Log Date: 5/8/99 Log Cast: Sorchca, Alakon, Tance, Bronwen Log Intro: Tance's latest round of recovery in the Infirmary is proving to be one of his longer ones -- and as always, prolonged confinement to the Short Term Care ward is proving to grate on the Singer's nerves. But he's been getting a few notable visitors, such as Talaitha, who's managed to get herself thrown out of the ward by trying to bring him alcohol... Neva, who's brought him yet another book and who has locked horns with the orderly Sheila Parker over whether he should be sedated... and Bronwen, who has also brought him a book as well as a headset on which he can listen to music. Bemused as to the reasons for the generosity of these women, Tance nevertheless takes a humble sort of pleasure in exploring the gifts he's been brought... because if nothing else, they're a desperately needed occupation for a mind driven to distraction by the four walls of the Short Term Care ward. Some distractions, though, are less welcome.... ---------- Sorchca walks into Short Term Care looking for medical assistance. Sorchca has arrived. Alakon walks into Short Term Care looking for medical assistance. Alakon has arrived. Sorchca enters the room, and shows Alakon her datapad and Tance's chart. She holds a finger to her lips. Then in a soft voice, "Over all he is healing well, though with his advanced age the symbiont is not as quick to heal him as it was in his youth." Alakon nods, copying the hush-hush manner, taking a glance at the chart, "Aaah." Tance Vokrim, two-centuries-old Singer, is slumped back against a pair of bunched pillows, attention riveted on, of all things, a book. The man's distinguishing features at the moment are a rumpled head of graying but nevertheless thick hair, and the cast-encased leg half-sticking out from under the blanket that lightly covers him. From the chest up, what is visible of him can be seen to be clad in a blue terrycloth robe. Sorchca smiles at the Singer. "Good book?" She walks over, waving Alakon to follow. "The symbiont has its limits, it can't heal a dead person. But it does prolong our lives and heal major injuries with an amazing speed." Alakon follows, giving another nod, "That's given" he glances at the singer briefly. Tance's brown gaze snaps up, and a bit of startlement and discomfort flashes across his eyes as he first recognizes Sorchca, and then tries to figure out exactly why a stranger is coming to check him out. "It's good," he allows grudgingly, dark eyes narrowing a little as he glances from face to face. Sorchca looks at Tance and smiles, "You have met me, Singer Vokrim. I am Meditech Grozdanova, this however is a new Alakon, a new Meditech. Since you seem to enjoy our accomodations so much, I thought I would have him make your acquantaince." Alakon The first thing you notice when you glance at this man is his piercing green eyes and roughened skin, under a head of thick curling black hair. His stocky build is covered with a black tunic that reaches about to mid-thigh, and a pair of loose-fitting trousers that tuck into a pair of heavy boots., belted in the middle and slightly taut over muscles obviously built up from years of strong hard labour. His square determined jaw seems to reflect this observation. He looks like he will brook little nonsense and would be a tough opponent in a fair fight. Lingering about the wounded Singer's gaze is a trace of disorientation; he seems to recover from it swiftly, though, and he nods curtly at Sorchca while eying the younger man. A smirk tugs at one end of his mouth, and he says by way of gruff greeting, "I ain't gonna remember you, pup, so don't take it personal." Alakon chuckles, "I won't, don't worry. Though it'd be hard to resist introducing myself as someone else each time..." Sorchca laughs softly at that and nods as she continues, "The more a singer abuses the symbiont when they are first adapted, will effect their life span." Tance, apparently, doesn't really find Alakon's jest amusing. Nor does he seem to have any further commentary, and his expression remains wary as he eyes the two medics that have come to gawk at him. At least, so it seems. Sorchca looks at Tance and smiles. "At least I am not prodding you." "Good," is all Tance Vokrim has to say on that matter, a short growled syllable. He's still holding that book, but he hasn't returned his attention to it, not yet. Sorchca grins. "I could change that though." She looks at Alakon. "Okay, other then cleaning them up, stitching them back together, and making them