Bowen.jpg Cheusia.jpg Kaskan.jpg

Date: 9/26/10 (IC: following Doesn't Deserve It)
Location: EW: Infirmary
Synopsis: After the bar fight in Jaya's Bar, Bowen and Kaskan arrive at the Infirmary to find a put out Cheusia trying to put to rights all of the sudden people showing up from the bar fight. She zeros in on the two as the instigators and it just goes downhill from there.
Rating: PG-13 - 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.

Once again, expect the unexpected. Because, one would expect that a certain Healer would have taken the night off after facing a certain sort of humiliation, and then being rescued by a certain tanner, and even then things taking the turn they did at the end… One would not expect the woman to return for an extra shift. She's either a masochist or a work-a-holic. Or both. Either way, Che is in the Infirmary, in full work clothes and hair done up in the usual way. One can be certain of another fact: The Healer is not happy with the sudden onslaught of patients flooding the Infirmary from a bar fight. And, unlike her more familiar patients, they are given a more gentle talking to.

Even if Bowen hadn’t been walking in a bit of a shuffle with the tenderness to his groin, the man is just not really quick in most respects, and so Kaskan did overtake him after leaving the bar a few moments after Bowen made his own exit. Not really chatty, either, especially with his left arm hanging limp and his right hand pretty much closely keeping the bottle of whiskey to his lips the entire time he walked, Bo simply assumed the position of escort for his new ‘buddy’ whether Kaskan asked him to or not, and walked, or shuffled, alongside the Hold guardsman on up and out to the infirmary entrance. It could very well be that with Bo’s silence, Kaskan thought Bo was heading to the infirmary anyway, but regardless, Bowen and Kaskan arrive at the infirmary, quite possibly the last of the dozen or more patrons who actually took it upon themselves to go to the infirmary (with the assumption that there were probably a dozen or more who didn’t get hurt enough to feel it warranted). Not expecting Cheusia to be on-duty tonight since he thought she had had the day off entirely, Bo shuffles in with his left arm dangling and the whiskey bottle in his right hand a little more empty, and belches.

If Bowen looks like death-warmed-over, then Kaskan looks like the doggie-bag left-overs /after/ the warming up. Shuffling in behind his new cohort with more thought to putting one aching foot in front of the other than where he's going, he bumps into Bowen's back and mutters an apology as he rebounds to the side. Raven layers in complete disarray he gives his chin a sharp jerk to somewhat clear his vision of all but the worst of the blood-clotted strands matted to one side of his face. He has Jaya and the butt-end of her knife to thank for that one. "Good one," he congratulates, bobbing his head to Bowen. A white-toothed grin spreads wide, blossoming with purple beneath the shadow of stubble. He is just as eager to avoid Cheusia as Bowen - knowing she'll chew him out for messing up the fine bandaging job she did on his injured hand the day before. Favoring that hand by clutching it to his aching ribs (and he has Bowen to thank for those) he coughs once and winces.

Cheusia is working with a few patients, the less injured off to the side. Which could be a good thing as there is only really a small handful of really injured, and not so much there. And then there's the wimps who are claiming more damage than they really have. The entrance of more people isn't met with a look right away, though it is the belch that draws her attention. "Excuse you." Is how she starts, finishing off the patient and then turning full attention to the two new arrivals with her hands finding her hips and her brow drawing into a frown. And it takes less than a minute for her to place those faces, though Kaskan is certainly in less trouble than the tanner (she doesn't know his name). "Bowen…" At least she's too angry to really rip into him. Or concerned, but she's no watery eyed damsel who cries at the first sight of violence or injury. Grey eyes flicker to the other man, "and you…" Again, no words, just a gesture for them to find somewhere to sit before she's stomping off to get more supplies.

