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Post by ollieander on Sept 25, 2017 21:05:46 GMT -8
His jaws and fists clenched together, his glare pierced Adeney's goggles. He looked like an absolute animal in this state; disrobed, shaggy, and riddled with wounds. He even began to act like one.
Without an argument, his fists fell open at his sides and his gaze was lowered. Marcel realized he couldn't tell Adeney what he saw- he wouldn't be believed. Perhaps they would even lock him up with the insane. So instead, the leper gathered his remaining strength to drag his feet back across the floor to the cot. He rested himself down gently at first, before his weight toppled him onto his side.
"Fine," he agreed with disgust on his face.
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Post by black379 on Sept 25, 2017 21:35:16 GMT -8
Easier than he imagined, the patient finally conceded. Adeney returned to the bedside once more to overlook the ragged man. Marcel's flesh appeared to be marred with burns, cuts, blisters and other such sores - a veritable convention of lesions. Some of his wounds were old and some were new, still others had already been tended to, freshly wrapped no doubt by Silvant. Adeney allowed a small smile on his lips since it would go unseen anyways. "Unless it becomes necessary I won't drug you. I can't know what your body may be averse to in its condition." A prescription was usually only to relieve one's symptoms anyways, and Adeney was the kind to pull the weeds from the roots. "But I will begin lancing these boils. And it will hurt." The doctor offered, as though the forewarning was any solace. Shifting his eyes right then left, he scoured the area for something before finally unbuckling his belt. His trousers remained fitting as they were - the belt was for fastening pouches, his mask, or other utilities more than holding his pants in place. He extended the leather belt toward his bedraggled patient. "You'll need to bite down on something."
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Post by ollieander on Sept 28, 2017 18:33:43 GMT -8
Marcel's gaze was set on Adeney's goggles, then trailed down his arm to the belt that was extended out to him. He blinked once then looked back up to Adeney as if he was out of his mind.
"Opium," he said simply, before he rolled onto his back. He rested his forearm over his stomach and closed his eyes again, attempting to relive how it felt to be high. "It works..."
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Post by ContinuumBlamesVan on Sept 30, 2017 2:45:51 GMT -8
/Ulysses/
Self-control: check. Poise: check. The chains that bound and kept it all slumbering: check. They were inspected again, and again, and again, and then were tightened. That there were broken links was noted with horror, and was immediately addressed with as many hefting patches and the applications of any remaining shackles that were available. It was an absolute patchwork and shoddy job, but anything actually significant would have to wait; public was not the place to space out in quiet and sometimes eerie self contemplation. He didn't even register any of the attempted sarcasm or dismissiveness of the white-haired nuisance, but he did register that the man was now being seen to, and that he was in desperate need of something to drink and eat. Not necessarily in that order, but both were a high priority now. And to do that-
He reached down to his belt and stopped. His small notepad was not there. Where had- he saw it. Of course, because all of reality hated him, the lupine wastrel possessed it. This posed the problem of how to retrieve what was rightly his property, and more than that, the closest thing he had to a voice anymore- and that irked him again minutely, in a way that it had not in years. Other plans and schemes were disposed of, his irritation galvanizing his actions further, as he marched over to the woman, and in a display of surprising celerity for a supposedly old man, swiped his belongings back. The shield and its emblems were on display a moment longer, before he removed the thing and attached it to a loop on his belt, the old thing removed from view as he instead wrote a message, and, in an exceedingly rare gesture, tore out the page and put it where his notepad had been only moments ago.
He patted the wounded man gently, motioning for him to get well, and that they should treat him well. The motions were sort of confusing, but there was something about the people being. . .something about small people, patched up-. . .It was hard to tell, but it was clearly encouragement. He waved as he headed for the door, the shield clanking slightly with each step. His parting words were scrawled out, in his usual neat handwriting:
"Your companion will be fine, Occhi. On the other hand, thanks to you two, I need a drink, and then have a lesson to teach. Good day." The laundry and cleaning would have to wait.
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Post by relentless on Sept 30, 2017 4:24:44 GMT -8
Villon managed a smirk through the veils of pulsing pain, turning around stiffly as he leaned against the counter. "Pah, 'ard to tell if you're pushing up daisies or a walking corpse. Either way, another hike for me to save your arse again, and I'll have to push up daisies as well just to get you out!" Villon smiled casually, though he winced again and bit his tongue, breathing sharply through his nose before staring at her again.
"Anyway, don't let me keep yah lass. I'll be-" He paused again as the wound bit at him ever more so,making him lurch back a little. He held down on the damaged leather vest that had been burnt and blackened by the grenade, and after a hard press, he removed his hand and took a shaky breath, weaker this time. "I'll be just dandy." Villon reassured, before twitching as the mute touched him, though he calmed down as he realised it was an effort to comfort him. He didn't understand what the hand gestures were, but he could only assume he was trying to be kind.
