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Archive 29 / crimson-sunset-parallel-narrative
Triggers: violence, gore, existential horror, paranoia, animal death, human death, trauma, sexual content, substance abuse, references to racism, genocide, suicide, abuse
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Narrator BOT 12/17/2023 13:19

Crimson Sunset: Parallel Narrative

Main narrative: https://discord.com/channels/843262375083769898/1184238072620122284 (edited)
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Survivor BOT 12/17/2023 15:07
A man with tears streaming from dark blue eyes staggered past a wooden sign, and its numbers shifted sight unseen. Welcome to Crimson Cross. Population: 403 He hadn't read the sign in the dim light of dusk. He didn't care; he just knew that he was limping towards a town. The faint shadows of buildings and the dim lights behind curtained, shuttered, or boarded-up windows told him as much. The man's face was contorted in distress, eyes narrowed, teeth grimacing, breathing labored. He was stiff with cold, and he couldn't feel his right hand. .
15:08
When he had awakened amongst the carnage in the blood-soaked ravine, the fingers had already been feeling numb and tingly. It must have been an hour or two since the wagon train's fall from the top of the gorge, for the buzzing flies had been thick around him, and the vultures were already tearing at the carrion. Indeed, that was how the man had been so crudely roused from near-death: one of the vultures snapped at his broken, bloodied arm for its meal. He had involuntarily shouted in terror at the giant bird inches from his face and jolted away, only to immediately vomit from the intense pain that tore through his body and the hellish sight of what appeared to be the entire wagon train being feasted upon in the crimson sunset. There was jagged wood impaled in his right calf and thigh. Somehow, with only his dominant left arm, he had managed to shove the broken cart off piece by piece, unable to hold back screams of agony as larger chunks broke off and wide splinters remained embedded in his leg through his trousers. It was past sunset by the time he'd freed himself, with only faint moonlight briefly illuminating the scene through the clouds. Seeing in the distance several glowing pairs of eyes–yet more opportunistic scavengers in the upper part of the gorge–the terrified man had made a run for it with his right arm and leg on fire, practically dragging the limb on the ground behind him. The blood was dripping into his boot, making it squish with every hobbling step. He could barely see through his tears, and merely followed the dirt where it seemed more tamped down, like a pathway. .
15:08
Now the man cradled the arm to his chest at the elbow, but even that was excruciating, as the ulna was broken, partially piercing through the skin a couple of inches above the wrist. He stumbled through the dark town's vacant roads, feeling weaker and colder. He thought he glimpsed pale faces looking at him from behind windows, and he instantly got the sense that he was unwelcome here. He couldn't just pound on any door and ask for help; he'd probably get a bullet in the chest at this time of night. His cheekbones, cut and scraped from the tumble, were flushed with exertion as well as fever from an infection that was setting into the leg wounds. He'd die soon, he vaguely thought; he wondered why he hadn't already. Still, he staggered on, trying to find a place where he could receive aid, whether or not he deserved it. Something stood tall in the distance. At first, he thought it might have been the cross of a church, but no–it was a gallows. The noose swayed in the chilling breeze. The man trudged there anyway, dragging his leg, because there might be a jail, a sheriff, or a doctor near a place of death. He saw a building from its side. An old man wearing a straw hat was sleeping in a rocking chair just outside the door. Hope rose; he let out a ragged exhale of relief, the moisture visible in the cold, dry air. With his remaining strength, he lurched forward and grunted at the sleeping man, shaking his shoulder with a hand. He finally let his body collapse beside the rocking chair, crumbling onto his left knee. His hand slipped from the sleeping man's shoulder and collided with the back of the rocking chair, sending it careening wildly back and forth. .
15:09
The sleeper did not wake. And now, from the injured man's lowered perspective, he could see the glass eyes beneath the brim of the hat. It was too much of a shock. He stopped breathing for a second at the irony of it. The sleeper was just a realistic mannequin, placed here to sell something, but those eyes seemed to mock him, ridiculing his pathetic predicament. He hadn't noticed that it'd be frozen if it were a real person. The man slumped to the ground beside the rocking chair onto his left side, shaking with chills. Waves of pain radiated from his arm and leg with each muscle tremor. He reached towards the closed door, but he could only fumble at the bottom of it, causing a few muted thumps to sound out. He tried to push himself upright again, but his body refused to listen. The hope fled from his heart. Of course, he was alone. Of course. What did he expect? Giving up, he closed his eyes and laid there on the freezing ground, resigned to his fate. His tears soaked into the dust beneath his face. I'm sorry, he thought. I couldn't do it. His body ceased shivering, and the world faded away. .
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Doctor BOT 12/17/2023 18:54
Despite their terror, the Doctor knew the newcomers wouldn't be leaving before sunrise. Or, as a matter of fact, afterward. Once the sun had set on them, they were part of the town. If they had been unique in that regard, perhaps she would have felt sorry for them. Guilt had died long ago, though, so now all she felt was relief that she could rest until the next arrival. This was the price for excluding herself from the bloodshed. Setting the trap, and giving up who she had once been. She hadn't always been nameless, just like Old Man Irvine hadn't always been her father, and hadn't always been dead on the front porch. She cleaned the last of the blood from the cleaver, then hung the old leather apron on its wall hook. Butchering had been her first job, to ensure nothing went to waste before the death of Irvine's prior apprentice. Another had taken that job over when she became doctor, but she carried on with it in her own smaller capacity. The only difference was that now, the only bodies hanging in the doctor's smokehouse were animals. She couldn't say the same for the new butcher. As she stepped from behind the counter, a thump sounded from outside. Maybe her work truly was never done. She picked the cleaver back up in case she needed it and walked back out. On the porch, the chair rocked as though pushed, but its occupant remained seated. She opened the door and looked down at the body. Not one she'd seen before. She set the blade on the end table by the door that served as a catchall, then crouched down to check the body. Signs of life were there, but faint. Another newcomer, but not one she had to worry about walking out any time soon. The fact that he'd made it this far seemed nothing short of a miracle, from the state of things. . (edited)
18:54
Moving him inside proved no small task. He was decidedly larger than her and, had her other guests not also been injured, she would have woken them up to ask for help. But as usual, there was no help. Only her. Once she was sure he had no obvious spinal injuries, she dragged him in through the doorway to start with, closing the door once he was in the hall. Warmth was the first priority. She paused to catch her breath but, determined as ever, continued to get him inside. Lifting him into a bed was out of the question, so she settled on bringing him into the nearest bedroom, the one Irvine had occupied in his lifetime. Every piece of furniture had been artisan-crafted to the old man's particular tastes, each bit carved from matching cherry wood and imported from overseas. Ostentatious, she'd always thought, but she hadn't thought to move any of it out after his death. Despite his current role as a dead decoy doctor, she owed him a fair bit. Besides, he really was her second family; keeping his furniture was the least amount of respect she could pay to his memory. She dragged the pillows and a blanket down from the bed and rolled the man onto them. She'd worry about any blood or other fluids later. For now, she made sure he was on his side in a comfortable position, then set to work. It would be a long night. His clothes had to go if she was going to get a better look at the full extent of his wounds, so she cut them off. They'd be replaceable. The sight that awaited underneath was... not promising, but she had dealt with worse. It took multiple trips to even make sure she had all of her supplies, but she put her remaining energy into doing all she could for him. Salves, stitching, bandages, nearly an entire apothecary's shop worth of solutions. .
18:54
By the time she'd finished, her hands were red and slick with his blood, and she wasn't even sure he'd survived. Miraculously, when she checked, she could still pick up on a pulse. "Good." She dipped her hands into the bucket of water, wiped them on the towel she had brought in, then brought down another blanket to cover the man, this one heavier and made from a soft grey fur of some sort. "With luck, you might even survive the night." Her eyelids were heavy as she stood, considering what else might be needed. Water that didn't contain his infected blood, for one, though he wouldn't be able to drink until he woke up. If he did. In his current state, she didn't want to risk causing further blood loss with leech treatments, so any of that would have to wait. For now, she turned to leave the room.
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Survivor BOT 12/18/2023 01:33
The man woke briefly a few times between dawn and midmorning, fading in and out of consciousness, each time becoming more sure that he was not any closer to death than the last. Somehow, someone had managed to save him. He didn't know how to feel about that. He was now indebted to whatever unknown man had brought him indoors, since he most certainly would have died if he'd been left outside for the night. Well, things couldn't get worse compared to the life of indentured servitude that he'd been bearing with for the past year–a life that had most recently sent him, along with fellow laborers, on a journey across the plains and mountains to toil in the gold mines. That had been the intention, anyway. By now, his would-have-been prospecting owner was probably a grisly skeleton in the ravine. Good, he thought tiredly, feeling a small sense of justice. The owner had given him one day to rest after his purchase from the vigilante group, and he'd had to work in the sun with the criss-crossing flagellation wounds splitting the skin of his back, leaving what he could only assume were hideous scars, from the feel of them. .
01:34
In the room where the man was lying on his side on the hardwood floor, the sunlight filtered in brighter through the window, dully reflecting off of the intricately carved, burnt umber colored furniture in the room. Someone wealthy had aided him, the man assumed. Yet the fine pieces were dusty, not shiny: unused. There was a very faint smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the cracks between the door and the frame, and it made his stomach grumble, even in this situation. His mouth was parched and tasted of sour bile, but there was nothing that looked like drinking water within reach amongst the jumble of medical supplies, bloody towels, and what he recognized as his cut-away clothes scattered around his makeshift bed. It was a vast assortment of items; whoever had tended to his injuries must have spent hours on the task. His body was no longer throbbing and freezing in utter misery; the pain had somehow been reduced to a tolerable level that didn't make him want to beg for death–if he could easily speak. He was even warm, now, under some furs–maybe a tad too warm. The fever burned the hottest in his flushed face and upper body, and in his aching leg. The blanket on which he laid felt damp with sweat and blood, and he could see that the pillowcase beneath his head was also a little bloodstained. . (edited)
01:34
The man gingerly moved his dominant left arm to lift the gray blanket a small amount for the dual purpose of getting some airflow and surveying the damage. The first thing he noticed was the extensive layers of bandages on his swollen and hot right leg. He exhaled a shaky sigh of relief, assuming that all the wood from the crushing cart had been cut out. There didn't appear to be splints on his leg, so nothing was broken there. Overnight, blood mixed with pus had very slowly been blooming in a few small spots through some of the bandages, thickly wrapped as they were. His right arm was also wrapped, splinted, and plastered, and secured across his torso in a cloth sling. He could see the shininess of an oily, numbing salve over most of his skin where there were abrasions, bruises, and cuts. The majority of his clothes had been cut away–even half of his drawers under the trousers all the way to his hip, which made sense because there was a bandage wrapped quite far up his muscular thigh where a splinter had been lodged. He supposed he should feel lucky that it hadn't impaled his femoral artery. Carefully, he shifted onto his back to rest in another position, and winced as pain flared up his leg. As he turned, a disgusting, pungent smell wafted up from under the fur blanket, causing him to wrinkle his nose. Upon feeling the uncomfortable, cool wetness, he cursed in his mind and squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation, brows furrowed. His bladder had given out due to the stress on his body, soaking his left thigh and the blanket beneath him at some point during the night. The smell was especially bad as he was dehydrated from blood loss. Moreover, his blood-soaked socks and grimy boots that were scattered nearby contributed to the horrible odor of death in the room. He wondered how the doctor had even endured it. . (edited)
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Survivor BOT 12/18/2023 01:44
The man pushed himself up to a sitting position using his left arm, wincing again, and flipped the gray blanket off of himself, relieved to see that it hadn't been soiled. He shivered a bit from the abrupt chill of the morning air on his near-naked body. He then lurched forward and forced himself upright onto his left foot with a pained grunt. Heart pounding and head spinning, he limped over to the window and attempted to hoist it open using his functional arm. With another grunt of effort, the old wood creaked loudly in its frame as it opened. Now there was at least more airflow to help with the stink in the room. If he hadn't been so focused on the task and had turned his head to take in the view from the window, he would have seen the gallows with its gently swinging noose. Breathing raggedly from the pain radiating from his throbbing leg, the man leaned on the dusty furniture to hop back to his original spot on the floor, accidentally kicking over a nearly-empty jar of styptic powder and barely avoiding cutting his foot on a pair of bloodied shears. The wide glass jar clanked as it rolled on the hardwood, and it thunked against the wall under the bed. The man fell to his bruised left knee and shoved the soiled blanket aside, then pulled the fur blanket back onto himself as he laid directly on the floor on his back. He panted from the pain and the fever, his mouth and throat dry. He wiped his sweat and his light brown hair away from his forehead, and passed out yet again with his mouth slightly open, bare arm flopping on top of the blanket. (edited)
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Doctor BOT 12/18/2023 19:29
Sleep hadn't come easily, and the doctor hadn't had much time for it besides. In the end, the best she'd managed had been a brief nap. The sort of ache that only came with a lack of proper rest began to set in, but she took care not to let it show. Regardless of what happened, she had to maintain the appearance of tireless competence. She hardly managed to command respect in most cases, but she'd make it damn obvious that any lack of it was due solely to the assumptions of others. The sun had barely risen when she made her way out to the kitchen to prepare breakfast on the wood stove. There were plenty of eggs still in the pantry, brought over by the chicken farmer on the edge of town in exchange for treating his latest array of stab wounds. Meat was even easier to come by, given her other line of work. She ate her fill first. There was never any knowing what the day would bring and, while it took a lot to ruin her appetite, she wasn't about to risk it. Not for the first time, she considered the possibility of taking on an assistant to handle the less scientific points of patient care. Since she didn't have one at the moment, she got to work as soon as she had finished. The couple who had arrived before sunset the day before were first priority, since she wasn't as worried about whether she might have to dispose of their corpses. They'd been the lucky ones. It was a brief visit, and she hadn't wasted time with idle conversation. They just needed their food, the stationery they'd asked for - not that it would do them any good - and some crutches for the man's leg. .
19:29
Once she left their room, she returned to her other patient. Most likely, he came from the same wagon train, but she saw no need to mention them to each other unless one of them asked. In the room, the bottom blanket had been cast aside, exposing its wretched scent to the open air. She looked first at the open window. Anywhere else in town, it would have been reckless. Here, he was most likely fine. It was the closest anywhere in Crimson Cross came to a peaceful area. As it was, the fact that he'd been able to wake up and move around at some point was a good sign. Silently cursing her own carelessness in leaving her supplies lying around, she picked up what she knew could leave the room. The rest of the equipment was set on the dresser and out of the way before she moved the fur blanket side. The man's breathing was a bit more obvious now, but a quick check of his bandages showed that the infection was already progressing. She looked closer at the skin around the bandages. Not too far - it was still salvageable. Good. She wasn't keen on amputations, and there was no prosthetist in town. She picked up the bucket, already putrid with the dirt, blood, and pus she'd cleaned out of the wounds initially, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Her patient's dignity was beyond saving, but she'd at least allow him his privacy. As always, refilling the bucket with clean water proved a more time-consuming task than it should have been. She promised herself for the hundredth time that she'd get the pump looked at. Once she had the water taken care of, she walked back to the room. She knocked on the man's door this time, if only to see if he'd wake up in response to the noise. Regardless of the response or lack thereof, she walked back inside without a word to clean and redress what she could without reopening his wounds.
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Survivor BOT 12/19/2023 07:05
At the sound of the knock, he startled awake from dozing and turned his head towards the door. He noticed that the fur blanket had been moved aside, uncovering his bandaged leg. Some bandages were unwrapped as though someone had recently checked on the wounds. He must have been too trapped in the unresponsive sleep of the ill to awaken when it had happened. Because he'd been expecting the doctor to be a man, his eyes widened at the stunning woman with a clean dress and tidy red hair who entered carrying a bucket of water–the doctor's assistant, maybe. When she silently entered, she seemed to regard him wearily with observant and impassive blue eyes. Then, suddenly, the man was all too aware of his state of undress: his short-sleeve undershirt and slashed, soiled drawers–and the soaked blanket that he had shoved aside earlier. His dark blue eyes darted to the side where the blanket was supposed to be and, with dismay, found it gone. This assistant, rather than a doctor, must have taken it away. . (edited)
07:05
His heart dropped to his stomach with a rush of humiliation and discomfiture that felt even worse than earlier because there was now a beautiful woman in the situation. He immediately averted his eyes. His face flamed, and not just from fever. He didn't know whether to hide his face or his crotch first. He settled for grabbing the other pillow near his head and squashing it onto his face so that his head was sandwiched between the two pillows. Right afterwards, he turned onto his left side with a grunt of pain and effort to hide his genitals as best he could, tucking the entire package between his thighs like a mangy puppy with its tail between its legs. His fist remained pressed to his left thigh, but he didn't realize that the outline of his privates was still visible from behind through the damp drawers. Face hidden in the pillow, squeezing shut his eyes and gritting his teeth, he cursed mentally, beyond embarrassed that a woman had to see him in this helpless, shameful state. His anxious breaths came quick and shallow, and he tried to slow the telltale rise and fall of his ribcage. Soon, however, the throbbing and burning in his inflamed leg distracted him. He deliberately untensed his body and stayed still, pushing aside the pillow to look down at what the woman was doing, wincing a little. . (edited)
07:05
Upon seeing the woman cleaning and redressing his wounds efficiently with such focus, the man realized that this diligent and elegant woman was not an assistant; she was the doctor. The subtle signs of fatigue beneath her striking eyes were most likely visible because she had been the doctor who had dedicated laborious hours last night to saving his life. He still felt self-conscious, weak, and exposed, but now he gazed at the doctor with gratitude and admiration. He wished that he could thank her. He tried, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was a dry rasp of air. His mouth was so dry that he had no saliva to swallow, and he had a terrible headache. He tried to ignore the pain and fatigue, to be patient. He watched the doctor's hands.
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Doctor BOT 12/19/2023 14:38
The doctor gave no response to his shock, rather used to the reaction by now. In the morning light, it was easier to see how he'd managed to make it all the way to town in his state. He was well-built, physical strength showing in every inch of his body. But that didn't mean he was safe; she'd seen bigger men felled by smaller cuts. His attempt to hide himself might have been laughable if not for the gravity of his current condition. She'd already seen his tear-streaked face the night before, and he was packing a bit too much to effectively conceal without more clothing. In a better state, he might have been handsome. As he was now, he only stirred as much pity as she was still capable of. "I promise, there's no embarrassment you could suffer right now that I haven't witnessed before," she said flatly in lieu of actual reassurance. Her bedside manner had long been criticized, first by her late mentor and after by many of her patients. She simply opted to focus less on pleasantries and more on making sure the people she was responsible got out of her infirmary alive. "Relax. You'll be better off that way." She saw no need for further words than that just now, and focused instead on tending to his existing wounds, making mental notes on the symptoms of his infection as she worked. Her hands traced along his muscular body as she cleaned and redressed his injuries. The water was still cool from the night before, so she let the damp cloth linger over the occasional spot that seemed particularly swollen. Her expression remained focused while she worked. She could see if he might be able to borrow her old mentor's clothing since his was beyond salvaging now, but he would likely need some assistance, considering his broken arm. Maybe it would have been more humane to end his suffering when she'd first seen him, but she hadn't taken on this duty just so she could continue the old pattern of kill or be killed. .
14:38
As her attention shifted to clean the scrapes on his face, her eyes met his briefly, taking in the new look in them. No longer shock or shame, but something she couldn't quite name. For a moment, her own breath failed her until her gaze left his, looking instead at the cheek she was wiping clean and applying a fresh salve to. She noted the way he seemed to try to speak, but failed. It could have been dehydration, shock, long-term mutism, or any combination of factors. The reason wasn't particularly important, when it seemed the least of his problems. She would simply focus on yes or no questions for anything she wanted to know. "Can you sit up?" she asked, ready to offer help if he needed it. As she held out her flask of water for him, a gunshot sounded outside in the distance. She didn't even flinch at the usual ambient noises of Crimson Cross. They knew better than to bring it too close to her threshold. "If it's too loud outside, I can close the window, but you seem like you need the fresh air." A very polite way to say the smell in the room would likely be unbearable without any ventilation. "There's still some breakfast left in the kitchen. Do you want something to wear before I bring it here?" Some of his blood had gotten onto the cream-coloured sleeve of her dress, but she ignored it. Plenty of practice cleaning it out, nothing a little bleach and patience couldn't fix. In the meantime, she simply cleaned her hands in the fresh water bucket, dried it off on the clean towel, then rolled her sleeves off her wrists, hiding the spots of red.
