Log Date: 2/13/99 Log Cast: Bronwen, Tance, Sorcha Log Intro: Tance has done it again--and this time, it's thanks to cutting more crystal than he has room for in his cartons. You'd think that one green crystal in his jumpsuit pocket wouldn't be a problem, or at least so Tance tells himself as he hastens onto the _Meguey Radmynn_ to get his latest cut back to the JPF. But then again, this is what Tance gets for cutting green. The crystal has shattered, taking him utterly by surprise and causing him to crash the sled. And he's been recovering in the Short Term Care ward ever since, where he has been at the mercy of one of the newer young Singers in the guild, a woman named Bronwen who seems disturbingly interested in him, enough to have tried to take mischievous advantage of his addled memory to pass herself off as his wife--and to have immediately backed off that prank as soon as she realized that it caused him grief. And it hasn't helped that she's tried to talk him into partnering with her in the Ranges, either. Now, perhaps to make amends, she's still seeking him out.... ---------- Bronwen walks into Short Term Care looking for medical assistance. Bronwen has arrived. Short Term Care This area is dedicated to fixing minor emergencies, such as broken bones and severed fingers. Medical cabinets on the walls are filled with bandages, ointments and medicines. The gleaming white walls help to sooth anxious nerves while providing medics with bright light to work by. The room has a sterile, antiseptic smell. Movable gurneys can be used to transport an injured Guild member from place to place. There is a button next to each bed that can be used to summon medical help. Telandra is checked into bed one, and Elrick is checked into bed two. Contents: Bronwen Obvious exits: Infirmary Further information is available via '+lhelp'. Bronwen looks at you for a moment. Tance(#3209POQce) This is a man of of perhaps about 5'10" in height, with a build that might be skinny if not augmented by knots of wiry muscle along his shoulders and limbs. He is deeply tanned, with the look of one who spends a lot of time working outdoors, and his roughly planed face and callused hands show signs of regular weathering. His eyes, a dark and sullen shade of brown, are framed by lines in his skin that suggest that far too often, their owner glares at anything in his sight. His hair has been cropped short into what would be an almost military style if not for the choppy, spiky look of the sun-and-gray-streaked brown strands. He is clad only in one of the utilitarian gowns the Infirmary of the Heptite Guild issues to its patients, a thing of servicable grey cloth that grants at least a measure of dignity and privacy to the wearer while allowing a medic to scan him or her with ease. If you happen to be near Tance, the hair on your arm stands on end. Whoa, someone really put this guy through the grinder. Literally. This singer's hide might appear as if he was hit, repeatedly, at long range with several blasts from a twenty guage shotgun. Tiny - or, in some cases, not so tiny - cuts, nicks and abrasions pepper his form entier, some large enough to be, and bearing the distinctive 'y' shape of, what might have been shards of crystal imbedded in his hide. By and large, however, these have been cleansed, and the wounds are healing nicely on their own. What _isn't_ healing too nicely, however, is the largeish gash which runs the entire length of his left thigh. Stapled shut, the entirety of the wound appears to have also been coated by a mass of matte black, contour-hugging synskin. The material is so latex-like that the lines of the split flesh, and requsite dermal staples, can actually be clearly made out beneath it. Finally, however, perhaps as a result of that crystal explosion, the singer's gaze might appear rather unfocused, his entire mein somewhat vague, vapid - all but completly listless and staring. Bronwen enters into the STC facility, and once again assumes that leaning on the doorway pose. She looks at the older singer and nods. "Master Tance." You can detect some crystal resonance in your bones. Non-singers around you see: The hairs on your arm stand on end and a chill goes up your spine. You notice a strange expression on Tance's face. Well, in so much as a man still confined to bed can be looked at and greeted, Tance Vokrim is. Today, though, he looks a little more alert than when he was last seen by Bronwen, and he stirs slowly in the bed he occupies. A blanket and a