[color=00aeef]FRIEDA RICHTER[/color] -- Salem clinic - early afternoon

"Its a nasty gash she got from that creature...but yes, she should be fine with proper treatment. I'll need to clean and examine her wound better as quickly as possible."  Arthur's voice was level and professional.  It was one of the most comforting sounds Frieda could ever hear.  He turned to scrub up and grab some supplies.

Frieda leaned over Brandy, watching her chest rise and fall shallowly.  "Doc's going to get you fixed up, just hang in there."

A figure drew up to Frieda.  She turned to say something to the doc but instead was met with the image of Ace, clutching his midsection and looking worse for wear.  She jumped.  "You gotta stop doing that to me, Ace, or some day I'm going to shoot you."

In his daze and shock, Ace didn't seem to hear her.  "Oh my god... hey doc, is she going to be alirght?"

Arthur took a once-over Ace, paused very briefly, then replied.  "She'll be okay," he replied slowly and calmly, "But uh...why don't you have a seat over there Ace? Take it easy..." He walked over and helped him over to one of the Clinic's chairs.

"Frieda, can you start treating Brandy? She may need a shot of Med-X to start...I need to take a look at Ace first and then I'll be right there."

Frieda sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve.  "Sure, of course."  She knelt down and retrieved the chem from the small stockpile of supplies that Arthur had gathered next to Brandy's cot.  She pulled the blanket back then jammed the needle into Brandy's thigh, through her pantleg.  Frieda watched Brandy's reaction, which was first to tense, then relax.  She dabbed some sweat off her friend's brow.

Frieda stepped back to let the doctor do his good work.  She glanced around the clinic for an immediate task but saw none.  Movement out the window and down the street caught her eye.  It was Waylon and the woman who helped her from beneath the deathclaw, coming from the direction of the inn, and dragging...a deathclaw.  Frieda's stomach dropped at the scene, but she swallowed it down.

"Hey, there's Brandy's friends.  They might want to know she's been hurt, but she's okay.  I'll be right back."  Frieda stepped out of the clinic then jogged towards Waylon and the woman, waving them down.

"Waylon, hey!  Brandy's hurt, but she's in the clinic now, the doc's going to stitch her up.  She should be okay, but I thought you might want to know."  She turned to the woman dragging the deathclaw and briefly hesitated offering her hand, then realized she had dirt and some of Brandy's dried blood on it, anyway.  "I didn't really get to thank you, back there.  I'm Frieda...Richter.  Frieda Richter."  She cleared her throat, feeling overwhelmingly awkward.

"Ah, anyway, I should get back to the clinic.  And, uh, dinner, later, still, yes, right?" she stammered, addressing Waylon.

[i]You're embarrassing yourself, stop embarrassing yourself...![/i]

Frieda clapped her hands together.  "Okay!  See you folks around."  She turned on her heel and galloped off back to the clinic, feeling like a total ass.  An image of her brother popped into her mind, smirking at her.  She re-entered the clinic, when her eyes locked on to the mess at the back door.  [i]That'll help.[/i]

"Let me know if you need anything.  I'm going to try and clean up that mess at the back, there."  Frieda approached the ruined back door and took a deep breath, wondering how or where to start.  A small pile of rubble had gathered on the floor.  [i]Might as well start small.[/i]  She stooped and began tossing the rubble outside.