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Survivor BOT 12/20/2023 05:07
The patient tried to let his muscles become more lax after hearing the doctor's comment that he had no need to be embarrassed, realizing that she'd probably seen scores of patients like him. Nevertheless, his mind was still nervous because he hadn't been in such a state of undress in the presence of a beautiful woman before–let alone while he had frustratingly little control over his broken body. The man didn't miss that the doctor let the washcloth rest briefly on particularly painful and festered areas, the cool dampness of it bringing moments of relief from the pain. Taking the time to soothe these spots, when she could surely finish sooner to attend to other matters or her own well-being, seemed an unessential, yet compassionate and welcome gesture. The doctor didn't have to be gentle with her hands, either, but she was. Her considerate technique made the man think that she had a caring bedside manner. He could have relaxed further if he hadn't been in so much pain from the cleaning of the wounds and his pounding dehydration headache. Looking down at his mangled leg, slimy and puffy with infection and shiny with salve, red skin puckered from stitches where foreign objects had been cut out, he knew that it would certainly scar, but that didn't bother him. The disfigurement would be covered by trousers when it was healed, and few people had ever cared how he looked, so he didn't, either. .
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Survivor BOT 12/20/2023 05:19
When the doctor's eyes coincidentally met his appreciative gaze, he also averted his eyes, staring instead at the jar of salve in her hand. She was so lovely and so close–too close, her skilled fingertips on his cheek applying the numbing salve. His chest ached as he felt a complicated mixture of emotions: vulnerability, gratitude, comfort, bashfulness, sadness. When was the last time he'd received physical touch like he was a human being with value? It must have been over a year ago, before that person died. He almost wanted to grab the jar of salve from the doctor with his one working arm and growl out that he wasn't weak, that he could take care of himself, that it was a waste to tend to a criminal. All he did, however, was shut his prickling eyes, staying still. He took a few deep breaths, and eventually calmed. When the doctor asked whether he could sit up, he forced himself to do so with a low grunt. He turned his head to look out the window when he heard the distant gunshot, but promptly put it out of mind, as there was nothing he could do about it. He gave her an eager nod of thanks for the offered flask and gulped down all the water at once, gasping for air after he shook out the last drops, then turning his head to wipe his mouth on his shoulder. He didn't respond to her statement about the window, but nodded again at the mention of clothing and food. He handed back the flask, hoping for more water, because he knew that would help the infection and headache subside. He'd always recovered more quickly from illness and injury than the people around him; "hardy lad" was a phrase he remembered someone praising him with in early childhood, before they'd all succumbed to dysentery or typhoid fever and left behind an orphan. .
05:19
Still watching the doctor's face and her hands, he noticed the blood on her dress and felt a twinge of guilt as she rolled the pretty sleeves up her slender wrists. He hoped that she could get the stains out. He couldn't do anything to repay the doctor in his current condition, and he'd carried only a few coppers in his pocket, but he promised in his mind that once he recovered he'd lend his strength or find a job to repay his debt. Shifting on the floor, the man reached for the shears that had been used to remove bandages, intending to cut off his damp and bloodstained underclothes, not quite thinking ahead about how he'd get them off over the splinted, slung arm and the bandaged leg. Feeling fatigued and a bit dizzy from the fever, he scooted a couple of feet, using his good leg as leverage, so that he could sit up against the nearby ornate bed frame. He didn't dare sit on the bed itself and dirty it. Holding the shears to the waistband of his drawers, he poked the tip of a blade underneath and awkwardly started to snip, reminding himself of the doctor's first words spoken to him while fighting his trepidation.
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Doctor BOT 12/20/2023 18:53
The doctor took the flask back once he was finished. She would take a moment to refill it when she was getting breakfast, maybe fill the washbasin too. For now, she had to at least attempt to provide clothing. It would have to come off again next time she checked his wounds and freshened the dressings, but unless something went horribly wrong, they wouldn't have to be cut from him again. In the moment before she left his side, a small area of exposed skin on her left forearm was visible, showing part of an old but particularly nasty scar that almost encircled it. At one point, when she'd been small, it had been clearly visible as a bite mark from a dog. The years had stretched and distorted the old wound, though its source was still clearly some sort of animal. She walked over to the old dresser, pulling open the top drawer first. Rummaging through a dead father figure's underthings was an odd way to spend part of her morning, so she grabbed the first article of clothing off the top before moving on to the rest of his clothes. Most of the clothing was lightweight linen or cotton, the textiles of a fine, high-quality weave. Despite the cold of night, daytimes were warm, and once the air did cool down, woolen layers were easily layered on top. A simple white shirt and grey trousers would work for now; there was no need to worry about a waistcoat while he was staying indoors. It would only be an additional layer of challenge, with his broken arm. With the clothes piled up and his attention occupied, she paused a moment to set the flask in the basin. He might have a limited capacity to clean himself right now, but the least she could do was make the option available to him. .
18:53
"Careful with the shears," she warned as she carried the clothes over, since she didn't want his hand to slip and slice anything open. Or worse, off. "It's easier if I do it for you." But she didn't reach to grab them from him, in case any resistance to the gesture led the exact sorts of injuries she hoped to avoid him causing himself. The last thing she needed was to make her own job harder. "Or if you're more concerned about modesty than safety, I can look away." Despite her caution - there was enough blood in the floorboards already - she went along with whichever course of action he seemed to prefer. Even if he didn't speak, she'd studied enough to pick up on nonverbal cues. She'd had to learn them, given the fact that there was never a guarantee that a patient would be in any condition to speak. She remembered the brief moment of eye contact, the look that seemed like admiration. An expression she hadn't before realized that she'd always hoped someone would look at her with. A stupid, sentimental part of her brain stirred at it, but she opted to ignore it and her expression remained neutral as ever. She had a job to do, she was doing it now, and her patient was likely still in shock. Even though she'd offered to look away, she knew he would need some help with the clothing, and would provide as much as she could. The concept of impropriety didn't mean a whole lot in this context, and she had to make sure he wouldn't do anything stupid, like trying to slip his broken arm through the corresponding shirtsleeve. No further gunshots came in from the outside, so she assumed that either whoever had fired the first one had hit their target or the other person had brought a knife to a gun fight and actually managed to win. The former was unlikely, but she'd lived here since her youth and the town's founding; she knew neither was impossible.
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Survivor BOT 12/21/2023 04:31
The guilt and conviction to repay his debt that the man felt when the doctor rolled up her sleeves was quickly chased away by a sense of alarm. She's been bitten by a vampire! was the first thought in the man's fever-addled mind when he saw the distorted, old scar on the doctor's forearm. Lying around a fire at night with his ragtag group of companions when he was a street urchin, they'd often tell stories to each other. The proverbial wisdom was that vampires had been active since at least the early 18th century. A corpse had a chance of returning as a vampire if the person died unforgiven by one's parents, unmarried and regretful, or via murder or suicide. The undead creatures might even return in mindless hordes. The man had never seen one himself, however. The man looked towards the window. He was paranoid, but he couldn't be too careful since the gallows was right outside, so a cemetery with the terrifying predators might be nearby. More likely, however, her scar was from an animal or a cannibal with really sharp canines. In any case, once he recovered, he'd have to procure a firearm. That'd be straightforward enough to do in this town where the residents weren't barred from selling to a former thief. . (edited)
04:31
He blinked away, shelving the arbitrary thoughts to turn his attention to the task at hand: cutting off his drawers without cutting himself. Seeing the shirt, trousers, and underclothes piled in the doctor's arms, the man paused after cutting just an inch down the waistband, wondering whether he should at least clean his skin before donning the new clothes. It probably didn't matter, as he'd continue to sweat from the fever in the warm room during the day. After a brief hesitation, he switched to hold the shears by the blade end and handed them to the doctor. Face flushing, he turned his head to the side to look away, trusting her. He tried to relax his body against the bed frame so that she could work better, but his eyes darted around where he was facing, searching for something to distract him from his humiliation and anxiety. He was about to be seen for the first time by an attractive and thoughtful woman while he was filthy, sweaty, and smelly beneath the underthings stained with different fluids. She may have been a doctor who had seen many patients, but a lady shouldn't have to deal with someone like him at all. He would have refused her help if he hadn't felt repulsive staying in the drawers that were beginning to chafe in the most sensitive spots. . (edited)
04:38
Getting worked up about undead monsters in addition to the novel situation proved detrimental to the man's body, which was already on the brink of collapse from fever, blood loss, and staying awake during the painful wound debridement. As his heart raced, he felt hotter, sweatier, and more lightheaded the longer he stayed upright. His breaths came shallow from his parted lips. Soon, the feelings of shame and self-contempt were replaced by a debilitating exhaustion and mental fog as his vision darkened. He realized that he was going to black out again, so he fought to keep his head upright for as long as he could. Thankfully, his back was still slumped against the bed frame, although he had slid down partially. His dark blue eyes were glassy and half-lidded as he clumsily, weakly attempted to comply with the doctor's guidance, if she had any regarding how he should extricate his limbs from his shredded underclothes. He gazed at the doctor without much conscious thought. She was so close. Her face faded in and out of the darkness as more spots filled his vision. She was brave: she had saved him; she had even fought off a vampire. He reached out with his trembling hand to stroke the scar on her forearm in reverence with his calloused fingertips. Then his hand dropped to the floor as his eyes slid closed. (edited)
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Doctor BOT 12/21/2023 16:21
She placed the clothes on the bed and set about her task with the necessary clinical detachment, cutting away the cloth until it could simply fall off rather than being pulled off and potentially disrupting all of the work she'd already put into keeping his body stable. The body in question was... not in a good state, but she'd expected that. People rarely were, when they arrived in Crimson Cross. To his credit, he was certainly gifted, in some areas. But she had work to do, and she'd undressed plenty of men before. Never for reasons either of them enjoyed, but it guaranteed nothing she saw was exactly new. Or... she assumed nobody involved enjoyed it. She looked up as she heard his breathing become shallow and, picking up on the signs, quickly set the shears and the discarded, newly useless cloth aside. "We'll dress you once you're washed up, then." At the moment, she reached out to help steady him. He was easier to move around when he was awake, no longer dead weight. "Lay down for now. It's better that you don't fall down and hurt yourself while I'm out." She knelt in front of him to keep a better centre of gravity while she helped. She had to stay close, guiding him down with one arm while she used the other to steady his broken arm by the hand. It was slow going, as she made sure to lower him gently, and that his head would be supported once he was on the ground. The bed would have been a better spot for him in terms of comfort, but that could wait until he was a bit cleaner. The last thing she needed was to make more work for herself. Then she felt his hand brush against her scar and froze for a moment, if only due to the oddity of the gesture. Even after years, the skin on her forearm was more sensitive than the rest of her, the rough texture of his fingers more obvious because of it. Then it fell away, and he lost consciousness. .
16:21
He was past the point where the loss of consciousness might have meant an increased risk of death, so she let him rest, covering him with the fur blanket once more. Once she managed to slide her arm out from under him, she stood back up and looked toward the door. It was open a crack, but that wasn't surprising; she hadn't been able to shut it all the way with her hands full. Nor would she now. She picked up the basin and stepped out into the hallway. She could hear muffled voices from the spare room, incomprehensible but seemingly worried. Maybe her other patients were pondering the gravity of their situation. She didn't worry about it too much as she walked out to the water pump. It was too late for them anyway. If she was lucky, either one of the spooked travelers would still offer to be helpful or the worse-off patient would make a full recovery and turn out to be a pretty decent handyman. She'd never been good at repairing objects, having only been taught to mend people, and leaving her home to buy supplies was always risky enough business, never mind going out to find someone to fix the pump. In the meantime, she fought with it as usual, refilling her flask then the basin. Tedious work, but necessary. She moved quickly after that, heading back up the porch steps.
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Survivor BOT 12/21/2023 23:50
He was grateful when the doctor helped to lower his upper body to the floor so that his head wouldn't hit the floorboards and potentially split open the cuts and bruises on his scalp. He couldn't reach the pillows that had been left several feet away because they were on the side of his broken arm, but comfort wasn't what he was thinking about, anyway, when he lost consciousness with the doctor so near. He was also unaware of the fact that she could most likely feel the thin, raised, year-old scars from flogging, if she hadn't already seen them. If he'd been more clear headed, he might have reacted to the touch on the sensitive skin. In sleep, his breathing had become regular by the time the doctor returned. At the sound of the door, and footsteps re-entering the room, he awakened partially, but remained only half-conscious. He gazed half-lidded in the direction of the door lethargically, lips parted, body too drained and feverish for his mind to be completely lucid. He recognized vaguely that he was now naked under the fur blanket, and he was still sweating. His loose body, much of it sleek with the numbing and protective salve in unbandaged areas, was a little slippery on the wooden floorboards. When he saw the doctor again, he felt a rare sense of comfort without being able to identify the emotion in his state. He relaxed further, watching her face and her hands when she was in view. He was so tired that he felt as though he would fall asleep immediately if he let his eyes blink closed for longer than a few seconds, but he slid his good arm out from under the blanket when he spotted the flask. (edited)
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Doctor BOT 12/22/2023 03:05
He was already conscious again by the time she returned. While the frequent blackouts weren't necessarily a good sign, their short duration was. She set the basin on the floor for now, since he didn't seem in any state to stand at the washstand. He was already reaching out, so she held the flask up, but kept it capped. With the state he was in, it was no challenge to piece together what it was he wanted. "Sit up first," she instructed. "I didn't spend hours patching you up just to have you asphyxiate on water." Despite her dispassionate words, she was willing to help him up if needed. She didn't question the scars on his back, since they were old enough not to affect his current condition. The past hardly mattered in a place like this anyway. Once he was upright, she unscrewed the cap for the canteen and held it out to him for him to drink. She didn't bother to move from her spot on the floor yet, since it was easier to communicate if they remained at eye level. "Once you drink, you can wash up before we get you dressed. Then we'll see if you feel up to sleeping on the actual bed." She didn't mention that she hadn't been able to lift him into it and that was why she'd left him on the floor. That reality was to be expected, given her slim build, but no less embarrassing for it. She waited for him to finish drinking so she could take the bottle back, then stood back up to take a few steps back. Not so far that she couldn't help if he needed, but enough that she wasn't crowding him in what would normally have been a private moment.
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Survivor BOT 12/22/2023 07:20
The man moved unintentionally slowly, accepting the doctor's help to sit up and lean heavily against the bed frame again. The blanket slid to his lap. This time, he swallowed all of the water at a less rapid rate, and nodded gratefully when he returned the flask. He began to feel a little less overheated and listless after drinking the water that was still cooler than the ambient temperature, his eyes a little less heavy-lidded. He shook his head in the negative in response to the doctor's comment about sleeping on the bed. He didn't trust his body at the moment, and didn't want to create more work for her. Maybe when he was better he'd move to the bed, but he was still losing fluids through sweat and blood as his body fought the infection. He was used to sleeping on the ground, anyway. Reaching for the washbasin, he pulled it towards him. He hesitated as he picked up the folded washcloth on the edge of the basin, looking down at his upper body. He didn't want to accidentally wash off any of the salve that the doctor had just applied, because she'd already cleaned those spots, so he focused on washing the areas that had been covered by his undershirt, such as the armpits and abdomen, lifting his broken arm in the sling out of the way carefully. His upper torso had sustained only a few bruises and scrapes. He would have expected to break a rib with that fall, but he guessed his right arm had protected his ribs. . (edited)
07:25
He felt more awkward as the doctor stood back and watched him from a higher perspective; it would have been better if she had stayed near to hold up the blanket–ideally up to her own face to block his entire person from her view. The man understood that she had to prevent him from hurting himself, though. He avoided looking up at the doctor as he grew redder in the face, though the difference in color wasn't too discernible from the constant flush of the fever. He had to slide his one functional arm under the blanket to wash the areas typically covered by drawers, so he was getting the blanket damp at the edge. Wincing, he shifted so that he could make sure everything was clean. At the same time, he was anxious about finishing quickly, and tried to hurry so that he wouldn't keep the doctor waiting. Breathing a little harder than when he'd started, he wiped clean his right fingers that stuck out from the bandages, plasters, and splints. Finally, he tried to wash his left armpit clumsily. It was just about the only place near his left arm that the doctor had not already cleaned since it had no injuries; the dominant arm and hand had gotten quite a few, which the doctor had already treated. Twisting his arm in an uncomfortable way with the elbow stuck out to the side, sort of resembling the folding of a chicken wing, he managed to wash it. He wasn't about to let himself act like a completely incompetent invalid, even if he almost was. .
07:25
He dropped the washcloth back onto the edge of the basin and then slouched back in exhaustion against the bed frame, head back and throat exposed, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. But he only allowed himself a couple of seconds for that, concerned about taking the doctor's time. He eyed the pile of clothes, wondering who they had belonged to. Because he felt warm, he decided that he would wear only the underthings, and he'd refuse the shirt and trousers for now, figuring that they'd only get in the doctor's way. The blanket would likely keep him warm enough at night. Looking at the underthings, he realized that he'd probably need the doctor's assistance getting them on, just as she had helped to get his old things off. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself so that he wouldn't become overexerted again. Then he glanced at the doctor, feeling guilty that she'd been attending to him all morning when up close she had appeared rather tired–yet still stunning.
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Doctor BOT 12/22/2023 15:47
The doctor made it a point not to watch too intensely, wanting to at least pretend he had some privacy. He didn't, not from her, but that was unavoidable if she was going to heal him properly. She gave him a moment to catch his breath, then walked back over to him. She picked up the pile of clothes, noted his refusal, and set the shirt and trousers aside. It wasn't like he was going anywhere for a while anyway. She started with the underwear. It was easy enough to pull over his leg bandages, though she needed to instruct him afterward. "Lift your hips. You don't have to stand, but I'm not picking you up." The shirt was going to be more of a challenge. She'd opted for an underlayer without sleeves, to make it easier, but his arm would still have to leave the sling for a moment to work it on comfortably. She'd set it well enough, but with open fractures, she had to be especially careful. She supported his right wrist with her right hand and worked on removing the sling with her left. It was always a bit easier to work that way, regardless of how many times she'd gotten her hands swatted for relying on that one. All it had taught her was to write awkwardly with her right hand in public, and better with her left when she was alone. But right now, she doubted this man would care as long as he had the chance to heal. Slowly, she helped lower his wrist, not wanting to jostle anything even through the plaster. .
15:47
"Just let it hang there. Don't try to move it on your own." As she pulled the undervest over the broken arm, she asked a few more questions, to make sure she wasn't missing anything like a concussion. "Does your head hurt?" She paused to let him respond, then for a moment longer to bring the undervest's other arm around to the side. "And have you always been this quiet?" There was no judgment to the question, just making sure it wasn't an emergent issue. She observed his response, but didn't comment either way, just kept the note internally. "There. Pull your other arm through, then we'll get you back in your sling." Once he was dressed, she set back to work, carefully setting the sling back up. His breakfast would definitely be cold by now, but still better than nothing. "Don't overexert yourself," she instructed. "There's a chamberpot under the bed, if you need it and can move enough to use it. I'll leave the basin on the floor for you; just be careful not to knock it-" The shaking of the ground cut her off. Nothing new, but never on a predictable schedule, it sent her falling forward. She caught herself on her arms to avoid colliding with her patient, but barely; she would still end up face-to-chest with him, if he stayed in his sitting position. The washbasin was a bit less likely, spilling some of the dirty water over its edges. It lasted for a few seconds, then was gone while she took a moment to catch her breath. In her years of living here, she'd thought she would eventually get used to it, but nobody ever did.
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Survivor BOT 12/23/2023 01:17
Lifting his hips with his good arm and leg was awkward because they were both on the same side of the injured man's body. He did so with a pained grunt, trying not to lose balance. He scowled as he looked away from the doctor, the humiliation about having his exposed privates mere feet away from a woman cast aside by a twinge of annoyance at her sharp words in the second half of the instruction she'd given, just as he'd been about to do exactly that. The group of street thieves he'd run with had always poked fun at him for wearing his heart on his sleeve most of the time, despite his lack of speech, unless he was serious about a job. He straightened the waistband, glaring at the bloodstained floorboards. The man calmed himself when he figured that the doctor was probably annoyed by how much trouble he was causing for her. She had probably noticed that the coppers in his now-discarded trousers hadn't even summed to a whole dollar with which to pay her. Plus, she was also probably annoyed that she couldn't lift him herself, since he was a few inches taller than the average man of 5'6" in the era, and heavy with the muscle mass of a laborer or farmhand. He felt guilty again, like a burden, frustrated with his condition, but his slight frown faded as fatigue again took over. Sitting slightly forward as the doctor began to remove the sling, the man watched her hands. She was gentle with his broken arm, and his body automatically relaxed because of it, even though he didn't notice right away. There was that odd feeling again that made his chest tighten for a moment. As she moved, he realized that she might be a left-handed person, like himself, and felt a tiny sense of solidarity. He followed her instructions, not trying to move his right arm himself. .
