physician, heal thyself

halcyon ortiz. she/her. “i’ll never figure out if i’m supposed to let worry get the best of me,” she said. “i don’t want to fall off a cliff but I don’t want to risk never looking over the edge."

[halcyonortiz]

sotiris-rp​:

Halcyon Ortiz (she/her) is a 57-year-old Leoran who works as a Physician and looks a lot like Adria Arjona. She is a lowgold with a pentacle goldsign.

BIOGRAPHY

Always in motion, always restless, Halcyon was a woman built for the eye of the storm. Her mother, admittedly lovingly at her limit with a child who’d never learned to sit still, expected her to turn towards the hunters. Instead, Halcyon found her way to medicine. It was a different challenge than hunting beasts, but a challenge nonetheless—even with her hunger for knowledge, her steady determination in the face of chaos, and both mana and Leoran technology at her fingertips, she couldn’t save everyone.

She still loved it. She was good at it. Everyone had their role on Leora, and all were important, but this was hers. It helped that medicine provided her with a never-ending problem to solve, and Halcyon was prepared to dedicate all she could to it.

As it turned out, it was her all and then some. She burned her mana veins when she was fifty years old, after years of prioritizing her work above herself. The worsening pain could’ve been a warning to slow down, but instead, it was a frustration. Better at giving advice than taking it, Halcyon grit her teeth and bore it until she couldn’t anymore, until she became a liability.

Although she begrudgingly took the two years required to rest and heal, she was on edge. Adrift without purpose, Halcyon fell back into her role as soon as she was able. Her mana veins were never the same afterwards. It left her prone to flare-ups of pain and weakness even once she took up her post again, but she managed. When she returned to the hospital as a clinician rather than a patient, the true lesson Halcyon learned was how to push herself just to the brink of exhaustion and no further. She helped her people this way, and she wouldn’t lose that.

Life settled into a familiar rhythm after that. Despite it all, Halcyon was happy.

Then the outworlders came. They came with new stipulations and rules, asking the Leorans to change their way of life simply because they didn’t understand. What gave them the right? Halcyon didn’t trust them—and truly, she didn’t even like them. From their hierarchical roles to their eyesore of a spaceport without natural life around it, they continually proved themselves at odds with Leoran values. She wasn’t alone in that sentiment, and Halcyon found herself ready to believe the worst of these outworlders.

PERSONALITY

Vibrant, compassionate, and short-tempered, Halcyon may seem contradictory at first glance. She defends Leoran values at every turn, but she works long hours, neglects her mana channels no matter what she preaches to her patients, and falls to suspicion easier than most. She’ll fight to heal an outworlder the same as a Leoran while at work, but within her personal life she’s stubbornly selective with her trust. Either way, she’s unafraid to let the world know her feelings, and the more things change, the more Halcyon digs her heels in.

Her scarred mana veins are a mark of pride—this is what she’s willing to give for her community. This is love. Since the outworlders arrived, that love has edges. Sotiris is home, and she isn’t willing to share that home with those who might harm it. The outworlders can’t—shouldn’t—be trusted. Leora’s ecosystem is delicate, and it doesn’t take an untreated infection long to spread. No one knows that more than the healers.

Welcome home @halcyonortiz ! We’re happy to have you in Sotiris.

[halcyonortiz]

Tight Space  »  Does your muse fear they’re not living up to their own potential?

Oh, absolutely. There's a reason Halcyon pushes herself as hard as she does. She genuinely loves her work, but I think there will always be a certain level of fear when that work involves the health and safety of others. How can she be sure she's doing enough for them? Would that patient have had a better outcome if she'd done more, known more, tried harder?

Burning her mana veins exacerbated that fear. As is typical, they've never been quite the same, even now that she's returned to work. At this point, the fear isn't just of not living up to her potential—she's afraid she isn't living up to her past self either.

[halcyonortiz]

local time: 07 november 2022. 10:30 location: south sotiris. hospital.