sheet are twisted about his prone frame, suggesting that he hasn't been exactly sleeping in peace. His weathered features crinkle up into a bemused frown, and his brown gaze lifts up to the woman at the door. "You... talkin' to me?" he asks. His enunciation is more normal... or at least, what seems normal for him... but there still is a lack of strength to his voice. Bronwen pushes off from the door frame and nods as she walks over to stand near his bed. "That I would be Master Tance. You are looking a bit better then the last time I saw you. I came down to get this thing off. It itches something fierce." She raises her wrist in the lovely purple cast. "And since I was down here I thought I would visit you." She then tugs out two books from a pocket. "And I thought you might like these." Tance lifts a hand and rubs the back of it across his face, still frowning vaguely -- but one might argue that this is an improvement over his usual demeanor. "Books," he blurts, clearly startled to see them, and he peers uncertainly up at Bronwen now, trying to figure out what a woman he barely recognizes is doing bringing him... books. Bronwen Fair of feature and of color would best describe Bronwen. Ash blonde hair flows easily past her knees when unbound. Pale grey eyes seem to absorb those things around her, and have a slight almond shape to them. Her skin, the color of freshly fallen snow shows nary a blemish. The only vivid aspect of her looks are the color of her lips. Red and lush, is it natural, or is she skilled with make-up? Along her left ear, there are over twelve silver hoops pierced though it, running all along the edge, and a chain of silver runs from the top down to the bottom hoop. The tips of her ears have a slight point at the top of them. A jumpsuit of soft dark green cloth, with all the necessary pockets and zippers is wrapped around her. Peeking out from underneath is darker green t-shirt, while on her feet are a very worn pair of leather boots, that have seen many years of wear and tear, but still look serviceable. Peeking out from one of the pockets are a pair of gloves, these too look like they have seen a bit of hard work. Her left arm is cushioned by a purple gelcast to protect the fractured humerus. Bronwen sets the books down next to him. A smile at his reaction. "Now Master Tance, I promised that I would bring them to you." She shakes her head slightly, "I don't know if they are something that you would enjoy.." Her shoulders raise in a slight shrug. "...them." "You... promised...?" Tance mutters this, perhaps more to himself than to his visitor, perhaps trying to jog his own memory. He shifts slowly in the bed, straightening out a little from the huddled curl in which he'd been lying, and focuses on the books that have been brought him. A spark of interest kindles in the otherwise bleary brown gaze -- the Short Term Care ward's ceiling and walls can be looked at only so many times before they become frightfully boring, after all -- and then, Vokrim peers up again at the tall figure of the younger Singer. "Don't remember," he mumbles sheepishly. "Sorry..." Bronwen looks relieved for some odd reason. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, "That is quite all right, Master Tance. Nonetheless, whether you do remember or not, I did promise and since I did, well I never fail to live up to my word." She pushes them a bit closer. "You did mention that you liked mysteries, so I brought two." The crystal resonance is zinging through your body. Non-singers around you see: The hairs on your arm stand on end and a chill goes up your spine. You notice a strange expression on Tance's face. A slightly helpless, slightly disoriented expression still lingers across Vokrim's lined visage. The woman at his bedside _seems_ a stranger to him, but still, something -- perhaps the glint of rings in her ear -- tugs vaguely at his memory. Between that and the allure of the books, he finds himself willing to accept this news she's bringing him... and the books. "Thanks," he says hoarsely, sheepishly. "I been bored, when I'm able to stay awake, girlie..." Bronwen tugs a chair over so that the man does not have to look up at her. "I do hate being ill myself. Are you feeling better? The meditechs may not be the warm and fuzzy sort, but they seem to know what they are about." Tance rubs at his face again, then reflexively shoves that hand back through his unruly graying hair. "Not... too much worse 'n' normal," he rasps. Bronwen perches at