Did you see that? He was looking at me like he had before --
[Hypnosis was a funny thing. Chilton had no natural persuasion against its effects, but he was a trained and capable psychiatrist; he knew the blanked outcome, the short term the memory loss that skipped time indicates. The strength and the true influence of Simon's power was still up for discussion, and hopefully those tapes would enlighten that treacle of an issue. The fact that Simon couldn't do it again, when he clearly had every intent, was cause for concern -- the pallor, the tormented expression, the hesitation.
Something was wrong. Something wrong among many, many brutally incorrect things that have happened this afternoon.
But as priorities were left standing in a crucial order: the wounded man, then "Arthur". Chilton didn't finish his halfway verbalized thought for Jorah's benefit, instead he removed his business jacket (and hung it) before stepping over Simon and gave Jorah a better look over.]
Oh, god.
[That gun had done a nasty job on Jorah's leg, Chilton could determine that from even feet away. The sheer amount of blood... Fortunate that Chilton was very used to gore at this point in his life, and what remained of his stomach could handle the horrifying imagery. Quickly, he turned back to Simon, his long fingers gently feeling around the man's waist. Once the belt was evident, Chilton unbuckled and stripped it away, and he turned his unblemished focus back to Jorah, the wounded fellow still gripping onto that tormented desk.]
Look -- I can make you a tourniquet, but you've already bled so much. Just, slide down, won't you? Better if you're fully on the floor, I don't want gravity working in favor of your massive blood loss.
[Amazing that the man was even conscious, really. Chilton glanced over, keeping clear of the fallen sword.]
Your trousers probably... Ought to go. This is... Already going to be difficult.
[A wince, a little shrug. At least it appeared to be isolated in the thigh. Chilton didn't ask for permission when he moved to partially strip down his patient, but he would have been easily stopped if Jorah took offense. Either way, the belt would be wrapped around the leg above the wound, and pulled tight to a buckled state.]
Guessing from your attire that you're one of Petyr's?
[Chilton hoped the assumption was right, because that was who he was calling this moment -- a brief conversation, a "I need your help, I was attacked in my office, I need you here now. Bring aid." Chilton was a woeful surgeon in his youth, a fact that hadn't changed with age. He wouldn't attempt any stitching right now -- but he had something else.]
I can give you something. [He said, his fingertips brushing Jorah's forehead.] A sedative. It will help with the pain.
[Or it would have, if not for Jorah's power negation.]
no subject
[Hypnosis was a funny thing. Chilton had no natural persuasion against its effects, but he was a trained and capable psychiatrist; he knew the blanked outcome, the short term the memory loss that skipped time indicates. The strength and the true influence of Simon's power was still up for discussion, and hopefully those tapes would enlighten that treacle of an issue. The fact that Simon couldn't do it again, when he clearly had every intent, was cause for concern -- the pallor, the tormented expression, the hesitation.
Something was wrong. Something wrong among many, many brutally incorrect things that have happened this afternoon.
But as priorities were left standing in a crucial order: the wounded man, then "Arthur". Chilton didn't finish his halfway verbalized thought for Jorah's benefit, instead he removed his business jacket (and hung it) before stepping over Simon and gave Jorah a better look over.]
Oh, god.
[That gun had done a nasty job on Jorah's leg, Chilton could determine that from even feet away. The sheer amount of blood... Fortunate that Chilton was very used to gore at this point in his life, and what remained of his stomach could handle the horrifying imagery. Quickly, he turned back to Simon, his long fingers gently feeling around the man's waist. Once the belt was evident, Chilton unbuckled and stripped it away, and he turned his unblemished focus back to Jorah, the wounded fellow still gripping onto that tormented desk.]
Look -- I can make you a tourniquet, but you've already bled so much. Just, slide down, won't you? Better if you're fully on the floor, I don't want gravity working in favor of your massive blood loss.
[Amazing that the man was even conscious, really. Chilton glanced over, keeping clear of the fallen sword.]
Your trousers probably... Ought to go. This is... Already going to be difficult.
[A wince, a little shrug. At least it appeared to be isolated in the thigh. Chilton didn't ask for permission when he moved to partially strip down his patient, but he would have been easily stopped if Jorah took offense. Either way, the belt would be wrapped around the leg above the wound, and pulled tight to a buckled state.]
Guessing from your attire that you're one of Petyr's?
[Chilton hoped the assumption was right, because that was who he was calling this moment -- a brief conversation, a "I need your help, I was attacked in my office, I need you here now. Bring aid." Chilton was a woeful surgeon in his youth, a fact that hadn't changed with age. He wouldn't attempt any stitching right now -- but he had something else.]
I can give you something. [He said, his fingertips brushing Jorah's forehead.] A sedative. It will help with the pain.
[Or it would have, if not for Jorah's power negation.]
What should we do with him?