Numb Everything

Participants:

Bowen.jpg Cheusia.jpg Max.jpg

Date: 9/13/10 (IC: Following Catch and Release by maybe a couple hours.)
Location: EW: Infirmary
Synopsis: Max and Bowen arrive to seek medical attention while Cheusia is on-duty.
Rating: PG-13 - For language
Logger: Bowen

Eastern Weyr: Infirmary

Long beds and examination tables are placed strategically throughout this room, each having its own set of curtains to give some sembance of privacy when needed. The walls are lined with counters, each housing cabinets containing the necessary items Healers need to do their jobs. A small sink fills the east end of the counter: the one nearest the entrance to the bowl. The entrance is sloped so as not to allow the sun to shine in the patients' faces. At the far west end of the Infirmary, a small darkened tunnel curves around to the larger rooms where the dragonhealers take care of their draconic patients.


This time of night is not entirely the most active time of night in the Infirmary as most of the patients who have to stay over night have all gone off to sleep, only the healers remain awake and on duty, waiting for various emergencies to spring up either from those already present or someone rushing in at night… Despite the fact that they, too, should be sleeping. Of those said healers on nightly duty is Che, settled neatly off to the side and idly reading some sort of healing book, the details of that aren't entirely important, though. All that matters is the silence that lingers in the room only disturbed by the sound of pages turning.

There comes no grumbling or griping as one might expect from a man who is making his way to the Infirmary as Bowen is in his condition. He’s a quiet sort in most instances to begin with, and right now it sort of hurts to move his lips anyway. But the slight thud of one boot followed by the awkward sliding of another one behind it might echo a little up along the stone wall and entrance to the infirmary proper before the unlucky sod arrives. In one hand, a two by four is supporting his weight on a leg that seems increasingly unable to support it. The other hand is empty, but hovering a little near his companion, Max, in case he ends up needing to grab him over some difficult spot. Bowen’s state is certainly nothing to turn most women on, and he’d be the first one to say he should perhaps get beaten to a pulp more often for that bonus if he ever figured that bit out. A large stab wound is bleeding from the thigh, hence the difficulty standing on it, while his face is sporting the beginnings of two black eyes and enough cuts, scrapes and swelling to suggest he won’t be able to shave for awhile without making it worse for all the lumpiness. There is a slicing wound along his throat, but it seems superficial and has already clotted and stopped bleeding. As he steps carefully and stiffly into the infirmary proper, the country man has the presence of mind to take off his hat at least, while he looks around the infirmary for someone to give him and Max a helping hand, all things considering.

With the side of his face bloodied and swollen from the cut above his brow resulting in the eye beneath it being swollen shut, Max isn't in nearly as bad shape as Bowen is, despite the limp from having been belted with a shovel across his upper leg, his bandaged hand (from a previously dutiful visit to the infirmary), cracked rib and old bruises across chest and back are those from his scuffle a few days back with the runner now lost to him and are hidden from view. Turning a one-eyed look onto his companion a grin peels out, "If you smile, you might get a date for the next Gather," uttered just before they step into the infirmary and then he goes quiet, still not liking the place much as he squints about the place. That is until Cheusia comes into blurry view, and a crooked grin flickers briefly, "Evenin' darlin', my friend was wondering if you had any candy for him," making it all about Bowen with his bad stab at humour in announcing their somewhat decrepit arrival.

Unfortunately, Bowen is not the one who draws Che's attention first, no, it is certainly not the man. Grey eyes flicker up at the sound of the greeting and Che makes to start some retort but the sight of them leave her, quite simply, speechless. Despite this, the book is settled neatly down and she pushes from her seat and remains in full composure for just a moment before she pins the beast master a glare that would most certainly kill if looks could. "What… The… Fuck did you two idiots do?" Never mind she doesn't know who Bowen is, she's still going to talk to him as an extension of Max at this point. "You," a single finger is pointed at Max, "help me get his ass into a cot." And then Bowen is given the same finger with the same glare, "and you… Better not start screaming." And then, she turns to get her supplies. And if they're lucky, she won't stitch them together in non-productive ways.