Not seeming to mind being bumped into, or if it smarts at all the stocky guy sucks it up well, Bowen nods a bit to Kaskan’s congratulations, and murmurs, “Thank ya kindly,” to it with a lift of the whiskey bottle’s nose to tip his hat as Kaskan sidesteps a little from out from behind him, and so it is that Bo is looking at Kaskan and not at Cheusia when he hears her voice and the tanner freezes in place. His blue eyes blink a little at Kaskan, almost looking like he is wondering if Kaskan suddenly got an effeminate voice, or perhaps hoping, because the reality is less pleasant right now. When the Healer says his name, Bowen sloooooowly turns his face toward her and his shoulders, well, shoulder moves slightly with a silent grunt in response. And so this is where he lifts his good arm to use the nose of the whiskey bottle to tip his hat at Cheusia now, “Ma’am,” he greets, shifting and looking like he’d prefer to be anywhere else but here, “Was j’st showin’ this fella where th’ ‘firmary is. I’ll leave ya t’yer tending now.” And he turns to start making his exit.

Kaskan merely returns Bowen's look with a blank one of his own, brow shadowing with curious creases as the man is identified. Is it possible Bowen is in hotter water than himself? Shells be thanked! Anything that keeps him out of the limelight is a Good Thing. His own light blue irises follow the tanner's slow turn to the source of that call and as Cheusia's gaze moves to include him too Kaskan stands a little straighter, doing his best to look less injured than Bowen. He may be smaller but he's solid. Wiry muscles ache in complaint as he drags on them for one last show of solidarity. But then Bowen is talking of bailing and his good hand darts out as if the grab the man's sleeve. "Uh, how's that jaw, m'friend?" he asks, casting Cheusia a look that hopefully conveys patient long-suffering as he sees to his friend before himself. What a trooper!

Cheusia returns, casting another look to the tanner. "Don't you ma'am me." Because he knows how she hates that. "Sit. Your. Butt. Down. Now." There's no room for protest and she has no qualms about dragging his butt back into the infirmary and making him sit. And oh so suddenly, those who didn't really need to be there are sneaking out on that que because the Healer suddenly looks scarier than before. Grey eyes flicker to Kaskan as he speaks, eyes narrowing just so at that look he gives her. "And, how is your thumb, mm? Both of you. Sit. Somewhere. Now. And tell me exactly what happened." And then back to Bo, "I wouldn't have left you if I knew you were just going to go get in a fight right after…"

Bowen’s eyes narrow a fraction as his sleeve is grabbed and his getaway forestalled by his new buddy. Thankfully, it was his right sleeve and so the left arm remains dangling, in pain, but not in the excruciating he’d have been in if that had been the sleeve of his left arm. “N’ver better,” Bo responds to the question, and then Che gets all badgering-like and Bo actually audibly sighs. He’d probably pinch the bridge of his nose if his left hand wasn’t useless right now and his right hand wasn’t holding a whiskey bottle. His whiskey bottle. He slowly turns back to face the music, and shuffles toward the nearest empty cot, ignoring the glares of any of the patients who are slipping out and escaping. Jerking his head a little toward Kaskan, Bo offers in explanation a loooong moment after Che finishes talking, “I tried t’kiss ‘im.” Which would probably be funny for anyone who was here the night Bo and Max showed up, which right now just means Che. “And it wasn’t right after. I reckon it’s been at least a few hours.” He tilts the whiskey bottle up for another swig and then offers it to Kaskan, “Yer gonna need it. She ain’t got no whiskey here.”

Kaskan tries to keep the limp out of his step as he shuffles along behind Bowen, easing himself onto a recently vacated cot beside the tanner's. So much for his usual lightning reflexes and panther-like grace. Right now he's slow as molasses and awkward as a one-legged wherry. Neither manages to dampen his good humor, however. At Bowen's explanation he merely shrugs one shoulder and offers, "I get that a lot." Shifting till he's comfortable he braces for the inevitable, knowing it won't take the healer more than a cursory inspection to find the cut on his temple, bruised ribs, torn thumb stitches and sprained ankle beneath clothes that are dirt-smudged, torn, bloody, and reeking of alcohol. Is there any doubt from just looking at the pair that they were at the center of the infirmary's increased activity? Then - praise Faranth! - whiskey! "Much obliged," he chimes to Bowen as he accepts the bottle. "Better than fellis anyday, eh?"

