Patchwork

Participants:

Bowen.jpg Cheusia.jpg

Date: 9/17/10 (IC: A few hours after Tracking A Renegade)
Location: EW: Infirmary
Synopsis: As requested, Bo returns to the Infirmary for Cheusia to take another look at the stab wound after he had been out with Max in tracking down Renegade. An understanding is reached between them, some bridging of an unseen gap, and then Bowen falls asleep.
Rating: PG-13
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.


It is late in the afternoon, after having his supper meal, that Bowen dutifully returns to the Infirmary, a little dustier and a little sweatier, ugly as sin with that battered mug of his, and limping still, but dutifully returning nevertheless. He has the presence of mind and good manners, to take his hat off as he enters the Infirmary proper, and that really isn’t a much better look for him considering his sweat-dampened “hat-hair” and the fact that one can see his face a little better with the hat off. Apparently, Bowen isn’t really trying to make a good impression, not with his looks at any rate, and doesn’t rightly care. His blue eyes sweep the Infirmary from his position near the entrance, looking for one particular Healer in fact: Cheusia.

One could call him lucky for being able to find the Healer so quickly, but, no. She usually frequents the Infirmary, even when she is supposed to be taking the time off for her rest day. And there she is, on said rest day, quietly reading up on more material from Landing. Che's attention isn't fully entranced on her reading, so the arrival of another easily draws her attention and grey eyes find blue for a moment before she smiles. "You came back. Good. I would've hunted you down if you didn't." The reading is tucked away carefully and she gestures towards a free bed. "How'd it go? Did you get hurt anywhere else?"

Few things seem to scream ‘Invite me to your bed’ about Bowen in his present condition, but in an Infirmary, that is apparently a different matter. The tanner catches and meets that look from her, and her smile actually has his shoulders tensing slightly, followed with an awkwardly slight frown, but there is no other immediate reaction to him. In fact, with the questions he actually seems more confused than anything else and stands there, hat in hand, just staring at her. It is about three heartbeats later that his expression smoothes back to neutrality and Bowen actually begins to move, limping toward the empty bed she indicated. Once there, he leans over and begins to unlace his boots, not seeming to show any discomfort the stretch likely is causing his thigh muscle, and murmurs softly at them in answer to her, “Figured y’would. I ain’t lookin’ fer no trouble. So I came back, as y’said to.” It just seems to find him in the stables. He eases his feet out of his boots before answering her next, “Fine.” Pause. “No.” A man of few words, apparently, at least here today. Then he unfastens his trousers and slides them down carefully, allowing his tucked shirt to fall down past his butt as he goes and allowing those who are squeamish about such things – which most likely just means any patients here – to not be forced to see anything they don’t really have a care to. When he gets them down a little past his knees, he steps out of them, and with a few more grunts, hauls himself up onto the bed, using his arms more than his legs to do so before situating himself and turning his blue eyes back onto her.

The bed isn't Che's, at least, and she certainly has no thoughts on seducing the injured man. Grey eyes take in his features and a brow quirks upwards, "am I that scary?" Having received that look more than once. "Or, does the fact that I'm concerned bother you? Or does it genuinely confuse you that I am interested in what happened to the man who stole from Max?" There's certainly more she can ask, but she leaves it at that, following behind him as he heads to the bed. The curtain for privacy is drawn, unless he wants to flash the infirmary, and if that's the case he can certainly stop her. "Good man. Good man, knowing when to listen." This pleases her and she awards him with another smile, waiting for him to remove his pants and situate himself, not moving unless he looks like he needs the help. And once exposed and ready, she moves closer to quietly examine it. "I'm going to restitch this." Redwort is taken out and her hands are cleaned before she begins to clean the blood away from the wound. Numbweed follows to go around the wound but not on it, to numb the area but not to get in the way of her work. The popped stitches are noted quietly and then, she gets to work on removing the threads as they will work no longer.