01:17
His headache from dehydration and fever had faded almost to nothing with the two flasks of water, so he lightly shook his head. He nodded at the second question as he inserted his good arm through the undershirt. "Uh-huh." He gave a low utterance of affirmation from his throat to show the doctor that nothing was physically wrong and that he could talk, on occasion. Whatever made him unwilling–or often unable–to speak normally had come on mysteriously in the months after becoming an orphan. There was that tightening in his chest again as the doctor told him not to exert himself. He realized why: she spoke to him and had touched him as though his well-being mattered. He gazed up at her concentrating face, his eyes softening in appreciation, even as part of his mind told him that he was silly for being moved by her behavior when she was simply an expert at her job. When the earth started shaking in the middle of the doctor's sentence, the man's dark blue eyes widened and swept around the room, looking for a possible source, his back slamming into the bed frame. An earthquake–but here? Something rolled out from under the bed–the near-empty jar of styptic powder–and clunked against the foot of the dresser. The supplies on top shook, and the old oil lamp on the intricately carved nightstand beside the bed came perilously close to walking off the edge. The chamber pot's porcelain lid was rattling, and so was the open window in its frame. .
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Survivor BOT 12/23/2023 01:28
The man threw out his hands to the sides to stop himself from sliding around on the floorboards that were semi-slick with oily salve, only to cry out in anguish when he shoved his broken arm against the inside of the plaster, having forgotten that he couldn't use it. Cursing internally, he instantly grimaced and curled in on himself, but the doctor had fallen forward when both of his arms were away from his chest. His arm in the sling came up automatically against her shoulder, and his dominant arm wrapped firmly around the doctor's upper back, his palm hot on her dress, inadvertently making her cheek press against his pounding heart as he trembled. His whole body was warm from fever, yet all the heat and pain seemed to be concentrated in his broken arm for that moment. Without thought, he instinctively hugged the warm and soft human being for comfort, eyes squeezed closed, gasping into her hair from the fire throbbing outwards from his injury. Luckily, the doctor had been on his left, so her body was pulled against his left thigh and not the bandaged one. The earth's shaking stopped after a few seconds, and the man realized what he was doing a second later. He jerked away his left arm in surprise and embarrassment, attempting to speak, his eyebrows furrowed. "Ah–sss..." A feeble attempt at "Are you alright? Sorry." He bit his lip, then swallowed hard, and let the broken arm fall carefully back against his ribcage in its sling. He looked down at it and moved it gingerly, but the pain was already dulling. It didn't feel as though he had ripped the stitches that were over the broken bone, since the splint and plasters were snug against the bandages over his skin. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him with a deep sense of weariness. (edited)
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Doctor BOT 12/23/2023 15:27
It took her a moment to process the position she was in. He'd caught her, at least to the best of his current ability. With the side of her face against his chest, she wasn't sure if the pounding she heard was his heartbeat or her own. He was warm against her - no, beyond warm. He had a fever, and she was being silly. She chastised herself as the ground calmed, but didn't move for a moment. A faint part of her mind wondered when the last time was that she'd been hugged. Before the town had been built? No, there had been another time, years after that, a moment of mutual comfort amongst an odd sort of grief. Regardless, it wasn't a common occurrence. She pulled away once his arm moved, so she'd have the excuse of not wanting to force herself out of his grip and cause him further injury. She avoided eye contact and, even with their proximity broken, her face was still burning. With her own embarrassment now, rather than his fever. She reached up to fix her hair as she listened to him apologize. "No. I mean yes," she corrected herself. "I'm fine, and you don't have to be sorry. It would have been worse if I'd hit my forehead against the bedframe. These earthquakes happen all the time, but never at an expected time." Even so, she'd felt the sling against her shoulder, and gave his arm a concerned look, seeing if any blood had started to leak through, or there was any sign that something was out of place. She took a moment to inspect what she could without removing any of its dressings, but it all seemed perfectly normal. It hadn't been much of an impact, and seemed it had only given him a moment of pain. Her own heartbeat had calmed down after she'd been unexpectedly thrown around by the sudden tectonic movement, and she could feel the temporary blush fading, so they would both be fine. She looked down at her empty flask. Maybe she should find a spare for him, so she wouldn't have to keep providing her own. .
15:27
"Are you alright?" she asked anyway, just to be sure. "I probably should've warned you that might happen." She stood up again, her tired joints aching in protest. Another drink for him, his breakfast, then she'd clear out the other room and finally get the rest that had failed to happen the night before. And clean up, too. After the sudden closeness to another person, she found herself acutely aware of her current state after having spent a night and morning on patient care. At least he seemed stable now. She looked away from him, fighting hard to suppress a yawn and hiding it behind a deep sigh. She only spoke once it faded away. "I'll bring you something to eat, then you can rest. I'll be back now and then to check on your wounds. I don't have other patients at the moment, so you can roam if you want and feel comfortable doing so - staying still for too long will only worsen your condition." It went against conventional wisdom, which advised nearly constant bedrest, but she'd personally found that her patients who enjoyed some freedom of movement while respecting their limits generally healed better, and didn't end up with bed sores. It was one of those scenarios where she would take professional experience over what she'd been taught. "Do you need anything else?"
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Survivor BOT 12/24/2023 07:34
The man felt a little surprised that the doctor had understood what he'd meant to say from just two incomplete sounds. Then again, his body language and facial expressions had been rather obvious in the moment, and she must have had training in the matter. He was already calm and weary as he watched the doctor with gratitude when she inspected his arm with concern, but he wondered why she was blushing. Surely, if earthquakes happened here all the time, then everyone who had lived here for a while must have bumped into plenty of other people. Maybe he had clung to her too tightly, but she didn't say anything about it. Regardless, as the doctor replied to his apology, he couldn't help but gaze with curiosity and fondness at her flushed face, which had its own charm. "Mm." The man grunted in affirmation; he was alright. A bit of the doctor's makeup from the side of her face had rubbed off on his undergarment when he'd pressed her to him, and he thought her natural skin beneath it was even prettier, even though the dark circle beneath her eye on that side was now more visible. He felt concerned when she took a moment to stifle a yawn before speaking more, but he averted his eyes to the jar on the floor, pretending not to notice. Maybe he'd try to straighten the room a bit tomorrow if his leg allowed him, and push items away from the edges of the cherry wood furniture in case another earthquake occurred. .
07:38
He would have wandered around eventually without permission once he was healed enough, but it was great to know that he wouldn't have to sneak around. The man shook his head no to the last question; he really just wanted to eat, drink, and sleep, in that order. It didn't even cross his mind that a patient in his situation would typically want to notify their family, friends, or employer about their condition and location. The man wished that he could go get the food and water himself so that the doctor could concern herself with only medical tasks befitting her status, but he knew that he was in no state to do so. He wasn't used to this complete lack of self-sufficiency, and promised again to himself that he'd repay the doctor when he'd recovered. Some time later, after he'd eaten the cold but still tasty bacon and eggs, and drank water from a flask that seemed a little different from the one he'd used before, he settled onto his left side on the floor with just a pillow under his head, the fur blanket off to the side. Too tired to think about anything, he let his body promptly fall asleep so that it could fight the infection and heal. (edited)
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Doctor BOT 12/26/2023 22:14
It was nice, working with a patient that let her get her work done instead of asking annoying, invasive questions like 'how are you today' or 'what is your name'. She found a spare flask in one of the kitchen drawers, among a mess of cooking utensils. She always told herself she would organize them, then never got around to actually doing any of it. Once she'd rinsed the flask, then filled it properly, she carried it and the plate of cold breakfast back to the room. She didn't linger for long this time, since she'd already tended to his immediate needs and he had indicated that there was nothing further. She left the door open just a crack. Not enough for anyone to snoop through, but enough that sound would make it through if he needed anything, and it could be easily pushed open. Her own room was next door to it, close enough that she could come running in the event of an emergency. She went there once she'd cleared out the spare. Compared to Irvine's old room, the furniture was more basic. It had previously belonged to Irvine's former apprentice, and before then been another patient room. Much of the original furnishings remained, so it closely resembled the room the couple had stayed in, with the main differences being a slightly larger bed and a small birch bookcase that held medical texts on one shelf and works of classical fiction on the one below. Although it was midday, she let her hair down and changed into a white cotton nightgown for the purpose of sleeping. She took a moment to fastidiously clean the blood from the day dress's sleeve. The stain was so common that she'd taken to keeping a bottle of bleach in her own room. After, she stood in front of the washbasin to freshen up in the lightly perfumed water, wiping the makeup from her face before bed. Once she was clean again, exhaustion finally took over. Sleep came soon after. .
22:14
It was later in the afternoon by the time she stirred awake again. The sun had not yet begun to set, but its position had shifted enough that the room's shadows fell in the opposite direction, and she could tell it had been a few hours. She stayed where she was for a moment, letting the quiet of the house sink in. Peaceful, if only for now. Her eyes closed for a moment longer, but the exhaustion wasn't there anymore. She could finally feel like a person again, or as close as she came these days. Some level of disconnection from one's own personhood was a simple matter of survival. She got dressed again, brushing her hair out and tying it back up before she walked out of the room. Once she dumped the dirty water from the basin, she would be able to tend to her remaining patient. A hint of anticipation stirred within her. Anxiety that he still wasn't completely safe from his infection, perhaps, or a simple matter of looking forward to occupying her time with something meaningful.
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Survivor BOT 12/27/2023 09:34
The man was still sleeping in the late afternoon after sweating through what seemed to be the warmest part of the day. He'd barely shifted in his sleep, and his breathing seemed steady, not as shallow as it had been the night before. His eyes moved behind the lids, dreaming. A shadow chased him as he bounded for miles with long and flying leaps through dark and empty roads. Every time he landed, it dashed forth to consume him from the place they joined in the dirt. A feeling of being burned with coals was spreading up through his soles, up through his feet, ankles, and calves, charring them black like the shadow. He couldn't stop running, and the scenery didn't change. There was nowhere to go, and the shadow was inescapable. "Ngh... Hot..." His left bicep twitched beneath the pillow and his fingers curled into a loose fist as he mumbled a complaint, sleeptalking. .
09:39
Loud footsteps on the porch and quick raps on the front door made the man jerk awake. He propped himself up on his left elbow, looking around to get his bearings as his head swam and heart raced from the sudden awakening. Feelings of helplessness and weakness from the fever dream lingered, and the man warily looked at his legs to ensure that they weren't black from the knee down. The person at the front door rapped again and called breathlessly through it with an urgent, demanding tone. "Hey, lady! Old Man Irvine isn't waking from his nap again. Need a doctor down at Smith's–the dry goods, not the saloon. His nephew's been shot–I reckon a while ago. He's still breathing, but just barely!" There was a pause, and then the caller muttered to himself. "Goddamn four-flusher making me run all the way here. Could've let him be if he didn't owe me money." The feverish man lying on the floor stared at the tiny crack in the door without much comprehension. He was confused as to who all these people were. It sounded as though an old man might be dying in his sleep, another man was certainly dying or already dead, and both of them were at a dry goods store. Come to think of it, he might be dying, too. A grim thought passed through his mind that there was still a chance of losing his leg or his life. The possibility of the latter didn't bother him nearly as much as the former. Regardless, he didn't hope for the best outcome; hope on its own was meaningless. .
09:45
The stranger at the door didn't hold the man's interest. His cheeks felt hot and he was drenched in sweat. With a wince, he forced himself to sit up against the bedframe. He picked up the flask and uncapped it with his good arm by holding it between his thighs, and gulped down all of the water, then set the flask aside, not bothering to replace the cap. He checked his aching leg, gingerly lifting the edge of the bandages and examining the skin of his right thigh just beneath. The limb was uncomfortably swollen, hot, and red, and the bandages were damp from sweat or pus. His ankle, visible below the lowest bandage, was puffy with edema. At least blood wasn't blooming through the material like it had the night before, and at least he didn't seem to have a necrotizing type of infection; he imagined that the pain and smell would be a lot worse if that were the case. Trying to cool himself, he dragged the basin of water on the floor towards him and held the damp washcloth to his cheeks and neck. He was feeling fatigued and dizzy simply from sitting up, so he laid back down with the cloth on his forehead, gazing out the window with half-lidded eyes at the late afternoon sky and its very few wispy clouds. His sight was unfocused, and he could barely follow any conversation. The fever seemed to be at its worst so far. The man wanted to avoid thinking about the dream, but he had no energy to focus his attention on something else. He couldn't prevent it from replaying in front of his glazed eyes. He remained on the floor in a semi-conscious state, possibly hallucinating, his body partially blanketed by the long, creeping shadows.
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Doctor BOT 12/28/2023 12:08
She stood right in front of the man's door when the knocking began. A house call. Fuck. Old Man Irvine's presence had just enough pacifying effect to temporarily negate the usual murderous rage of the town's residents, but the effects wouldn't linger long away from the infirmary. It was always dangerous to leave, a return to an old life of walking on eggshells to avoid being the next corpse in the butcher's shop. She took a deep breath and walked into Irvine's old room to regather her supplies. If she died out there, he was screwed, but there wasn't much she could do about it. It was her job to go. "I'll be back in an hour or two," she said, noting that he seemed to be awake. She barely had time to glance his way as she put everything she might need in the bag she'd brought the supplies to the room in. "Keep resting and don't bother your bandages in the meantime. You'll just invite more bad air if you disturb them." On the way out, she did spare him more of a look. There were some signs of improvement at least, but she'd have to do a full checkup once she returned. Without another word, she walked out, mostly closing the door again on the way. She stepped outside and hurried past the stranger who'd been knocking. There was no time to bother with small talk, and she paid no mind to being called 'lady'. Those who had been in town for more than seven years had known her name before she'd become the doctor's apprentice, then the doctor, but nobody used it anymore. Either they had forgotten, or they had settled into being more comfortable referring to her by role than acknowledging who she was. .
12:09
"Smith's Dry Goods, you said?" she confirmed as she hurried along the road. She briefly checked the knife at her side with her right hand, to make sure it was there. Ready if she needed it. "Where has he been shot? How many bullets? Is there anyone else there?" Her questions carried urgency, but no concern. Just a doctor doing her job, but knowing the man's odds of survival weren't great. She had to focus on him anyway, though. Focusing on work meant she wasn't worried, meant that the old fears wouldn't drag her down and threaten to drown her again.
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Survivor BOT 12/29/2023 08:55
The feverish man lying on the floor barely reacted to the doctor as she came and went. He only really noticed her presence when new shadows, which she formed as she gathered her supplies, shifted over his face. He blinked away from the open window and slowly lifted his left hand a couple of inches towards the doctor, but then she was gone.
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Narrator BOT 12/29/2023 08:56
The stranger outside–a young man–was around the same age as the heavyset blond dying in the dry goods store. He was wearing a puce and green bandana with an ugly pattern tied around his neck. He replied to the doctor as he hurried along beside her. "Yep, Smith's Dry Goods. Two bullets in the gut, looked like. A couple in the wall behind–those must've gone through his cheek and arm. And one more in the wall by the door, but he wasn't holding a sidearm–just a pickaxe." He panted as they nearly jogged along. "Pickaxe is stuck in Frank," he added, without elaborating who that was because it didn't matter to him. "Frank's dead." Unbeknownst to the caller, Smith's nephew was already losing a fatal amount of blood on the floor of the dry goods store where he'd been found by his gambling acquaintance. The blond would die within minutes after said acquaintance and the doctor arrived. .
08:58
As the young man and the doctor continued at a rapid pace towards the dry goods store in the heat of the late afternoon, the sun beating down on one side of his face, he grew more and more exasperated. He felt as though he were being roasted alive with heat, and he muttered nasty things about the climate and the walk and the dying man, his complaints interrupted regularly by his labored breathing. When they were nearly halfway, he had the sudden urge to shove the doctor forward and shout at her to run ahead of him to save the blond. But he didn't because she seemed to be in better shape than he was, and was even gaining on him in their quest to save Smith's nephew. Panting, he struggled to keep the same pace after the halfway point, but he couldn't, which only made his irritation rise further. He fell nearly ten feet behind the doctor by the time they arrived at their destination. That made him feel impotent and really ticked him off. That was a slight against him, wasn't it, to point out that he'd been born with bad lungs? His eyes shot daggers into her back as he watched her hurrying inside the store. She didn't even wait by the door to hold it for him. He banged it open with his fist and marched inside, incensed, scowling with derision at the doctor. Too bad she wasn't in the way of the door so that he could have slammed it into her skull. .
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Narrator BOT 12/29/2023 11:28
"Got you the doc," the young man spat out unnecessarily to the one on the floor, irrationally resentful that the blond had made him travel so much in the heat. He steered clear of both his wheezing acquaintance and the body of the dead man, and chose to lean on the side of the counter to watch the doctor work, loudly catching his breath in the dim shop and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Some items in a small glass display case were in the way of his observation, and that made him furious, so he swept his arm and the case went flying behind the counter, smashing loudly into shards against the wall. The act of destruction didn't make him feel any less upset. He'd come to query about his money yet again and had wanted to cajole the blond guy into giving him some goods for free as a way to pay off his debt, but then he'd had to walk into this inconvenient situation. He tapped his fingers in a frenzied manner on the counter. He untied his bandana, nearly tearing it apart in his anger and jerking his head away. He mopped his face and neck roughly, then pounded the fist holding the bandana down onto the counter, rattling other items–and rifle parts. That caught the young man's attention. Ah, Smith's favorite Hawken that his useless nephew liked to take apart and polish to pass the time. The man re-tied his ugly bandana as he stared down at the firearm, a deadly, greedy gleam in his eye. With twitchy, impatient movements, he deftly started to reassemble the rifle.
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Doctor BOT 12/31/2023 01:02
Tension sparked in the air, and she remained acutely aware of the man's proximity every given moment. How long before he snapped? When he did, how much time would she have to draw her knife? Would it be enough? She kept her gaze ahead. Strict focus helped ward off panic, and the growing anger as he proceeded to make himself useless. She pushed the body away carefully to keep him out of the way, then knelt beside the barely-living man to work. There was no real hope for this one, but she had to try. For numerous reasons. She took care to keep her hands steady as she worked, removing the bullets first. One was easy enough, the other had settled deep, tearing its way through a number of important organs. Always, she led with her right hand, as most people would. It affected her dexterity, but when the man had no chance of long-term survival, it was worth the illusion it created. If someone were to attack, that was the side they'd expect a counter from. She jumped at the sound of shattering glass, glancing up to see the source. She couldn't risk being distracted for too long, lest it agitate the man further. Once she noted that he hadn't grabbed a shared of the glass, she settled for a quick glare then returned to work. It was odd, the moment a patient died during a procedure. Like she could feel the life slipping out from under her hands. Not her fault, but the pang of guilt hit hard anyway. She said nothing at first, since she could hear the man doing something and knew the reaction wouldn't be positive. Her lips moved silently as she took advantage of the living man's distraction to search the corpse's pockets. A prayer for the deceased, but she dared not speak the words aloud right now. It had become a habit early on, and lingered even though she couldn't say with certainty if she believed any of it now. If there was a God, she doubted He could be found in Crimson Cross. Dear God, if this soul is in a condition accessible to mercy, be thou gracious to it. .
01:02
Maybe her prayer was answered in a way. Not for the dead man, but for herself, as her hand found a small metal key. The cash drawer. If what the man wanted was his money, he could still have it, and maybe she'd leave with both of them in one piece. She held the key ring out in her right hand, trusting that they'd both understand the gesture. A bribe or an olive branch, depending on perspective. Her left hand rested on her leg, her whole body tense. Ready to leap into action at the first sign of danger. "One of the bullets tore through several vital organs. Even if I could have saved him now, he wouldn't have lasted the week. But one of these should open the cash drawer back there. You said he owes you money, right?" Her heart pounded so hard she was almost certain he could hear it. It wasn't like that jackass had even tried to make himself useful. Just left her to get her hands bloody while he sat around with his thumb up his ass. For now, she just hoped he'd let go of that rifle, take the key, and let them both leave. But one wrong move, and she'd be sure to bury her knife so deep he'd never leave the store alive.