the edge of the chair, she tosses her head slightly sending her braids over her shoulders. The very soft chime of the chain hitting the earrings on her ear makes her smiles slightly. "Well I am glad to hear that. You will soon be back out to the ranges." Her pale green eyes take you in for a moment. "I know that you don't remember, but I did offer to partner you if you ever decided that you needed one." Tance's eyes widen, making their brown hue a bit more noticeable than usual, and he freezes where he lies, there in his bed. He gapes for a few moments, and then, at last, the only reply he comes up with is a blank "What?" Bronwen frowns, still not understanding why this offer. A simple plain offer throws him. "I said, Master Tance. That if you decide that you desire or need a crystal cutting partner, either on a temporary or full time basis, I would be your partner." "Wh... whaddaya wanna go partnering with a dried up old stick like me for?" Tance blurts huskily, dismay crossing his face. Bronwen thinks about it for a moment. "Selfish reasons mainly. I figure that you know what you are doing out there. You have not survived this long without knowing a few tricks. Then there is the fact that it is boring hunting for a claim. I hate the boring part." She pauses, "And lastly, if you ever did go into thrall I would be there for you." You can detect some crystal resonance in your bones. Non-singers around you see: Tance is often distracted. When you are near him the hair on your arms stands on end, which you unconsciously brush down. The crystal resonance is zinging through your body. Non-singers around you see: If you happen to be near Tance, the hair on your arm stands on end. Consternation brings a significantly larger amount of alertness to his visage, as Tance starts struggling to sit up. He manages to prop himself on an elbow as he stares in disbelief at the tall, fair young Singer. "Now hold on, girlie," he barks out roughly, "what the kark makes you believe that goin' into the Ranges with me is going to be _exciting_? I ain't exactly--" Words fail him. His mouth works a moment or two before he manages to conclude, "Look, I'm cracked, I'm old, I do good to remember my own freggin' name, and I thrall a whole helluva lot! I ain't exactly _fun_!" Bronwen leans forward propping her elbows on the bed, her face thoughtful. "Fun? Did I ever mention fun? No, I do not believe that I did. I mentioned your experience. I mentioned company and I mentioned thrall, but I don't think fun came up once, Master Tance." She pauses for a moment then adds, "And I do remember both your and my name, so that won't be a problem. Any other objections?" "I find crap for crystal!" Vokrim shoots back, beginning to look decidedly alarmed. And perhaps even a little frightened. The crystal resonance is zinging through your body. Non-singers around you see: If you happen to be near Tance, the hair on your arm stands on end. Bronwen nods as she ponders your words. "Well so far, though I have not been out that many times, I have not done too poorly. And who knows perhaps together we could find better sites. Hell of a lot easier to look out the window for a claim if you don't have to fly at the same time." "Do you wanna get stuck on a claim with ME during morning song?!" Tance bellows, looking even more alarmed, now. He's edged back against his pillow, staring up at his visitor as if she'd just sprouted a second head. Bronwen seems not to be bothered by his look, she stares off at a distant spot then turns to him. "Hmmm...morning song. I thought you might bring that up. Well why don't we flip that around, how would you feel about getting stuck with me on a claim during morning song?" Tance now edges down under his blanket, fumbling to pull it higher up over his frame; a tinge of suspicious red is beginning to add color to his otherwise slightly pale features, especially along his cheeks. "I-I don't wanna be out with _nobody_ during morning song," he growls. Bronwen nods. "Hmmm...well we could make a deal before we head out. Then again, I could just lock my door, so that you couldn't bug me, and you could do the same." She shrugs, though you might ask her if she has ever been out on a claim in the morning. "Y-y-you're talkin' crazy," Tance mumbles uncomfortably, inching under his blanket until little more than the upper half of his face and his disheveled hair are visible. "You w-won't get nothin' outta partnerin' me! 