Clarice, Sharon: Decontamination

[xp_catseye]

Sharon is brought to the mansion, and it's determined that Clarice's duties as physician assistant apparently extend to flea dips.



Hauling a bucket and hose out to the back of the building, Clarice got everything set up along with a portable privacy screen. She had never expected that one of the things she would have to do as a PA would be a flea bath. She wasn't an animal groomer! "Sharon!" she called, "Time to take care of the fleas!"

From the corner of the privacy screen there was a noise that could only be characterized as a growl. The exam with Voght had been interesting, particularly since Sharon had never had one before, but even allowing for the necessity of what was about to happen some instincts were simply too strong to overrule. She lashed her tail, every greasy hair on her body starting to rise.

"Don't like it," Sharon said, flatly. "Use topical medication. I will stay outside until they die."

"Yeah, that's not really how it works," Clarice answered, pulling her scrubs off and revealing a one piece bathing suit. Tossing them to the side, she regarded the other woman. Cat. "If you stay out here, even with flea treatment, they'll likely keep coming back. But if we hit them hard now and then you keep up topical treatments after this, it's a one and done. I get you don't like it and that's okay, but you still have to do it."

Sharon emitted a wordless mwrowwwl that somehow managed to translate to the human brain as profanity. Nonetheless, she edged forward. A gallon of flea and tick shampoo had been hastily purchased from a pet supply store and had been laid out nearby. Sharon gave the jug a tentative sniff and whipped back with a hiss. "Smells like hardwood floor cleaner," she complained.

"That it does," Clarice agreed. Really, she understood. This sucked. But it was medically necessary. Turning on the hose and getting it running how she wanted she began spraying Sharon gently, getting her body wet and used to it before her head, "You're welcome to complain all you want, but if I can make this easier or faster, I want to. And I've got some body spray for after that hopefully smells better," nothing fancy, but hopefully she'd like it.

Sharon's response was a plaintive yowl. She sat down on her haunches, instantly rendering the back of her hind legs inaccessible, and began to escalate in volume. Her hands worried at the grass anxiously.

Squirting plenty of flea killer on where she could reach, Clarice began scrubbing with what was hopefully a nice massage. "It's like this," she started, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's your decision, but it will be done. There's nowhere to run or hide that I can't find or get to. And I worked in an ER. You have no idea what shit people do. Often with their own shit."

The cat sneezed in a way that somehow managed to sound dismissive. "Disagree. In nine weeks on the streets I have seen many creative applications. That is what happens when you lose the evolutionary instinct to bury your feces." She declined to tell Clarice that the slow, steady pressure of her ministrations actually felt somewhat pleasant; it had been a long time since she'd had hands on her. The sensation of her entire body being weighed down by wet fur, however, was legitimately miserable. She automatically moved to lick her shoulder and instantly spat at the chemical taste of the shampoo. Grudgingly, she shifted to give Clarice better access and half-heartedly began to scrub at herself as well.

"You are a tracker?" Sharon asked, still sulking. She peered at the other woman and tried to discern any physical mutations beyond the obvious. "Enhanced sense of smell? Extrasensory perceptions?"

Oh good, Sharon was choosing the easier way to do things, "I'm a teleporter. I can go anywhere in the world, nothing can keep me out," except mountains. She couldn't teleport into anything solid. Or caves. Because caves were terrifying and she refused. "So. Telepath finds you, I get you. Which doesn't mean you aren't free to come and go, you just can't have fleas inside."

"Teleporter," mused Sharon. She turned to study Clarice again, running yellow eyes over the older woman with shameless directness. "No physical adaptations beyond coloration? Fascinated to meet another purple mutant. Not a natural color for mammals. In birds and insects, a result of structures rather than pigmentation. Serves some UV-blocking purpose for us, like anthocyanins in plants, maybe? A mystery."

"Still susceptible to radiation," Clarice replied, "though, you're right. I don't really tan with UV rays. Or burn. There's a new guy here, person. They're also purple. Up until now, I've been the only purple person I've known of," she wasn't going to mention the other version of Catseye she'd known previously. They hadn't been close, but also, she only had purple hair or fur, she wasn't a purple person like Clarice and Madin.

"Another? Would be interested in meeting them as well. Maybe purple is an especially advantageous adaptation. Curious." Sharon twitched her tail for a moment more under Clarice's hands -- and then, suddenly, bolted for freedom in a stream of sopping fur and medicinal shampoo.

Sighing, Clarice opened a portal in front of the giant cat girl and immediately brought her back, grabbing her hair and twisting harshly so she wouldn't try that again, "Don't be a dumbass," she growled, "I'm friendly and nice so long as you behave. Do that again and I'll dump you in the lake and then you'll be wet, gross and you'll have to do this again. Capiche?"

Sharon countered Clarice's growl with a sulky one of her own, but the actual scruffing didn't seem to be causing her offense. "You said you were a teleporter," she grumbled. "I wanted to see." Now that her future was inevitable, Sharon resumed her half-hearted scrubbing. "Flea dip seems like a waste of your talents," she observed.

"I'm also the Physician's Assistant in the medlab," Clarice grumbled right back, "And it is. But at this point, it's considered medicinal, so, here I am. Make me do this again and I'll make sure it's even worse. Anything I need to know health- wise? I'm not a vet, but I can get access to books and stuff if needed."

A purple tail lashed. "After the last few weeks I expect nutritional deficiencies. Possibly anemia from flea infestation. Dr. Voght took blood. Never had an exam before, very curious to see results. Pending ova and parasite test as well. Hopefully no intestinal hitchhikers."

God. What a mess. "Well, I guess I know what I'm reading before bed tonight," she was not looking forward to that, but needs must. "Well, once you're clean and we get the blood work back, we'll do a full exam and get you all sorted. A couple days won't make much difference," she released Sharon's hair, giving her more room to move now.

"No rush as long as I am fed," Sharon agreed. "How long does this have to set?" The subtext was, how long do I have to stand here dripping into the grass?

"You're good," Clarice said, turning the hose on again to wash it out. When she was fairly certain Sharon was flea shampoo free, she pulled out the regular shampoo. Nothing fancy, but it was hopefully better than the flea stuff, "This will hopefully smell better. And get the last of the dirty and gross that isn't fleas off."

The cat was staring at the suds now soaking into the earth. "You can see the fleas swarming off me. Squirming their little legs." She curled her lip. "I am disgusted."

Sighing, Clarice made a face, "And this is why we insisted on the torture. It sucks, but in the end, better to not have the creepy crawlies living in you," she pauses, squirting a liberal amount of shampoo on Sharon, "Well, at least the ones that aren't supposed to live on you."

The answering grumble was mostly for show. There seemed no other option but to obey a woman with not only medical training, but a mutant ability to very specifically thwart escape attempts. Sharon saw no choice but to go limp and accept her fate

Until the flea comb, anyway.