“Y’gotta buy me flowers first,” Bowen dryly quips in reply to Max with his quiet, husky voice that seems to be the only thing of him left to rights. There comes a tightening in his blue eyes to suggest the sharp pain that little bit of a comment must have cost him, but he doesn’t grimace and he doesn’t wince. He may look worse than the other fellow right now and it probably doesn’t look good for his image, that, but the man does seem to know how to suck up some discomfort when he’s feeling it. Of course, the real test on how much pain he can endure is probably about to begin. With the greeting, and bizarre introduction as it were, Bowen simply grunts and lapses otherwise silent while politely making the barest of movements of his head to Cheusia in some form of a polite nod. The Healer’s response is not what he’d expected, but for Bowen there’s very little outward expression to say as much, even if his face and head wasn’t made difficult to read by all the battering it’s gotten. There comes another nod, brief, to her order for him not to start screaming and the man is limping along again, not seeming to really need or want the help up into a bed, regardless of Cheusia’s order given to Max. That said, Bowen isn’t going for the farthest empty bed. Let’s not get crazy cowboy macho, now. No, instead he limp-slides over to the nearest empty one, and hands the two by four off to Max so that it doesn’t just fall and make a lot of noise against the cave floor, and puts his hat back on so his hands are free. Then the man with the stocky upper body strength (thankfully), pulls himself up onto the bed with just a little grunt for the effort before rolling slightly and then pulling his uninjured leg up, and a moment later, with some extra effort, grunts again as he pulls his bleeding leg up onto the bed with him. Then he nods once more at the healer, able to disguise the pain in his features, but not the heaving for breath in his chest.

"I ain't buying you flowers," Max gives in similarly dry return. That is until Cheusia's giving him the death stare. Doing a slow blink, well, his one eye does in any event, he's attempting his most charming grin for the healer. Unfortunately it fails on the charming end given his not-so-pretty face right now as he counters with, "He tried ta kiss me." Riiight. Which could result in his getting a cuff alongside the head from Bowen or her, or both but rather that, than focus on the anger quietly boiling inside for the true reason behind what they currently look like. The beast manager might have even dared a cocky 'Yes ma'am'" to being ordered to help get the tanner into a cot, but something in Cheusia's tone and glare checks him and he turns instead to his pulpified companion with an apologetic grimace, "She ain't got no whiskey." Because that's important to know beforehand, right? And then he limps along behind at his own pace and takes to an apparently lazy lean on the two-by-four handed over to him as the other hauls himself painfully up onto the cot. "This here's Bowen, new Weyr tanner," just in case she wanted to know.

Cheusia isn't taking too long to fetch her things, but she's not exactly quick, either. Letting them suffer just a little longer before she's first turning her attention on Bowen. Max is given the briefest of looks to see where he settles himself before she begins her examination for the injury that needs the most attention, which is found quickly. "I hope you don't like these pants." Because a knife is produced from the back before she's slicing away what hampers her, she does leave some dignity for the man by not exposing him completely to whoever begins to stir from all the noise. "Now… Who is going to tell me what happened?" And the tone in her voice certainly hints at pain to be followed. "Bowen? Max?"

There comes simply a snort to Max’s comment about Bowen trying to kiss him, which could be interpreted as disagreement over the alleged act or disagreement that Max could possibly cause Bowen this much injury if he had tried to kiss him. Bowen’s not speaking up, so there’s no telling which he actually is snorting to. What does come instead is another tightening at the corners of his blue eyes, and a little deeper inhale setting his chest rising a little more before it falls on the exhale. With the comment about the Healer not having any whiskey, Bowen, slides back a little more on the bed as if to find a slightly better position to offer some slight comfort for the lack of any booze to dull what is coming. And then comes another slight nod to the Healer with the more proper introduction, and the tanner takes his hat off again, drawing one knee up – the good leg of course – and setting the hat down on top of said knee. Pain. Schmain. Or something. Bo isn’t a talker even on his best of days, least not much of one to women, it seems. Silently and without resistance or objection, Bowen watches Cheusia slice up his pants and openly appraises the knife wound to his thigh, slightly outside of center, without a squeamish stomach. But then, this is a tanner who does all sorts of things to flesh and hide and even cures it all with bovine brains when the leather needs to be soft. No, his weak stomach is liable to be found in other quarters. Not in open, bleeding wounds. Some of his muscle around the injury spasms a little in reaction to the nerve endings being more exposed, but the man otherwise doesn’t display any of the pain outwardly. The question put to him and Max has the tanner sliding his blue-eyed gaze to Max. His stables. His runner. His explanation.