'Cept headaches and broken bones and nursemaidin' a cracked old karker...!" Bronwen leans back in the chair, she glances at her cast. "I heal fine." She shrugs slightly, "I am not trying to pressure you Master Tance. Merely offering the option. I did not know that I would be such a burden to you." She looks down at the toes of her boots. "I really believe that it would be a mutual beneficial sort of arrangement." No doubt about it, Tance Vokrim is now vividly blushing. He manages to sit up, shooting out a finger and pointing it sharply at his visitor. "You ain't _gettin'_ it! _I'd_ be the burden, girlie!" But something in his gaze is at odds with the fierce rasp of his voice, some hint of dismay in that brown regard, some hint of fright. Perhaps he's aware that he might be relaying more than he voices, for he abruptly turns away, sagging back down to the bed again, muttering vehemently, "I wouldn't be no benefit to ya." Bronwen frowns. "You of no benefit? Now where in the world did you ever get that idea. Damnit man, how did you ever get that twisted thought running through that brain of yours." Oh my, she cursed, now you have done it. She shifts her body, leaning forward, bringing her face closer to yours. "I meant that it would be a give and take. We would both be better off for it." You feel the resonance tingling in your blood. Non-singers around you see: The hairs on your arm stand on end and a chill goes up your spine. You notice a strange expression on Tance's face. "Got the thought 'cause it's true," Tance barks out gruffly, turning his face away along the pillow, discomfort all too readable in his posture and position. Bronwen frowns as she stares at the older singer. "All right, what is it that is bothering you so much? It can't be that I annoy you all the time. You don't remember that I do. Is it that I am so new to Singing? Hell, we are all new to something at sometime, and that is the very reason I want to partner with you." Vokrim doesn't answer his visitor's questions, not immediately. When he finally does, his voice comes out of him oddly strained and in a much diminished volume. "I'll... getcha killed, girlie. D... don't wanna do that to anybody else...." If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing through your body at all times. Non-singers around you see: You notice a rather strong prickling along your skin when you pass too closely to Tance. Bronwen frowns. "Now I can take care of myself. Where on earth did you get the idea that you would kill me." She frowns, her fingers scratching at the wrist end of her cast. The Singer in the bed now refuses to meet Bronwen's gaze; in fact, Tance seems to be avoiding looking at her entirely. "I got Jade killed," he whispers hoarsely. "And Meggie. P-people get... killed around me. Better not risk it." And he huddles there under his blanket, his head slumping against the pillow. Bronwen frowns at Tance, and then her hand reaches out to pat his leg gently. "I find it hard to believe that you carry such a curse. The catering unit, yes. You, I seriously doubt it." Tance freezes where he lies, at Bronwen's pat; he doesn't look around at her, as he mutters, "'Strue. Remember it. Can't forget." Bronwen lets her hand rest where it is, for she has forgotten that it is touching him. "Well then we shall have to go rid you of the curse. We can not have you living in fear of it." She leans back in the chair, her hands slipping off the bed to rest in her lap. "So what do you think of the books?" Books? Oh yeah... books. Chagrined, Tance croaks, "Ain't read 'em yet..." Bronwen shakes her head, grinning slightly, "I know, I just brought them? Are there other ones that you would like better?" Tance's head turns slightly back towards the younger Singer; perhaps it's the subject change, managing to coax him back out of his shell, or at least to peek out of it? "I-I don't... remember books... I mean, they're all new... um." Bronwen's face registers a bit of surprise as if she had not thought of that. "Hmmm...that would make sense." Then she frowns, "So how do you know you like books?" You can hear crystal resonance rushing between your ears. Non-singers around you see: A rather strong needling pricks your skin when you pass close by Tance. To this latest question, Tance turns slowly back towards Bronwen, frowning, though he still doesn't quite look at her. "Remember... holding books," he mutters. "Reading. I-I remember that..." Bronwen watches him, her eyes nodding. She leans forward, once again resting her elbows on the bed, and her chin on her