Cheusia gives Bowen a long, long look at his answer before snorting and rolling her eyes. "Sure ya did." Though the humor in her eyes may bode well for both men as she approaches Bowen. "Actually… I added some." But now he's not getting any as she settles near the cot beside the tanner. "Now, tell me what all got hurt." Never mind the fact that her tone has changed pitch, slightly. "He won't really need it unless I need to stitch him up with a needle and thread… And, from the looks of the people leaving, it seems like you started this whole mess. Why?" Though when Kaskan finally settles onto his own cot, she turns that look to him and narrows her eyes. "I'll deal with him first. But I'm expecting you to talk." And over she scoots, taking her things with her and not pausing as she begins to examine his face first. "And if he doesn't talk, I'll get you to." The redwort cleansing begins, first with her hand before a cloth is carefully covered so that she may clean off the blood and get a better look to how bad the cut is, exactly.

Bowen nods to Kaskan both in response to the thanks and the comment on the fellis, and quips, “Was a good kiss,” which is bar brawler code for: ‘you have a mean uppercut.’ Perhaps oddly seeming to give the man with whom he picked a fight some respect, though if you know Bowen, this is actually just the sort of thing he’d do, really. It is belatedly a turn to regard Che as she sits next to him on the cot that some of Bowen’s guard slips in his expression, either for something she said or just her close proximity or the change in her tone and look in her eyes. Whatever it is, the tanner’s blue eyes soften a measure, and in his usual sweet slow time to respond asks, softly, “Y’did?” Buy some whiskey that is. For the patients. Now, that seems to have elevated Che up a notch higher in his esteem, which was high to begin with, not to mention surprised the man considering what he thinks of women in general - not a hater, just wouldn’t expect a woman, especially a Healer, to keep a stash of whiskey in the infirmary at his suggestion. With her leaving his side to go tend to Kaskan first, Bowen, slightly inebriated, is unable to hide the momentarily bereft feeling, even if she is just going to the next cot over, and then he manages to close his expression once more. But her questioning helps a lot because he’ll be damned if he answers that truthfully, especially right now. “It don’t matter none, Che,” Bowen says in that soft, husky drawl, “Was just a barfight. They happen.” As she is examining Kaskan, Bo surreptitiously gives the other man that ‘look’, that ‘don’t you say a fucking word’ look.

Kaskan winces before the cloth even touches his skin, knowing instinctively and irrationally that pain will shoot across his skull. The whiskey bottle is quickly upended for good measure, some of it sloshing from the rim to wet his chin and darken the front of his shirt. Shadows filter the sky-blue hue of his eyes, turning them into a cloudy grey. She'll have to push past matted over-long bangs to see the cut, which really isn't all that bad but bleeds like the dickens as head wounds are prone to do. An old scar that's usually hidden behind his hair crosses his brow to one side and stops just short of his eye - apparently this isn't Kaskan's first barfight. The ear on that same side is slightly mis-shapen in further evidence of some past misdeed. Knowing what she'll see, Kaskan figits like a cranky old-timer, his expression growing petulant. Hearing Bowen's vague reply, he glances over the healer's shoulder and sees that distinctive 'look'. Conspirital mode immediately kicks in. "That about sums it up," he adds not-so-helpfully.

"I'm sure it was." More sarcasm from the healer as she rolls her grey eyes. The softness is met with a look of her own, but she nods finally to his question. "You suggested it. I listened." And she's not entirely heartless. Che considers Kaskan, now, giving him her full attention and cleaning off the hair that is bloodied and in her way. Since the cut bleeds worse than it is, she is relieved and returns to cleaning it before bandaging the wound. Bowen's answer is considered and she frowns, "it matter, Bo…" She leaves it at that, though, sighing before considering Kaskan again, looking him over carefully. "So. Let me see you hand, because you probably messed that up again and while I'm looking at that, tell me where you need the numbweed and what else needs to be tended to." Any previous scars are none of her business, after all, so those are politely ignored.

Bowen nods appreciatively to Kaskan as he keeps to the code, so to speak. The sarcasm from Che actually earns a small grin, one not often seen, from Bo to her. Of course, he’s had quite a bit of whiskey in his system in the last few hours and on an empty stomach, and so he’s able to relax a lot more easily around her. That said, he knows how to hold his drink to some degree and isn’t so drunk as to start babbling or crying or punching … well, maybe some punching. At least earlier. He says nothing more, though, not even to her stating that it did matter, and begins to fall back into the easy quiet manner that the tanner sports so well when he is sober, simply observing Che working on the figidy patient across from him. “Keep it,” he murmurs after a long moment, nodding to the whiskey, or sadly what remains of the bottle, either because Bo realizes he’s had enough or that Kaskan looks like he might be needing it more than Bo right now.

