandage - it's got horse muck on it where I've been kneeling in it on the deck.)

As soon as Stephen stepped out of the sickbay his impassively confident expression vanished to be replaced by a pale, tired and harassed one. He was not worried about the operation - no more than he would be about any trepanning, but it would be delicate, and as ever the chance of infection... *he rubbed his eyes, and set off, seeking the purser.

He found him in the wardroom. "Mister Foxley, I am sorry to disturb you."

Foxley looked up.

"Aye, sir. How can I help you?"

"I had a brief question for you, sir," Stephen said with an embarrassed smile. "Did a ship's boy fetch these trousers from you?"

Foxley frowned a moment. "Aye. Is there something wrong, sir? He did say it was rather urgent."

Stephen smiled in relief. "Not at all; I just wished to check. Thank you, Mister Foxley."