rest. There isn't a whole that we can do for them. What questions do you have?" Alakon smiles a bit, "Is that all? We don't get to tie them down to outrageously large machines that do nothing? Drat. Well, still no questions." Sorchca looks at the door and sees someone pass by. "Not often enough if you ask me." She looks at Tance, "Need any peach ice cream? It is the least I can do for you allowing us to talk about you." Oh, just _fine_, yet another medic who seems to like making witty commentary in front of a patient, not to mention talking about a patient in third person in front of them. Tance's eyes narrow, and he smirks rather more visibly. Fine, indeed. If they want to goggle at him, let them goggle. He's going to finish his book. But wait! Sorchca's actually acknowledging his presence? This earns her a curt look, and a growled, "I don't need no ice cream, girlie." Sorchca grins and pats his hand gently. "Well let me know if you do, or anything else for that matter. Seems that someone has remembered that you enjoy a good book." She turns to Alakon, "I do believe that we have another patient awaiting us out in the infirmary." Alakon chuckles slightly, giving a nod, "Allright." he gives a nod to the other. Tance lets out a low aggravated grunt, giving Sorchca another wary glance at that patting. By way of acknowledgement to Alakon, or perhaps appreciation that the medics are leaving, the Singer then lets out another grunt. Monosyllabic fellow, isn't he? Sorchca turns for the door and over her shoulder she calls out, "Didn't I see Singer Cinaed slip in here the other day?" She grins and winks and then is gone. Cinaed...? Cinaed... oh. Her. The girlie who brought the new books, and the headset, and the flask he's not supposed to tell any of the orderlies about. Tance glances uneasily at the departing Sorchca at the mention of that name, and sinks down a little in his bed, wondering if the woman in question might happen to be lurking around somewhere. He's not sure this is any more comforting than having two medics use him as a visual aid. Sorchca leaves the busy emergency room. Sorchca has left. Alakon leaves the busy emergency room. Alakon has left. [Well, the medics had been something of a distraction -- but distractions like that, where young pups just stand and talk over his head and make no real effort to talk to _him_, are distractions that Tance can do without. Far more interesting a distraction is the novel that Neva had brought him, and he doggedly returns to trying to get through the story. After a while, though, his attention wanders, his mind drifting off into the sleep that's been tugging at his brain throughout his recovery...] Bronwen slips in and stops by the door. She tosses a braid over her shoulder and straightens her shoulders. She is looking a bit better then she did the other day when she came in. Her eyes search out the form in bed two. Tance Vokrim, too, looks a bit better than he has in previous days; something more like a healthy color has entered his face. But still, he's a man healing from a lot of damage, damage that nearly killed him, and he frequently finds himself drifting off. He's done that a lot in trying to read the book in his hands, and he lies there now dozing in his bed, his head tilted towards his left side on the pillow, the novel lying propped against his blanketed torso. Bronwen slips further into the room, trying not to make any noise. She stands beside his bed, just watching the man for a few moments. Her face has a tender look on it as she knows he can't see her. She gently pulls up one of the blankets to his chin and a small smile lights her face as she spies the book there. He might be two centuries old, but despite his accumulated decades, not to mention his own frequent disparaging of his age, Tance might be a man in his sixth decade rather than his twenty-first. When sleeping, he can be mistaken for a man even younger, with lines more attributable to tension than aging smoothed out of his countenance. That tousled hair of his, too, helps. And there's something almost childlike about the sigh he lets out as the blanket is tucked a bit more snugly about him; warm, his brain reports. Warm is good. Bronwen stands near Tance's bed, on odd look on her face of tenderness. She practically jumps as she senses someone else entering the room. She removes her hand from his blanket and takes a step back as she turns to look at the person entering. Imagination, perhaps, or just the call of an orderly out in the main section of the