Staying leaned on the two-by-four for a bit longer; Max soon gives over and parks his butt on the edge of the opposite cot while Cheusia tends to Bowen's wounds, not seeming too squeamish over the sight of the knife wound himself either. Though one can be sure he's glad it's not him on the receiving end this time. Any humour strived for beforehand crumbles under the dark expression that forms when the healer presses on the matter of how they'd gotten to look the way they do. "Fucking runner thieves," the beast manager eventually growls out giving a fight stiffened shift of shoulders. "Got someone locked up that needs a healer, but I ain't bringing him up here. You can send someone down," not a request, a simple statement of fact. Either a healer gets sent down to the beast caverns, or the sorry git can just go unattended as far as the beast manager is concerned.

A small mixture is taken from her pack and hands are cleaned before she takes a closer look at the open wound, first moving to clean it off and get a better inspection. A more thorough clean follows, removing anything that does not belong in the body. And seeing that the tanner isn't talking, she's not going to press any further information, for now. Instead, as she moves for more supplies that look is turned to Max. "Thieves?" Brows are drawn into a frown while she shakes her head. "I'll go after I'm done with you two." A look to Bowen is given as she produces numbweed and begins to spread it gingerly around the wound, but not entirely where it is so to dull some of the pain. "We'll need you to stay here, like this, for a little longer… You don't appear to be bleeding and we need to wait and see if there is an infection forming, being that you were stabbed in the stables." Not particularly an ideal environment for getting stabbed… Then again, what place is? "Then we'll need to stitch it shut, so I'm going to need you to sit tight for a bit." A smile is given to the tanner before she shifts positions, if only to move closer to his face and to begin to clean off his face and neck while lathering numbweed as needed. She's more generous with the stuff, this time, it seems. And poor Max never got any when she fixed his broken nose.

Bo’s blue eyes slide to Max briefly as the other man speaks about what happens, and he doesn’t elaborate on the words himself, so either he is happy with Max’s explanation enough or he just doesn’t care enough to explain further. Knowing Bo, probably the former. To the Healer’s ministrations, however, some color drains from him and his lips tighten into a thin line until the numbweed is applied, the occasional twitching of the muscles in leg being worked on, but not anything to actually jerk the leg away. Instead of yelling or cussing up a storm, the man’s lips continue to purse, and there is a little soft throaty groan at the worst of it while his hands turn to fists and twist in the bedlinens a moment. Beads of sweat surface on his battered face and he closes his eyes. But through it all the man does not cry out, either because he is afraid of what she’ll do to him if he does scream, or because he never had any intention of doing so to begin with. It is only when she moves to working on his face and neck that he seems to relax a bit more, letting out a long exhale of breath before murmuring, “I reckon that’s fine fer th’night, but first light I’ll be goin’ with Max t’get his runner back, ma’am.” His eyes have remained closed since he closed them while she was working on his leg, seeing as how that was just a lot easier while she was working on his face and neck. His hands relax at his sides now though and even go as far as to smooth down any twisting he has done.

"Aye," is Max's flat response to it having been runner thieves. "Tried to make off with Renegade," his personal pride and joy, then with a grateful nod over to the beaten tanner blended with a grimace for how the poor man is currently suffering, "Bowen here went after him" and then he's not too sure quite what happened after that, leaving it open to the other to fill in the blanks should he so choose to. Falling silent then as Cheusia works, a frown forming and staying in place, wincing here and there sympathetically on Bowen's behalf. It's only when the tanner speaks to going after the lost runner that the beast manager sets a dubious look onto him, that slides down and lands pointedly on the open knife wound, "You gonna be alright ta ride like that?"