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Narrator BOT 01/02/2024 03:22
When the blond on the floor expired, the tense and oppressive silence became such that the young man with the ugly bandana was suddenly aware of the pattern of his own asthmatic breathing as he finished reassembling the rifle reputed for its accuracy and range. Soon, he heard the doctor's breathing turn quick and shallow, as though her heart were racing. Something had gone wrong. Concentration broken just as the man was about to reload the firearm, he squinted back over the counter at Smith's nephew, or rather, his corpse. Hot rage boiled up at the realization that he'd never be repaid. A vein in his forehead throbbed. He almost wanted to grab one of the tools displayed on the wall behind him and destroy the corpse, the doctor, the store. But the doctor rose, offering something in her right hand, and he tore his sight away from the bloody body. He fixed a hard stare on the rude doctor who had even glared at him for no reason, his eyes boring into hers as he felt an urge to bash in her sockets with the butt of the rifle. .
03:22
Then the words "cash drawer" and "owes you money" caught his attention, and his simmering anger was somewhat placated. "That he does," the man answered slowly. He continued to stare at the doctor for a second or two in the dim light, sizing her up. If she were anyone else, he would have made them open the drawer. But she was only a slender woman with no sidearm on her hip, while he had both a new rifle and a knife tucked into his boot. He nodded, the tension finally starting to drain from his body. He carefully set down the Hawken on his side of the counter. Then he reached across to take the key ring, but withdrew quickly his hand, nose wrinkling in disgust at the reminder that her hands were covered in blood and slime. He instead used the polishing cloth for the rifle to take the keys. "Just a minute, lady," he told her coolly. "My buddy here–God rest his soul–will pay us both for our troubles." One by one, he shoved the keys into the cash drawer built into the counter, jiggling them impatiently. The second of the few clicked and turned, and he raised an eyebrow in excitement. He yanked open the cash drawer with a triumphant gleam in his eyes, ready to claim what he deserved, and more. .
03:25
No more than a dozen silver coins awaited him inside. His heart rate spiked, his face blazed hot with anger, and he exploded with a furious shout. "There's nothing here!" Violently pulling and shaking the small drawer, he ripped it free from its guide rails, then, without warning, flung it overhead as hard as he could, intent on causing destruction to quell his fury. Maybe because he hadn't aimed, it flew past the doctor's head, incensing the man further. The wooden drawer smashed apart at the base of an aisle, and the coins rolled out noisily across the floor, several of them settling in the red pools near the bodies. Chest heaving, he snatched up the rifle from the edge of the counter and clumsily aimed at the doctor, unused to the weight of the rifle. This was her fault. .
03:29
But then he noticed her bloody left hand...and the knife that she'd touched to check with her right hand when they had departed from the infirmary. The man gasped in shock, terror, and betrayal. This fraud had dared to deceive him–a professional gambler whose job it was to call others' bluffs–because she was consorting with the Devil! How many lives had she claimed for Satan under the guise of her occupation? He staggered backwards into the far corner and leveled the rifle at the woman with shaking hands. "You witch!" He wheezed. "Stay back! You killed Isaac. Go to Hell!" Compelled by sinistrophobia and murderous rage, the hyperventilating man pulled hard on the trigger, his knuckles white. There was a click...and nothing discharged from the firearm.
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Doctor BOT 01/03/2024 14:58
At first, the plan seemed to work. She gave up the keys easily, hoping he would be too distracted to care where she went. She had no intention of sticking around once his temporary calm wore off, and she was certain it would be temporary. She forced a smile at his offer anyway, to be polite. The last thing she wanted to do was agitate him again, now that he had a rifle. At a distance, he had the advantage. Up close, he would probably still have it. "Thank you kindly for the offer," she said as she wrapped the used scissors and forceps up in a cloth. She just had to pack them up and be out of her way. "But I could never bring myself to accept payment for my failures. It's all yours." She buckled the bag of supplies shut once more and stood up. At that moment, a blur of wood flew in her direction and she jumped, letting it pass her by. First came fear. Then rage. He'd attacked her? She'd done nothing more than her job, made every attempt to placate the bastard, yet he'd had the audacity to throw the drawer at her. She narrowed her eyes, gauging the distance between them. Did she stand a chance, or would she have to get away and methodically plan his death later? The accusation was nothing new - even her biological father had taken to joking that she must have been the Devil's daughter, back when she'd been young and impertinent - but from him it was far more than a simple irritant. A threat, especially paired with the rifle pointed at her. "I didn't kill Isaac. Frank did. He was shot," she said evenly. "Lower the gun and we can-" .
14:58
Before she could convince him to lower the gun so they could 'talk' (with her preferred method of conversation being a knife between his ribs), the trigger pulled with a... click. She had no way of knowing for sure why nothing came from the rifle, and no inclination to care. She simply acted. Where she lacked in muscle, she compensated with speed, taking advantage of the moment to dart around the counter and toward the corner. She feigned left, then closed in on him, knife flicking out toward his throat. It was dangerous, a close-quarters fight like this. But he was already hyperventilating, and she was fighting for her life. The best she could do was kill or incapacitate him, then make a run for it.
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Narrator BOT 01/04/2024 00:22
The assailant continued to yank on the trigger of the rifle that he'd failed to load, but the woman possessed by the Devil was too fast. Before he was able to pivot the heavy firearm towards her new position, the knife in her left hand was already flashing past his face. The gash erupted with pain a half-second later, flaring from his upper neck across his jawbone to his nose, and he howled in dread and fury. His hands automatically went up towards his cheek, but the grip on the rifle was too tight before his hands let it go. The barrel slammed against what might have been her ribs or right arm, but he couldn't tell because she was already slashing again with startling speed. As the man leaned over to draw his own boot knife, his rapid wheezing suddenly turned into whistling and gurgling through the newly added ventilation in his throat. Arterial spray colored everything in a conical area, jetting out less strongly with each heartbeat. Consciousness fading, he barely felt the knife shoved upwards beneath his ribs as it was rotated in a wide arc, the swift movement reminiscent of a butcher relying on muscle memory to detach organs from the spine of livestock. The dead man fell forward onto the Devil's daughter, his sliced face petrified in a silent scream of hatred and horror.
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Survivor BOT 01/04/2024 00:23
The sun was beginning to set, bathing the silent room in a red and orange glow. And the shadows consume me.
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Doctor BOT 01/04/2024 23:14
The fight passed in a blur of motion. No time to think, all she could do was keep stabbing, ignore the hot rush of blood, and not stop until the man was down. She was vaguely aware of an impact against her ribs, but adrenaline dulled the pain. Face first as her blade missed its mark, throat as he tried to reach down and she got a better opportunity on the second attempt. A final blow beneath the ribs, and a slash to make sure she destroyed as much as possible, then she was falling, knocked off balance and unsure at first why, only that she was pinned to the ground and someone is screaming. She realized it was her, and the weight on her was the dead man. The one she had killed. She went silent and pale, a wave of nausea threatening to come over her. Her knife was still stuck in his guts, along with more of her arm than she liked. She was frozen in place for half a second, breath ragged before she pulled herself together enough to roll the both of them over. Once he was on his back and she was free, she pulled her hand out and looked down at the corpse. Blood pooled around them as the man's face was frozen in the terror and rage that had consumed his final moments. She'd done this. Again. She scrambled to her feet, hand over her mouth to hold back the retching that threatened to bring up the morning's breakfast. Her eyes watered as she wiped the blade clean on the dead man's shirt and sheathed it again. The fact that he'd earned his demise didn't make this any easier. She tried to think of an appropriate prayer, but the only phrase that came to mind was "good luck in Hell," so she said that instead, though her tone came out sympathetic nonetheless. She welcomed the daze that came over her as she picked up the bag of her supplies and stumbled out of the shop. .
23:14
The fresh air came as a welcome relief, though not by much. The cloying scent of blood followed with her as it soaked through the front of her dress. It served to make the cool air of the early evening even colder. How long had she been out here? She'd said an hour or two. Had it only been that long? It felt like days. She drew in another deep, shaky breath and hurried home, not wanting to be seen in her current state. She wanted to rest, to get clean, and had even more work to do before then. As it was, the dress she wore was beyond any hope of cleaning. She was still rushing when she made it inside, throwing the front door open and slamming it shut behind her. Her back fell against the door as she sank to the floor, catching her breath. She had things to do, but the energy fled from her body, leaving her legs weak. She closed her eyes, trying not to let out tears. She wasn't sure why it took so much effort to avoid crying - the man she'd killed didn't deserve to be mourned. Residual fear, perhaps. But she wasn't the only one in this house, so she couldn't show weakness. She just had to... sit for a moment, before she could go back to work.
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Survivor BOT 01/05/2024 10:30
The inert man jerked out of his half-conscious stupor when the front door slammed. The loud noise hadn't been part of a hallucination or fever dream; he was fairly certain. His eyes opened wide as he wondered what the cause had been. The red glow in the rapidly cooling room with the open window was now fading to gray. He lifted his head to squint at the crack in the door. Was the doctor back, or was that an unannounced patient? An intruder hoping to rob the place wouldn't be so loud. No footsteps came down the hallway. There was only a soft thump and labored, shaky breathing. Was that the doctor?! Had something been chasing her, and his nightmare had been a premonition? He had to get to the person to whom he owed his life if hers was in danger. With a swift and painful motion and a sharp exhale, he forced himself to his feet. The washcloth that had been on his forehead fell to the floor. He swayed on his left leg as he saw black spots and stars, so he grabbed a bedpost and bent over, letting his head hang for just a second to help equalize the blood pressure. When he was sure he wouldn't fall over, he straightened and pushed off. He had no time to rummage blindly through the dresser on the off chance that he'd find a loaded handgun to bring, so he grabbed from the top a large bottle that was heavy with liquid. Then he limped out of the room as fast as he could, wielding the bottle by the neck in case a threat had followed the doctor to the house. .
10:33
When he saw her, his heart jumped into his throat. She was drenched with more blood than he'd ever seen on a living person. Jesus Christ. If she hadn't been breathing audibly, he would have thought that she was dead. A print about the size of her hand was swiped across the bottom half of her face. Terrified that she might be fatally wounded, he rushed over. He ignored the flaring pain as he sat heavily in front of her, letting the bottle in hand roll off by her supplies bag. He couldn't clearly see her expression in the dusk, but she looked like how he had felt when he'd arrived here. Where are you hurt? What's wrong? He opened his mouth to ask frantically, but his throat locked up, and he couldn't utter a single word. His worried eyes darted around as he scanned for injuries. He carefully took each clammy, crimson hand to rotate her forearms, and checked her soaked dress. It had no cuts, rips, or bullet holes that he could see. She wasn't coughing up blood, and her neck had no puncture wounds from vampire fangs. .
10:33
He concluded that the blood was someone else's, and he felt his lungs remember to breathe again. Something must have gone wrong while treating the gunshot patient. Without thinking, concerned, he tried to wipe some of the blood off her cheek with his wrist, but it was sticky, partially dried, and cold from the evening air. He scooted close and leaned in, then gently pulled the doctor's shoulders forward so that her head could rest against the left half of his chest. His broken arm in the sling hung low enough that there was no pressure on it. He rubbed her back and upper arm, trying to warm her, and his heart rate calmed after he took a deep breath. Fatigue returned to his overheated body, but he'd stay with her for as long as she wanted. It'll be alright, he thought. You're so brave. You did your best.
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Doctor BOT 01/05/2024 14:10
The door opened, and she looked up. Her first thought was to scold him for forcing himself to move when he should have been resting, but she stopped herself as she saw the bottle. A weapon. The fight had fled her body, replaced by a dull ache in her ribs that became a sharper pain when she tried to move. She backed up against the door as he rushed forward, before she caught his expression. Worry. She forced herself to relax instead, allowing him to check her for injuries even though she could have done so, herself. "It's not mine," she said, once she was sure she could speak with a steady enough voice. She let herself be pulled in, closer to his warmth. The contact was soothing, an effective comfort even as he said nothing. He didn't need to say anything at all. She hadn't even realized she'd been shivering until she stopped. Her head rested against his chest, careful even in her state of shock not to hurt his injured arm. It would be fine. She'd done all she could to avoid the risk of violence but, having failed that, she'd survived. That was all that mattered. It always had been. Her breathing steadied, and she closed her eyes again for a moment. "Thank you. But you really should rest," she said. "And I need to check on your injuries." Not to mention her own, but that could wait. New bandages for him, then maybe she was due for a full bath, annoying as the process of drawing enough water for it was going to be. She didn't move yet, not quite ready to stand. "You're moving more, though. That's a good sign." .
14:10
She picked up the bottle and read the label. Moonshine. Morphine was expensive, and practically impossible to get out there, so the next best thing for pain was locally distilled and especially potent spirits. How easily she went from thinking he had a weapon to realizing it was the exact thing that would let her focus on something other than her own possible injury while she worked. She twisted the cap off, but settled for just one swallow for now as she felt the burn slide down her throat. She still had to keep a clear head. But she didn't want to leave his arms. Well, arm. His comforting presence, really. So she didn't pull away more than she absolutely needed to. "Are you hurting right now?" she asked, still holding the open bottle. "Just don't drink too much of it, or you'll feel the adverse effects. It's too strong." She didn't even like drinking, normally. It clouded her mind too easily, caused her to space out in a way she was used to, but better at grounding herself from when sober. But her fear of those moments, of that feeling of nothingness, the empty understanding that her world wasn't real and she didn't truly occupy her body... that fear conflicted with the pain, and the other fears that she wanted to be rid of. She leaned her head back against him and breathed back in deep. He smelled of fever and sweat, but it was better than blood and terror.
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Survivor BOT 01/06/2024 09:49
You need to rest, too, he thought. Even in her current state, she was considerate of his arm and still put her patient before herself. She should bathe first. Being covered with blood, no matter whose it was, didn't feel good. He didn't deserve to take priority. As the doctor checked the bottle and took a drink, he moved his arm down to keep it out of her way. In the moment, trying to protect and comfort her on instinct might have been the right thing to do, but now he was unsure whether that moment had passed. He felt unworthy, out of place. He was overstepping the boundaries between doctor and patient, debtor and debtee, or mistress and servant. He had no right to hug someone of her prestige. Yet the doctor stayed close and offered him the bottle. If she wanted someone like him to stay, he'd gladly stay. She was making him feel appreciated for the first time in a long time. Despite his belief that anyone could be in his place and they might be all the same to her in the current situation, she moved something in him. .
09:51
His leg was throbbing, but he was no stranger to pain. From the moonshine bottle, he took a small sip to wet his throat, but he wouldn't take more. In recent years, whenever he'd had free access to alcohol, he'd developed a propensity for wasting days and nights in hopeless, nihilistic rumination. He couldn't fall into that habit anymore at every place he wandered. He owed it to that person. Besides, he wanted to keep his wits about him (as much as possible with a fever, anyway) in case the doctor wanted to drink more after whatever had happened to her. He wouldn't judge. As soon as the man set aside the open bottle, the doctor was leaning her head on his chest again. He rubbed her back with his palm without thinking, like it was the most natural thing to do. But because of a memory, her bloodied hands made him more uneasy the more he saw them. He gently slipped his fingers under the hand that was closest to his. Gazing down at their left hands on her knee between them, he lightly stroked his calloused thumb over the knuckles of each of her fingers. A little of the semi-dried blood came off on him, and he ignored it. When he was done, he sighed, reassured. Are you hurting? In his mind, he repeated back the doctor's compassionate words as he wrapped his arm around her again. She seemed so calm that he wished she would speak to him. He wished that he could hold her with both arms and rest.
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Doctor BOT 01/06/2024 21:13
She looked down as he took her hand in his, gently wiping the blood off her knuckles with his thumb. There was no knowing for sure just what was going through his mind. The same was true for most people, though. The only difference was that he didn't speak enough to lie about it. It was a comforting gesture, and enough to let his actions for the talking for him. There was a pain in her chest, all too familiar on the rare occasions she saw unselfish behaviour openly displayed by her guests. "You seem like a kind man," she observed softly, looking away from him. A few strands of red hair had fallen from their updo and into onto her bloodied face. The light continued to dim with the sunset. "But by saving your life and providing shelter, I've done the cruelest thing I could have done to you, and there is no undoing it. I'm sorry." While the job of keeping him in the town past sunset was done, she still had the task of mending him back to health. She moved away from him, capped the bottle, and grabbed her bag of supplies. Between the encroaching night, the soaked clothing, and the absence of his warmth, the house was suddenly very cold. She suppressed a shiver as she slowly rose to her feet again. "Too late to worry about it now, I'm afraid. Let's get your bandages changed, then we can both rest." They couldn't exactly fall asleep in each other's arms up against the front door, no matter how tempting the prospect. It would have been highly inappropriate even if he had been a proper acquaintance, never mind a patient. A stranger, even, where neither of them knew the other's name. She opened the door to the room he'd been staying in, not looking directly at him. Quick work, then she'd wash up and pretend the memory of that evening could rinse away as easily as the blood.
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Survivor BOT 01/07/2024 02:46
I'm not kind, thought the man, looking down at the doctor. He'd never been called that, but it felt good to hear the compliment, and had the atmosphere not been so somber, his eyes could have lit up. As she spoke, there was pain, guilt, maybe regret in her tone and in her beautiful face marred by blood. Unaware of the true nature of the town, he shook his head lightly at her apology, even though she wasn't looking at him anymore. The way he interpreted it, according to his own moral code, was that she felt bad that he was now bound to her because she'd saved his life and he had no way to repay her other than via servitude. The bit about providing shelter seemed supplemental and went over his fevered head. He was glad that he was bound to her. To end up with any good person would have been ideal, but he'd managed to end up with someone who he admired and who made him feel like a good person himself, so the situation couldn't be better than it currently was. If only she weren't withdrawing into herself and avoiding his eyes, as though she were ashamed. Maybe he had overstepped, after all. .
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Survivor BOT 01/07/2024 03:23
He forced himself to his feet with a grunt and limped to the room after her, leaning on the wall to steady himself against the dizziness. It was now chilly with the cool air coming through the open window, and he started to shiver as he closed the window. Then he lit the oil lamp on the nightstand and set it down onto the floor for the doctor. The lamp rattled in his hand as he did so, and he collapsed onto the floor onto his left side, closing his eyes against the long shadows. If his body weren't so useless right now, he would collect water and heat it for her. She should bathe first. He wanted to hold her; he didn't want her to be alone. He didn't want to be alone, but he didn't reach out like he had before she left for the house call, not wanting to be more of a burden. Maybe the chills and shaking meant that his fever would finally break soon.
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Doctor BOT 01/07/2024 22:46
She knelt in front of him once he was on the floor. "Don't overexert yourself," she said, though she appreciated the light to work by. The lamp was an improvement over moonlight alone, after all. "You've done enough for today. Rest." Rather than use the bloody scissors on his bandages, she unwound them by hand, noting that the infection seemed far less aggressive than it had earlier. It took a moment for her to find a piece of cloth that wasn't covered in blood, but once she did, she wiped her hands dry of it before applying fresh salve. It was different now from when she had tended his wounds before; she wasn't really there. Her hands went through the motions, the step-by-step of what needed to be done, but her mind lingered elsewhere, replaying the fight over and over again. If she'd just made a run for it, maybe they both would have been fine. Maybe the man would have come to his senses once she was gone. Or maybe not. Maybe she would have had to look over her shoulder every time she left the house, worried he'd be nearby, ready to take out his grudge. She finished applying his new bandages and sat back. She had to focus on the here and now. Her hands clenched until she could feel the press of her fingernails against her palms and let go. A slight pain, just a bit of something she couldn't pretend wasn't real. A return to reality. She packed her supplies back up, then looked over at him. "Do you need anything else?" she asked as she picked the oil lamp up carefully. .
22:46
She moved a bit closer to him, bringing the lamplight close so she could see any gesture he made in response. The dim light cast dramatic shadows on his face, making its structure all the more obvious. Strong features, well-defined, but not without struggle. She reminded herself of that as she recalled the scars she'd seen on his back. A handsome stranger who'd collapsed on her doorstep, then gone out of his way to comfort her. Exactly the sort of kindness this town set out to destroy. Was the aching in her heart for the tragedy of it all, or just the weight of the day?