Rumors that Dorian may help Leorans advance in cultivation rankings have spread like wildfire. This has forced the council to expedite research into Collective drugs, primarily Dorian, and the head of the hospital has nominated you for a research position.

Should you choose to accept this position, you will have to research Dorian first and you will be responsible for informing the Sotiris Council of your findings directly. However, if the Council declares your findings useful, you may be permitted to research other drugs from the Collective. The head of the hospital also suggests they’ve read papers from the Collective that  postulate cannabis may hold answers to non-addictive pain management. Personally, they also believe it might help with burnt mana veins.

It is clear to you that their final statement is likely a tactic meant to convince you to take the research position, but you also cannot tell if they’re lying.

“Do they want to encourage the rumors?” Her office is empty, but it’s satisfying to say it out loud. She’d said something similar to the head of the hospital too, followed by the more reasonable request to think about it first. Beyond her knee jerk reaction, there’s the reality. The whispers are spreading either way: take Dorian, awaken to your next rank. She’s had two patients ask her opinion on it already. This incident proved that the Collective can’t—won’t, maybe—keep their drugs off Leora. 

Knowledge is power, and right now, Halcyon doesn’t have it. Leoran or otherwise, they don’t know the long-term side effects of Dorian. They hardly understand the short-term effects. Without further study, they’ll still be lost the next time a patient comes through their hospital doors under the influence of Dorian. 

There will be more of them, she’s not naïve enough to think otherwise. Decades of practicing medicine—and her own personal life—have taught her plenty about the gap between the best practice and what people will actually do. 

The research makes sense, despite her personal feelings. And if she doesn’t accept this position, someone else will. If it’s going to happen, she’d rather be involved. Maybe that’s an excuse; she’s never been good at giving up control. 

She sighs, reaching for a notepad to scribble down her thoughts. If there are effects besides the obvious high and the visual disturbances, they need to find all of them: not just the potential impact on cultivation. They should run a battery of tests—physical, cognitive, vitals and imaging, and yes, mana cultivation and usage for the Leorans involved—on both a control group and those unfortunate enough to be dosed. 

The Dorian is certainly out of their system by now, and it’ll be limited without baseline testing, but at least it might reveal any glaringly obvious side effects. For those who came to the hospital until they’d sobered up, there are at least some comparison tests on file—there wasn’t time to run a full workup on everyone, of course, but there must be brain scans and vitals on record for some. 

Looking into the response to Dorian at an isolated cellular level might show that as well. Depending on the results, well. Whether she likes it or not, the increasing popularity of Dorian means the Festival attendees likely aren’t the only population she can find for a study. She’s certainly not advocating for handing out more Dorian this early on for the sake of research, but they might consider promising anonymity to anyone—Leoran or otherwise—who’s repeatedly used it already in exchange for undergoing the same testing. 

With the increasingly lengthy page of notes in front of her, Halcyon’s answer feels all the more obvious. She navigates her UI, opening a call to the head of the hospital. “I’ve thought about it.” Halcyon taps her pencil on the desk, nervous energy expended. “People are getting ahead of themselves. Before we can even begin considering medicinal uses, we need to focus on ruling out negative consequences. But, assuming I can start there—I accept.”

[halcyonortiz]

tiagoixora​:

“I need you.”

Like Halcyon, saying those words in the small hours of the morning brought up specific memories for Tiago, even in the current situation. Or perhaps exactly because of it; there wasn’t too much terrain between pain and pleasure, sometimes. If you did it right. 

“Don’t disconnect,” he said hurriedly, a jolt in his voice from a stumble. Over nothing, he realized, and stopped his urgent shuffle to lean into a back doorway and breathe for a moment. “I’m in … a bit of trouble. I met up with somebody who had a mind to rob me and did a half decent job of it, if you count the fact that he got away with letting his knife taste blood.”

Tiago took his hand away from his side, pain flaring along his ribs as he grimaced at the dark drippy splotch in his palm. “I’m doing a terrible job trying to hold in what’s left, and I can’t – I know I won’t be able to – I need you, Cece.”