hands. "Was it hard to lose your memory?" Tance shifts nervously where he lies. "W-why?" he asks gruffly. Bronwen shrugs yet again. "Cause it is going to happen to me. And I am the curious sort." Her eyes look at you for a moment. "But I am not sure it is the kind of question that can be answered til you go through it." Tance still avoids Bronwen's searching gaze, and the only reply he manages to her question is a hoarse mumble of "It... it's... hard, yeah, girlie. H-hard." Bronwen takes a moment, then nods. "I have no idea how hard, Master Tance. None what so ever." She sighs softly, "But worrying about it will solve nothing." "Who's worried?" barks the older Singer. Bronwen looks about the room. "Well I am." She shrugs as if it is of no real importance though. "I-I ain't worried," Tance maintains, though his voice takes on a raspier edge as he utters this. He shifts again, rubbing restlessly at his face, and still avoids Bronwen's pale green gaze. "No reason you oughtta be. No reason." You can hear crystal resonance rushing between your ears. Non-singers around you see: If you happen to be near Tance, the hair on your arm stands on end. Bronwen raises a brow, "Then if you are not worried, we should head out to the ranges as soon as the meditechs feel you are healty enough. Is there anything to make sure? Is someone fixing your sled?" _That_ makes him look around. "Wha--" he splutters. Bronwen nods slowly, "You did say that you aren't worried didn't you? So if you are not, then I see no reason not to make a trip out to the ranges. Did anyone tell the sledtechs that you sled needed to be looked at? I don't mind doing it for you." Tance jerks up onto his elbows, staring and startled all over again, and finally he barks, "I don't know -- I guess they fixed it -- what the kark -- look, girlie, I didn't say --" Bronwen shakes her head, "But Master Tance, I heard you plain as day, just a moment ago." Rising to her feet, she pats his hand gently, "I will make sure that they are working on it, and that your cutter gets repaired." She turns to the door, "And if I can find anymore mysteries, I will bring them down." And with that she is gone. The poor man -- he must still be dazed by his injuries. Or at least dazed, for as the younger Singer takes her leave, Tance Vokrim dumbly gapes after her, thunderstruck, stunned, and wordless. Bronwen leaves the busy emergency room. Bronwen has left. ---------- Interlude: As storms do on Ballybran, another one springs up in the hours that Tance dozes in the Infirmary. He can feel it even down on Level 12, even in the daze of his injuries--and he isn't the only one who can feel it, either. Perhaps she hasn't gone very far away since her last visit, for Bronwen comes in search of Tance again.... ---------- The sight of that muddy cloud causes a sense of alarm. Even though no signs of a rain storm are present, you still have a foreboding sense of danger. If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing through your body at all times. Non-singers around you see: If you happen to be near Tance, the hair on your arm stands on end. You step back further into your shelter and fight the sudden urge to run away from this storm that you know can be every bit as dangerous as one made of rain. Intellectually you know you will be safe inside, but the symbiont argues to be safe far away from here. With the sound of the storm ringing in your head, you find that you cannot go close to the outside without a terrified urgency to run and hide. Bronwen walks into Short Term Care looking for medical assistance. Bronwen has arrived. Bronwen enters the room, her eyes wide. Her face an interesting study of terror and anger. The overwhelming urge to hide diminishes as the storm passes on to another area. Tance hasn't gone far -- he is, after all, still confined to the short term care ward. He still lies in his bed, though he's curled up with his arms wrapped about himself, and his blanket is more tightly twisted about his prone frame. His eyes are clamped shut, and he is breathing with apparent effort. Your symbiont sleeps once again as the danger of the storms passes from your awareness. Bronwen she leans against the bed, for a moment, then just sits down on the edge. Her body tense even the symbiont no longer yells at her. Someone's here...? Tance starts, eyes snapping open, and he stares wildly up at the woman who's burst into the room. Bronwen continues to lean against the bed, her head dropped down, eyes closed as she