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Survivor BOT 01/08/2024 07:23
He felt the doctor going about her task in a methodical and almost perfunctory way, and he shivered more as the damp bandages were painfully unwrapped, unsticking from his wounds and exposing them to the cool air. When he glanced up, his concern for the doctor only became stronger. Maybe she was distancing herself from him, but he wasn't self-absorbed enough to think that was the only explanation for her change in bedside manner. She'd still told him to rest, considerate as usual. She might be mourning the house call patient who had died in her care. Having the numbing, protective salve applied onto his wounds still felt like a relief. He tried to stay still, but his body was shaking too much from the chills, and the tremors made the damaged muscles in his leg ache. He almost wanted to have more moonshine now for pain relief and warmth, even though he shouldn't. His thinking already wasn't as clear as usual. Well, maybe it had never been clear, considering the choices that he'd made in this life, inebriated or otherwise. When the doctor asked whether he needed anything else, the lamplight made her bloodstained face with the disheveled strands of hair look rather ghastly. He stared at her, expressionless, through fever-glazed eyes. When he was well again, he'd make sure that she didn't approach a patient before taking care of herself. Apart from the fact that she was more important, she'd probably scare the living daylights out of someone before she could even start their treatment. .
07:26
Her melancholy expression troubled him more than did the blood. He was fairly certain by now that there was no one else living in this house. Even if she cleaned off the blood tonight, she'd be alone, with only her thoughts and memories, her pain and sorrow. And he'd be alone with the same things: guilt, grief, and regret. If he didn't change something, the shadows of the past would destroy him. To Hell with propriety and living in remorse. Still shaking, the man sat up, jaw tense, and looked into the doctor's haunted eyes. I don't need anything, but I want you to be alright. He carefully took the oil lamp from the doctor's hand and set it aside on the floor above his pillows. Then he rotated his upper body to grab the gray fur blanket, and pulled it over both the doctor and himself, his one arm arcing over her head to drape the soft weight around her shoulders. He settled back down onto his left side and extended his trembling arm parallel to the pillow that he hadn't used, inviting her, closing his eyes, letting her choose.
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Doctor BOT 01/09/2024 00:53
She waited for his response, but there was nothing that looked like a clear yes or no gesture. She relinquished the lamp easily as he reached out to took it. A hint of worry lingered, but his movements were gentle, and he was still injured. Maybe a part of her even trusted him. The blanket landed on her shoulders and she blinked, brows lifting in mild surprise. The invitation was easy to interpret, but difficult to believe. It was just the two of them, though. Nobody would have to know about the harmless breach in professionalism. And while sleeping on the floor while still covered in blood wasn't comfortable, she knew the pain of being alone with her own thoughts after an incident like this. "Alright, then." She leaned down and extinguished the lamp before settling into his arm. Or more accurately, beside him, her head on the pillow and positioned so his extended arm would tuck neatly under her neck. The need to wash the blood off lingered in her mind, but exhaustion had settled into her bones. The night air was cold, the town outside was hostile. Under this blanket, she could be warm, and just for a few hours, she could pretend to be safe with someone. She closed her eyes, shifting closer to him without thinking about it. One arm reached out, almost hesitantly, and draped over his side, still instinctively avoiding the sling. Still, she refused to sleep. If she lost control of her mind, she feared what dark places it might wander off to. She shifted somewhat uncomfortably, just enough to keep herself awake, though her arm would always return to its spot around him. .
00:53
Sleep eventually dragged her down anyway. The shop floor was covered in blood, and it seemed more than feasible even if someone had been drained. The patient's life slipped away beneath her hand. No spark remained in those empty, dark blue eyes. The pale, slack-jawed face, once handsome when he'd been alive, did not belong to Isaac Smith. "No..." She pulled away, the knife in her left hand leaving the new corpse's abdomen with a squelch. "You were supposed to stay at the house." She stood and backed up, into a solid figure. The gambler in the ugly bandana looked down at her, the red line still clear in his throat. She turned to run, but hands were reaching up now, the limbs of the dead, of those she'd invited to stay for long enough to make escape impossible. Those she'd forsaken, then let out to die dragged her down as she came face-to-face with the barrel of the gambler's shotgun. Her tossing and turning stopped as her eyes shot open. She gasped for breath, rolling away from the figure next to her and fighting her way out of the fur blanket that felt too much like a trap right now. Closing her eyes and trying to get control over her breathing, she reached back, feeling for something until the back of her hand brushed against the man's cheek. Still warm. Her shoulders were trembling again. Just a dream, just a dream. The room was still dark, and she could only hope she hadn't accidentally hurt him in her panic.
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Survivor BOT 01/10/2024 09:00
Not wanting to influence the doctor's decision or to seem like he was desperate for companionship, the man kept his eyes closed. He was both relieved and a little nervous when he felt the doctor settle beside him. Having been on his own for several years, he wasn't used to resting so close to someone, even if he trusted her not to hurt him–at not least physically. Despite the man's fatigue, as soon as the doctor agreed to stay, he was determined to remain awake in case she wanted to talk, cry, drink, or a combination of those. She did none of those, but his chills prevented him from falling asleep anyway. Initially, when he felt the doctor shifting, he felt a twinge of guilt that she might be uncomfortable on hard surfaces, unlike him. And her side had seemed stiff earlier by the front door, though at first he had assumed that it was a stitch from running. But she could leave anytime, so he tried to dismiss his worry. She'd chosen the floor, a ruined dress, and the warmth of a stranger over being alone. .
09:00
Her arm over his waist was unexpected and comforting. Her presence made the chills less miserable. He felt so fortunate to receive her gentle touch, and he imagined himself thanking her for staying with him. After what must have been at least half an hour, the shaking finally subsided as the man's fever broke, and he was left exhausted. Since the doctor was still awake, he forced himself to stay awake by subtly flexing his right ankle, creating an ache in the healing muscles of his lower leg. He was glad when the doctor's breathing pattern changed to indicate sleep; she needed it. Now relaxed, he dozed off. He didn't feel alone, and he didn't dream. The next thing he knew, he was startled awake by something damp and warm beside him that was struggling and panting. Alarmed, he instinctively jerked back as the blanket was thrown partially off of him and the figure burst out and sat up. The sharp pain from the man's sudden backpedaling made him grimace and fully come to his senses. .
09:02
His instinct was to embrace the doctor immediately, but then he felt her searching hand brush against his cheek. To let her know that he was awake without jumping up and potentially frightening her further, he first turned his head towards her hand, letting his healing scrapes and the edge of his lips brush her skin. Then he sat up, scooted close, and rubbed across her trembling shoulders firmly. It didn't seem enough; he should do more. Recalling how the doctor had maneuvered his sling with her left hand, he clumsily undid it as quickly as he could, tugging at the cloth with impatience. Afterwards, he was able to wrap both his arms around her shoulders, being careful not to use pressure below his right elbow. The doctor had set the arm well enough that there was barely any pain when he carefully extended it. .
09:07
There was an inexplicable impulse to try to make her feel comfortable and safe. The floor probably hadn't done any favors for her side, either. The man's body was no longer as weak from high fever, so he grabbed the blanket and rose to his feet, brows furrowing at the flash of pain. He hugged the doctor against him as he stood. Then he guided her the three steps to the bed, sank down onto his back with her against his left side, and pulled the blanket over them again, his heart pounding. He finally hugged her close, the length of her body against his. He rocked her gently against his side, providing what he hoped was enough stimulation to remind her that she was now occupying the real world, not trapped in a dream. With his right hand, he stroked the strands of auburn away from her forehead and cheek. As he gazed down with concern at her head on his chest, he didn't think to ask himself why he was doing this, only that he wanted her to be alright. .
09:11
He squinted at the clock on the wall to get a read on the approximate time. They'd skipped supper, so it wasn't even midnight yet. There was still time to wish for her restful sleep. He'd figure out how to get a bath going in the daylight without ripping any of his stitches, he thought, feeling the dampness from the front of the doctor's dress through his undervest. He slowly stroked her forehead and her hair, and her skin felt soft against his palm.
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Doctor BOT 01/10/2024 18:26
She tensed a bit more as his lips brushed against her hand, her heart racing for reasons she couldn't quite explain. Residual fear, she told herself. The hand rubbing her shoulders was solid. Strong and grounding. She closed her eyes and sighed as she sank back against the comforting warmth behind her. Of course, she wouldn't be fully physically comfortable trying to sleep in her day clothes, but she wasn't about to strip down to her chemise in front of a near-stranger. Even in the dark, in front of a man who she had already seen fully naked. "Careful with that arm," she warned, regaining enough presence of mind to remember that he should not have been using both of them. Then it got worse. Her first instinct when he stood, pulling her to her feet, was to scold him for exerting himself like that. She didn't, since the best way to avoid hurting him was to go along with this. She wasn't sure what 'this' was, but it was the closest she'd come to another person in a long time. She stood with him, following him over to the bed. Her attention was mostly on him, making sure he didn't tear open any of his stitches or try to move his fracture. His touch was slowly pulling her back to reality, sometimes an unpleasant place to be, but currently the preferred option. As she settled in beside him, she stayed on the side where her ribs weren't hurting her, which meant lying down facing him. Her breath shook, and she closed her eyes enough to avoid the tears from being too obvious as he rocked her gently. Her mother had been the last person to treat her with such care, but that had been long ago, and she couldn't rely on the dead for comfort. There was only her, and now this strange, wonderful, quiet man resting beside her, trying his best to comfort her without words. She silently cursed herself for relying on it at first, but soon managed to relax. .
18:26
She returned to awareness, and to the slight pain at the back of her head and neck, the ache that came with trying to sleep with her hair pinned up as it had been all day. "Thank you. Again," she said as she sat up again, slowly to avoid disturbing him. "You don't have to do any of this, but I appreciate it." She reached back to remove the pins from her hair, letting it fall down over her shoulder in loose, subtle curls. At least it would be easier to get somewhat comfortable. She settled in again, resting her head against his chest once more as she closed her eyes. The memories swirled in her head still, that pang of guilt accompanying them forever. She focused on the easiest thing to talk about, the simplest confession and the most recent. "My patient earlier today died," she said, though that was probably anyone's first guess as to what happened. "Another had already been dead when I'd arrived. The man who'd called on me was... enraged, to hear the news. He attacked me." But had that really counted? The chamber had been empty. Could she have run away from the scene and been fine? Had the killing really been justified? "I remember making the choice to defend myself, drawing my knife, then..." She'd learned to black out on purpose. It used to make it easier to deal with things like this. Not so much anymore. "...Then I was in the shop with three dead men instead of two."
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Survivor BOT 01/11/2024 09:07
The man didn't react any differently to the doctor's tears on his undershirt as he continued to rock her gently and stroke her head; he didn't know what else he should do. Seeing her distress, he felt a sense of helplessness along with the concern. This was all foreign to him: holding someone so closely, comforting someone after a nightmare, being connected to her only by the fact that she had saved his life and had taken care of him–was still taking care of him, like he was worth something. Maybe that was why it felt like second nature to want to take care of her. He exhaled in relief when he felt her trembling cease, closing his eyes briefly, feeling the softness of her body as she relaxed. He watched her face in the dark as she carefully sat up. Her words of gratitude made the poignant tightness in his chest swell and transform into something special. Here, in the moment, he was no longer a powerless boy who'd had to grow up too fast, buffeted about by the capricious storms of life, realizing too late that, at some point, he should have become a virtuous man who was strong enough to be responsible for himself. The doctor was making him feel like what he thought a good man should be: capable of taking care of others. Anything beyond labor wasn't part of the promise of repayment that existed between them in his mind, so he knew he didn't have to do any of this, but he simply wanted to. He stared in the dark at the doctor; he'd never seen a lady undo her hair before. When she settled back down, he ran his fingers through their length to feel the texture. With his left arm, he couldn't help but hug her snugly, moved by her verbal validation. .
09:08
Then the doctor told him about the encounter with the three dead men, and the man's muscles reflexively tensed beneath her. Why the hell would anyone attack a doctor or a woman, let alone someone who was both, for a senseless reason that would solve nothing? The outrage, anxiety, bewilderment, and protectiveness he felt showed clearly on his face. It was fortunate that her eyes were closed, because he didn't want her to see how upset he was. If he were excessively dramatic, it wouldn't help anyone. So he steadied his breath and deliberately untensed his muscles, feeling the aching in his leg fade to its usual level. The man was sure that the enraged attacker had deserved his death, but he could only imagine what was going through the doctor's head. Her encounter sounded terrifying. He'd seen people starve to death, and die of illness or injury, and he'd injured people, but never fatally. He didn't know what he should do for her, and was struck again with a feeling of weakness and impotence as he held her tightly. He rubbed his hand firmly across her back and shoulders, and tried to speak to her. "'M–" He swallowed, then tried again; he wanted to tell her this, at least. "I'm..." .
09:08
He frowned, frustrated with himself. He cleared his throat and inhaled loudly, held the air briefly, then exhaled slowly, trying to calm down. Then he lifted his head so that his mouth was nearly touching the doctor's forehead next to her hair. His rough, near-monotone baritone was barely audible, so he hoped that she could somehow feel the meaning of the words if she couldn't hear them. His lips grazed her skin as he spoke. "I'm sorry... Something terrible happened to you." There were many things that he could say and wanted to say, but he didn't know if they would be meaningless platitudes. He took another steadying breath against her hair, gathering his courage, and his fingertips slowly worked through the tresses near the nape of her neck, lightly massaging her scalp. "Not your fault... You did your best."
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/12/2024 01:18
She opened her eyes, looking up at his face as he started to speak. She remained silent as she waited patiently, listening closely. If it was important enough for him to put this much effort into saying it out loud, it was important enough to make sure she heard. Had most people responded to the events of that day by saying that something terrible had happened to her, her response might have been harsh sarcasm. No shit something terrible had happened. It was never a good day when someone had to die. But he was so genuine about it, she took the words as an attempt to express empathy. A challenging task, and one most people in town tried to avoid. As far as reassurances went, his next words were more effective. "You're right." She relaxed despite everything else as she felt his fingertips at the back of her head. "I should be used to it. This town..." She trailed off, unsure how much to explain. It wasn't like she knew why things were the way they were anyway. Maybe more information would help him fare better once he was out on his own. "...Something's not right here. Never was. Which is to say, this is far from the first thing this sort of thing has happened, and I'm not the only person this happens to. I keep expecting it to be easier, but it never is." Every corpse was another stain, and she knew the blood would never truly leave her skin, no matter how much she washed. She draped her arm back over his soft midsection, pulling herself closer. Considering the danger she'd just informed him of, the thought crossed her mind that it might be her turn to reassure him. It was just hard to say how. It wouldn't be alright. Either the kindness she'd seen in him would die after he left, or he would. Maybe that was what guided her next words. .
01:19
"Don't worry; this house is safe. As long as you're here, so are you." She rested a hand against his chest as she picked her head up to look down at him. The outlines of his face were faint in the dim room. "You don't have to answer now, and I wouldn't ask anything of you until you've recovered, but I could use an assistant. The choice is yours, and not to be taken lightly." When she'd considered it earlier, she'd been thinking of finding someone younger, an apprentice to take on the role when she died. Asking him instead was nothing short of impulse, she knew. But it would be rude of her to rescind the offer unless he seemed uncomfortable with it. Which was understandable, when they were snuggled up in bed and she was basically asking him in a blur of trauma and tears to work under him. The worst possible time to ask, really. These deals were better off discussed in the morning with a clear head and a bloodless dress.
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Survivor BOT 01/12/2024 09:09
He was glad that she relaxed a little; he could feel it. The man's fingers in the doctor's hair stilled as she spoke, and then his palm stroked down to her shoulder blades, keeping it there. Her explanation helped him understand a bit, even though it was difficult to believe. But she had no reason to lie to him...right? There was a distinct possibility that she was unwell at the moment and unintentionally distorting the truth. But if it were the truth, then he'd have to be on guard against people in this town regularly becoming enraged for no reason. And this house was, for some reason, a safe location from said enraged attackers. He wondered whether there were other safe locations. It almost sounded like a child's make-believe war game. Well, he was grateful for her warning, if real. Why hadn't she left the town if it was unsafe? Maybe she wanted to stay close to relatives or friends. She had no suitors, though–or at least none who she liked. He was sure of that, given that she kept casually touching him of her own accord. An arm across his abdomen, a hand on his chest... He tried to ignore how good the gentle contact felt, and denied the suspicion that he might be touch-deprived. Her touch distracted and confused him. He'd only touched the doctor to try to comfort her, but now he didn't know whether she was even aware of her actions. Maybe she was just seeking comfort. . (edited)
09:11
It was unclear to the man what the doctor meant by 'assistant.' A doctor in training, or an unskilled laborer? If she meant the latter, then his life was already hers. As for the former, he had never considered specializing in a skilled vocation that required years of training and education–in part because he'd never had the opportunity to stay in one place for long, and in part because he doubted he was capable. But since the doctor's meaning had been ambiguous, he didn't respond. More importantly, he suspected that she was off her mental reservation right now–not her fault, but it didn't seem the best time for such a discussion. So he turned his head away towards the window to give the impression that he was thinking and might need a while to consider. Later, if she regretted it, he could pretend that she'd never asked. In her current state, she was probably only trying to keep him safe at this house. The man turned back towards the doctor, not indicating yes or no. Wetness gleamed on her cheeks in the faint moonlight. With his wrist, so he wouldn't have to use his calloused fingers on her soft skin, he wiped the tears, using the moisture to also lift off some of the remaining blood. His undervest was already stained from when he'd hugged her by the front door, so he simply cleaned off his wrist on the hem of that. Everything could be washed later; he had no qualms doing what would traditionally be considered women's work, having lived on the fringes of society for so long. .
09:11
He thought they could both use more sleep, but he stayed alert in case the doctor needed to talk. He hesitated before lightly rubbing her upper back again under the fur blanket, now self-conscious from the continued contact. Being so close felt so–no. He wasn't the one who needed comfort and validation. He was used to being alone; life was simpler that way. He was merely filling a role, one that anyone could fill. He didn't matter; he was anonymous. The bitter thoughts made his body stiffen. His hand ceased moving, and he looked away from the outline of the doctor's face, scowling towards the window. It'd do him good to stay around her, though she'd inevitably have a proper–no. He couldn't believe how idiotic and selfish he was for even entertaining the hypothetical in a situation where he should be comforting the doctor. Why had he gotten attached so quickly? Just because she was kind to him? How pathetic. Look where that had gotten him last time. That person had abandoned him. Anyway, the doctor would come to her senses later, so tonight would be the last time he would do this, whatever this was, unless she returned drenched in blood again.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/12/2024 15:58
The ambiguous response didn't bother her. After all, she had meant it when she said he didn't have to make a decision now. For now, she settled back down and closed her eyes. She'd said all that was worth saying and then some. For now, she needed to sleep, and he probably did as well. She could almost relax, if not for the feeling of him growing tense beside him. Was that him actually thinking about the offer she should have waited to make? Or a misunderstanding of why she'd agreed to sleep beside him, and all of the moral judgment that would inevitably come with it? No, he was better than that. She hoped. "I'm sorry," she found herself apologizing softly, even though she wasn't sure what had caused the tension. If there was a chance it might have been her fault, she should apologize, right? "If you'd prefer, you can forget I said anything. I just..." What? Had carelessly offered a job to the man she was sharing a bed with while still reeling from the attack earlier? "...I appreciate you." Who else would have put in the effort to make sure she was alright? When it was her job to look after him, no less. "And I shouldn't have asked more of you. I'm sorry." But she didn't make an effort to move either, unless she was asked to leave the bed. His presence was still warm and comforting - she just wished he hadn't been made uncomfortable, regardless of the reason for it. Maybe it was selfish to stay here in his bed, but exhaustion was settling in once more, and her fear from earlier had faded enough that maybe she could trust the concept of sleep now. She should sleep, oversee his recovery, then watch him leave. Then die a spinster, finally carrying her regrets to hell with her. Unrelated to him leaving, but definitely the trajectory of her life. .
15:58
Growing self-conscious of the way she was clinging to him, she carefully withdrew her arm. It would probably be easier for him to sleep without the extra weight on him anyway. She stayed close though, keeping her eyes closed as she grew still enough to rest. "Goodnight..." She trailed off, silence where his name would have gone. She hadn't asked, had he? Just assumed he would volunteer the information in time, if he deemed it necessary. But she hadn't told him hers, either. She never did, as she wanted to avoid forming attachments to her patients who would eventually either die or live long enough to turn against her. She let the silence hang in the air, an awkward 'goodnight' if there ever was one.