He hadn’t been thinking, or he would’ve kept the old pet name from slipping out. She didn’t like that anymore, he didn’t think, not from him. Hopefully not from anyone else. Let whoever she was fucking now come up with their own (no doubt tepid and banal) love-names for her. “I’m nearly at Jaffa,” Tiago said, looking around quickly to make sure nobody would spot his lurching progress the short way up the back road to his restaurant. “If you don’t help me I’ll have to resort to cauterizing myself with a knife warmed on the cooktop.”

She’d expected some flirtatious line, had already scripted out a response for herself to prevent either of them from traveling too far down memory lane—and instead, Tiago was injured. The shock of it took her breath away more successfully than any attempts at seduction. 

She didn’t think he was lying. It was years too late for some kind of desperate ploy, and he knew her better than to think—Halcyon shut those thoughts down, focusing on Tiago instead. His voice didn’t sound right. The strain, the stumbling over his words: those things didn’t belong to him. 

It was enough that the old nickname slipped by unnoticed, at least for now. She’d replay this conversation later, against her better judgement, and it would stand out then—for now, though, it was easier to fall into the professional she was during the day. Allow herself to triage, as if this was any patient. Focus on the rational, rather than the emotional. Halcyon was always best in a crisis. 

“Where are you bleeding?” she said, body on autopilot as she shoved her first aid kit, extra bandages, whatever supplies she might need into a bag. The hospital would have more, but—somehow, she didn’t doubt his threat to figure it out on his own if she didn’t help. He’d always had a knack for stubbornness. She did too, of course. It was part of why they hardly spoke now. 

She closed her apartment door behind her, m.car keys in hand. The route to Jaffa was still easy to remember despite the way she avoided it these days.  “Keep putting pressing on it. I’ll be there soon,” Halcyon promised. “Stay on the call.” It was her turn to request that—demand it, more like. If Tiago hung up, she wouldn’t be able to hear if his breathing changed, if his speech started slurring. In the absence of being there herself already, she needed all the information she could gather. 

[halcyonortiz]

Disease » What does your muse do on a sick day?

It varies—in part because Halcyon’s definition of what requires a sick day varies. She won’t come to work with something infectious, obviously, but she’s more likely to work through warnings signs for her mana veins.

If she’s got a cold or flu, she’s the type to sleep it off. Halcyon loathes being sick, and she’d prefer to knock out and wake up when she feels better.

When she’s forced to take a day off because of mana, she spends the day meditating. She would never tell a patient to cram as much meditation as they could into a single day in order to get it over with, but she’ll try that for herself. Overall, she’s decent enough at managing her mana with cultivation these days—not as well as she could, but well enough that she’s functional. It took her two years to properly heal before, and she’s leery of going too far now. Dull aches and fatigue are acceptable, and she considers them a natural consequence of burning her mana veins. Anything beyond that would necessitate a day off, no matter how begrudgingly. 

Finally, when she had two years straight of sick days, she did Tiago.

[halcyonortiz]

date/time: oct 30; 19:45 ​ location: the hospital @credinaa​

technically, halcyon’s shift is over. it’s been over. she isn’t the only one working late today though, thanks to whoever dosed the stalls this afternoon at the festival. so, here she is, recording yet another set of vitals from an unlucky attendee. at least it seems the end is in sight now, as this check comes back as stable as the last few. it’s a relief when she can cut the stream of mana from the monitor, even if her arms still ache afterwards.

even the most affected of their patients started clearing up at the six hour mark. she files that information away for now—and it’s a slim file. they know so little about dorian in general, and nothing at all about how it will affect leorans in the long term.

“still no more hallucinations, jaina?” halcyon asks, glancing down at her patient. the young beastkin woman shakes her head, and halcyon checks the time. “it’s been nearly two hours since you last reported one. i think we can send you home, if you’re feeling alright. would you like me to call anyone for you?”

that’s how she ends up here: now nearly four hours past when she should’ve been home, waiting in the lobby for a starfleet member. it isn’t hard to spot the tall blonde woman matching jaina’s description, and halcyon tries her best to put aside her personal grievances for this interaction. 