To the barrage of questions, well three really, but that’s a barrage to poor Bowen, the tanner grunts quietly, a frown tugging at his lips again, and he seems disinclined to answer beyond that, at least for the time being. His gaze slides to the privacy curtain instead, as she employs it, and does not make to stop her, though the tension in his shoulders increase slightly. The frown returns when she refers to his ability to listen, or at least knowing when to, despite it really being a compliment of sorts. Then he looks back down at the stab wound on his leg as her own attention is called to it, and the bit of blood there. Even though his shirt is long enough to cover his man parts as he settles back, and even though he did not seem all that nervous about her seeing anything “delicate” the night before when he was with Max, it is today that he rests his hat over his groin area now and reclines a little more on his back, supported by his elbows, as she gets to work. It is well after she finishes her last statement and begins to remove the threads that Bowen’s quiet, husky voice surfaces with a mere two words, “Sorry, ma’am.” His blue eyes remain fixed on the stab wound in his thigh and the activity of her removing said stitches that will no longer work, and his battered face produces a solemn expression.

Cheusia probably wasn't expecting an answer because she doesn't ask them again, or press for more. She simply lingers in silence for a good moment or two as she works. The hat is given an odd little look as he covers his groin and then she laughs, "seen plenty of those, dear. No need to be shy." Though if it's from her work as a healer or other things like the baths, etc. she doesn't clarify. "No apologies needed. I figured it would happened and had hoped that I had done enough to avoid it…" Which wasn't the case. But, she doesn't seem saddened by this, easily finishing the removal before fetching her needle and thread and prepping those. "So… Where are you from?" Might as well try small talk while she's stabbing him with needles…

“Bein’ shy ain’t got nuthin’ t’do with it,” Bowen mutters, actually sounding a little irritated for some reason, and then comes another one of his little grunts and slight shake of the shoulders, which could be an indication of some very slight chuckle or … maybe a burp … or who knows, really. He nods slightly about the stitches being popped and after a moment of seeming hesitation finally responds, “M’sure yer work was fine, ma’am. I j’st wasn’t careful ‘nough.” The question, however, seems to startle him slightly again, in as much as the stocky tanner can be said to startle. His shoulders tense and his blue eyes lift from the wound to look at the Healer and after yet another long moment of consideration, he answers, “Southern, ma’am.” Then he remembers where he is and clarifies, “Southern Hold.” He purses his lips at some thought and frowns asking, “Don’t think I rightly got yer name, ma’am.” Or if he did, he doesn’t remember.

"Mm." Che chuckles softly and gives him a small look for the irritation. "I won't bug you about it." Like many other things, this is dropped from the conversation and she smiles to herself as she looks down to the wound on his leg. "A combination of the both, then." She decides and begins her work of sewing the skin together once more. "Southern, hm? Been there once, for healer stuff…" She trails off before glancing up at him again. "Really? I thought Max would've told you. Cheusia or Che. Either works if you want to get my attention." That brief look is all she spares him for his leg is much more important.

Bowen seems to relax just a touch as Cheusia says she won’t bug him about it, but the hint of a frown remains. Anything he might have said to that his swallowed for the time being. Instead, the quiet, awkward tanner merely lifts his eyebrows at her suggestion that it was a combination of factors, rather than hoisting the blame of the thing all on him, as he might have expected. Then they lower to a neutral expression once more as she continues talking and he resumes watching her restitch him, which means he misses the brief look she spared him. When she finishes speaking, he is slow to respond once more, but he does respond, quietly again, “Reckon Healers are always in demand, ev’rywhere, ma’am,” with regards to her being at Southern Hold for ‘healer stuff’. As for Max telling him her name, if he had, Bo’s already forgotten it. If he hadn’t, Bo’s not about to throw his only friend at Eastern under the wagon so to speak. So, he just nods once more, enunciating carefully, “Cheusia,” before continuing, “So, Max told me t’ask ya t’get down t’th’ beast caverns for that thief he got locked up there, as soon as is good fer ya. He’ll have someone in there with ya in case the git should try sumpthin.” Bo seems to be much more forthcoming when it is about a practical matter, apparently.

Cheusia is not one to place all the blame upon the patient as she did let him go out. So, the blame is quite mutual. Though she does spare him another look, curious as he watches her work. Nothing is said about it before she nods, "they are. Since I'm young, I'll likely be transferred at some point if they need me to specialize in something somewhere else." This time, the thread is tighter, to make sure it heals properly together. "Oh, yes. Him. I'll go down right after.. What would he try on me? Really?" She chuckles softly and nods, "I do appreciate it as well."

