He does something that's supposed to be a smile.

"Thank you. We have a system down pretty slick. It won't accomodate irregularities cleanly. Unless you have emergency room experience, you'd do better helping who you can out there. But if you know how triage works so we can focus on other stuff that would help a lot. We'll give you what we can if you help out, too."

"I do not have experience that looks remotely like what is going on in there; I am not used to having more tools than bandages and the occasional stick.  Field medicine - worse, battlefield medicine, though I do unrelatedly have some skill in chemistry, if there's aught that needs brewing.  I am familiar with the overall principle of triage, but do not know the specific guidelines that you are using."

"Uhh... No, please don't brew shit and expect us to use it. There's manufacturing standards, stuff gets hermetically sealed and sterilized, to reduce the risk of infection as much as possible. People donate stuff, we buy stuff. If you have any familiarity at all, might be worth training you up for it- Hold on-"

Someone's come running up to him, blood all over his bandaged arm. Blue Hat speaks calmly and investigates, is it just the bleeding, does he feel lightheaded, is he on drugs (he is, apparently, a whole bunch of painkillers, and shouts pointedly at the woman coming after him that it's fucking stupid to not tell your doctor stuff like that). He speaks calmly and smoothly triages him with an orange tag and spends a moment reassuring him that the doctors will see him as soon as more urgent cases have been cleared out. And then they clear away to the second-closest waiting area.

"-Yeah, uh, fuck, I don't know how to test for triage capability on zero notice, actually."

...She is going to take a minute to think of what to say next, because now is not the time for complicated wordsmithing.  (Why, yes, she is exactly the sort of person who would write shorter letters, if only she had the time.)

"...If your triage procedure is written down in sufficient detail to be translated from scholar into soldier, I am absolutely certain I can pick it up quickly; the primary nature of my prior career was almost entirely 'understand and apply a vast body of rules that you didn't already know on very short notice', and everything else was - trained ad-hoc.  Otherwise I may need to study it for a little while first.  Or you can give me a stack of splints and throw me at the broken bones.  That would also save doctor-hours."

"We gotta get people to rest areas, we gotta disinfect the wounds, we- There's more to it than just splinting, head. Anyway, uh, sure." He suppresses a yawn, then takes out a small pill bottle and swallows a little purple pill. "Okay, right. I think combat medic is like a six month course, but whatever."

He goes for a crate and searches for a bit, then digs out a tattered booklet: FIRST AID AND TRIAGE FIELD GUIDE, Ohio National Army, Rev. 2144.

"Here. Triage for jarheads. We follow eye-set, that's the International Standard for Emergency Triage, chapter three and four, considering ourselves to have a level 2 scarcity of medical supplies. With only a couple of changes, GSWs get prioritized somewhat, potentially violent individuals get prioritized somewhat and get more sedatives, we don't want them hanging around being in pain."

"I know it's not all splints.  I just know I know splints, and know I may not know other things that you might normally expect me to know.  My one accreditation is as a lawyer; the rest is all - lessons of painful experience, and attempts to avoid the same."

And then, he is the Focus of her Full Attention as he Declares Important Information.

(When you look into Fatebinder Ophelia Vaudelle's eyes, you see her like she sees you, and you see yourself in her reflection.  Some people have cried tears of joy.  Some people have cried tears of guilt.  This time it may be tears of sorrow.)

"ISET chapters three and four, under a level 2 shortage of supplies."  And a critical shortage of doctors, she does not add.  "Additionally you are prioritizing GSWs and patients who are a risk of violent behavior, and preferring higher sedative doses on patients who are or may become violent.  I hear and understand.  ...Give me thirty minutes.  Thank you."

And she will just start committing those to memory really quick - drawing, no, etching out a flowchart on what is clearly not even notepaper but is instead wax in a case, as she goes.

(Triaging will also give her the opportunity to pass things off as less-horrible wounds than they should have been!  She's very glad of it.)

Triage Guy seems to relax a little bit.

"...I do appreciate that you want to help. More kind souls like this are... Yeah. It's just I almost want to warn you away, it'll suck you in and consume you. But these people need help."

Aaaaand back to work.

The first aid manual seems to be what she is looking for. It spells out exactly what all of its acronyms and assumptions are in dead simple language, with checklists and the occasional table. For examples, GSWs are Gun-Shot Wounds. (The warning and accompanying diagram about not extracting a bullet unnecessarily lest you cause even more bleeding tells her that guns are essentially crossbows that go Bang.) There are lots of photographs and diagrams. This is how to apply a bandage. This is how to set a simple fracture. This is how to use Activated Enzyme Skin Sealant and Regrowth Solution (which everyone calls Dermal Glue instead). This is how to tie a splint. This is how to apply a detoxification nanite shot (a finger-sized vial with a ring of thin spikes). Prioritize getting your patients stable enough to move the fuck out of here (in politer terms) to safety and better care. This is how triage works. There are a bunch of acronyms and mnemonics meant to be used to remember what to prioritize even under stress.