Cheusia tilts a look at the man she's working on, more surprised for his ability to keep from letting out no more than a groan. "Doing good." She murmurs to him, soothing before she finishes and lets out a soft snort. "If you think you can ride after I've stitched your leg up, sure… On the condition that you return right after and let me fix whatever damage you get your ass into on your second go. And then you'll have to stay as long as I determine." And there's an added sentence for screaming, but, at least she knows not to restrain a stubborn man. A pat is placed on his head before she ventures over to Max. "I see…" Brows furrow and she mutters, "surprised you didn't just off him." The thief, but that is pushed back as she eyes the man. "And how are you feeling, darling? Anything as bad as our friend over there? Broken anything?" Because Che is good at fixing the broken things.

As typical for the quiet tanner, Bowen is not terribly chatty after Max continues to elaborate over what happened. So, anyone who wants to get the full story is likely to need to resort to pointed questions. Hat still perched up on his knee of his good leg, Bo lies back on the bed once Che is done with him and simply nods, reopening his blue eyes and looking over at the Beast Manager with regards to his first question. The Healer’s reaction earns her a quiet stare, which may or may not be noticed as she has moved onto Max now. Very delayed in responding to her, Bo simply says, “S’just th’right thing t’do, ma’am.” Meaning help Max track down Renegade, regardless of what it will do to his leg. With that, he takes his hat off his knee and puts it over his bruised and battered face, meaning to doze, apparently, or just simply preferring to exit the conversation with his words and put an end to it without any further argument. His wife must have just loved him.

Max's mouth twists around a rueful line for the reply given Bowen on riding out the following day but he knows well enough to keep his own trap shut about not getting into any further trouble. Or at the very least, not making any promises he's not sure on being able to keep. As such when Cheusia turns her attention onto him next, he almost (but not quite) shrinks back preferring it remained firmly on the tanner rather than him. He does however pull his head slightly away, watching the journeywoman's hands through wary eyes, knowing exactly the kind of pain they're capable of inflicting. Putting a dark smirk onto her for words of not having off'ed the would be runner thief, he snorts, "He knows shit about runners. Reckon he's working for someone." Which would explain why his prisoner is still alive, he wants information. As to what he might have broken? The beast manager slides a far too innocent look into place on having broken anything, "Nothing." Holding up his now dirty but still bandaged hand, "Just this," and the lovely cut above his eyebrow where Jinnet's fist had connected resulting in the eye swollen shut. The limp is simply a badly bruised thigh muscle but she hopefully missed that when he came in and…he's got his shirt on, so she won't know about the other older injuries of a few days back. Big baby! It's to Bo that his attention goes with a soft snort, "Don't expect you too," though its clear he appreciates the sentiment and isn't about to turn the man's offer down, deeming him capable of deciding for himself what he is and isn't up for physically.

Cheusia certainly isn't arguing with the tanner, nope. She just looks back at him and nods, "on my conditions." And, she'll hunt him down herself if she must. Because she cares… Or something. A teasing look is given to the beast master and the reason for the prisoner living is given a nod. "I see. Well, if he's working for someone… I'm sure I can help you get it out of him." After all, she has needles. And knives, often used for cutting people open. She leans in to better inspect the cut over his brow and begins to clean it off before moving to the rest of his face. Max is simply lucky she doesn't demand the man to strip. "Well, sweetie, it doesn't look like I'll have to sew this up. Unless you make it worse." Numbweed is applied to dull the pain, "too bad, though. I can't kiss it better, you got numbweed there." Teasing continues as she steps away and looks him over. "Now, what's wrong with your leg. You were limping."

Bowen remains quietly (and safely) under his hat and gives no sign of even hearing the Healer respond. Someone else might explain the sense of duty and responsibility he feels for both the partner in the would-be crime getting away, as well as the runner getting away, as being the motivating factor for him to go with Max in the morning, but Bo doesn’t explain. Either the man is just really, really shy, or he is simply not the sort to feel he needs to explain much to anyone. And so it is with Max’s comment to him that the tanner lifts one hand to give Max the Pernese equivalent of the thumbs-up sign before lowering it back down to the bed. His face remains, happily so, under his hat and the rest of his stiff and bruised and cut body goes still once more.