gets her breathing and body back under control. "You," rasps Vokrim, startledly but weakly, as his symbiont releases its grasp upon him. Bronwen takes a deep breath and looks at the Singer in the bed. Surprisingly there are two tears that trail down her cheeks. She takes a deep breath, "Forgive me for bothering you, Master Tance. The storm..." Her voice trails off. Tears...? Tance blinks, his expression turning awkward, as he starts pulling himself up onto his elbows. "I, um... felt it," he mutters bemusedly. Bronwen frowns as she takes a breath, struggling to get herself under control. "They did not mention during full disclosure that I would run and try to hide during storms. At my old home I used to revel in the strength and the power of the storms. Standing out on the balcony I would watch as the storms blew through where I lived." She shakes her head, and her voice drops, "But no longer." It takes him a bit of effort, as he's not quite used to the notion of being vertical again, but Tance slowly pushes himself into sitting up, supporting himself on his hands. "I'm... um... sorry," he mumbles, voice dropping down to a lower register. You can hear crystal resonance coursing gently through your body. Non-singers around you see: You notice a rather strong prickling along your skin when you pass too closely to Tance. Bronwen wipes away the tears, though one or two more still fall, as if to replace the ones that were there. "It is none of your concern. But thank you." She manages to get her legs under her and stands back up, the bed shifting slightly as her weight is removed. "I am sorry to have bothered you Master Tance." "It's, um... not a bother," Vokrim says huskily, his brown gaze rising to follow Bronwen as she stands. And he entreatingly appends, "Don't... don't cry." Bronwen walks over and presses soft kiss to his cheek. No sexual overtones to this kiss, more like one would give to a favorite uncle. "Tears are not so bad. They let us know that we are still alive to feel." "If you say so," mutters Tance in uncomfortable tones, turning suspiciously red again at the kiss to his cheek. Bronwen wipes them away. "I seem to embarrass you Master Tance. Forgive me, for that was not my intent this time." Tance hastily blurts, "I-it's okay." Anything to get her to stop crying. Bronwen smiles softly, her face still sad, but she is amused. "I will stop crying, if only seems to make you so uncomfortable." To this, the older Singer blushes more visibly, dropping his gaze to somewhere safe, like the rumpled blanket that still half-covers him. "I... uh, I..." he replies intelligently. Bronwen reaches out her hand, but stops it midway and lets it fall to her side. "Thank you for listening." She sits down gently on the bed, near the foot of the bed. "IS there anything that you miss?" If you pay attention to it, the crystal resonance can be heard coursing through your body at all times. Non-singers around you see: A rather strong needling pricks your skin when you pass close by Tance. Tance goes very, very still, a look of hard, profound emotion beginning to well up across his eyes. It would seem that Bronwen has yet again found a way to make him uncomfortable, for he can't even manage a reply to this one. In fact, he just sits there propping himself on the support of arms that have suddenly grown a little shaky, his breath catching in his throat, his expression turning distant and stricken as every facet of his consciousness is seized by an ethereal memory of green-hued hair, laughing blue eyes and Kesya's voice calling his name.... Bronwen curses silently, having no idea what she has done to this man to make him so sad. She shakes her head and with out thinking about it, shifts closer to him. Her voice filled with emotions as her arms slip about him. "I am sorry." Tance is shuddering now, though whether it's due to whatever recollection has seized his mind or the arms of the tall young Singer around him is impossible to tell -- certainly it is, at least, for Tance Vokrim. But at Bronwen's contact his eyes fly open, revealing an increasingly frightened and troubled brown gaze, and a little grunt of panic escapes him. Bronwen at first doesn't realize that she is the one causing him to panic, but not being an utter idiot, she takes a step back, her hands falling to her sides. "Forgive me. I...uhmmm...you seemed to need a hug...but I was mistaken." She seems shaken by your response, for out of the possible ones, this is not one that she would have ever