Log Date: 2/11/99 Log Cast: Bronwen, Tance Log Intro: Almost invariably, whenever Tance sets foot in the Ranges it means that Tance will be injured in his never-ending search for crystal... and it has happened yet again. The grizzled old Singer has been tended by the Guild medical personnel and even now is resting, sedated, in the Short Term Care ward. But there is one difference between this latest iteration in the cycle crystal hunt, injury, and recovery; this time, a young Singer by the name of Bronwen has made his acquaintance, and has taken a surprising amount of interest in the absentminded CS Vokrim. Moreover, she has displayed a surprising amount of propensity for riling him up with teasing... such that even as she comes to visit him in the Infirmary, she can't resist a little practical joke.... ---------- Bronwen walks into Short Term Care looking for medical assistance. Bronwen has arrived. Bronwen leans against the door jam, her arms folding over her chest. Actually her eyes skim over you to make sure that you will survive, then an expression of smugness settles over her features. Survive... enh well, that's _one_ word for Tance Vokrim's current condition. The man looks like he fell off a cliff, for all that a good portion of him is hidden by the Infirmary gown he's been clad in and the blanket under which he's tucked, there on the biobed. He appears to be lightly dozing, his head turning slowly from one side to the other, his expression fretful. Bronwen takes the needed steps to cross to the side of the bed. Leaning down to whisper softly in his ear. "Now I could kiss ya and make it all better, but I don't think that you would want to be beholden to me once again." The sound of a voice rouses CS Vokrim... well, if 'rouse' is the word you want to use for the opening of his glazed dark eyes. He makes a confused-sounding sleepful noise, blinking groggily as he turns his head in the whisper's direction. "Wha..." Bronwen says "Don't speak. I don't want your words of love or any attempt at an apology. It is just enough to know that you are alive." "W...who're you?" croaks the battered Singer on the bed, the vaguest of frowns crossing his brow. Bronwen looks utterly wounded. "Now Tance, how can you say that you have forgetten your beloved mate...your wife?" Tance's brow furrows, as he tries blearily to focus on the face of the strange woman at his bedside. "Wife?" he mumbles plaintively. "Don' have a wife..." Bronwen pats his hand. "That is all right. I am sure that you will remember the quiet ceremony once you heal. I was surprised that no one informed that you had been injured. But then again, so few people know." She sits down on a conveniently placed chair beside your bed. "Don't fret about anything, just get better. I will be here as long as you need me." Crystal resonance is humming pleasantly in your body. Confusion wrinkles Tance's already lined brow, and that vague, baffled look is as much of a gape as he can manage. "But--" he croaks, then falls silent as his mouth works a few moments, while he struggles for words. It takes him visible effort to finally rasp, "No wife... can't have a wife, she fell off the cliff, she's gone, Jade's gone..." His voice gains a little strength and volume, a wild look starting to come into his eyes, as he starts struggling to sit up. Bronwen frowns as she looks at him. "Rest, Master Tance. Forgive me, I did...." Her voice trails off, as there is no way to explain that she was teasing. "It was a bad joke on my part. Please just rest and heal." Vokrim blinks groggily, several times, that strange wild look subsiding slightly, but beginning to leave him looking drained, helpless. The word 'teasing' pulls his mouth into the vaguest of frowns. "No wife," he mumbles in doleful tones. Bronwen shakes her head. Her eyes are bright with emotion as she realizes that her poorly thought out joke was cruel. "No wife, Master Tance." The weathered old Singer slumps back down against his pillow again, dazed and disoriented. "N'my wife... do I know ya, girlie?" Bronwen rubs the back of her hand against her cheek, and nods slowly, "Of course you do, Master Tance, who could send ya out of the lounge in mere moments?" Perhaps it's his injuries that have left him in this state; perhaps it's the distinct likelihood that the meditechs pumped him full of sedatives to make him lie still. Regardless, Tance's apparently normal irascibility seems to have dropped away, leaving a man looking distinctly confused and lost. He mumbles in a small apologetic voice, "Forget names. Alla time. Forgot yours..." Bronwen smiles, "Bronwen, Master Tance. Is there anything that I might get you while you are here? Any holovids? Books...anything?" Is that a spark of interest in those groggy brown eyes, at the word 'book'? Very possibly, for Tance turns his head a little further towards his visitor. But at the same time, he still vaguely frowns. "Don't got any books..." Bronwen frowns as she thinks. "Well I am sure that I can dig up one or two. Are there any sorts of books that interest you more then others? Just so I don't waste your time of course." In a voice climbing a little higher in pitch and timbre, making him sound slightly childlike, Tance mumbles, "I like... mysteries..." Bronwen's pale eyes grow larger. "Mysteries? Oh really? I had heard that one of the meditechs had a collection of mysteries. I shall have to hunt her down and see if I might borrow a few of them for you. Is there anything else that you need? Music or a favorite blanket?" Tance's brow furrows again, in deep puzzlement -- at the idea of a favorite blanket, perhaps. "Don't got nothin' like that," he mumbles slurrily. "Jus' the bear..." You can detect some crystal resonance in your bones. Bronwen frowns. "You have a bear? Where might I find him for you?" Tance's eyes drift closed for a moment before coming open again, halfway. "Sled," he murmurs dreamingly. "In the _Meggie_." Bronwen nods. "In your sled, called the Meggie....hmmm. I will have to avoid Azaria, for some reason I have the feeling that she would find a reason to keep me away from your sled. She can be like that." "I crashed," Tance states plaintively. "Again." Bronwen frowns. "Have you thought of having a partner, Master Tance?" Tance's gaze wanders up to the ceiling, and then around the room, or perhaps into the air without focusing on anything at all. His expression visibly falls. "Can't," comes the mournful warble out of him. Bronwen frowns. "Master Tance? I don't understand why you can't. I have not heard of any restrictions on those that may or may not partner." "Crazy ol' man," Tance mutters thickly, a more visible frown tugging at his mouth, eyes dropping closed again in what might be resignation if he were aware, but which at this point is most likely the inability to keep his eyes open. "No partners. Stupid... don' wanna kill nobody else..." Bronwen looks at Tance for a long moment. "If you need a partner either on a permanent or temporary basis Master Tance, I would be proud to partner you." She seems utterly serious in her offer. Then she grins. "Would take more then you to kill me. I have great luck." This would not make sense to Tance at his most rational, and it makes even less sense to him when he's dazed by pain and painkillers. His disheveled head turns slowly back towards Bronwen, and his gaze more or less focuses on her by virtue of his face now being pointed in that direction. Dark brows make the attempt to knit together over his eyes, but it results in only a slight twitch of muscle there. "Wha' for?" he asks, voice slurring again. Bronwen pats his hand. "Because Master Tance. It is the right thing to do." Crystal resonance is humming pleasantly in your body. Right thing or not, it still seems to deeply confuse the prone Singer that his visitor would be making such an offer. "Stupid," he mumbles, eyes falling shut again and this time staying that way. His voice is losing strength, as well. "Crazy ol' karker... lousy partner... made 'er fall... I made 'er fall..." Bronwen frowns at the singer and lets him fall asleep. "Rest, Master Tance. We can discuss it another time." Tance's head completes the turn it had made, sagging sideways as he slips off into oblivion. Some of the lines in his features smooth out, erasing years from his visage... but yet, enough of them remain that without bluster animating him, the grizzled aged man can't help but look weary, worn. In no short order, he is entirely asleep. Bronwen rises from where she sits, leaving the injured singer to rest. Bronwen turns at the door, and looks at the sleeping man. "I am sorry...sorry for Jade and for all your pain." And with that she is gone. [End log.]