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[Nu] Stitches [Cl 1.6, Ro 1.4, Ci 1.3]
Let's talk about Bish's. Bish lives on a farm just outside of Monroe that smells vaguely of a slaughterhouse, and strongly of manure. There are horses and cows out grazing in the field, kept in by an electric fence that Robinson helped set up. There's a wrecked farmhouse about 50 yards from his barn. The farmhouse looks like someone drove a pickup truck into the front wall, and the whole house sags with wood that's been gradually stripped for burning. The barn isn't in much better condition — though it has been reinforced with a variety of new beams and scrap metal. The walls are lined with tools — mostly old farming implements, but some newer ones that have been scavenged from various vet clinics and hospitals in the region.
Clarity, you spent the night on one of Bish's stretchers on his order. He gave you something wicked powerful to knock you out... Probably an actual horse tranquilizer, knowing what he's got. He got to stitching you up last night, and said he wanted to make sure the wound wouldn't fester. At least you're not dead — you know what they do to race horses who break a leg... He doesn't have much in the way of meds here, so he likes saving it for dire emergencies. You're light-headed from the blood loss, and still very, very stiff. He offered you the option of doping yourself up for a week to help the wounds heal — if you either replace his medical supplies, or fund him to get more from a scav. Did you take him up on the offer?
Robinson, You walk into Bish's clinic early in your day, having accidentally cut your hand open working on ... What were you working on? Did you finish before coming here? It's nothing serious, but it could use a looking at — just in case. You spot Clarity spread out on a bloody sheet while Bish is out back trying to tame a stallion he's been paid to nut.
This is Bish, by the way:
Clarity, you spent the night on one of Bish's stretchers on his order. He gave you something wicked powerful to knock you out... Probably an actual horse tranquilizer, knowing what he's got. He got to stitching you up last night, and said he wanted to make sure the wound wouldn't fester. At least you're not dead — you know what they do to race horses who break a leg... He doesn't have much in the way of meds here, so he likes saving it for dire emergencies. You're light-headed from the blood loss, and still very, very stiff. He offered you the option of doping yourself up for a week to help the wounds heal — if you either replace his medical supplies, or fund him to get more from a scav. Did you take him up on the offer?
Robinson, You walk into Bish's clinic early in your day, having accidentally cut your hand open working on ... What were you working on? Did you finish before coming here? It's nothing serious, but it could use a looking at — just in case. You spot Clarity spread out on a bloody sheet while Bish is out back trying to tame a stallion he's been paid to nut.
This is Bish, by the way:
Comments
I don't mind much getting hurt - it comes with the job - but being hurt is another thing entirely. Weak, stiff, dependent. If a week doped up means avoiding double that or more of being stiff and barely functional, I'll dope. I give Bish my word to replace the supplies, one way or another.
I'm kind of in a blood-loss/drug/pain haze when Robinson walks in. I raise a hand, but don't try to sit up. "Robinson. I'd get up to greet you, but..."
What was Robinson working on? Well, scrounging. It's a project he's working on with his eldest son, Nils. They're keeping it quiet for the time being, but let's just say Nils has been searching for a good source of malt grain and hops, and Robinson was looking for brewing equipment. He was picking his way through an overground and emptied-out little village near the farms just west of Monroe when he sliced his hand on a protruding shard of metal.
Conveniently, Bish's place isn't far, so Robinson wrapped his bloody hand in a rag and trudged up the path to have the wound looked at. To his surprise, Clarity is there.
"What happened?"
Workshop: I'd like to add "Controlled Growing Environment" ...what are the conditions, MC?
My voice is a bit thick and my head a bit fuzzy, but I try.
"Disagreement with a shotgun. Balls was holding it at the time. Found the folks that killed Doughboy." A cough. "Camping not far from town. Roark asked Rue to run them off. We did. A few dead, as well."
I'm quiet for a long minute, then remember to add, "Think they were with Hugo's outfit. Worrisome."
Robinson & Clarity, Bish's front door swings open again to reveal a road weary Cinch.
I park out on the gravel drive and walk a bit up to Bish's. No need to bring the Jeep right up to the door, that freaks people out.
Little concerned look on my face as I walk up though, wonder what Robinson is doing out here. In any case, I pat on the door a couple times before pushing it open, got my gloves off and held in one hand, vest open and hanging off one shoulder... I probably look a mess.
I need a bath.
I smile instantly as Clarity says a word. I stop with feet together, rising up on my toes a bit and answering with a chirp, "happy as Dallas!" I don't know what that means, but I heard it on the radio once.
Then clutching my gloves in back, the sight of him makes me settle back down to my heels and shift my hands front... fix my vest back on my shoulder with a quick run of a thumb under the hem.
"What... happened to you, Clarity? Not trouble on the road?" I bite my lip... I really hope not. Am I responsible for this?
"Backup?" I say, his good attitude contagious. "I was gonna say the same about you..."
I look at Robinson, back at Clarity. He's killed someone, hasn't he? Hugo's guys aren't the best neighbors, but I didn't expect something like this. Not a good way to come home. I just try to keep my smile on and not show it.
I want to ask who's dead... but I don't.