"..Thanks, little man." Villon mumbled toward him as he walked away, and now that he was slowly fading both physically and mentally, he leaned back against the counter and looked around for a nurse, or anyone really, to get him to a room and get the wound sorted.
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Post by ollieander on Sept 30, 2017 4:41:57 GMT -8
As if on cue, the doctor rounded the corner to the front lobby of the sanitarium. She was short, almost all of her features covered by baggy cloth. Her face was concealed by one of those plague masks, her eyes obscured by tinted goggles. The only things that really identified her were her voice and half-up hair.
Silvant watched as the mute departed, then stared between the woman and the man. He seemed in pain by the way he held himself at the counter, but she still wondered if the others needed any treatment as well.
After staring for a long minute, the doctor shuffled up close to the pair but kept her attention at the receptionist.
"I'll help these two, and... doctor Mercier is helping with Madron currently... Could... Could you red-dot him, please?" Her stomach sank after her last question, guilt gnawing at her mind. Still, there was nothing more she could do, but hope for the other patient's recovery, but that wasn't likely. The most she could do now was spur longevity elsewhere, and this is when she turned to Villon and Taas.
"What happened?" Silvant asked first, not caring to catch their names at the moment. Formalities can be had later, she needed to know the circumstances her patient was under first.
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Post by black379 on Sept 30, 2017 8:57:55 GMT -8
Adeney looked on the leper with a hint of irritation, though he supposed it wasn't unusual for his patients not to be wholly cooperative. The fault was in the subject, he decided. He was always routine in his doctoring, even if a little unconventional. There was only a small hope that in time he might be appreciated for his work rather than given petty instruction and second-guessing, from the patient themselves no less. "I have none on my person." The doctor sighed and squinted at the scarred man resting in the cot. The opiates would at least keep Marcel from fighting him. "I trust you will still be here when I return." In truth, it was a risk to trust.
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Post by ollieander on Oct 1, 2017 17:10:33 GMT -8
Marcel's eyes closed, only his lips seemed to be animated: "Yes," he hissed, then scrunched his brow together with irritation. He just wanted for the room to be silent again, devoid of any noise so he can focus on his thoughts. It occurred to him that he had no recollection of how exactly he had ended up here, or much of anything of the past week...
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Oct 3, 2017 16:12:39 GMT -8
/Taas/
It was a small test of hers, in the end, to satisfy small curiosities as Lekalis had onc taught her; to poise a situation in a means to gauge a man. Though, she found the labor oft times biased; position someone infront of a slain loved one, and they'll oft seek vengeance, no matter their caliber.
The test, though, somewhat similar; gave some idea as to what she wanted to know of Ulysses. She stole his new tongue, and here now, he stepped boldly forward and- with a small grunt from herself -took his notebook back. Taas' good and scalded eye flicked over to look at Ulysses for a moment, before she shrugged and watched his hands. She massaged her shoulder, and slid out the crumpled paper, glancing over it halfwise before lurching forward and snapping her arm out, grabbed Ulysses' bracered forearm with mimed dexterity; catching him at the elbow, above the wolfish regalia set on the metal.
For a moment, she let him know her thoughts; she'd guessed his name before he gave her the papers: her eye squinted, and she gave an intimate, or perhaps intimidating squeeze on his elbow. Tighter than even her own burly frame deigned, testing his bones, his meat and armor. Impressing upon the flesh beneath. She knew his story, or at least, the more pleasing tales: her smile widened, boyishly on her long, scarred face, pulling the burned tissue grotesquely while the other less charred flesh pulled away to flare a glimmer of wolfish teeth. Hungry for glory, and story. At last, she shrugged, indifference unspoken; though nudged him with her padded shoulder all the same in friendly closeness before she raised the man's bracer for one last, knowing, glance at its regalia. It wouldn't be found anywhere else, in any other condition. She knew this.
With a satisfied 'huff', she lightly let go of the man's hand with a toss as she pulled her hands over to hook her thumbs into the array of belts across her midsection; adopting a level of masculine scrutiny over the approaching birdy doctor. The mask gave her a conspiratorial pause, and glower, before her good golden eye squinted and smirked; letting her red flesh on her left facing rest as she rose a brow. Giving an all too implied roll of the eye and look to Villon, a salacious smile taking over the smirk as she bumped the ex-Executioner with her elbow. "Oh aye, bit more'n dandy with a tart like that, eh?" She whispered, then chortled nasally, going so far as to stiffle a snort with her hand as the wolfish features of Taas relaxed yet again, and truly owed some weight to the cute nursely doctore. Eyes settling on her with militaristic reliability and experience; and all the wanton lust a soldier would have behind her good eye. Though, her glassy other still stared uncomfortably on without expression, loosely veiled by fittingly loose bandages.
