Worse, mere moments after she pulls the IV-needle from her arm, your pleasant conversation is interrupted by a shrill 'Eep! - Eep! - Eep! - Eep! - Eep!', as an alarm goes off. Worse yet, Terry feels a nauseating wave of dizziness washing over her.
OOC: Terry, please roll a Fortitude save, DC15, or lose consciousness.
'Eep! - Eep! - Eep! - Eep! - Eep!'
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! Such a fuss, such a commotion!"
You can hear the voice before the door to your room swings open. It is the voice of your favourite aunt, of that one special teacher you remember from kindergarten. It is auditory equivalent of the scent of cinnamon apple pie and cocoa on a cold winter's day, of a warm hug when you felt sad as a child, of any number of good and pleasant things.
The face it issues from is the visual equivalent; rosy cheeks, blonde curls all in disarray, blue eyes beaming empathy, this is surely the ultimate nurse. For a nurse it is; a matronly woman in a pristine, white uniform and nurse's cap.
The Nurse's eyes shoot from one of you to the other and settle on Terry, whereupon she gasps in Dismay.
"No, no, no! You mustn't remove the IV! Terrible! You were all terribly, terribly injured, those IVs contain more than just painkillers! Please, please...!"
Should Terry be unconscious -- or simply allow her -- the Nurse reattaches the IV drip with great speed and efficiency. She makes it look so easy!
"Goodness, goodness," she sighs as she straightens up, smoothes Terry's sheets and quickly wipes her forehead with her sleeve. "So lucky, you've all been, so fortunate! Not everyone made it out of that wreck alive, you know. So very, very terrible."
For a moment, her face twists with some deep sorrow, and she sighs from the pit of her stomach.
"So many poor people still to heal, so many... Oh me, oh my, please don't touch your IVs, I must be getting on..." And she starts to move towards the door again, high heels clicking against the floor.
Which is not to say you can't stop her and have a chat, of course.