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Survivor BOT 01/13/2024 00:14
The man stared at the window as the doctor spoke, still caught up in the emotions of his resentful, painful, self-deprecating internal monologue while the doctor was speaking. When she finished, it still took a minute for him to calm down, his muscles slowly becoming lax again, the hand on her back decreasing in pressure. She'd apologized for asking him to be an 'assistant,' and she'd reiterated that she appreciated him... And she'd removed her arm. He felt a sense of loss and relief at the same time. He was not used to being touched or cared for, he did not want to rely on anyone again, and yet something within him protested the removal of the light and comforting weight. Her quiet ending phrase sounded awkward, as though it was missing something at the end. He didn't know what it was, for hardly anyone ever said the phrase to him. He slowly turned his head to look down at the doctor's head on his chest. In the dark, her eyes seemed to be closed now, but her breathing didn't indicate sleep. .
00:14
Christ, he was awful. He hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable or make her apologize to him, and especially not while she was still dealing with the horrible thing that had happened to her. She didn't deserve to be subjected to his angsty and cold behavior. He slowly tapped her shoulder with his right hand to ask for her attention. He shook his head once to indicate that the doctor's apology had been unnecessary. Despite his gloom, it was relatively easy to say the same words that he'd already used within the half hour, maybe because she'd listened so patiently before, and maybe because his words had seemed to help her relax. "No... I'm sorry," he mumbled, trying to make his gruff, low voice softer. There was nothing she needed to apologize for. "Not your fault," he repeated. .
00:14
You can keep holding me, if you want to, until you fall asleep, a part of him thought, but he couldn't and wouldn't say that, of course. Instead, he started slowly rubbing her upper back again, hoping to soothe her. His right hand stroked her hair away from her forehead and behind her ear. He ignored the ache near the fracture and the ache in his chest. His life was hers until she no longer wanted it. He was only doing what a good person should. Other than that, there was no other reason, no attachment, he told himself. He'd do his best to be useful to the person who he was bound to, because she did her best. Good night, he thought, gazing down at her outline. Sleep well without dreams.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/13/2024 18:00
His words came as a comfort, even if she didn't see anything he needed to apologize for. If something had made him uncomfortable, he had every right to express it. But she didn't argue that point, because they'd probably be awake all night at this rate. She let herself be soothed instead, appreciating the way he held her, his hand rubbing her back. "Alright," she said instead, simply accepting his assurance now. She didn't register what hand was stroking her hair, so she didn't remind him again to be careful of that one. Her breathing slowed as she finally allowed herself to relax fully. There was no fight against the dark that rose to pull her down this time, no fear. If she fell into nightmares again, she wouldn't be alone to deal with the terror. So she drifted off, her sleep peaceful in its emptiness. The first rays of morning came in through the window. She buried her face against the warm shape next to her, unprepared to leave the comfort of her bed. Except it wasn't her bed, and pillows didn't breathe. She opened her eyes to the man beside her. She'd gotten blood on him, and a bit had transferred onto the sheets as well. But more than that, waking up like this was... It didn't feel indecent, but was the sort of thing she'd been taught was practically the definition of indecency. She sat up and turned away from him, face warm from embarrassment. The comfort had been nice, but relying on a stranger for it had been a moment of weakness. Exactly the sort of weakness that would prove dangerous, if she wasn't careful. .
18:00
She looked down at her bloody dress. First things first - she had to get washed and changed. Blood had its way of smelling worse the more time it spent exposed to air, and at this point, it was cloying. She stood slowly, careful not to disturb him too much, in case he was still sleeping. On instinct, she looked back at him, considering if maybe her focus should still be on his wounds. The pain in the side of her ribcage indicated that maybe she should pay some attention to that instead.
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Survivor BOT 01/15/2024 17:37
Though he remained a bit troubled and down, the man still drifted off quickly after he was sure that the doctor had fallen asleep. He was tired from the injuries, and it was so comfortable lying down in a bed indoors. It sure beat sharing one mattress in a cramped covered wagon with other indentured laborers. But beyond the accommodations, it felt both novel and comforting to be holding someone so closely, even if he had told himself that it would be the last time. The doctor seemed peaceful in her sleep; he could almost feel as though he were protecting her from something. He was grateful for her continued presence and her nonjudgmental kindness. With the comforting thoughts, the man closed his eyes and let himself be lulled to sleep by the warmth on his chest and against his side. In the morning, his body responded on its own when it detected movement. It instinctively stiffened and curled, anticipating the nudge of a shoe in the ribs, before his semi-conscious mind remembered where he was and relaxed. When the man saw the doctor's figure sitting beside him facing away, a rare mixture of fondness, gratitude, and esteem was the first thing he felt. Eyes soft, he gazed at her with those emotions as he laid comfortably in the bed. .
17:37
Then the doctor stood and looked back at him, and he nodded groggily at her as a form of greeting. His initial expression slowly faded to neutral as he fully woke up, taking in the details of her appearance. Right, he couldn't remain in the soft bed. He was spurred to action, seeing that her dress must be uncomfortable and smelly. He had to get dressed, since he shouldn't go outside to fetch water and firewood in only his underthings. Pushing the blanket off of himself, he swung his legs out of bed, sitting on the edge facing away from the doctor. The injuries ached, but not as much as before when the fevered infection had been making the swelling extreme. First, he grabbed the shirt and trousers that the doctor had previously left at the foot of the mattress, and he carefully put them on. For the sake of time, he only fastened two of the middle buttons on the shirt before tucking it in. The trousers seemed a little wide at the waist, and were an inch or two too short, but he didn't much care. Next, he picked up from the floor the sling for his fracture, and wondered how he should re-tie it. He glanced around, but if the doctor were occupied or had left the room, he'd leave the sling on the bed for later. .
17:38
He spotted his old, bloodstained boots and heavily-darned, threadbare socks in the corner by the door. Gross. Maybe there were socks in the dresser, but he wouldn't rummage through the drawers at the moment. He stood with a wince and picked up his empty flask. He didn't know where the doctor's flask was so that he could fill hers as well, but he'd find it in the house somewhere. He put the washcloth on the floor onto the edge of the basin with yesterday's used water. Then he went to slip on his boots without tying them. Wearing the right one was a mistake because it was still damp with cool blood on the inside, and he flinched. It smelled awful, and it'd probably mold. He'd think about replacing the boots when he had recovered enough to go to town. Holding his flask, he limped out the bedroom door and looked down both ends of the hallway, counting the rooms. He was going to get familiar with the house and property while he looked for several things: the water source, a place where the water could be heated, and a repurposed horse trough or a wooden bathing tub. Knowing where the laundry supplies were kept would be good, too. He could do the initial soak in the used bathwater to save effort. He was still tired, and he wasn't thinking ahead about how he'd haul water with one arm and one leg. He'd figure it out and make do, like always.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/15/2024 21:30
The look of gratitude wasn't lost on her, just unexpected. She'd done nothing more than her job; he was the one who had gone beyond necessity to help her the previous night. And speaking of her job, she'd have to get his sling back on his arm. Still, it wasn't like he'd be going anywhere, or so she assumed. She could at least get enough water for a tepid bath collected before returning to help him out. Not to mention getting something on that wasn't soaked in the blood of two men. Three, counting what had pooled on the shop floor by the time she'd arrived. For now, she simply returned his nod of acknowledgement. "I'll be back," she promised, then left the room. She closed the door fully this time, since he seemed in a good enough condition for her to worry less about whether he'd be able to get out if he needed to. Once in the quiet of her own room, she removed the bloody dress, and underclothes. She inspected the painful area of her side in the floor mirror. There was a discolored area over her ribs, having turned a deep blue-purple. Despite knowing what it was, she pressed a hand to it and winced at the ache. A couple of bruised ribs, but nothing excessive. The area was solid, so it was safe to say there was no fracture to worry about. There probably would have been though, had the layers of clothing not padded the impact from the strike. As it was, she could expect a few weeks of discomfort, but no danger from her injury. She could breathe fine and still move as much as she needed. .
21:30
Satisfied that she had very little to worry about, she used a cloth to rub away from whatever blood could come off. Some of it flaked off in a powder, and she tried not to think about having to clean that out of the floor. It was a problem for later. Any red colouration that clung to her skin would require water, soap, and a whole lot of scrubbing before it would come out. She dressed herself quickly, since it would be coming back off for a bath anyway, and only bothered to brush her hair out without putting it up yet. It would be a while before she found herself willing to venture far from her infirmary, so it didn't really matter. Besides, she'd left her hairpins and ribbon next to her patient's bed. She walked over to her bedside table only to remember that her flask wasn't there. Had she dropped it by the door? No, that was unlikely. Chances are higher that she would have dropped it in the struggle in the dry goods store and not noticing in the rush of the moment. She couldn't remember when she'd last had it. She left it for now, instead stepping out of the bedroom. There was a hall closet that contained laundry soap and supplies, along with a pail for carrying water. She opened that door first, not paying much mind to whether anyone else might be around.
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Survivor BOT 01/16/2024 03:35
While the doctor was changing and inspecting her injury in her room, the man had gotten dressed, gone out to the hallway, and listened outside of each door in the house for signs of movement before opening it to check inside. He wanted to ensure that he wouldn't walk in on the doctor who had told him that she'd be back. He'd noticed that it was easy to hear anything here; even his own breathing seemed loud. The house was almost unnaturally silent, the usual sounds of insects, birds, and critters that would typically be coming from outside strangely absent. The silence would be a double-edged sword if he were still a thief. He wasn't anymore, and couldn't sneak quietly with his injured leg, but it still felt like snooping to take inventory of every room and closet even though the doctor had told him previously that he could roam the place. He had checked every room besides the doctor's, and then he'd taken the pail from the hall closet. .
03:36
On the way out the back door, he passed the kitchen. The stove had a pan with congealed bacon grease in it, and on a back burner was a large, empty pot that he could use for heating the water. He switched the position of the two items so that he could pour the water into the pot more easily when he returned. Just outside the north-facing kitchen, stacked against the back steps, was a small pile of firewood. There was a cellar a few paces away in the shade of the building between some trees. It seemed to be built only partially underground, with earth sloping up the sides, like a half-buried, low shed. Maybe the ground was too hard or rocky to dig deep enough for full cellars here. Beyond the shade of the trees seemed to be a long-dead, dried-up, small patch of farm. The man thought he saw a tiny stream glittering between more trees in the distance, but it seemed too far to be the main water source, so he decided to check the front of the house first. .
03:36
He limped around and found the pump to the left near the front of the house. Something's wrong with this, he thought as the water failed to come out after a few tries. He kicked lightly at the leaking pipe jutting out of the ground to align it better with its connecting piece, then made a sharp noise of pain because he'd forgotten about his leg that already had a constant ache from limping around. But the water finally flowed. He sat on the tree stump near the pump to wash his face, hands, and left forearm first, trying not to get his bandages wet. Then he took a long drink, refilled his flask and put it into a pocket, filled the pail, and started back for the house. .
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Survivor BOT 01/16/2024 03:46
Why does an infirmary have a mannequin? he wondered as he went up the porch steps, grimacing at the pain of having to put his full weight on his left leg for the steps. There was a bloodstain in the dusty wood beside the rocking chair, and he realized that it must be his. He wondered if he should try to get that out of the wood later. He slowly opened the front door with his right hand, holding the pail of water with his left, intending to go through the hallway to the kitchen where he'd boil the water. He didn't want the doctor to have to bathe in water that was almost ambient nighttime temperature.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/18/2024 02:55
The pail was gone. Odd. Had she misplaced it? She racked her memory for answers, but she kept herself busy enough that it was hard to remember something as inconsequential as the location of a bucket. Near-death experiences and being forced to kill a man in self-defense had that effect, she found. Except it wasn't inconsequential right now. She frowned to herself. There was a pot in the kitchen that she could use as a temporary substitute, but she would need to take more trips in order to use it. That was fine; she was mobile enough to manage the inconvenience. Maybe she'd even find the actual pail next to the washbasin in there, and it would solve her original problem altogether. Otherwise, she would have time to search for it later. She closed the closet door just as the front door opened. Instinctively, she jumped, placing her hand on the handle of her knife as she spun to face whoever was breaking in. As she saw that it was her patient, she couldn't keep the relief off her face. Of course. It wouldn't do her any good to be this jumpy every time that door opened. It was her job to heal the people who came to see her, not hurt them. The goal certainly wasn't for them to leave with more stab wounds than they had walked in with. Still, she hadn't expected him to be walking around and trying to do chores. Not in his state. After all, it had barely been over a day since he'd shown up nearly on death's doorstep and she'd had to struggle to drag him into the spare bedroom. "You don't have to do that. Really." Her gaze softened as she approached him, looking him up and down for signs of pain or worsening injury. "I can take care of that... how are your legs?" she asked as she reached for the water. .
02:55
For a moment, she paused to glance out at the body in the rocking chair. Old Man Irvine appeared to remain undisturbed. Good. While it was too late to have to worry about scaring off the newcomer, it would have been awkward to explain the truth behind the taxidermized human corpse on her front porch. Taxidermized human corpses often were. Right now, though, that didn't seem to be an immediate issue. Once she turned her attention away from the window, she finally took a moment to consider why he was carrying water. As she caught on to his intent, she looked over at him. "I... I appreciate it, but I'm also sorry you went to all that trouble," she said. "You've done so much already." A part of her remembered the night before, the stupid offer she'd made in a moment of weakness. Or had it been a request? Either way, was he actually considering it? Her heart nearly raced, though she couldn't have been sure whether it was hope or worry. She didn't want him to feel like he had to help her, like he was in any way indebted to her. From her own perspective, she had condemned him by keeping him alive.
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Survivor BOT 01/18/2024 09:30
The man's eyebrows rose in surprise as the doctor jumped when the door opened, and then he felt a bit guilty when he saw her alarm replaced by relief and her hand come away from the knife handle. He hadn't been listening for movement when he entered, and had assumed she'd still be in her room or the one he'd been staying in. He'd be jumpy, too, based on what she had told him about the enraged attackers in town and the encounter last night. He should be more considerate and make some noise next time, he thought. As the doctor came forward and looked him over, he turned his head towards the wall to avoid eye contact, chin by his shoulder, for two reasons. One, he hoped she wouldn't see the strain in his face caused by the pain in his right leg that had lacerations and stitches and was barely starting to heal after she had treated the infection. Two, she was looking at him and speaking to him in a caring manner, and she was beautiful with her red hair brushed out and her face a little cleaner, and all of that only made him like her more. So he felt nervous up close, and turning away was one way to prevent himself from staring. He froze and didn't respond, only shifting the pail of icy water away when she reached for it. .
09:30
When the doctor looked outside, he began to sidestep her, but then she looked at him and spoke once more. He glanced up briefly, his expression confused, then looked away again. What did she mean by "all that trouble" and "so much"? He hadn't even finished this one task. If she was referring to his actions yesterday evening and again around midnight, any person would have done something instead of leaving her alone, right? He definitely wouldn't have been as touchy with someone who hadn't already cared for him with her own hands, but he still would have tried to do something. And if she was referring to the "assistant" job, well, she'd told him that he could forget it, so he already had, since she wasn't thinking clearly when she had offered. He didn't quite understand what she was apologizing for. He shrugged his left shoulder and shook his head once, a quick and casual movement like the swish of a horse's tail. Then he went to the kitchen slowly, trying to make the limp less obvious. .
09:30
He fumbled stubbornly with the pail and managed to fill the pot with water, splashing a little onto the floor when he was trying to tilt the heavy bucket without putting pressure on his fracture. He then filled the kettle in case the doctor had coffee or tea, and also filled the hot water reservoir in the wood stove. His leg was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and he tried not to let the pain affect his breathing pattern as he struggled to keep the frown off his face. He had to rest for a bit. He'd leave lighting the fire to the doctor. Because he was avoiding showing his face directly to her, he almost missed that she was still moving stiffly in one side of her torso. .
09:30
He turned away with the bucket, leaving the kitchen. But he paused in the hallway outside of the room he'd been staying in. He quickly stepped in, closing the door and setting the pail in front of it so that it'd make a loud scraping noise if the door were opened. He staggered over to the bed to catch his breath for a moment, swiping up the moonshine bottle from the floor on the way. As he read the label, he hesitated, but then uncapped the bottle and took a large swallow, closing his eyes at the burn. He lifted the leg of his trousers to check for blood coming through the bandages that would probably indicate torn stitches. Seeing no red, he quickly stood again, wincing. He set the moonshine bottle on top of the dresser far from the edge in case of an earthquake, and picked up the jar of styptic powder from the floor and put that in front of it, as though it would hide that he'd taken a drink. Then he took a drink from his flask to hide the smell of alcohol on his breath. .
09:31
He poured the dirty water from his room's basin into the bucket, and went out to toss it and carefully pump more water, being mindful not to strain the stitches or to use his right arm. It'd probably take a few more trips until the washbasin in the kitchen would be filled. He didn't want to let the doctor get the water with whatever injury it was that she had. He felt slow, weak, and hungry, but at least he was doing something useful. It was a lucky thing, he thought, to be able to do things he wanted to do.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/19/2024 03:15
It seemed he was stubborn. She didn't insist any further on taking the water. Had she misinterpreted, and he'd meant it for himself? Either way, she watched him with concern. The limp wasn't as bad as she'd expected. Most people probably wouldn't have noticed, but she was a medical professional specifically looking for signs of a limp. She didn't comment, but didn't stray far from him, either. She normally wouldn't have heated water for a bath, but she also normally waited until close to sunset so its natural temperature wouldn't be too cold. Room temperature was healthiest, only lingering for as long as it took to scrub the remaining blood off and feel like a person again. She lit the fire, since an ice bath sounded deeply unpleasant right now, then looked over at the kettle. The opportunity was there, at least. She wouldn't miss the chance. She took a spare cloth first to wipe the grease from the pan, if only because it was bothering her, then opened the cabinets to see what she had. There was a canister of earl grey that would do perfectly fine for a a simple breakfast tea. She measured out enough leaves for two people while she waited for the water to boil. It would take some time, during which she looked over at the basin. The tub itself was stored in a separate room, but would have to be dragged out to fill up, and would be a nuisance to move until it was emptied again. She prepared the kitchen first, pulling the curtains over the small windows shut. She'd probably have to make sure the patient stayed in his room. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, so much as a wish to not have to deal with poor timing on his part. .
03:15
Once the water was warm, she left the room for a moment to bring out the old metal tub. Even empty, it was a nuisance to haul out, but not unmanageable. Despite the protests from her bruised rib, she had it in place within a minute, and started to work on transferring the warmed water over to the tub. She'd just finished when her patient reappeared, and she turned her head to look at him. "Right on time." She'd set the tub where it wouldn't be in his path, and she made sure she was out of his way as well. Making sure to remain clear of the way between the stove and the front door so he could do what he needed. In the meantime, she pulled a cylinder of oats from the cabinet as well, a simple enough breakfast to make use of any leftover boiling water from the pot. "Two more buckets should be enough for this. And please, let me know if you need a break and I should take over." She looked directly at him. "I mean it. Don't be so stubborn that you hurt yourself again." She told herself it was just because she didn't want him creating more work for her, but even she wasn't sure she believed it.
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Survivor BOT 01/19/2024 10:15
"Mm." The man made a noise and nodded at the doctor's words in acknowledgement after he entered the dim kitchen, averting his eyes bashfully when she looked straight at his face. She was still being caring, and her concern felt good. Hardly anyone had shown concern for him beyond childhood, even when ill or injured – no, especially when ill or injured because he'd been called a burden. He still wanted to haul all the water himself, but he also didn't want to burden the doctor if he accidentally worsened his injuries, so he started to feel a little conflicted. He'd just be very careful even if it made him very slow, he told himself. . (edited)
10:15
The warmth from the stove was welcome compared to the cool morning air outside, and he saw the metal tub and the drawn curtains. He'd have to stay clear of this room after he finished this task. The doctor was holding something from the cabinet, but he couldn't see what it contained. .
10:16
Instead of pouring the water from the pail into the tub, he poured it into the pot again, not noticing that it still had boiling water at the bottom. He had no formal medical knowledge – only hearsay, other people's arbitrary rules, folk remedies, and personal preference. Instead of following a high ratio of cold to boiled water that might result in a room temperature bath, he was aiming for warmer than tepid, which he would prefer if he were the one having a soak, so he filled the entire pot again without thinking. .
10:16
His right arm flared up when he tilted the heavy pail, and he grit his teeth and readjusted to avoid putting as much pressure on the fracture, again accidentally spilling water. It sizzled and steamed on the cast iron stovetop. That made him notice with disappointment that the bacon grease from yesterday's breakfast had been wiped off the pan in the back. He had wanted to look through the pantry and the half-cellar for eggs to cook in the leftover fat later. He also realized that he should have asked the doctor for help tilting the heavy pail, and would do so next time with a gesture. .