"Ahem--" She jerked her head at Villon, "--Took a grenade t'the chest; sosays a thumb of blackpowder in good iron, barbed shards. Removed the smallest bits for lovely quacks like yourself; biggest ones... well... were..." Taas looked over Villon, rubbing her chin as she eyed the rather blatant, violent wounds. "... You'll find'em." She nodded, smirking as she resumed her report with eyes set on Silvant's waist. "Now, I'll spare you the finer appearances; but we were attacked by monsters, as you'd expect, and he took a good raking on the side." Her hands fit themselves back about her belt, and she lightly swayed on the balls of her feet, glancing back to see if Ulysses had left yet, then went straight back to Silvant's dainty frame.
"Three long rough lacerations--" She produced an all too scandalous, yet callous hand and digit up between her bad eye, and Silvant's lens'd gaze. Her other hand came up and made a thinly veiled innuendo, as she measured out to her first knuckle with an 'o' formed 'tween her thumb and index finger. "-- About yae deep. Foot's long, ish." She shrugged again, and let her hands down with a huff that sent a lock of pale hair floating in the breeze.
"He's a good strong man; but y'might wanna cut to the chase, chummer. Still ripe to maggots if ya don't treat the pesky wound--" She patted her side, where Villon's own long cuts were, "-- There abouts. Think it still has mud in it, whaddyou reckon?" Taas' rose a brow, and looked over to Villon over her shoulder; only just realizing she'd taken a few steps ahead of him, in her theatrics.
//
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Post by ContinuumBlamesVan on Oct 4, 2017 1:28:17 GMT -8
/Ulysses/ Panic. Sheer, bloody panic. As he registered just what she had showed him, just what she knew, even as she felt him up, he knew he was trapped, had been trapped, and worse, he had let himself be. This was no common thug or sellsword- she was the most intelligent, capable, and terrifyingly competent wan he had ever met, he realized as it all writhed and squirmed its way through his body. Even as Taas held onto his arm and made him wince from the pressure, which as she tested she found it to be every bit as solid and muscled as her own, she felt it shift almost imperceptibly, a slowly increasing solidity, something more than the mere tensing of muscles, of increasing thickness of bone and mass. The wide-eyed horror he regarded the white-haired woman with took on a slightly different tone for a split second as his control over his world slipped away, and it was only him and the woman who now held his fate in her claws. Control. It stopped just after she let him go, as he stood transfixed, and took a single step away towards his attempted escape. Which was no escape now: not when she knew. He left, she would tell them all, and ruination would follow. His hands twitched, and he didn't like the option they suggested to him either. That route was closed on principle, and he didn't want to leave the territory either, cesspit that it was. Not when he hadn't found anything, and another deadend was intolerable. The very thought of another failure made that same shiver from earlier pass through him. He looked at the notepad he had been holding; it had been crushed in his contemplation. Excellent, there was a metaphor in there, somewhere. He looked back at Taas, who had turned her back to him and was talking with a nurse. He smoothed out the wrinkled paper. Even as she turned back to look at him, he had taken one step back towards her, then another. Please. He let her finish her reports, and when she was entirely done, he had caught up with her, and subtly took her shoulder. The strength he gripped with easily matched her earlier squeeze, but there was a greater intensity in his, born of desperation. Please. It was another note he showed her, this one suffering in quality both from the paper and how he had written it by pinning it against his knee and scribbling with the one hand he hadn't engaged her with. It was the only thing he could do. "Please, tell no one. I will do whatever you want, but do not tell anyone who I am."
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Post by black379 on Oct 4, 2017 12:27:47 GMT -8
Before turning away, Adeney stood watch as Marcel shut his eyes and shifted, perhaps more comfortably, into the cot. "In the meantime, get some rest." He added anyways and finally set off, sealing the veil that hung around Marcel's bed once more. The patient needed more than sleep, much more to mend his flesh and cure his infirmity. More than drugs too, but if the opium would dissuade the man from fussing, then it was a fair investment.
The red-cloaked doctor traversed the hallway toward the medicinal supplies to procure what was needed. Without distraction he was on his way back soon enough. Lingering outside of the leper's quarantine, he readied the tools on a tray.
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Post by ollieander on Oct 4, 2017 15:44:26 GMT -8
Sheets made up the walls of his new cubicle, effectively sealing him off from the outside world for just a while. At then, it was him and his thoughts, past traumas came to the surface of his mind as he searched his memory for the last time he had consciousness. All he could recall were the sounds of the ocean just beyond the moldy, cold rocks of a place he almost dared to call his home. The taste of sponges, sea weed, raw fish and rot came to his pallet all at once, followed by a dry heave so powerful, it made the leper shrivel onto his side and spasm.