“sergeant sasha soverall?” the tension makes her voice tight, despite her best intentions. she’s tired, she’s frustrated, and she didn’t have to worry about illicit substances and mass drugging before the collective came to leora. she’s no fan of the starfleet, but surely preventing these substances from entering the leoran market is part of their role? this sergeant is just one member of the starfleet, but she’s the one in front of halcyon now. 

halcyon clears her throat. “my name is doctor ortiz. you must’ve received my message. we’ve had one of your students here for observation after today’s incident. she seems to be alright, but she wanted you to be the one to take her home. evidently her parents are back on her home planet.” splitting families across different planets for the sake of the starfleet; halcyon doesn’t bother hiding how she feels about that. 

[russovito]

local time: thursday, 03 november 2022. 18:45 location: south sotiris. hunter’s warren vito russo + @halcyonortiz​

Pain means very little to Vito Russo. The sensation is more of a constant companion than it is a warning to stop; something he has never questioned or thought too much about. He’s at the hunter’s warren again, his desire for real training, for violence, having grown stronger the longer he’s been trapped on this planet. Though he has kept his desire for action constrained, he’d needed an outlet, and sparring at the warren has done an apt job of releasing tensions built up over weeks of listless activity.

Today, he’s chosen to focus on staff training. While the beastkin would never use a bo staff in actual combat (or at least, he hasn’t thus far in life), changing out his weapons and showcasing different fighting styles is what keeps the hunters interested in training with him. Being an outworlder was enough the first few times he’d dropped by, but his various fighting techniques are what made him a welcome guest in the warren. Leorans as a whole may be kind and welcoming, but Vito has seen quite a lot of hopeful Starfleet soldiers given the cold shoulder by this community. He’d set out to make a name for himself, against Theran’s orders, and he’d done a good job of it.

Trading blows with his partner for the hour, the beastkin blocks an overhead attack from their staff with the middle of his own and, using the opening they’ve created by swinging too broadly, steps inside their guard. Swinging his own staff down towards his opponent’s neck, Vito uses his leading leg to buckle their knee, sending the pair crashing to the dirt. As they land, his opponent’s staff sails out of his hands, leaving him defenseless as the outworlder kneels over him, staff positioned in a way that clearly indicates he’s won the spar. Grinning, Vito takes the staff off the man’s throat and stands up, offering to help the other to his feet. 

Both men laughing, they shake hands before Vito signals he’s done for the day, holding up his off-hand when asked for a reason. Bent at a strange angle, his index finger is very clearly broken and beginning to swell. Wincing in sympathy, the hunter asks him when he’ll be back and he gives a small shrug, stating he’ll probably take a day off and return on Saturday. 

Walking over to the rack he’d borrowed the bo staff from, Vito gently replaces the weapon before moving off to the side, making room for the next pair who want to use the sparring ground. He leans against an outdoor table a few meters away and, with a sharp tug and a hissed intake of breath, he pops the finger back into place like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Leaning against the table, he takes a deep breath before leaning over to pick up his bag. Dumping it on the table, he begins to rifle around with his good hand, looking for a splint and a few bandages he can use to wrap the finger while his nanites get to work repairing the bone.  

[halcyonortiz]

Halcyon’s no hunter, but it isn’t uncommon to find her in their warren. Leora has its dangers, and their hunters are more likely than most to encounter them. This evening’s injury is simple to treat, at least—as far as Coleobrizi scratches go, she’s seen much worse. 

Despite the young hunter’s tale, she highly doubts he faced an entire pack. His arm would be in much worse shape if that were true. She keeps her opinion to herself though, cleans and bandages his wound, and packs up to leave for the night. 

Leaving means walking past the sparring grounds. She recognizes most of the people inside, although her gaze catches on the translator pin clipped to one of the unfamiliar ones. Increasingly, she sees those everywhere—evidently even in the warren.

