delphine
When Korbin was brought in, Delphine wasn't there. She was curled up in bed, but that did not stop the old bar-owner from banging on the door, possibly waking Noah, but definitely waking her.
Grumbling, she padded out of the room and into the one next door, to find Korbin, seizing on a cot. The woman had promised him she'd stay away, but...
He'd probably die if she just left him.
She'd also promised not to heal him.
Delphine grumbled softly and began to rummage through the herbs on the table, before deciding it'd be easier to treat him if he'd stop seizing. So, carefully, she moved to him, after putting a batch of herbs to steep for tea.
It was likely he'd not remember anything, as it were. She rested her hands against his arm, counting for his pulse, and debating her options.
At least he'd kept his promise, and stopped drinking. She'd kept her end of it, and hadn't gone to the warden about him. Fair was fair.
In the end, she settled for the easiest option, and where her hands were pressed to his wrist, she carefully began to heal him. One hand released his wrist and reached to press to his head.
Not... all the way, but enough so that he wasn't on the verge of death. She could be petty and force her teas on him, let him go back to work at a disabled pace. After all, part of what made detox work was the pain of going through it. Besides, going to heal him completely, she might slip up and alter his depression or anxiety, and screw him up even more. It wasn't her own sadistic need to see this man crumble and cry that kept her from fixing his ailment fully.
When she decided he was no longer at risk of dying, she moved towards the fire, to stir the kettle and taste it, sweet with a variety of herbs to fend off the various symptoms he'd continue to experience.
Holding the kettle so it'd cool, she spoke up, softly: "You seize and shake when your blood sugar's low, you know. The body mistakes alcohol as sugary goodness. That'll help, and..." She claimed some bread, drizzled in honey, settling it beside his cot. "...that'll help."
Grumbling, she padded out of the room and into the one next door, to find Korbin, seizing on a cot. The woman had promised him she'd stay away, but...
He'd probably die if she just left him.
She'd also promised not to heal him.
Delphine grumbled softly and began to rummage through the herbs on the table, before deciding it'd be easier to treat him if he'd stop seizing. So, carefully, she moved to him, after putting a batch of herbs to steep for tea.
It was likely he'd not remember anything, as it were. She rested her hands against his arm, counting for his pulse, and debating her options.
At least he'd kept his promise, and stopped drinking. She'd kept her end of it, and hadn't gone to the warden about him. Fair was fair.
In the end, she settled for the easiest option, and where her hands were pressed to his wrist, she carefully began to heal him. One hand released his wrist and reached to press to his head.
Not... all the way, but enough so that he wasn't on the verge of death. She could be petty and force her teas on him, let him go back to work at a disabled pace. After all, part of what made detox work was the pain of going through it. Besides, going to heal him completely, she might slip up and alter his depression or anxiety, and screw him up even more. It wasn't her own sadistic need to see this man crumble and cry that kept her from fixing his ailment fully.
When she decided he was no longer at risk of dying, she moved towards the fire, to stir the kettle and taste it, sweet with a variety of herbs to fend off the various symptoms he'd continue to experience.
Holding the kettle so it'd cool, she spoke up, softly: "You seize and shake when your blood sugar's low, you know. The body mistakes alcohol as sugary goodness. That'll help, and..." She claimed some bread, drizzled in honey, settling it beside his cot. "...that'll help."