It was as if breathing sterile air reminded his body that the contents it has consumed weren't fitting for the environment any longer. Three heaves and a ho, Marcel successfully reached the corner of the bed where he hung his head over the side. Drool dripped down from his mouth and met the floor below, yet there was no vomit present.
The door closed behind the doctor that had re-entered the room moments later, and it woke the leper from his short doze. The sound of instruments on a tray followed, and the leper only closed his eyes again.
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Post by relentless on Oct 4, 2017 17:11:03 GMT -8
Villon waited patiently as the woman stumbled forward with her plague mask, uttering her quacking terms for a quack herself. He didn't trust her, but it's not like he had a choice either. It's either in the ditch or in the doctors hands. Reluctantly, he chose the latter, his fingers itching against the shaft of his axe out of fear. Villon half expected her to poison him in his sleep, didn't trust the beakpeople one bit.
Course, despite being one of the beckmen, that didn't stop him from chuckling as Taas poked at him. Payback, in a way, for suggesting a partner for Taas. Of course, Villon wouldn't recommend a mute to a warrior of brawn, especially one that has... interesting abilities. Though he'd probably do it again, mainly to spite her and exchange the blow. Yet he would keep silent, since the woman she spoke of was right in front of her, and he didn't want to speak ill manners of a young lady.
He let Taas point out his injuries for him, since speaking had the tendency to draw out bites of pain from the sharpnel slowly killing him. He held onto life, thankfully, but only by sheer will and general stubbornness. He still had drinks to get to, and he'd love to get them as quick as humanly possible.
What's an adventure without a pint at the end? Or, well, several pints in this case.
Villon pipped up as he was finally asked a question, scrambling forward with assistance of the counter, nodding at the Doctor humbly. "Eeerrrm... got flinged about like a fly by some stone cunt, not to mention how many times I've fallen in the mud... or broke a log seat in two." Villon paused as he gave Taas a smile, remembering that odd little moment back there in the camp, before looking back at the doctor. Another wince of pain erupted from Villon, causing him to keel a bit, but he soon straightened up a few seconds later after wheezing, as if he'd been punched in the gut. Producing a harsh cough, he wiped his mouth and stroked his beard, looking off into the distance.
"So quack, you's able to patch this old boat up? I'd much prefer to float, than go sinking. Still got a few ales to slam after saving.." Villon gave a comical wave toward Taas, as if he were portraying a treasured artifact, though he didn't move much. "-The princess of the clouds of course! What with her a handsome boy to care to her every needs!" Villon gave a soft cackle of laughter, smirking to himself as he let out a soft breath of air, followed by further harsh coughing. The coughing began to hurt worse, and it felt like every cough was a dagger being drove into his heart. His face began to show visible lines of immense pain, as noted by the straining of his face, and the clenching of his fist around the axe.
"B-but aye! Can you patch me up, miss?"
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Post by ollieander on Oct 6, 2017 19:31:51 GMT -8
It was a terrible habit of hers, to be curious. Curious of people, their thoughts, their actions, their words; she loved to study them as she was almost always a piece to the background, blending in so easily with her surroundings for she was only a mask to the swarms of patients she would see in a day. It was her favorite ability, as she could only look unsettling with the cockeyed turning of her beak. The doctor kept track of the conversation, and each person's actions towards one another: the mute seemed desperate, the woman liked to taunt, and her new patient showed a hint of jealousy.
The older of the trio began to deteriorate right before her, a step taken back with her hands held out in preparation for his descent, should his legs give. This was the part of the practice that required the most focus out of her: what tools she will need, how much blood he has already lost, risks for infections, if there was a disease in his cough, it all ran through her mind as she stepped to Villon's side and pulled his arm over her shoulder.
"I-I'm going to help," Silvant figured now would be a good time to speak her intentions, as people couldn't read minds, "You can brace against me if you start feeling weak, okay?" Her beak pointed up toward her patient, then swung over the opposite shoulder in a wide arc to acknowledge Taas and Ulysses once again. "If either of you two need help, too, I can have another doctor out here shortly," her beak nodded, confirming her word even if it would go unneeded. Afterward, her mask turned to her patient as she began to escort him down the same hall she had previously walked.
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Post by black379 on Oct 12, 2017 10:04:17 GMT -8
Adeney swatted the veil aside and wheeled the cart up to Marcel's bed. He glowered through the green lenses at the spot of dribble on the stone floor. "Feeling better, are we?" The doctor expected no answer and leaned over the patient, shifting him onto his back once more. He was glad to be sealed beneath his mask and coat and gloves as he got a closer look at the burns and boils that encrusted the ruined man's body. Preparing a spoonful of the laudanum, he slowly raised it to hover near Marcel's mouth. "We'll let this set in before I cut into you. No worries." He endeavored to be reassuring.
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