As she’s watching, the man pours his bag out onto the table. It wouldn’t interest her, except for the fact that he seems to be digging for medical supplies. She pauses, lingering long enough by the door to realize his finger is bent at a painful angle. It’d be painful for a Leoran, at least. Given the similarities in their form, she assumes the same is true for the outworlder. 

He can’t actually be planning to splint his finger in the middle of the warren, right? By himself? She’s well aware that the outworlders don’t have the same communal values that the Leorans do, but given all their technology, they must have medical staff. They must at least help each other with things like this.

Unfortunately, though, that’s exactly what he’s doing.  

Her instincts win out. “Hey!” she calls out, in the same tone of voice she might use to admonish a particularly disastrous patient. Because, ultimately, that’s what this man’s become in her eyes. Without waiting to see if she’s caught his attention, Halcyon makes her way across the room.

The outworlder is taller than she is—not by much, but enough that she has to angle slightly upwards to fix him with her most authoritative glare. “What are you doing?” She gestures towards his finger, where it’s perfectly obvious what he planned to do. The last thing she needs is someone teaching the hunters to bring desperate field medicine back into society with them. “You know we have medics on this planet, right? Let me see it.”

[halcyonortiz]

nov 2nd; 1:38am / @tiagoixora​

Halcyon’s implant alerted her to the incoming call first. The name flashed across her vision next, unexpected even in its familiarity. She paused, book in hand forgotten, and refreshed the notification. The text across her interface remained the same, confirming that it said exactly what she thought it had.

Incoming call, Tiago Ixora. Would you like to accept or decline? 

Was there a word for unwanted nostalgia? The kind that snuck up on her now, despite her best intentions? This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself here, Tiago’s name lighting up her UI long after they both should’ve been peacefully asleep. Unlike years past, though, Halcyon had a shift at the hospital waiting for her in the morning. She had her life back, and Tiago wasn’t part of it anymore. 

So, whatever their reason for reaching out tonight—and given the hour, her traitorous mind could supply some ideas—she needed to decline his call. And she was going to, right until the point where she selected accept instead. 

This was always her issue: she could think something through, but that didn’t guarantee she would follow her own plan. 

“Why are you calling?” she said as soon as the line connected, instead of the cursory hello. Terse, as if that could undo the fact that she’d still picked up the damn phone. 

[halcyonortiz]

october ask meme:

Abandonment  » How would your muse win back someone who left them?

Blood  » What’s the worst injury your muse has ever had?

Boogeyman  »  What was your muse’s greatest fear as a child?

Change  »  What was a turning point in your muse’s life?

Closet Monsters  »  Does your muse hide aspects of their life from others?

Clowns  »  Does your muse prefer comedy? Or horror?

Crowds  »  What does your muse think of industrial cities?

Curses  »  Does your muse believe in luck? How about karma?

Death  »  Name one thing your muse has lost that they wish they could get back.

Disease  »  What does your muse do on a sick day?

Dolls  »  Has your muse ever collected something?

Failure  »  Has your muse ever given up on an important dream?

Falling  »  What does your muse think about falling in love or commitment?

Fire  »  Would your muse rather be very cold, or very hot?

Getting Old  »  Would your muse rather live 50 years loved, or 200 years alone?

Ghosts  »  Has your muse ever seen something they couldn’t explain?

Heights  »  Is your muse a risk-taker?

Insects  »  Name something your muse finds gross or annoying.

Mirrors  »  What is your muse’s least favorite thing about their appearance?

Needles  »  Does your muse have a strong stomach?

Noise  »  Name one sound your muse finds absolutely unbearable.

Number 13  »  Does your muse believe any superstitions?

Snakes  »  Would your muse ever keep an unusual/exotic pet?

Social Phobia  »  Does your muse enjoy family gatherings?

Solitude  »  Name 3 things your muse couldn’t live without.

Spiders  »  Does your muse squish bugs or put them outside?

The Dark  »  Did your muse sleep with a nightlight as a child?

The Unknown  »  Is your muse a philosophical person?

Tight Space  »  Does your muse fear they’re not living up to their own potential?