10:19
He poured the rest of the water into the tub, then left the kitchen to pump two more buckets. He'd need three, actually, because he should also fill all the washbasins in the house. Well, those could wait; he didn't know if his leg could handle it all at once. He'd keep filling the pot and pouring the rest into the tub, unless the doctor said something. Hot water was a luxury, and he wanted to see some steam – though that probably wouldn't happen because it was late June or early July, and getting warmer in the kitchen. He hadn't kept track of the days during travel... or of the past year or two, really. When he returned with the last bucket for the doctor's bath, he was breathing a little hard, warm with exertion and pain, but satisfied with himself for finally finishing a task.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/20/2024 21:28
She'd have to trust him to know how own limits, but she kept a watchful eye on him as he poured the rest of the water. There were subtle signs of pain, and a part of her felt guilty for letting him do this alone. She welcomed help from patients, but only if they weren't hurting themselves worse. He'd barely started walking again, so of course this was too much. A pail full of water wasn't exactly a light burden for someone with two fully functional arms, never mind one. At first, she said nothing. The water in the kettle boiled, and she focused on using it to brew the tea she'd prepared. As she set the kettle down, she looked back over her shoulder to see the man returning with more water. She made sure the tea was out of the way, then rushed over to help him, noticing his gesture. She reached for the pail again, hoping she hadn't misread him and he wouldn't be stubborn this time. "At least let me pour it for you. Are oats going to be alright for breakfast? I also have some berries left in a basket in the pantry, if you want to add a few to yours." There were a few bushes out behind the house that grew them in abundance around the late spring and early summer, so she tried to keep a decent amount available when she could. She would continue to insist on helping with each subsequent load of water. By the third (or was it the fourth? She hadn't been counting), she was following after him to make absolutely sure he wasn't just hurting himself. Still, she let him do as much as he seemed like he could handle. He seemed strong enough, but he was also still injured. And now he looked exhausted. The last of the water still had to warm up, and she wanted to give the bath time to cool slightly before getting in anyway, so they had time to make sure he wasn't overexerting himself more than he already was. .
21:28
"Take a moment to sit at the kitchen table and I'll finish breakfast," she said, carrying a cup of tea over to the table. "There's no milk or honey, but we still have sugar if you want it a bit sweeter. Maple syrup can also work if you prefer honey. It's not the same, but close." Granted, supplies were running low unless they got lucky enough for another traveller to come crashing through with a bag of it. Sugar didn't exactly grow in this climate, after all. But she usually took her tea black anyway, and didn't mind sharing what little she had left. It was just a shame the last train hadn't gotten close enough to town for the survivors to try and bring more of their things in. There was no telling when more might come by. She grabbed her cup of tea as well. "Do you mind waiting for a bit before I put the sling back on you? Just keep being careful not to move that arm and you'll be alright."
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Survivor BOT 01/21/2024 03:19
Breakfast! He nodded quickly to the doctor's question about the oats, always eager for food. He felt a twinge of anxiety when the doctor started following him, but reminded himself that she was doing her job and observing him for his sake, not to oversee that the chore was done properly and berate or beat him if it wasn't. After he relaxed, her presence reminded him to be careful and go slowly. The large swallow of moonshine on an empty stomach was doing its job, too, dulling the pain a bit. .
03:19
Once the task was done, he set the empty pail in the hallway outside of the kitchen and sat heavily in one of the chairs at the kitchen table and stretched out his leg, lifting the hem of the trousers to check the bandages again. Satisfied, he hunched over with his left elbow leaning on the edge of the table, and nodded to the doctor's question. He hadn't expected her to put the sling back on until after her bath, anyway. He was glad that he'd been able to do a chore for her. The contentment and exhaustion were fairly obvious on his face as he rested, sipping the earl gray and waiting for the doctor to finish preparing breakfast. She was so nice to care about what he preferred. He'd look through the pantry later to see where the berries and other sweets she'd mentioned were, and to take inventory of what else there was to eat, but he didn't want to move at the moment. He stole glances at her, watching her move around the kitchen when he thought she wouldn't notice, his pupils large in the dim light coming through the drawn curtains. He wondered whether she'd slept well after the nightmare. His mind went back to her touch, her gentle hands resting on him so naturally, and he looked down at his half-full cup of tea, cheeks a little pink from both the water-hauling and the thoughts that he should keep hidden. .
03:20
When his breathing had returned to normal, he decided to get up to distract himself, limping to the pantry and opening it to take note of what was inside. He grabbed a few berries from the basket and popped them into his mouth, enjoying the sweet and tangy burst of juice. There was the maple syrup, and the sugar. Supplies seemed low, or maybe it was just these? From the counter, he lifted the cylinder that the doctor had gotten the oats from, and judged the weight in his hand as he put it back into the pantry. That was low, too. And there was no honey, milk, or butter. He'd have to bring a weapon and make a trip to town once he could walk without pain. Waiting until he could run would be safer, given the doctor's warning about enraged residents. It was a good thing that he healed faster than most everyone he'd known. He looked down at the tub and swiped his fingers through the warm water for the rare sensation, wondering whether he should bring soap or washcloths, but the doctor seemed to be ladling out the oats now, so he returned to his seat at the table. He'd eat quickly, as usual, then leave right away to give her privacy. Dishes could be done later using the hot water in the stove's reservoir. And when his open wounds had healed, he'd look forward to having a soaking bath, too.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/21/2024 20:39
At least he was resting now, and he seemed happy enough with himself. She sipped her tea for a moment to get at least a few good tastes in before she got busy and risked letting it get cold. Then she set to work, preparing two bowls of the oats as she gave them time to soak in the boiling water. Molasses was the most abundant sweetening option, even if not the most effective, so she added some of it along with a small touch of maple syrup. During the fall, she preferred to add some apples, but she didn't have any now, aside from some unsweetened fruit preserves in the pantry. She carried the food over to the table and sat at the chair he hadn't occupied. She pushed his bowl gently toward him. "I wonder... can you write?" she asked. It may have been a long shot, but was worth asking, if he couldn't speak. "It's alright if you can't, but if you can, it may be a more effective way to communicate your needs while you're still healing." She didn't want a patient to suffer more than others would just because he struggled with speaking. There was the stationery kit she had let the other two borrow before they had left. Rather early... perhaps she should have worried more about them, but their injuries had been less severe, and they'd made their choice to leave when they did. After the big guy's accidental discovery, she couldn't say she blamed them, either. She just hoped they didn't go around telling any other new arrivals in town. Maybe she'd scared him enough that it wouldn't be a concern. .
20:40
Once she finished eating quickly and the patient had also finished and left, she gathered up the dishes. They could all rest in the basin for now, with some of the leftover water from the pot poured into the bowls so they could soak without the oats sticking to the sides and hardening. She made sure the curtains were fully drawn and the front door was locked, before returning to the kitchen. With her privacy returned, she set a towel nearby, draped a cloth over the side of the tub and removed the clothing she had hastily thrown on earlier. There was no unpleasant sticking sensation, so that was a good sign. As she lowered herself into the water, she couldn't help but relax a bit. It was still pleasantly warm. The man had gone to great trouble to make it comfortable, had been effective in doing so, and it made her feel a bit guilty that he didn't get the chance to enjoy it. She'd return the favour later, once he had healed enough. It wasn't like the bath could fit both of them- nope. She pushed any trace of that particular indecent thought away and dipped her head backward to soak her hair in the water, getting any stubborn clumps of dried blood out of it. With that done, she focused on scrubbing any lingering traces of blood from her skin. By the end, patches were still red, but from the friction rather than blood, and the water was slightly pink. She let herself relax there for a moment longer before getting out. Her movements were quick and practiced as she toweled off and got dressed once more. She was visibly less tense now, and energized in a way that told her she had needed this more than expected. Which was probably for the best - she would need energy to clear out all of this water.
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Survivor BOT 01/22/2024 01:25
The man hesitated at the doctor's question as he pulled the bowl of oats closer to himself. When he was a schoolboy, he'd been told that his penmanship wasn't legible, but that was the adults' fault if they insisted on tying his left arm behind his back to the chair. And he didn't intend to write anything about his... needs. It was a foreign concept that made him feel uncomfortable, and his brows furrowed a bit as he looked down at his steaming bowl and considered his answer. Few people had truly cared, so a part of him, as a teenager, had come to deny that he really needed anything. They were all just wants, to make going through life less painful. He didn't want to cause more work for the doctor, either, so he couldn't imagine writing anything about himself. But he looked up and nodded anyway because he wasn't a liar – not unless he had good reason, anyway. He hungrily spooned up and ate the oats, looking a little surprised and pleased when he discovered the welcome sweetness of the molasses and the faint fragrance of maple. This was nice: sitting in a dim, warm kitchen sharing a hot meal with someone he was fond of and grateful for. Still, he ate quickly, not thinking to match his pace with his host, and then drained his tea. He waited for the doctor to finish eating and then left, taking up the pail again. .
01:25
While she was in the kitchen, he went to her bedroom and peeked inside. He limped over to the birch bookshelf and ran his right fingertips over the spines of the medical texts and the classical fiction books, reading a few of the titles. Then he went to the washtable and dumped the water from the basin into the pail. It was lightly perfumed, the same scent that he'd smelled faintly on the doctor during the earthquake. He tossed the dirty water outside and pumped the pail full of fresh water yet again, and then distributed it between the three washbasins in the bedrooms of the house. Forearm aching, he glanced at the water that had spilled onto the doctor's washtable and floor. She'd probably notice, but she wouldn't mind, if his guess was right. He left it, too tired at the moment to bother with cleaning. He returned the pail to the hall closet, then went to his room. After tugging off his old shoes by the door, he washed his feet, the right foot having been bloodied by the inside of the boot. Then he hoisted the window open for airflow, grimacing at the pain in his leg. After hovering in front of the dresser for almost a full minute, he finally took the bottle of moonshine from behind the jar of styptic powder and had another large swallow, then replaced it. It was for later, he tried to tell himself, for when he'd start the initial soak for the laundry, because he didn't want the doctor to have to deal with the wretched blanket he'd slept on the first night. His bed also had blood on the sheets, though it was from the doctor's dress. His sweat-stained pillowcase and the fur blanket, though... And he was sure that some of the cloths and supplies in the doctor's bag on his floor should also be washed. .
01:27
While finishing his mental list of what had to be washed, the man spotted the doctor's hairpins and ribbon on the nightstand. He laid on the bed, sighing at the softness of it, and reached out to pick up the items and play with them idly while he rested. He shaped the ribbon with the pins so that it resembled a cookie-cutter outline of a sheep, but it looked more like a pig and there was no way to keep the wool looking puffy, so he changed it to something like a caduceus. This dark teal wasn't the best at highlighting the color of her hair or her eyes, he thought, but that was probably the intention... like how that person always had cropped hair to avoid unwanted attention. He touched his own light brown hair and felt the fuzzy, short beard, now more than just stubble. He could use a wash and trim himself, once the cuts and bruises healed. But for now, he rested on his side, the caduceus resting in his left palm. He'd get up again when he heard the kitchen door open. What was the lengthy process for laundry again in a proper household? Soak for a day with lye soap and bleaching agents (what he wanted the used bathwater for), then agitate in boiled water with soap, then agitate again without soap but with bluing agents and starches, then lay everything out in the grass or on trees or lines, then iron... something like that. He was sure that he'd recalled a step or two incorrectly; it seemed people did it a little differently everywhere he went, like on the trail. The moonshine was strong, as the doctor had warned. The pain was gone now, he wasn't hungry, and his eyelids felt heavy. He was fortunate, he thought. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly, staying partially conscious in the comfortable bed.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/23/2024 02:09
The pail was gone when she was finished with the bath, which meant she would have to retrieve it. So perhaps draining the bath could wait, after all. It wasn't like it was going anywhere. She could tend to other things for now. First, she returned to her room. It was as she remembered, but there was fresh water in the basin where she had left the used water from earlier. So it seemed he'd insisted on putting himself to work despite her advice to rest. It was fine, but she hoped he hadn't caused himself more pain in the process. There was some water spilled around the basin, so she wiped it up with the hand towel that hung off the side of the washstand. A quick and easy fix. Satisfied that the room was clean and otherwise undisturbed, she sat at the dressing table to comb out her damp hair. There wasn't need to do much with it today, so she settled for tying it loosely back out of her face with a fresh ribbon from her drawer and using a couple of leftover pins to help secure it into place. The others were still in her patient's room, and she would wait until later to retrieve them. Maybe he was finally getting some proper rest, and didn't want to be disturbed. She could only hope that she hadn't kept him awake for too long the night before, with her nightmares and her troubled ramblings. But she had other things to worry about. Given his initial discomfort when asked about writing, she had expected the answer to be no. Even after he'd nodded, she had hesitated with the concept of providing him a stationery kit anyway, seeing that he hadn't seemed too keen on the idea of writing. Still, it was better to provide one than not. It would be an option he didn't need to use if he didn't want to, and a way for him to answer any more complicated questions she might have. She had set the kit atop the bookshelf, and took it down now. .
02:09
She stepped out of her own room and approached the patient's. She hadn't heard anything outside of her room while she'd been in there, but she also admittedly hadn't been listening. So she hesitated as she lifted a hand to knock. What if he was sleeping? Or what if he'd left the room without her noticing? Well, there was only one way to find out; if her timing was poor, she could simply apologize. She knocked on the door, but looked back over her shoulder just in case. "I brought something for you. And it's about time we took care of your sling."
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Survivor BOT 01/23/2024 09:00
He heard the kitchen door opening, footsteps, and another door closing, but he decided not to get up yet because he didn't want to accidentally see the doctor if she wasn't ready to be seen, and it was too comfortable on the bed with the mild buzz from the moonshine combined with his weariness from the water-hauling. It was probably still late morning and there was no rush to get up, anyway, unless he heard her fetch the pail from the hall closet. After a while, he heard the doctor's footsteps coming down the hall toward the room in which he was staying, and then the knock. He opened his eyes, lifting his head towards the door. "Mm." He made a noise to show that he was inside. He hadn't meant to close the door; he must have accidentally done so when he had leaned on it to remove his boots. His movements were a little sluggish as he sat up, the caduceus formed by the doctor's ribbon and pins slipping from his hand onto the sheets. He was unaware of the doctor's inner conflict regarding both the writing and the prospect of bothering him, but if he'd known, it would have reinforced his belief that she was unusually considerate and thoughtful. .
09:01
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stumbled to the door as quickly as he could to open it for the doctor in case she was holding something large, since she said she brought something. Realizing that he was a little disoriented, he once again felt a twinge of guilt for sneaking drinks of moonshine without permission, and he couldn't meet her eyes as he got close. He did notice that her hair looked different. On the way back to the bed, he picked up the cloth sling on the floor. Once he was sitting on the edge again, with the sling on his knee, he let himself look at the doctor, who was carrying some oak box. Or rather, he couldn't help but stare at her because she was captivating. Her appearance was now clean and neat, with a refreshing new hairdo. He knew that she hadn't gotten a full night of sleep, but he was glad that she seemed a bit more invigorated, and she moved with a different sort of relaxedness compared to his alcohol-induced muscle laxity. Without any makeup, her skin had a healthy color from the warmth of the bath. The man's lips parted as he gazed fondly at the doctor's features: cheeks, lips, nose, eyelashes. When dark blue connected with cool blue, he blinked away.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/24/2024 16:35
She waited as she heard footsteps, only walking in once he opened the door. He seemed half-conscious, but half was better than not at all. She glanced down at the ribbon and pins that now rested on the bed. The way he looked at her seemed almost fond, but she immediately tried her best to dismiss the thought. There were boundaries between a doctor and a patient that shouldn't be crossed, and she was caring for him because it was her job. And there was the faint scent of alcohol clinging to him, which brought about larger concerns. Had he strained himself too much and caused a lot of pain? Or was this a sign of a different problem? The only way to know for sure was to keep a close eye on the situation. For now, she set down the box beside his bed. "I brought something in case you wanted to write anything," she explained. "Or in case I have any questions for you that can't be answered with a gesture. You don't have to use it if you're not comfortable, but it's there if you want. For now, let's get your arm taken care of." She set to work, securing the sling in place once more to make sure his right arm was properly immobilized. The setting still held strong, and he seemed to be healing remarkably quickly. Good. She looked him over, checking for any new wounds, then held the back of her hand to his forehead. No more signs of fever anymore, but she would still have to check for any visual signs of infection. She walked back to where she'd left the jar of styptic powder, pausing as she saw the amount of moonshine left in the bottle. Of course, she'd known he'd taken a drink, but it was best to double-check how much. She only brought back what she needed, though, and knelt in front of him. .
16:35
"I'm going to check on your leg wounds," she informed him, so she wouldn't just be lifting his pant leg without permission. "You're walking again, so that's good. The infection seems to be fading too. Does this hurt?" She looked up to gauge his reaction as her hand pressed against where the infection had previously looked the worst. Her gaze settled on his face for a moment. It was a good face. The beard, though not grown intentionally, suited him well, and there was a gentleness to his expression she didn't see in many people. Only the outsiders, before the town killed the best parts of them. She looked away, trying not to think of what he might become once he left the infirmary. It wasn't her concern; all she had to do was make sure he survived for as long as he could manage. That was all she could do for anyone out here. Once she was finished with his injuries, she stood back up. "I'm going to empty the bath water," she said, because it was rather bloody and not useful for much anymore. Maybe she could use the rest of the water from the stove's reserve for some laundry. She turned to leave.
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Survivor BOT 01/25/2024 20:35
He looked down at the oak stationery box and nodded, wondering what he might write to ask her, and then he stayed still as the doctor secured the sling around his arm and neck and then examined him. When she held her hand to his forehead, his eyes relaxed at the soft touch. But then she paused at the dresser as she was gathering supplies, and the guilt returned. Being as observant as she was, she wouldn't have missed the slight reduction in the level of liquid. He looked down at his right arm in the sling, jaw tense with nervousness as he half expected a scolding, yet the doctor didn't say anything. After she returned and lifted up his trousers to check the leg wounds, he couldn't meet her eyes. He rolled the fabric up further and held them at his thigh above the bandages. It was his fault for exerting himself after she had told him multiple times to rest. It was his fault he'd gotten the injuries in the first place; he shouldn't have been with the wagon train. He shouldn't have gotten caught and become an indentured servant. He should have turned his life around before getting caught – no, before that. But if he continued on this train of thought, he might as well say that he should have died as a child when his original family died. He tried to push it all out of mind, sighing as he looked up at the dresser where he could see the top of the moonshine bottle. .
20:36
It occurred to the man that a different person could have lied that the worst of the infected areas hurt a lot, in order to pretend they hadn't had two large swallows of high proof alcohol to numb it and then ask for more, but he wasn't such a person. Instead, his expression only grew slightly tense from the dull ache due to the pressure of the doctor's hand – less tense than if he hadn't had any painkiller – and he shrugged his left shoulder in a gesture meant to convey, "Not too bad right now." Again, she cleaned the fading infection from his wounds and applied salve and bandages with a clinical detachment, like nothing had ever happened last night and he was now just another patient. As he watched her hands like he had before, he was struck by a twinge of hurt, and not from his leg. The moonshine didn't do much to dull the sense of rejection in his chest. She could have declared him a lost cause and put him out of his misery the night she found him, but she hadn't, and now his life was hers, even though he was convinced that someone of her status would never choose to deal with someone like him if she had a choice. She'd probably choose a girl or young woman if she wanted hired help or an apprentice. It was for the best if they both acted like strangers, he told himself. He didn't want to get close to others. He only had to live as he'd been instructed. When the doctor was finished treating his injuries, he looked away and took a deep breath, trying to focus on something else other than how connected he already felt to her. .
20:36
It was a relief when the doctor told him that she was going to empty the bath water, and he interpreted the information as a possible command or request. Still being careful and slow, he followed her out of the room, but if she stopped in the hall to fetch the pail from the closet, he would continue on past her to the kitchen. There, he found the curtains opened again, and looked into the tub to check the water first. It was brownish pink – too bloody to soak any lightly colored fabrics, but he could at least soak the dark blanket that had been left outside on the back porch beyond the kitchen door. It contained the dirt, blood, and other fluids from the first night when the doctor had rolled him onto it and operated, so he didn't want to soak it with other laundry. He shook out the nearly-dried thing, hardened with blood, to get out most of the dust and the darkened splinters. It was salvageable, he thought, seeing no tears or rips. With one hand, he gathered it up and let it fall into the tub, then added to the lukewarm water soap and disinfecting agents to remove the smell and stains. It would almost certainly fade the dye on the blanket, but that was better than tossing it. Replacing such a large piece of quilted cotton fabric would be expensive. He agitated it a little with a stick, then went out the front door to wash his left hand under the pump. .