Kaskan belatedly realizes he should've returned the whiskey bottle and lifts it in a silent gesture of thanks as Bowen tells him to keep it. Not arguing that one. His departure to crankiness continues as Cheusia manages to not induce the massive pain he had expected and now he feels somewhat jipped - though why that is he couldn't explain. If not for women in general, he does at least have a healthy respect for her craft. This will be twice in as many days she's mended him and that fact both wears at the wall of prejudice somewhat but also annoys him. Men don't need tending to! They're men! Reluctantly he gives Cheusia his hand and braces for the chewing out he'll surely get for ruining her fine job of stitching. The bandages hang in dirty, torn strips. "Ribs are just bruised, I think," he tells her, tone husky with bravado. A quick glance at Bowen for that addition. "But my ankle is hurting something fierce." As if reminded of the need, he takes another healthy swallow of the whiskey and winces as it burns down his throat. "Ahhhh. Good stuff."

Cheusia says nothing more to Bo as she continues to focus on Kaskan, and being that the man isn't talking anymore and she doesn't exactly feel like nagging. For now. When the hand is offered, she takes it gently and begins to remove the bandages. "Alright. We'll take a look and make sure they aren't broken and get numbweed on them. And we'll wrap your ankle if it's just sprained." The dirtied bandages are gone and she considers his hand, cleaning it as she did the first injury and giving it a better look over. "Should be after being wrapped again. Healing fine, still." Which is a plus. Numbweed is applied, just incase there is a bit of pain lingering there before the wrap goes on. "Shirt and shoe off." And then, another look is given to Bowen, checking up on him quietly, grey eyes searching to see if he's worse than he's letting on.

Bowen can’t help it; knowing that the rib injury is of his own doing, the tanner smirks faintly with Kaskan’s comment, and then it’s gone. But it is Kaskan’s acknowledgement that the priciest whiskey in the joint is ‘good stuff’, Bo nods slightly, and murmurs with a grunt, “I think so, too. Buddy o’mine called it slop not a candlemark ‘go, though.” His eyes smile a little, watching Che do her thing. Well, admiring Che do her thing really, which is when she looks at him and catches him admiring her and the stocky tanner straightens a little from the slouch he had been maintaining. His chin is swelling a bit and he’s got a cut lip, and his arm continues to hang limp at his side. There’s some reddening along the neck and collarbone, what can be seen of it past his shirt and one shoulder droops a little more than the other. While he is seated, it’s hard to tell why he might have been slightly stooped as he shuffled into the infirmary, but the man’s not complaining any about his loins, at least not any about them than he would otherwise. His blue eyes meet her grey ones and then look away.

Kaskan grunts as the new wrapping is applied, grumbling at the numbweed just to be contrary. A rogueish little lilt lurks about his lips at Bowen's comment but he doesn't reply, still too tense under Cheusia's scrutiny. "I knew it," he complains at her instructions and leans forward slightly to peer around her to Bowen. "Here, you better take this back. She wants to get me naked." The bottle is tossed. Hopefully the man's reflexes still work. Taking off his shirt proves to be harder than it sounded, however, as he struggles to do it with just one arm. Every movement pulls the muscles across his abdomen and increases the throbbing they emit. With the shirt half over his head he has to stop and shout, "Dammit - pull it up, will ya?"

Cheusia is caught! Or, she catches Bowen, really. A slight smile tugs at her lips before her examination becomes purely medical, taking in the details of his injuries and what must be tended to. Then, her eyes trail upwards to meet his until they are turned away, in which she turns attention back to Kaskan. "Mhm. Though, that's not a bad thing really." Her wanting him to get naked, though it is purely teasing. When he shouts, she chuckles softly and moves to gingerly tug the rest of the shirt off. "There you go. And from that, we can determine its just a bruise." Which means cold numbweed! Yay! And said numbweed is slowly applied before she's taking action in checking on his ankle, boot or no boot.