Max puts an approving look up to Cheusia when she offers to help 'encourage' his prisoner for information. A dark chuckle spills out, "Still my favourite healer." Which considering his abhorrence for the infirmary or anything related, is saying something. Moreso in that he dragged both himself and Bowen there to begin with. One dark eye squints upward as she inspects the cut, ready to jerk his head away should she decide to poke at it or something. When the numbweed comes out, his frame relaxes a little and a crooked grin slips into place, "No candy then either?" Cue the innocent look again when she asks after the limp he'd come in with, "Nothin'." And then nodding toward Bowen, in an effort to take the heat off of himself, "Don't he need stitchin' up now?" The thumbs up coming from Bowen has him tipping a nod in return, although being as how the tanner is currently hiding under his hat, it likely goes unseen.

"Good. I'd hate to lose that title, WM." Che gives him another teasing smile and there is, luckily, no poking at his face. "You can get candy. After I clean off my hands." The innocent look receives a bland one in return before she rolls her eyes, "at least put some numbweed on it. It doesn't look broken from this angle." And he's lucky for that fact. Che sighs and shakes her head. "So eager to get your friend pricked with needles, are we?" And with that she offers the numbweed out to the man so that he may apply it himself before moving to fetch said needle and some thread.

Bowen may have missed any nod from Max while he remains essentially under his hat, but the man isn’t asleep and doesn’t miss the verbal byplay between the two, including Max’s offering Bo up for sacrifice, as it were. So, in silent reply, Bowen now calmly lifts his hand up to give Max the Pernese equivalent of the bird before lowering it back down again to the bed, at his side. He makes no move to stop Che, though, or argue over whether it’s necessary or just pointless since he’s only liable to break it open again in the morning. He’ll just roll with it. Under his hat.

Beatific the grin to selling Bowen out to the prick of needles and the gesture given him in return by the man, "Naw, just want to be sure he gets his candy too." Just looking out for the man, see? Yeeah, he'll probably have to make that up to him at some point. Usually this is where a brow would tip upward in amusement as Max successfully manages to wangle out of having to drop his pants for her and show the bruising. But it hurts to do so, so instead Cheusia gets a smirk and the numbweed is put to one side for use after bathing and the likes thereof. The next asked with as much idleness to his tone as he can muster when speaking of the green weyrling, "So…did she really come by and check up on me the other day?" lifting his bandaged hand up in indication.

Cheusia settles beside Bowen as she begins to prep needle and thread. "No promises on how much this'll hurt. Though, seeing as I might have to redo it… I'll go easy on you." And thus the promise for more pain is given as she threads the needle and then again begins to eye the wound, mentally prepping where the entry points are. "Suuure you are, next thing I know you'll be saying I have to kiss it better." Though it is all teasing and both men will indeed get some candy. "I couldn't tell you… I think so? If she did, it wasn't when I was working. I swear that girl is afraid of me." And why shouldn't she be?

Silent and unmoving save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest, Bowen remains where he is on the bed with that one knee drawn up to ruin an otherwise flat and prostrate looking repose. The less than observant might think he is asleep for all that his face remains hidden by that hat, but those who know the finer qualities of a slumbering breath compared to one that is from an awakened man would know the difference and know that he is, in fact, awake and probably hearing everything spoken of between Max and Cheusia. It is when she settles closer to Bo that the man moves his arms to rest his hands, laced together casually, over his mid-section, and her comment merely earns a grunt from the tanner. He gives no comment on candy and whether he’d like some or will give it a pass. It seems the discussion has moved on from that anyway. Though unseen beneath his hat, his lips twitch in mildly sardonic smirk at Cheusia’s final words. Who wouldn’t be? Thinks the man.

