check in dinner // branwen+marlene
MMc headed your way soon, Emmeline had written. And: I think sheâll be back today or tomorrow, but I donât know for sure. Emme worked on her - not me. She was awake by the end of the night, though, had been Benjyâs statement.Â
By the time Bran and Benjy were done cleaning the Potter House, the early night of February 15th had fallen. Marlene McKinnon, much like Edgar Bones, were both back in the realm of the conscious but the draughts they were given drew back to sleep again and again. That was the downside of magical medicine â it fed on your magic to work, and it could easily drain a Wix, depending on how bad the injury was. This was something Bran had never been taught at nursing school, but something she had realised only a few years back, when her Blacksmith Master Boris, a Squid, had burnt himself in the fire, and the healing potion she had handed him had barely worked. Perhaps it wasnât too bad like this, though, as it allowed Emmeline to take a breather for a while.
Upon readying herself to finally go home, Bran saw a figure by Marleneâs bedside. Approaching, she recognised him as her brother, Alaric, and greeted him with a nod. Due to keeping the medical record of patients private, Emmeline hadnât told Bran what was going on with Marlene, but the reassurance sheâd be back on her feet come tomorrow night was enough to appease Alaric. âHelp me get her home?â heâd asked, and Bran had looked at the garments sheâd been wearing for more that 24 hours now, sweaty, stressful, restless 24 hours, and agreed all the same.Â
After all, what if there were a sudden relapse of her condition? Someone with at least some sort of medical knowledge had to stick around and make sure no one fucked up. So off they went, back to the McKinnonâs Farm, where a collective sigh passed through the refugees when they heard the core of the Dissendium Task Force had returned, was going to be fine. They prepared dinner for her, but she slept through the evening, then the night, the food which Bran brought up to her room and placed on her nightstand remained untouched. Only the water was drunk, eventually, somewhere around four in the morning, and Bran refilled it with a reassured nod.Â
In the morning of the 16th, Alaric returned, and so did Marleneâs parents. âWe take over, take some restâ, theyâd told Bran, and she had scoffed because how dare those farmers tell her what to do! But her skin was sticky, her feet stank, and even the lightest touch hurt to her skin from the exhaustion. One of the refugees, a young mother she had sat next to two nights prior as theyâd waited to hear news from Emmeline via Owl, seemed to read her thoughts, and brought her a new set of clothes. Stiff blue trousers in a rough Muggle material, and a sleeveless shirt with a picture printed on its front which depicted a group of colourful puppets. She stared at the frog in its center for a moment before accepting the offer.
When she returned from her shower, dressed, she received a smile from the mother and her family, and because wearing Muggle clothes was embarrassing already, but being smiled at by Muggleborns was a downright insult, Bran grabbed a large kitchen knife â and helped preparing dinner. The mood wasnât exactly light, but compared to last night when theyâd all but sat in silence around the kitchen table, it was cheerful enough. Had Bran been the one talking last night, demanding for the refugees to not lose hope just now â by Morgana! Such whiny people! â she was the one listening tonight. Listened to the quarelling of wife and husband, listened to the shy guitar someone played in the other room, listened to the stories one child excitedly told her older sibling.
They were about to set the table when a hush fell over the room. Bran turned and found Marlene McKinnon in the doorway. On a scale from fawn to Morgana herself, she was somewhere near âcould be worseâ. The polite, weak-ass smile she gave Bran had her roll her eyes though. In large steps she crossed the room and grabbed Marlene by the shoulder. âYou need a good load of shepherdâs pie,â she said and dragged Marlene (surprisingly gently) over to the table and pulled a chair out. The refugees hurried over to greet her, and so Bran removed herself and didnât look back as she moved back to the oven to deal with the dish.
Marlene might have held herself up on the outside, but rest assured, she was nervous to see Bran get up in full energy from the table and come get her. Her eyes looked her up and down, wondering in the moment what she was going to do, half expecting she was about to get a lecture from her in the middle of the open kitchen and dining room. When all she finally did was mildly grab her by the shoulder and take her over to the table, a cooling sense of relief came over her body.
Shepherdâs pie wasnât exactly her favorite meal, but as she became more aware of her senses, the hunger in Marlene began to loom on her and anything available at this point was what she would need. At the table, all the refugees had begun to call and roar with joy and comfort, to which sheâd respond with phrases such as âIâm feeling better, thank you.â and âItâs nice of you to worry but Iâm okay.â and âIâm glad to be back too.âÂ
It brought a warm sense of comfort to see all these people so worried about her well-being, finishing to escort her to a chair they had saved for her. However, as they continued to bombard her with their questions and concerns, she was beginning to miss the opposing honest force Branâs presence brought into the mix.