"I've been long since consumed by duty; at least this is a straightforwardly beneficial one."

She rather figured the metal things with triggers like crossbows that otherwise looked kind of like dartblowers were a projectile weapon; it's good to know the name, though.

Very familiar set of priorities, this; the emphasis on sanitation as a means of preventing infection is very interesting.

And with the acronyms hanging in her mind like a constellation of sparkling stars, and the time spent observing Blue Hat, she will offer to start handling intake, though she thinks it would be a good idea for him to keep an eye on her work for a bit.

Oh, he definitely will keep an eye on her work. But if he can sit on a chair and drink water while she does it and she doesn't make any crippling errors in the first two minutes, that's already helpful-ish.

Then she will do triage!  She has a good clinical manner, firmly resolute - and a decent eye for when and how to code-switch, though she has to pick up the relevant slang as she goes.

(She most definitely does not make any crippling errors in the first two minutes, either.)

Another volunteer calls for Blue Hat- "Francis!" apparently- And he runs off to help deal with someone who's lying on an operating table.

People continue arriving for triage. Francis doesn't come back. Though a few minutes later someone else does, a woman, and asks if she's good to keep it up for a while? It's bad, today.

"I'll do what I can.  Depends on how long; I've had a day," said with a very weary overtone, "before all this.  But I can keep myself functioning for a watch or so before it becomes an unacceptable tradeoff.  Oh, excuse me - for around eight hours more, I think."

She makes a tradeoff in subtlety versus effectiveness, and starts routinely bolstering the high-priority groups with both Vigor and Life, as best she can - and also the doctors, when they're close enough.

They close up at 7 o'clock and everyone heads back into the slums except for a few guards, so that's fine. Anyone who has an emergency at night, sadly, is mostly out of luck. Heck, there aren't any ambulances out here either. Anyway. It's getting on to evening now, so... Three more hours, that is. And if she needs a break they won't blame her.

"Three hours I can most certainly do."

She is honestly surprised that this place closes.  It doesn't seem the type.

(...She can't become the Orphan Midwife.  Not if she wants to properly save the world from itself.  She is tempted to, nonetheless.)

They'd stay open all the time if they had more slack! They have to rotate people out all the fucking time anyway because no single volunteer can handle two days in a row of this except Dr. Anno. They just can't pay even as much as St. Joes, and it's a lot less safe out here.

...Maybe she will raise Dr. Anno to the Orphan Midwife's Archonate, or to the Sigil of Vigor.  The bones of a good story are there.

"...How often does danger come calling, here?"  The question is asked in a surprisingly soft tone, as if she's approaching a spooked animal.

Serious attacks? Basically never, there's some sort of gentleman's agreement. Tower doesn't come calling, the smugglers stay out of sight like always, Pumas take care of themselves, anarchists want to lay low almost as much as the smugglers, and small local crews aren't seriously threatening. But there's always some trouble on any given day. Fights breaking out among the patients. Drug-seekers stealing shit or going a little crazy. People trying to use the Mercy Crew as a shield from their own issues.

"I'm good at arbitrating otherwise-irreconcilable disputes, if they can be caught before the fights start.  ...Pumas?"

"The biker gang? Right, you're new in town. They ride motorcycles, live and breathe them, and make a solid living as escorts and couriers. Always dress in black, and have this face paint- They're hell on anyone who fucks with them, which can be a narrow and unpredictable line, but they famously don't hold grudges. You get punched and then you get forgotten about."

"Oh, those guys.  I'd been wondering.  ...Did I tell you I was new here or was that just the rumor mill?"

"Rumor mill, I guess. The girl with the red hair and fractured ulna from maybe half an hour ago mentioned it." The nurse shrugs. "I'd better get back to it. Thanks, I'll see what we can give you for helping out like this."

"Honestly I'd be glad enough of a place to bunk down for the night that has an actual bunk.  Just because I can camp out out there, doesn't mean I necessarily want to.  And - you're already trying to scrape by; I don't want to tax you further."

"We leave the tents overnight, yeah. And we try to compensate volunteers in cash or leftover supplies- Easier to get more if we 'use' it all- But not most of the gear. That goes to a lockup overnight. Sleeping on one of the patient beds should be fine? I'll ask Dr. Anno or Specs if I get them for a moment." And the nurse walks off.

Things slacken considerably as evening wears on. Her ""triage"" is turning the day into an unusually good one.

Dr. Anno comes over eventually. He moves like he knows exactly where he is going and what he's doing at all times.

"It's Ophelia, I believe? First, thank you. I thank all our volunteers. It's a dire thing to do, and a shameful state compared to the America of old, but anyone with the compassion to help the needy is a fine person in my book. I'm Dr. Anno."

"Doctor Anno."  She will do an appropriately respectful gesture, if she knows which one to use by now; she defaults to a small but perfectly crisp bow, hands clasped over her heart, otherwise.  "It is a pleasure to meet you and furthermore my pleasure to help as best I can - and, yes, Ophelia is my given name, though I may also respond to Kyra."