Max lifts a hand and runs it along his jaw, chuckling quietly at Che's quip on kissing it better, "M'sure he'll appreciate the gesture," Bowen that is. He has no idea. But hey, pretty journeywoman offering to kiss better, dude. To Bowen, "May as well make it worth it," the upcoming pain and the potential of more there after if he is indeed planning on riding out with Max the next day. Though he's unclear on whether he's meaning the kissing better or the candy. Nodding to her reply, it's the woman's last words to him over Ahnika's disturbing reaction to the time spent with the journeywoman a while back, that draws a faint grimace, "Never did get round to figuring out why. Kinda got distracted," scratching at the back of his head and looking surprisingly sheepish about that last.

Cheusia eyes Bowen for a moment, brow lifting at his silence before she shrugs and gingerly applies more numbweed. And then, needle goes in and she begins stitching. "Really? I don't think he would, not when I get done with him… After you get back, anyways." She doesn't cast a look to Max, focusing on where that needle goes. "I still think it has to do with what happened before she came here."

After a slight delay, it is with Max’s words that the tanner slowly lifts one hand away and free of the other and takes his hat off his face to reveal that mess there, now with a slight sheen for the numbweed application from a few minutes ago. With all the bruising and swelling it may be hard to say what he must be thinking, but his expression is some rough example of confusion and incredulousness for Max and his statement about making it worth his while because Bo genuinely had thought the kissing commentary was in suggestion to Max and Che kissing, not Bo. “Whut?” He asks vaguely, one eyebrow raising up as far as the man’s face can stand it. He sets his hat back on top of his knee next and looks down the length of him at Cheusia and her work at his thigh. He snorts faintly with her words, which thankfully does not cause as much pain as before he had the numbweed on his face. But he manages to have the presence of mind, or just the Southern manners, not to actually say the ‘not in a million turns’ that crosses his mind. Could be he doesn’t find her all that hard on the eyes, or it could be he just realizes she’s got a needle and thread and is working on his thigh and he’s not as slow-witted as most people take him to be. Whatever has him swallowing the words before they make it to lips, he keeps them swallowed for now. For that matter, any discomfort at the sewing itself remains bitten back as well, though his lips purse, so he must be feeling it to some degree.

Opening his mouth as if to counter what Cheusia says, Max has his line of thought interrupted by Bowen finally creeping out from under his hat to give incredulous comment. As such all the tanner or healer will get is a crooked grin which slips a little at the woman's comment to him. A sigh spills out and the dark head nods, "Aye, reckon you're onto something there. Can't rightly bring it up now though," given the currently impressionable mind attached to the green weyrling's. "That bottle of whisky in my office is looking good round about now, aye?" this to Bowen and then the beast manager lapses into silence, watching impassively as the journeywoman stitches him up, lost in his thoughts for a time.

Cheusia laughs softly, careful not to disturb her work. "I promise I don't always inflict such pain." She just gets stuck with the really bad cases, usually. She doesn't lift her eyes to meet his gaze, though, nor does she turn attention to Max. "Leave it be for awhile… Not that it entirely matters, 'less she wants to take up dragon healing…" The stitching draws to a quick end, luckily and it's tied off and then the spare thread is cut cleanly. More numbweed is applied and she considers her handiwork. "If you can, avoid straining this leg too much?"

Given that Bowen has no real way of knowing the exact person or circumstances they are speaking of, the tanner remains quiet, assuming the reason they can’t talk about it now is because he is there. He doesn’t, however, offer to leave so they can talk, considering he’s not really in a position to at the moment. His blue eyes flick back over to the Beast Manager next with the comment about Whiskey and there is a faint nod from Bo, and another grunt, followed with, “Gonna buy a whole fuckin’ crate full first chance.” His body faintly relaxes as Cheusia finishes, and he looks back to her and nods, “Ma’am,” and apparently that is his way of saying either ‘thank you’ or ‘I’ll avoid straining it as best I can’ or some combination thereof, and then picking his hat up off his knee and eyeing the Healer’s handiwork before resting his head back down and replacing the hat over his face. He seems unwilling to move from the bed just yet, or perhaps he just doesn’t know she is finished with him, or them both.