Yeeah. Big, bad Bowen’s reflexes aren’t quick even when he isn’t inebriated, bruised, and battered. And between that and the fact that Kaskan just said she wanted to get him naked, the tanner’s chest stiffens and the whiskey bottle goes uncaught, impacting the man, spilling whatever is left all over his shirt, tumbling down the brute’s chest, thighs, and off the knee to impact with a shatter against the cavern floor. Steely blue eyes turn back to stare at Kaskan and Che working to get his shirt off, and even given the reasonable context of the situation, Bo grumbles, “I’ve got somewhere t’be. I’ll see ya later.” Dripping slightly, he eases off the cot with a push from one hand, his right, and landing with some of the glass crunching under his boots, and not seeming to care about the alcohol abuse one bit, as he makes his way to the exit, trying not to look like he’s brooding or sulking as he goes. Aww. Poor Baby.

"Iiiiieeeeeee!" wails Kaskan while trying to squirm away from the numbweed. He does note that she seems to take her time. "Shells, woman! You healing or torturing me? Bowen - run while you still can, man!" Muscles play across his broad chest, arms flexing as he braces himself against the cold temperature spreading across his warm skin. Setting his jaw, now much cleaner but still shadowed with a light stubble, he peers up at the healer through over-long bangs that resist all attempts at control. Crinkles feather his narrowed gaze as he watches her closely, searching her expression. "You'd better not smile in the slightest," he grumbles. It's with a sigh of relief that he watches her move to his foot, boots easily removed for a closer look. The ankle is swollen and already turning an ugly shade of purple limned in yellow and green. "Damn heavyweight," Kaskan hisses, referring to the wrestling, rolling gambler who got tangled in the foursome along with himself, Bowen and another man. Kaskan is used to injuries. They came with the territory when he ran with street thugs. But life under the strict but careful guard training at Southern Boll has softened him somewhat. As for Bowen, Kaskan feels a definite moment of regret over the spilled whiskey. Damn waste of good stuff! Cheusia distracts him before he can comment though so he makes a mental note to do so later in private. But then the man's voice registers and pulls Kaskan's attention from his own self-absortion long enough to realize he's leaving. Leaving, again! The man has no loyalty whatsoever. Not about to be left alone he waggles his good hand toward Bowen while looking to Cheusia. Ever so articulate he blurts, "Limping! Hunching! Leaving!"

Cheusia is, at first, shocked by the fact that he does not catch the whiskey and it spills on his shirt. "Bo…" She starts, gasping out. "Bo…" Again follows and there lies the conflict. Doing her job or chasing after the limping man. A breath is taken and released as a sharp hiss. "Suck it up. I'm not torturing you until I'm jabbing you with needles." What better way to take out her irritation than onto the man she's healing? Or something to that affect. And, luckily, this prevents her from smiling as she snorts in response to his comment. No love is given as another bandage is whipped out, numbweed quickly applied and then bandage oh so tightly wound around the offended limb. "Get some sleep." Because she's done and pushing to her feet without hesitation. It's likely a good few minutes later, but she's still chasing after the tanner. Likely, he isn't getting far because of that limp and she's taking off at (almost) full speed.

Bowen doesn’t apparently subscribe to the theory of never leaving a man behind, or at least not in this sense. He is, quite truly, leaving. Seeing as how Che is busy with the blurting Kaskan, Bowen manages to make it outside the infirmary entrance and pauses a moment to sigh and scrub a hand across his bruised face before continuing on through the bowl and that open expanse under the starry sky. More than likely Che will catch up to him, hard not to considering he’s not at his best right now, and she’d catch him eventually even if he was (unless he was on his runner, of course). But at least he’s able to get some fresh air and a little space and a little thinking done before she does.

And there it is. The swift, cold efficiency he expected. A few more grumbles and grunts later, Kaskan finds himself alone bereft of buddy, shirt or even whiskey. This just isn't his day. Easing off the cot he collects his shirt and boot, stuffs his bandaged foot into the latter without lacing it up and glances about the room, now empty of all but an apprentice and a couple of more severely injured folks resting quietly. Kaskan glances at the door and gauges the chances of Cheusia returning anytime soon compared to his chances of finding that stash of whiskey. Grinning with a mischievious glint in his eye he sets about finding out. He'll thank Bowen for the distraction later.

Closing Credits Theme Music: Dierks Bentley - "What Was I Thinkin"

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