"She likes you, Clarity," I then quietly say. Like it might make him feel better. "Wisher's... a... she's real nice."
"Robinson, I'm sorry, I couldn't find any good wiring..." I say, taking a step towards the old doc and shaking my head. "Gonna have to make a straight up run somewhere fresh." Means somewhere dangerous, really. Where nobody's been. The city, maybe... or some distant town.
"You don't look half bad, for an argument with a shotgun." Wry. He's glad Clarity has more-or-less survived, though. So many people live just in the present. It's understandable, but Clarity looks both forward and back. A rare breed. A valuable one.
Violence outside Monroe, though- Hugo's boys. That's the second time Hugo has come up recently. Robinson takes note, files that one away. "It is worrisome."
The words have barely left his mouth before Robinson's ears prick up. His eyes turn distant. That's the sound of a stroked-out four-litre AMC straight-six breathing down custom tube headers. That's the lope of a camshaft Robinson built himself, and the whistle of a turbo he took months to find. He knows the sound intimately. There's only one such engine in the world, and it belongs to...
"Cinch," Robinson says, brightening visibly as she walks in the door.
Robinson putters around the clinic while Clarity and Cinch trade words. They were on the road together until recently. He wonders how it is that Clarity returned so much sooner. Someone named Wisher.
Eventually Cinch brings up the wiring. "It's fine," he says. "Just keep an eye out for it."
"It's Robinson," he corrects Bish. He does so matter-of-factly, in the dull tone of a man who bears the weight of countless minor annoyances, one of them being the propensity of people to abbreviate his name. Is Rue going around telling everyone to call him Robbie?
He unwraps the blood-soaked rag from his hand, shows the wound. The bleeding has stopped, but it's an angry-looking cut. "Thought I should have it looked at."
Robinson brightens my day, in his way. There's something abut how his glasses fall down to the tip of his nose and his hands are too greasy to push them back up half the time... I always look for a tell-tale spot of grease along one side.
But he's all bloodied, too... then he explains that it's just an accident and Im obviously relieved that it's not from a fight or something.
"I will, Robinson," I stand there looking at Bish, head tilted to one side. "Now why would you ever wanna avoid saying good ol' Robinson's name? You can't help but smile when you say the word... I dare you to try."
But I do answer him, "just back in town from up North... makin' my hello's wih all the folks. You're first on the list... hate to say it but... it's all slim pickin's out North, Northwest..."
As I give my report I walk across the room to where Clarity's laid out. I crouch down near him as I go on. But really talkin' to everyone.
"Clarity, I rolled through three towns, quiet as a cat in dog school. Picked clean... we gotta range out further... or... there's always the city. And Bill was right... ain't seen any good huntin' hardly either."
Slow exhale. My voice is steadying some as I get used to the meds in my blood. "I was afraid it would come to more city runs soon. Dangerous as it is, it's just as dangerous to hunker down and watch our supplies dwindle to nothing. Like I said, not going anywhere myself for... you said a week, Bish? We can make a plan, though, put a crew together."
I peter out, put my head back on the pillow.
Clarity doesn't look too good. A week? Hope so.
I touch his forehead for a second, a comforting little touch like seeing if he's feverish.
Then I stand back up and look to the others. "whevever this run goes down, count me in."
Cinch, Clarity isn't feverish. Just a bit sweaty from being shot twice. Bish seems a little more assured now that you've agreed to help out with the med run.
Robinson, Bish smirks to himself, "Alright, alright Robinson — didn't mean to step on your toes or nothing. Here. Lemme have a look at that hand of yours..." He walks over to a small cabinet in the corner of the barn, and returns with some rubbing alcohol, and some "sterilized" cloths for wrapping the wound. He works on your hand while you chat. He doesn't seem to think it looks serious.
"I've asked Thirds to find something for me," Robinson says, looking over his shoulder at Cinch and Clarity while Bish is working on his hand. "If you can find him, he may be interested in a ruins run, too."
"What's he looking for, Robinson?" Interested, but more interested in the hook to pull in Thirds.
"A small power source. The kind I use for my detectors."
Robinson leaves it at that. Something tells him that whatever happens, the glove is going to complicate things in Monroe. The fewer people involved, the better things will be for all involved. Anyone else might wish it had never come, but Robinson... for it to have passed into his hands was an event loaded with meaning. He had to leave his mark on it. It was meant to happen.
"What, like a battery, right?"
I nibble on my bottom lip as I think on that, there ain't that many working batteries out there to be found. They can probably see me thinkin' about what I seen. Robinson's maybe gonna probably hafta refit something, mix up the chemicals to make new power... that can't be easy.
But I answer as positively as I can, "well, maybe we'll score a lucky stash. And I owe Thirds a rematch," I tuck my gloves into a back pocket. He beat me last time out... not going to happen again.
OOC: Robinson, adding a controlled growing op to your workshop would involve obtaining some specialized growing equipment (specialty lights, pots, watering supplies, etc) all available from the ruins, and would require a "botanist" of some sort — not that there's really anyone with that distinction in the post apocalypse — to bring you up to speed with what grows under what conditions. Roark knows a little bit about growing stuff, as does Rue... It really depends on what you want to grow.
Let's end scene here.