Infirmary? Hard to say, really; there's generally always someone wandering about in here, for there's no telling when Singers might come in injured from the Ranges. Regardless, whoever it was, Tance is oblivious, lying there with a relaxation that he only seems to exhibit in slumber. Bronwen turns back as no one is really there, then takes a step foward and rests her hand against the blanket, watching the sleeping singer. She finally picks up the book and settles into the chair waiting for the Singer to wake up. She opens the book to page one and begins to read. Minutes creep by; eventually, though, Tance does stir. The first sign of his returning consciousness is an unconscious fumbling of his previously slack hand, as he tries to locate the novel. Bronwen looks up at the movement. She grins slightly and debates trying to replace it. She shrugs as she realizes that would probably disturb him more then not finding it. She lets the book rest in her lap as she watches the singer in his waking up process. Brown eyes flutter open, groggily, and it begins to make it through Tance's sleep-mazed brain that he can't find his book. He pats around himself for it, and when he can't locate what he seeks, he begins to drowsily push himself up on his hands. "Where's it at?" he can be heard to mutter to himself. Bronwen manages to stifle a grin. "I have it." Her voice is soft in an attempt not to startle him. He's startled, though his reaction's a mild one, muffled as it is by the layers of drowsiness still draped across his thoughts. Tance's disheveled head shifts around, and he blinks owlishly at the woman at his bedside. "I was readin' that," he observes. Bronwen grins. "Nope. You were sleeping. Though I was noticing that you don't snore much." With that she offers the book back to Tance. "You color is better." This is said more to herself then to you though. Gingerly, as though uncertain of Bronwen's motives (for taking the book, or her presence, or both? It's difficult to tell), the older Singer does take the book. "Hadn't... uh, noticed," he gruffly replies. Bronwen looks at him as if she has every right to be there. "Which the snoring or your color?" Bemused, Tance rasps, "Either..." Book back in hand, he starts to lie back again, though his motions are stiff, thanks to the bandages still encircling his middle underneath his rumpled robe. Stiff, too, thanks to prolonged lying in bed. Bronwen watches him for a moment, "So have they let you up yet? A short stroll around STC?" She picks up her her braid and plays with the tip. The older Singer sags back crookedly against his pillows, and then grunts, "Not much walkin' to do on a broken leg, girlie..." Bronwen grins. "Well it does put more of a challenge to it, but I can't believe that it would stop you. Not if you really wanted to." Tance smirks, a tight little smirk. "What's that supposed to mean?" Bronwen shrugs. "You don't strike me as man that would let a thing like a cast, get in the way of doing something that you wanted to do. That is all." Tance can be seen to frown at this, his brows winging down over his dark eyes, the lines at their corners growing a little more pronounced as he squints first at Bronwen and then at the door. "Might make 'em lemme outta here faster," he mutters then, partly to himself. Bronwen's lips turn downwards in a frown as she follows his gaze to the door. "You still have a bit of healing to do." She pauses and then adds, "I could leave though, if I am ....keeping you from resting." "Been restin' all day," Tance says roughly, shifting again in his bed, pushing himself up with slow and clumsy effort into sitting up. "Could use a bit of exercise..." His voice hoarsens, though, with his attempts to move himself. Bronwen looks at him as he moves and shakes her head. "So exercise your brain, tell me about the book you were reading? I haven't gotten beyond the first few pages. Is it worth reading?" "'Sokay so far," comes Tance's reply, as he sits there trying to handle this concept of sitting up in bed. So far, so good, all systems go, right? Right. He's starting to look distracted, though; distracted, impatient, and restless. And he swings his right leg down off the side of the bed, his weathered features setting into determined lines. "Hero's an idiot pup, though." Bronwen growls at her own idiocy in taunting him, and stands up to catch when, not if, he falls. "I can relate to him, then. Good plot though." The older Singer lets out a low grunt of acknowledgement, his jaw now set stubbornly as he shifts