20:37
When he returned, he looked at the kitchen's washbasin, which had the items from breakfast inside. He had intended to gather up the pillowcases and sheets for laundry, but he didn't think it would all fit into the basin, especially if the doctor also had laundry that took priority. Plus, without sheets, he would have to rest on the floor again, since he wouldn't want to get the mattress dirty. He found a fresh cup from the cupboard to add hot water from the stove's reservoir to the basin so that he could start doing the dishes, but if the doctor told him to stop, he'd listen this time and take a seat.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/29/2024 12:08
She looked back over her shoulder as he followed. Strange, but as long as he wasn't getting himself hurt, she wouldn't question it. Maybe the breakfast she'd served hadn't been enough for him. He was a big guy after all, at least compared to her. She paused to check the hall closet for the pail. Luckily, it had been put back and she wouldn't have to search for it. At least now she was actually prepared for the tedious task of hauling water back and forth. She picked it up and walked into the kitchen, but stopped as she saw the man walking back into the house with the blanket she had completely forgotten about leaving outside. It would probably need a couple rounds of washing, but the old water in the tub would be good enough for the first. At least, it would still get it cleaner than it had been. Deciding that emptying the water could wait until the blanket had soaked for a while, she returned the pail to the hall closet. She lingered close to the wall after, staying out of the way so she wouldn't crash into her patient on the way back to the kitchen. It was clear the man never knew how to rest long enough. Then again, she would be a hypocrite if she complained about that. But he'd already done so much work for the day. More than he should have in his condition. Some activity during recovery was healthy, sure. She just worried he didn't have any regard for limitations. "I'll take care of the dishes," she said as she joined him in the kitchen. "You go ahead and rest for a few more minutes." Maybe she would think of some tasks for him that wouldn't risk agitating his injuries. Some organizational duties, perhaps, or carrying laundry rather than buckets of water. In the meantime, he could relax while she set to work on washing the dishes. There was nothing particularly challenging about the task, since nothing difficult to remove had stuck to anything. She made quick enough work of it, setting the dishes in a rack beside the basin to dry. .
12:08
She checked the water when it was finished, seeing if it was clean enough to reuse for anything. The bloody dress from the day before was too light in colour to trust in the water with food residue floating in it, and anything else was cleaner than the water itself. A refill of fresh water before she could start on laundry, then. She picked up the whole basin, lifting it carefully from its stand. It wouldn't be a long walk to the door. Maybe once she got there, she could ask her patient to open the door for her. It wouldn't keep him occupied if he was growing restless, but it would be a great help to her. She took the first few steps away from the wash stand. She didn't get far at all, let alone as far as the front door, before the earthquake hit. The building began to shake and, not prepared for it, she found herself knocked to the side. She lurched sideways, falling into where the man had sat down, whether he was still sitting there or not. A jolt of pain shot up from her left elbow and the large porcelain basin fell from her hands, its exterior cracking slightly with its impact against the floor. The dirty water itself ended up everywhere around and on the kitchen table. Because apparently, it was just too much to ask to be clean for more than ten minutes. "Son of a-" She caught herself and just clenched her teeth as she waited for the pain to fade. No injury this time, just a really irritating spot to hit on a table. "Sorry, sorry... are you alright?"
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Survivor BOT 01/30/2024 03:41
He nodded obediently this time and sat at the kitchen table when the doctor told him to rest more. She had a point; it'd be foolish to try to do the dishes with one hand. Once he was slouched over in the chair, he sighed, feeling a little useless even though he knew he should rest because he was tired. Maybe he could mop the bloodied and oily floorboards in his room once he felt like pumping another pail of water. In the meantime, he intentionally looked away from the doctor to keep himself from thinking too much about her. Just another patient, he repeated to himself, and then he put his forehead onto his left forearm, leaning on the table and closing his eyes. Maybe it would be easier to return to the room where he was staying and put some distance between them, but he wanted to seem available to help, so he stayed where he could hear the doctor in case she needed him for a task. The man looked up when he heard the dishes clink onto the rack. As the doctor walked toward the hallway with the basin, he anticipated that she'd need the door opened and the basin replenished at the pump. He might as well grab the pail and fill that again, too. He was just about to stand to follow her when the shaking began. Everything jerked slightly to one side, and then lurched violently to the other side. The chair and the man in it were thrown sideways against the wall as the doctor hit her left elbow on the table and water sloshed partially over the kitchen table and then all over the floor as the basin hit the hardwood. .
03:41
He heard the doctor's utterance of a near-expletive and caught her with his left arm – or rather, she fell into his left side and he automatically wrapped his arm around her as his right shoulder and upper arm hit the wall, causing a twinge of pain to shoot out from the fracture site and making him gasp and hold the doctor tighter around the shoulders. Then he saw the dirty water about to spill over the edge of the table and fall on his injured leg, so he stood quickly with a wince and a loud scrape of the chair, pulling the doctor up with him. The building trembled for half a second longer, and the shaking stopped just as suddenly as it had come. Her red hair was soft and smelled like bath soap. Her head tucked perfectly under his chin. But what was this ridiculous coincidence? Why was it reminding him so much of last night, which he'd probably do better to forget? And why was he still hugging her? He reluctantly let go and took a half step back. .
03:41
Then he saw the doctor's expression of pain, and his thoughts were chased away by concern for her. She was clutching and feeling her left elbow. He looked down at the arm, also touching the forearm near the elbow gingerly with worry in his eyes. Her sleeves were still rolled up from her wrists from doing the dishes, and he saw the distorted, old scar from a vampire or huge dog again, partially visible. When it seemed she was fine and she spoke to him, he nodded to indicate that he was alright. His fingers unintentionally skimmed the scar as he turned away. He grabbed some rags hanging from the washstand, handed a few to the doctor, and glanced over at the tub. Fortunately, it hadn't been so full that the now very pink water had splashed over; it was all still contained. Why the people in this town had decided to stay despite the daily earthquakes and something being "not right," as the doctor had said, was beyond him. But he shrugged slightly to himself and focused on wiping up the water on the table first, wringing it out with one hand back into the basin.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 01/31/2024 23:00
It was anatomically impossible, but she was still fairly certain her heart had found its way into her stomach in the brief moment of groundlessness where she'd been unsure of how hard she'd land on the floor. Except she didn't land on the floor. Instead, she fell against something warm, with the sort of softness only another person's body could have. She was being held, even as the shaking stopped, and it steadied her enough to catch her breath. There was an odd feeling of security that came with the moment, which she dismissed as being solely due to the fact that she was being physically secured. In the moment that the embrace lingered, her mind processed how close his body was to hers, and she stepped away the second he let go, embarrassed. Not far, though, and he was still able to touch her arm. "I'm alright too," she assured him. The pain had faded to a tingling, which grew weaker with the passing seconds. She flexed her fingers to send the message from her hand that she was fine, and her nerves had just overreacted to a mild hit to a sensitive part of her arm. "Thank you for catching me." She looked down at her arm as she felt his fingers brush against the old scar on it. Part of her felt obligated to explain it, but what would the point have been? He hadn't asked. Instead, she took some of the rags and soaked up some of the dirty water that had spilled. There was a lot of it, and she hated to think of just how much laundry they had ahead of them at this point. To think she'd just finished taking care of a load the day before he'd arrived, and it had already piled up again. No use complaining, though - better inundated with housework in here than risking her life out there. Some inconveniences were well worth what she had to gain. .
23:00
She helped out with wiping the water from the table, but paused to look over the basin itself. Thankfully, there hadn't been much damage to it - a small chip from the rim at the top, but no large cracks to worry about. The table, on the other hand, had an impressive crack spreading from where the basin had landed. Not so much that it had to be replaced, but definitely noticeable. If she covered it with a tablecloth and avoided dropping anything heavy on it, it would still be perfectly fine. She left a few of the rags on the floor where the worst of the water had pooled so they'd have more time to soak it up, then picked the basin up again. "I'll refill this then take care of laundry," she told him. "You get some more rest."
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Survivor BOT 02/01/2024 02:03
The man nodded in reply. Once he was done with the cracked table, he pushed the dirty water with the rags over the floor, out towards the back door, where he swept it over the sill out onto the porch. It could dry there or sink between the cracks. He took his time, being careful not to hurt his right leg as he bent over. When he'd finished, he wrung out and shook out the rags as best he could with one hand, hung them back on the washstand towel bars, and headed toward the room he was staying in. He hesitated in the hallway, opened the closet door, and stared at the pail, thinking he should haul the water for the doctor despite her order. He was self-medicated with moonshine at the moment, after all. He might as well make himself useful while the pain reliever lasted, right? He grabbed the pail and happened to reach the front door just as the doctor was returning with the kitchen's basin. He stepped aside and held the door open for her, then went through to fill at least one pail full of water and haul it back inside to wherever she wanted it. The task was more exhausting than it had been the first few times. He went to rest after that, not wanting to seem blatantly defiant, but he left the door of the bedroom wide open in case the doctor needed him. .
02:03
His pillowcases, sheets, and undervest first could be washed another time when he was better, he thought, not wanting to add to today's laundry load. He closed his eyes as he laid on the soft bed, but he wasn't able to nap for a long while, feeling like he should be helping when he heard the doctor moving around. When he was doing nothing, he couldn't help but think about her, and wondered what questions he might ask using the stationery. He picked up the caduceus made from her ribbon and pins and adjusted the shape a little bit, playing with the textures, until he finally drifted off with the thing resting in his palm.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 02/02/2024 02:17
She gave a nod of appreciation as she walked past him, grateful that he'd been available to hold the door open. Then he kept walking to fill a pail. She sighed and shook her head, but didn't argue. If he thought he'd be fine, the best she could do was hope he was right. In the meantime, she walked to the kitchen and set the basin back in place. No earthquakes this time, a fact for which she was grateful. Even if now there did seem to be someone handy to catch her every time she lost her balance. She shook her head, trying not to think of it as anything more meaningful than coincidence. Besides, he shouldn't have had to do that. Not with his own injuries to worry about. She retrieved the dirty clothes and blankets from her room - at least what could be salvaged - as well as the sheets from the room the couple earlier had slept in, and considered getting her current patient's clothes and sheets. Maybe tomorrow, as she had enough to do now. She gave a nod of satisfaction as she heard the door to Old Man Irvine's old room close. At least it seemed like he'd finally be resting again. She left him to it, and set about the late morning's work of washing some of the laundry. By the time she had finished, noon had already passed. She took a moment to clear the remaining rags from the floor and sweep up the food residue left by the dirty water. Since the patient was beating his infection, she didn't have to check on his injuries quite as often. Twice a day would suffice unless it started to grow worse. Which meant that now, she had some spare time. She returned to her room, fully intending to pass the time with a book. She had plenty of supplies to last through the next few days, which was definitely a good thing. There was no way she'd willingly leave the house again until she absolutely needed to.
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Survivor BOT 02/03/2024 02:32
He had left the door of the bedroom wide open in case the doctor needed him. The man wasn't used to having privacy, and didn't need it at the moment. He remained asleep until mid afternoon, and woke up because of the heat in a similar position on his left side, with the ribbons and pins now on the sheets beside his hand. He blinked lazily and sat up, looking at the caduceus as he listened for movement in the house. He wondered if he should return the items to the doctor, but she hadn't taken them in the morning, so he figured it was fine for him to fidget with them until she needed them. Plus, the ribbon smelled a tiny bit like her hair, and that was comforting in an odd way, though he tried to push the sentiment aside. The dry afternoon air felt hot and stale again, with only a light, warm breeze coming from the open window, but the heat didn't feel as bad as yesterday's because he no longer had a fever. He drank some water and got up to roam around, ignoring the pain in his leg. The moonshine seemed to have worn off. .
02:32
The doctor's bedroom door was closed, and the man didn't hear anything inside as he quietly limped down the hallway. She might be napping, he presumed, so he'd try to stay quiet. He first went to the kitchen and took the basket of berries from the pantry, snacking on the two handfuls that remained as he wandered outside, keeping the door cracked so as not to make too much noise, and to make it easier for himself to go in and out. He spotted the laundry, most of it gently waving in the hot sun. His expression lightened; it was nice to live somewhere more permanent again where he could see the peacefulness of domesticity. Was this what that person had wanted for him? On the back porch, the doctor's bloodied dress, along with some cloths that had been used to wrap forceps and scissors and to staunch his own blood, were all soaking with chemicals and soap in a wooden basin large enough to double as a bathtub for a small child. .
02:33
Limping over to the berry bushes that he'd seen that morning, the man went to the most bountiful-looking ones and started picking the ripe fruits, tossing them into the basket and leaving any unripe ones. Even with one arm and the basket on the grass, he made quick work of it because it was a task that he was accustomed to and he didn't want to remain standing for too long. After the basket was full, he went back inside and replaced the basket back into the pantry. Taking a seat at the kitchen table to rest his leg, he drank the rest of the water from his flask. The act made him realize that he had never filled the doctor's flask because he hadn't seen it in the house. Had she even drank anything since the tea at breakfast, and did she typically eat only once a day? .
02:33
Standing again, he hobbled over to the kitchen drawers and started looking for a spare flask, unaware that the doctor had done the same thing a day ago. He only found a mess of cooking utensils and a disproportionate number of large knives, a few of them chipped and rusted, or sharpened so much that they'd lost their original shape. He gave up trying to find a flask for now and started thinking about supper instead. He hadn't yet explored the cellar-slash-shed behind the house, so he went there and unlatched the door. He found it strange how he could only go down five steps, and that was the depth of it. Building deeper would allow the temperature and humidity to be more stable. Plus, the dirt piled up around the shed had seemed like an afterthought. It was unusual for a hole-in-the-ground type of root cellar to be so close to a building rather than built from a natural hill, but he realized that the shed would constantly be in the north shadow of the house regardless of the time of day. The temperature inside still seemed cold enough. .
02:33
The man peered at the contents in the dark and picked out a couple each of withered-looking carrots and potatoes, the humidity in shallow ground apparently not high enough to keep the produce crisp. He swept the straw back over the other vegetables and checked out the few jars of pickled vegetables on a shelf, ducking sideways to avoid bumping into empty hooks and chains hanging from the ceiling. Maybe he could dig a proper basement root cellar later, one that was at least seven or eight feet deep, if the ground wasn't too rocky. He went back inside and set the vegetables on the kitchen table for now, wondering where the meat was kept. .
02:33
From his time outside in the morning, he'd seen that there was a part of the building that wasn't the infirmary. He grabbed the pail from the closet on the way out the front door, again trying to be quiet, and gazed back at the building on his way to the water pump. There was a meat cleaver sign under the caduceus sign. So that was what was on part of the east side. He hadn't heard anyone working there, though. Curious, he went down the front entrance hallway, peeking inside the room to confirm that it did look like a butcher's workshop with a long counter. A stained leather apron hung on the wall, and the tools and oil lamp looked like they had been used recently. So the small building just east of the infirmary must be the smokehouse. Now that the man got closer to the smokehouse, he could see a couple of meat safes hanging in the shade of nearby trees. One of them had a cloth wrapped around it, but it was barely even damp. He looked around, confused. If the butcher wasn't here to rewet the cloth so that evaporation could keep the meat cool, it would soon spoil. He peeked through a crack inside the smokehouse and there were meats hanging from the ceiling as well. The man went to fill the pail enough to wet the cloth around the meat safe, and then returned to the pump for water, thinking that he could have taken more moonshine. If the meat were still there an hour before sunset, he'd swipe it to make stew. It wasn't exactly stealing if it would go to waste. .
02:33
Breathing hard as he pumped the water, the man didn't notice the stout figure around average height, in a Stetson and dark outfit, strolling up the road past the gallows with swinging arms. The stranger wore boots with spurs but rode no horse. When the injured man saw the stranger in the corner of his eye, he startled slightly, then nodded curtly and continued pumping, pretending he wasn't paying attention to him. The stocky older man paused, resting his right hand near his holster, and stared hard with cold, bluish gray eyes at the outsider with a broken arm pumping water. He had lank brown hair with streaks of white almost down to his shoulders, and his ruddy skin beneath his Stetson was sunburned, except for the patches covered by his brown mustache and beard. Then he continued past, to the house. The man with dark blue eyes cautiously watched the older man walk up the porch steps and tip his hat just slightly to the mannequin. Then the stranger lifted his right hand and rapped loudly and steadily several times on the door that was cracked open, intentionally making it bang shut as if he wanted to announce himself dramatically. The sunlight reflected on something grasped in his other hand, shiny silver with deep reddish brown.
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Dr. Thomas BOT 02/25/2024 21:43
It was nice, having a few hours of peace while awake. Not constant leisure time - it was but necessity punctuated by the occasional routine chore - but she would take anything that didn't involve bloodshed or earthquakes as a nice change of pace. By the time she heard the patient moving around the halls, she'd gotten a bit of extra cleaning done and taken inventory of what food she still had, what was running low, and what she would need to use or sell soon if there was to be any hope of it not going bad. A large dinner might be in order for the night. Admittedly, her work in the butcher shop had fallen to the wayside in the past few days. Doctoring had taken priority, after which she hadn't had much energy for other work. Humans weren't meant to work two jobs, no matter how determined she was to make sure there was a trustworthy meat source in town. For a moment, she considered getting up to see what he might be doing, to make sure he didn't push himself too hard or hurt himself. But no, he was an adult, and he could take care of himself. She'd fought for years to suppress that part of her mind that worried over every little thing. Or at least enough to stop worrying about other people beyond the minimal requirements of her job. Something about the past few days had torn that wall down. She tried to convince herself that it was simply the incident in the dry goods store. That she was just shaken, and would bounce back as she always did. But that didn't seem quite accurate. She never would have gone so low as to seek out comfort from a stranger, let alone a patient. Yet she had, in the presence of someone she could feel safe around. It was a dangerous feeling, safety, and one she didn't want to lose. Maybe that was it, then. Maybe something about him made him worth worrying about. Worth wanting around. .
21:43
After a moment, she heard a door to the outside open and close. How late was it by now? She glanced towards the window, observing the shadows left by the late afternoon sun. She normally only ate two meals a day, but while she had someone else staying, starting dinner early might be an appropriate compromise between the common standard of three meals a day and get tendency to skip lunch. After all, there was no knowing what schedule he was used to. She placed her bookmark between the book's pages and set The Iliad back on its spot on the shelf. It was one she'd kept telling herself she would get around to reading since it had found its way onto town, but had never found the time to finish. Most of the literature on her shelf was aspirational in that sense. There was still enough wood in the kitchen to run the stove for cooking. She swept the old ashes out of the bottom tray, pausing to dump them outside through the back door. As she closed the door and returned to the stove to place some fresher logs inside, a knock on the front door startled her. She scrambled to avoid dropping the log, her heart racing as she set it down. Maybe the patient had simply locked himself out by accident, but that seemed unlikely - it didn't close from outside without a key. And then the door slammed, negating that possibility. A visitor then, and she could only hope for a customer to the butcher shop or a new patient. She silently hoped for no house calls as she walked out into the hallway. For a moment, she paused and glanced back toward the cutlery drawer. Instinct told her not to go unarmed. Common sense told her that carrying a weapon in a place of relative peace might only serve to further escalate the situation. The latter won, and she approached the door empty-handed. .
21:44
The man waiting on the opposite side was immediately recognizable. She'd noticed him patrolling around town, had heard the horror stories, treated the occasional survivor of his milder outbursts. No matter how ridiculous those metal pinwheels on his boots made him look in a horseless town, he was unpredictable. Dangerous. How much of that was the town and how much was just him, she hoped to never find out. Her gaze drifted to what he was holding as she kept her expression cautiously neutral, choosing her words carefully. Had he figured out what had happened at the dry goods store and decided that, of all the murders in this town, this one was worthy of retribution? Or was his purpose something else entirely? Maybe she should invite him in for tea with extra belladonna... No. She couldn't let paranoia control her. This wasn't the place for it, anyway. "Sheriff," she greeted with a polite dip of her head. "What a surprise... Were you hurt in the line of duty? Or are you here to visit the butcher shop?" God, she hoped he just needed to buy some jerky. Probably not though.
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