There comes another pursing of his lips, though it seems timed with some of the work she’s doing on his stab wound now. Yet, much as he did last night, Bowen remains pretty quiet throughout the whole affair. Perhaps he can’t do as well as Max on the offensive in a fight, but the stocky man seems able to suck up a lot at least before he’s put down. There comes a nod to the comment about being transferred at some point, and taking his usual sweet slow time to respond, he offers quietly, “S’pose that’s good an’ right.” Though there is no clarification on whether it is good for her, good for the people for whom she is performing healer duties, or for himself, really. He casts his blue-eyed gaze at her with the last, frowning a little with the chuckle, and looking down at the stitching yet again. He’d shrug, really, but propped on his elbows as he is the gesture is not done. So, instead, after a long moment of contemplation, he merely says, “No tellin’. We didn’t want t’hafta find out.” And then his expression smoothes once more as he continues to study her work on his leg. The only indication at the discomfort from the tightened stitching are the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

The look on Che's face slowly grows into one of a thoughtful respect for the silence that the man shows and the fact that he is not about fainting at the sight of his leg being sewn up. That is something that is quite the norm for most of her patients… Well, the ones that aren't put under for surgery, at least. "Mm, I see. Better that way, I suppose. I'll bring the extra big needles and my knives to be safe." The thread is tied off and snipped properly before more numbweed is applied over the stitching. "Be extra careful with this one, alright? No working too heard and straining it."

Bowen doesn’t seem entirely surprised at the mention of extra big needles and knives, either because he’s already seen a Healer in that capacity before, or something in the conversation with Max and/or Cheusia directly already got him to that destination, mentally. So, all he says, with that same big delay, is, “Ayep.” At least as far as the would-be thief goes. There comes a visible relaxing of his face and shoulders as she applies the numbweed, even going as far as exhaling a long breath and closing his eyes a long moment, and then he reopens those blue eyes to look at her. With a nod, he simply says, “I’ll be sure t’make Walron do all th’ heavy liftin’ t’morrow. Don’t want t’be comin’ in here again anytime soon if’n I can help it, ma’am. No ‘ffense.” The last is actually said with a smile, small as it is, and it is very likely the first one given her since they met. But then, it is genuine at least. So he may not smile much or often, but when he does it’s genuine and makes it all the more significant, really. Allowing himself to relish in the numbing sensation a moment longer, he tilts his head back against the pillow and closes his eyes, “Much obliged, ma’am. Very much obliged.”

Max and Che certainly jest about things that aren't far from the truth… Which could either be relaxing or frightening. Or both. "Really, I'd think twice if I were him trying to intimidate me." She puts on her best growl face, but it fails miserably as she laughs and rinses her hands with the redwort solution before she folds his pants and settles them at the end of the bed. "Good, good. I'm glad you'll be taking it easy on the heavy lifting. And, no offense taken. Most people don't like coming to the Infirmary. Pain isn't entirely what I'd call fun and I'd be happy just to see you outside of the Infirmary for awhile, mm?" His smile is returned with a bigger one of her own as she gathers her things and makes to sneak out from behind the curtain. "Stay put for a good few hours. Call for me if you need anything."

Bowen may or may not be listening. It’s hard to say at first as his eyes are still closed as she speaks and washes up. He doesn’t offer his own imaginings about what the would-be thief might do to her if he got her alone without someone there to help keep him in line, as they go well and away of merely intimidation. He’s not about to admit to those thoughts and fears for her on her behalf, though. Enjoying the numbweed all too much, and considering he really didn’t get much sleep the night before, not any sleep that actually was restful, at any rate, dozing on top of some runner feed sacks so as to be able to go out on that ride to track down Renegade with Max at first light, he nearly dozes off. And so it is with a slightly sleepy voice and not really thinking that he responds to the suggestion of seeing her outside the Infirmary with, “Yes’m. Look’n forward to’et.” There is a slight smacking sound as he moves his lips a little, sliding his elbows out and resting his back more fully against the bed, and he mutters, perhaps oddly, “’N whiskey,” before adding, “Stayin’ put, ma’am. Eastern’s home now.” And then, just like that, the man crashes headlong into slumberville. After a few minutes, as if to prove it, he starts snoring softly.


Closing Credits Theme Music: Trace Adkins - "I'm Tryin'"


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