his left leg over to join the right. It's an awkward operation, what with that limb still wrapped up in a cast, but Tance tries it anyway. He starts to haul himself laboriously upright, grabbing at the headboard of the bed for support... ... and the room begins to tilt, all at once... ... and so does Tance, a look of astonishment and dismay flooding across his face. Bronwen catches the singer easily in her arms. All the while muttering that some men she knows have the intelligence of a rock. No rocks have more intelligence. At least they know to stay where they are put. Where as men, well they don't realize that they need to rest. Out loud she asks softly, "Did you tear anything? Do I need to get a meditech?" Color has drained out of Tance's face, turning him rather gray under his tan, and he sags heavily against the taller, younger Singer. "Hells," he whines, very softly, very hoarsely, and that's about all he manages to say. Bronwen growls to herself that she should have known better. She takes a few seconds to figure out just how to get him back into bed. "All right, lets get you lying back down. I am going to get you sitting back on the bed. Then help you get that cast back up and on the bed? Okay?" She is trying to see if he has done more damage to himself. Pain. Ow. Pain. Ow. That's the dominant theme in Tance's consciousness right now, as not only his broken leg but also his much-abused torso protest in no uncertain terms that this concept of attempting to be vertical is a very bad idea. Just by visual inspection, it's hard to see if he's ripped anything; the worst of the damage he'd dealt himself is hidden away under layers of bandages, and those are under his robe. But he has, nevertheless, gone alarmingly pale, and it is perhaps a measure of his condition that he doesn't argue with Bronwen, but only mutters instead, "Down..." That single syllable comes out of him almost pleadingly. Bronwen responds to the pain in his voice immediately and simply picks up and sets him in the bed. She does it as gently as she can manage, but she also knows she needs to get him a medic now. She pats his hand and sighs. "I am sorry." And with that she slips from the room to find a medic. Sorchca walks into Short Term Care looking for medical assistance. Sorchca has arrived. Sorchca follows Bronwen back into the room, her face revealing annoyance. "He was what?" This is said to Bronwen as she crosses to Tance's bed. Tance doesn't even argue with her apology, nor does he look up when Sorchca comes bursting into the room. His eyes clenched shut, the injured Singer huddles there on the bed, the blanket still off him, an arm curled unconsciously around his middle. Sorchca takes one look at the Singer and pulls out her scanner, running it over him as she pulls out a hypo. She seems vaguely relieved when she reads the scanner. "Thank god he didn't do anymore damage." She glares at Bronwen and she moves to remove the robe so that she get to the wound. "And you. Why didn't make him stay in bed. One of you should have the sense of a ground worm." The medic's sharp voice cuts through the fog threatening the edges of Tance's senses, and he unthinkingly rasps out, "Not her fault. Wanted to get up..." Bronwen flushes with embarrassment at the meditechs words, but her eyes never leave Tance. She sits down and reaches out to hold a hand. Remaining quiet, not wanting to give the meditech any more ammunition. She tries to get Tance to quiet. Sorchca looks at Tance, "What you wanted? You wanted to spend a few more weeks down here with me and Helga? Well if that was what you wanted, then you are gonna get it." She mutters something about the common sense of a clod of dirt. She manages to peel away the first few layers of bandages, and by the time you get down near the skin, you see blood. Bright red fresh blood. It seems that Tance has reopened his wound. Sorchca begins cursing fluently under her breath. The gut wound -- aye, that's the part of him his symbiont has been having trouble putting back together, and no wonder with the amount of damage he took. Tance lets out a breathless hiss as his robe is pulled aside and the layers of bandages peeled away. Aside from that and a tiny groan of dismay at the mention of the Infirmary's biggest female orderly, though, he doesn't manage to make any other sound. Bronwen opens her mouth into an 'o' at the sight of the blood. She glances up at his face, then back at the jagged wound. Her teeth bite down on her lip. "Foolish man, trying to get up, when that