anticipated. "Sorry," croaks Tance unthinkingly, his expression turned wild, eyes beginning to go a little unfocused. "Jade... it's just, I... sorry... I..." Still trembling, he abruptly leans over hard onto his right arm, his voice losing volume and strength on the last word or two. "I..." Bronwen blinks, utterly confused. Recognizing the name from earlier, but not understanding the meaning of it. She shakes her head, and stops just before her hand touches him. "Tance? what can I do?" "I don't..." Tance's voice goes wavery, dazed, climbing back up in pitch and timbre. "... feel too good..." Bronwen's face reflects her concern. "A medic? Do you need one? Or do you just need me to leave you the hell alone, Tance?" The anger is directed at herself, and she not only has forgotten to refer to you as Master, but she has also reverted to cussing. Something she does only when she is feeling under a great deal of pressure. You can detect some crystal resonance in your bones. Non-singers around you see: If you happen to be near Tance, the hair on your arm stands on end. It's been hard to think this time around in the infirmary -- something to do with the crystal that had exploded in his jumpsuit pocket and the crash of the _Meguey Radmynn_ -- and ever since he woke up this time around, Tance has been wrestling with the need to just... sleep. Even when awake it's been hard to focus on the smallest of details, and now he warbles plaintively, "I'm... tired, girlie..." Bronwen nods and takes a step backwards to let the singer rest. "Sleep well, Master Tance." And with that she turns to slip out, her head shaking back and forth, her shoulders slightly slumped forward. Tance slumps over hard into his pillow, color drained out of his face, a hand falling down over the edge of the bed. Bronwen hears a noise and turns to the bed. She bites down hard on her lip as she debates, but decides that she has done enough and lets herself out quietly. Bronwen leaves the busy emergency room. Bronwen has left. [And in a few moments...] Sorchca walks into Short Term Care looking for medical assistance. Sorchca has arrived. Sorchca enters, her face focused on her datapad, and her feet are quiet on the floor as she makes her way to check the monitors near Tance's bed. Tance has sagged over, face half-buried in his pillow, though he rouses a little as he vaguely registers the arrival of someone else in the room. Sorchca helps the Singer get comfortable. The bonus here being that she has been doing this for years and manages it without disturbing the singer too much. She scans him to make sure that there has been no change in his status. She nods as she reads the scanner. Tance frowns vaguely up at Sorchca as the woman eases him into a better sitting position, and he mumbles thickly, "Medic... you're... medic?" His scanners dutifully report that his symbiont is getting him healed at an expected rate; the only thing wrong with him appears to be deep weariness. You feel resonance tingling in your bones. Non-singers around you see: If you happen to be near Tance, the hair on your arm stands on end. Sorchca nods to the Singer, "All you need is a bit of sleep, so do let me get out of your way. Your friend was concerned, so I thought I would double check on you." From sitting down to reclining; once his head is nestled in the pillow, Tance's eyes half-close, as every inch of his body informs him that horizontal is a very good state to be in at the moment. "Friend?" he warbles distantly. Sorchca nods as she tugs the blankets up to your chin. "That Singer that was just in here, I think her name is Bron...something. She calls you Master Tance?" Memory flickers around behind Tance's dazed and dreaming eyes, a glimpse of glinting silver rings lining the edge of an ear, and... something else. "She was crying," Vokrim murmurs, dismayed. Sorchca shakes her head, "She was not when I saw her if that helps at all Singer." She double checks to make sure that he is comfortable. "If you need anything just hit that button near you bed." "Didn't mean to make her cry," the Singer plaintively mutters, as his eyes drift closed, and then open again. Sorchca stops as she sees him looking at her. "Did you need something? A few tears have never caused any lasting harm, Singer." "Just tell 'er... 'msorry... didn't mean to make her cry..." Tance trails off again, as languor overtakes him. Sorchca smiles softly and then heads out the door. Sorchca leaves the busy emergency room. Sorchca has left. [End log.]