Leaves Of Three
Written for the Take A Prompt, Leave A Prompt challenge
Prompt - "Does this look infected to you?"
Draconius was still in the process of washing Scabior's clothes when the head Snatcher woke up that morning. She had just finished washing and drying his plaid pants when he walked into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes.
He stood next to his wife, looking down at the soap suds and floating articles of clothing in the sink. "You're washing my clothes today?" he asked, sounding a little confused.
"Yes, Scabior," his wife replied. "I told you today was laundry day. Don't you remember? Or are you not awake enough to think yet?"
"Not awake," he muttered sleepily.
"Your clothes are filthy," Draconius continued. "I don't know what you've been rolling in out in the forest, but your clothes are a mess. It'll take a while to get the dirt and filth out of some of these."
Ignoring her comment on his filthy clothes, Scabior reached into the sink and pulled out the long sleeved shirt he wore under his vest and jacket. "I 'ave work today," he said, holding up the dripping shirt. "Wha am I supposed to wear to work if my clothes are still in the wash?"
"It's the middle of summer, Scabior. Don't you think it would be nice to go snatching without that hot, heavy jacket and shirt you always wear?"
"I suppose," he said, lowering the shirt back into the sink.
"Your vest is on the table, along with your pants and a few other articles of clothing."
Scabior got dressed, putting on his boots, vest, pants and glove. He left his scarf at home, along with his shirt and jacket, then ate his breakfast and left for work.
It was quite a sight, seeing Scabior running through the woods in his vest and plaid pants without his jacket and scarf trailing out behind him as he ran. It felt good though, not having to wear all those layers of clothing on a hot summer day.
He zigzagged between the trees, running full speed downhill after his target. He launched himself off a rocky outcrop, landing on top of his target and tumbling downhill into a wide patch of lush, thick vegetation near the bottom of the hill.
A brief struggle ensued, with Scabior emerging victorious, his prisoner in chains, bloody and bruised, as he led her out of the bushes.
He brought her into the Ministry, received his payment in exchange for his prisoner, and headed home. Everything was fine until later that evening, when he noticed a series of small, red blotches that had formed on his left forearm. These blotches were very itchy. And no matter how much he scratched they only got worse, forming blisters that broke open and oozed clear fluid down his arm.
The following morning Scabior awoke to find a rash covering both of his arms. His skin was red and irritated, with weeping blisters that were wet, itchy and sore.
Scabior didn't know what was wrong. He skin wasn't turning green so he knew it wasn't dragon pox. Though that was a possibilty since he didn't have the illness as a child. He thought about going his usual route and keeping his affliction hidden from his wife. But he was so horribly itchy he couldn't stand it.
"Pet," he said, approaching his wife as she was making breakfast in the kitchen. He held out his arm for her to see the rash that covered most of his skin. "Does this look infected to you?"
Draconius took one look at his arm and gasped. "Scabior, what happened to you?"
"I was in 'opes you could tell me tha." He held out his other arm for her to see. "I don't know wha this is. But it itches so much it's driving me mad. This isn't some sort of infection or allergic reaction is it?"
"It looks like an allergic reaction," said Draconius. She held his left hand, which was unaffected by the rash thanks to the glove he'd been wearing, and brought his arm closer so she could examine him. "You haven't been in poison ivy, have you?"
Scabior shrugged. "I wouldn't know, pet. I don't know wha it looks like. But I took a tumble down a 'ill into this overgrown weed patch the other day. Maybe tha was it."
"You don't know what poison ivy looks like?" Draconius almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're a Snatcher. You live in the forest and can identify edible berries and mushrooms, but yet you don't know poison ivy when you see it?"
"I'm not an 'erbologist, pet. I don't know everything about plants. I only know which ones are safe to eat."
Draconius sighed. She pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, and motioned for him to sit down. He took a seat at the table, and she told him to wait there while she brought him a potion that would help heal the rash on his arms.
"And don't scratch it," she added, seeing him reach for his left arm. "That's how it spreads. And if you keep scratching it really will get infected."
Scabior bit his bottom lip, his foot tapping impatiently on the floor. How was he supposed to go without scratching himself?
He leaned over and started rubbing his arm on the edge of the table. He had to do something for relief while he waited for his wife to return.
"Daddy," a small voice said beside him. "Why are you rubbing your arm on the table?"
It was then that Scabior noticed his four year old daughter had entered the room. He was so preoccupied with scratching his arm that he hadn't seen her there until she spoke up.
"Don't get to close to me, sweet'eart," he told her. "I don't want you catching wha I 'ave."
"Why daddy? Are you sick?"
"No, pet. For once I'm not ill. This is something completely different. Your mum says it's poison ivy. Tha's why I 'ave this bloody rash on my arms."
"Poison?" Melody's eyes widened.
"No, not like tha. It's a plant tha makes you very itchy for a while."
Scabior grit his teeth, swearing under his breath as he rubbed his arm harder against the edge of the table. When his wife walked in and caught him scratching his arm on the table, she slapped him on the shoulder to draw his attention away from his incessant scratching.
"I thought I told you not to scratch yourself," Draconius snapped.
"I wasn't scratching it," Scabior insisted, doing his best to act innocent. "I was rubbing it on the table."
"That still counts as scratching. And look, you've managed to draw blood from scratching your arm so much."
Scabior looked at the back of his arm, and sure enough there were thin streaks of bright red fluid across the splotchy rash that covered most of his skin.
"Mummy," Melody said, her tiny voice sounding worried and afraid. "Is daddy gonna die? He said he touched a plant and it was posion."
"No, of course not, sweetie," her mother replied soothingly to the small child. "The plant is called posion ivy, but it isn't really poisonous. And it's nothing mummy can't fix with one of her potions."
"So daddy just gots a big boo-boo on his arms."
"More like a big damn itchy mess," Scabior muttered.
His wife set her medical bag on the kitchen table, and began bringing out the items she needed to treat her husband.
She made him wash his arms with warm, soapy water to clean off some of the plant oils, then slipped on a pair of protective gloves and began dabbing a pink potion on his arms with a wad of cotton.
As soon as the potion made contact with his arm, Scabior felt it soothing his burning, irritated skin. He sighed with relief, closing his eyes and leaning back in the chair.
"See, Melody?" said Draconius. "Daddy's going to be just fine."
Melody started giggling, her hands over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the fit of laughter that was bubbling up inside her. "Daddy looks funny."
"Wha?" Scabior opened his eyes. "Wha are you talking about?" He then saw that his arms were covered in large patches of pink goo, which was rapidly drying to form a thin coat on his skin.
Scabior looked at the pink goo and made a face. "Wha is tha stuff?"
"It's a potion to help heal the rash and relieve the itching," Draconius explained. "It has to be reapplied every eight hours for the next few days. And, to make sure you don't scratch yourself, I brought you a pair of these." She then slipped a pair of soft, wool gloves on his hands. "They're charmed so you can't take them off. Only I can remove them."
"You couldn't get me a pair of leather gloves, pet?" Scabior asked.
Just then Melody burst out laughing and said, "Daddy looks like a pretty pink unicorn!"
Scabior's mouth dropped open in shock. "I am not a unicorn!" he exclaimed. What followed next was a long string of obscenities, most of which was drowned out by the sound of his wife and daughter laughing.