it isn't even healed yet." She turns to look at the meditech's face. Sorchca snags a rolling tray with her foot, and begins to dab at the blood. Once she has it cleaned up, she sprays it with disenfectant. Then carefully she restaples the wound closed. She places the staples close together. The scar that this leaves is not gonna be a pretty neat one. She lets out a huff once she finishes. "If you aren't going to help him heal, Singer, I will ban you from the infirmary. Have I made myself clear?" Bronwen nods slowly, concern and guilt plainly visible on her face. She takes a deep breath and looks at Tance, even though her words are for the meditech. "Yes, Mistress. Quite clear." Tance's eyes remain closed, for the most part; when he succeeds in opening them, though, they've gone nearly black with pain, particularly in contrast with his pallor. "Not her fault," he breathes, his voice gone even rougher than normal in an effort to try to ride his way through the renewed fire that has been set off around his waist. Sorchca looks at the Singer, picking up plain white bandages off the tray. You know something has her concerned if she is using plain white. She gently re-wraps Tance's torso. Her fingers are gentle as she makes quick work of it, though she knows that each shift of his body must be causing a great deal of pain. She grabs a hypo off the tray, "You have a few minutes before this knocks him out. Say good night." She presses the hypo to his arm and then takes the dirty tray and bandages with her. Sorchca leaves the busy emergency room. Sorchca has left. Bronwen watches the meditech leave and sighs. Pale green eyes return to Tance's face. "I am sorry that I said anything. You just rest. I will even try and bribe Helga to stay away from you." Still lying there more or less the way the other Singer had laid him down, moved only when Sorchca had had to slip bandages underneath him to secure him around his middle, Tance feebly tries to straighten himself out where he lies. "Not... your fault," he whispers, another touch of dismay making the last word go up a few steps in his vocal range at the second mention of the mountainously-built orderly. Bronwen watches as he tries to shift, then rises and using her most gently touch, slips the blanket up and around him. She tucks the blankets around him, and puts the book back within reach so that when he wakes he won't have to reach to get it. She makes a mental note to talk to the orderlies and then moves one pillow slightly to help him avoid a crick in his neck. "Need anything else?" "She... gimme a shot, didn't she?" Tance murmurs, the rough edge beginning to ease out of his voice. Bronwen nods, watching him as the drugs begin to take effect. "Yes, she said it was to help with pain? Is it?" "Startin' to feel a little... fuzzy," the older Singer answers. His features start to relax, too, and as his visitor helps settle him into a comfortable position in the bed, he adds plaintively, "Just wanted to get up... she didn't hafta yell atcha..." Bronwen looks at Tance, and a small smile plays at the corner of her mouth, "That is her job. Yelling at Singers and you looked pale enough so she yelled at me instead. If she isn't yelling, then she isn't doing her job." With that she pats his hand, and takes a deep breath, glad that the medicine seems to ge doing its job. The room around Tance begins to seem a little wavy in his vision, and so does the woman at his bedside. He blinks, two slow, large blinks, as he tries to refocus his eyes, but the task is becoming rather difficult. "Shoulda yelled at me. Medics always... talkin' like you ain't there..." And he manages a scowl, though it's a little at odds with his unconsciously gentling voice. His eyes then drop shut again, and only after several seconds do they reopen. When they do, his gaze has grown rather more confused. "Girlie...? What... what was I sayin'...?" Bronwen leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek, and says softly, "What ever it was, it will keep til you wake up. Rest well, Master Tance." She straightens up and watches the singer as the medicine takes hold. "Tance," murmurs the wounded Singer, absently, dreamingly. "M'name's just... Tance..." Once more his eyes drift shut. "I'm... sleepy. So sleepy..." Bronwen closes her eyes and sends a prayer to the goddess, that he rest and recover quickly. She can't help and nods, and says, "OF course, Master Tance. Just relax and get well." [And thus Tance drops off again into slumber, as Bronwen had found him. End log.]