"She's also a good liar," Max comes out of his silence to note with a crooked smile on Cheusia not always inflicting pain. "Mm," that his monosyllabic reply to the situation of the redhead and her phobia surrounding the healercraft. While he'll leave the matter be for the time being, one can be sure he's not going to drop it entirely and will be revisiting the topic in the future. Rueful the one-eyed glance that drops over onto Bowen as the beast manager nods, "Be happy to foot the bill," for the crate of whiskey. He owes the man that much at least. That and hanging around until the tanner is ready to leave, unless of course he plans on taking a well deserved forty winks or so before doing so.

Cheusia lifts herself from the cot and then shoots Max a look, "I could hurt you for that." Though it is entirely teasing before she moves to rinse her hands once more. "Well, all I have left to say to you two is don't get killed. It'll piss me off."

“I reckon that’s so,” Bowen says bravely to Max’s first, reasonably certain that Cheusia is not going to rip the wound back open again when she has already stated she will be expecting him back so she can repair it once he gets back from helping track down Renegade. Then he gives another thumbs-up to Max for offering the foot the bill, not one to be so proud not to have another man pay for booze, since he’s offering. It all comes out in the wash, as they say. It is Cheusia’s last that has Bo lifting his hat from his face and following the Healer with his blue eyes as she washes her hands before musing quietly to Max, “Best time t’be dead, really … when a woman’s pissed,” speaking as a man who would know, apparently, about pissed women. With yet another grunt, Bo curls stiffly up into a seated position and eases off the bed, seeming to think they are finished here if she is rinsing her hands. “Much obliged, ma’am,” he murmurs politely with a tip of the hat.

The warning, however teasingly it's delivered, combined with Cheusia's movement from where Bowen is stretched out, has Max standing to his feet, favouring his good leg and giving her a wary grin. "You could try," he counters with, "But you'd have to catch me first." Riiight, because he's absolutely in a condition to be able to give her a run for her marks right now. To pissing her off by winding up dead, "Aw, see that Bo? She loves us," chuckling and then stepping over to offer the tanner support once he's somewhat on his feet. "C'mon ole man, whiskey time," and then snickering for the quiet aside coming from the other, "I ain't gonna argue that one."

Cheusia is indeed done with them, tilting a look back at the two and grinning. "You're welcome, Bowen." And then she eyes Max, "I could catch you so easily right now and I could even steal your belt while I'm at it." Her grin grows wide before she laughs more freely. "Yeah, yeah. I love you two. Now get out." All in that loving tone of hers. And then she goes to make her rounds on the other patients currently residing in the infirmary.

“Shit, I hope not,” Bowen huskily comments to Max and the prospect of Cheusia loving them, and with the way the widower says it with that messed up face, he could be serious or he could be teasing. He takes a couple steps to test the weight on that leg, and with the numbweed, he seems of a mind to limp off without the two by four for now. “Whiskey … good,” he grunts to the last from Max as his blue eyes give Cheusia one last look when she wanders off to her other patients. Yes, and so are verbs tanny-man. With that, he moves along, stiffly and limping, but he is moving. He doesn’t rudely shake off Max’s offer to help support him as he goes, but he makes a good show of sucking it up to a point where he doesn’t appear to need it save for any unusual terrain, like a step or lip or stone lump on the ground something.

Lips twitch into a smirk for the belt comment but Max wisely says nothing other than to send a wink her way before tipping two fingers to his forehead in a farewell gesture. "Much appreciated, darlin'," and then darting a quick sweep across the room before adding in quieter tone, "You don't be letting this get out, aye?" a pointed look going Cheusia's way to just exactly what he means by that. With that he'll take up the two-by-four makeshift crutch affair and drag it along behind him, probably making annoying noise as it bumps and rattles across uneven surfaces. Noted to Bowen with a backward glance going the journeywoman's way as the two limp their way back out of the infirmary and toward that waiting whiskey bottle, "Good woman ta have on your side." Spoken in fond tone and with a firm nod.


Closing Credits Theme Music: Kenny Chesney and Dave Matthews - "I'm Alive"


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