Homeward bound

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3/30/99

There's a loud and insistant beeping, indicating safety harnesses should be once again donned.

Corian wakes with a start, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She murmurs something in one of a number of languages, and gathers up blankets and pillows, absently pushing the switch to unbunkify her bench. "Good... morning?"

The beeping doesn't rouse Tarrant from his curled position on the bench, however the speech does. He blinks several times, attempting to process where he is and what's going on. Blearily he hauls himself up and begins clearing his bench, despite an obvious reluctance to leave the warmth of the blanket behind. "Morning I guess. Still have to put my watch back together, so I'm not sure." He sinks back down onto the bench, slipping his harness on. "Took it apart."

Corian frowns as she eases onto her own bench, fumbling for a moment with the harness before she eases it into place and fastens it. "That is unsurprising, of course, but still rather rude of them." She rubs lightly at her face with her left hand, then adds, "I suppose we will be able to determine the time eventually."

Tarrant rubs at his eyes again, trying to force himself into alertness despite a decided inability to achieve that state. His eyes are glazed over as he pulls back his hands, but he straightens. If you can't -be- alert, you might as well pretend to be so. "Yeah, they'll announce local time when we disembark. And they wouldn't be pealing the harness warning if we weren't preparing to drop through atmosphere."

Corian nods her agreement to that, settling as far back against the back of the seat as she can, and thus gainint herself a bit of slack in the harness. "And then we will be home, yes." Her words are quiet, but somehow manage to hold both relief and regret.

"Home'll be good," Tarrant murmurs, cinching his own harness up quite tight. The ship begins to shiver as descent through atmosphere commences. "De-briefing on this one should be enlightening, I'm hoping they'll cough up some information." He offers you a smile that's mostly hazed bleriness although it's touched with humor, "One thing to be said for civillianism, you get out of that."

Corian nods at that, with a faint smile. "I cannot say that I mind that, no. If you do receive information, though..." She hesitates, then, with a slight shake of her head, apparently decides to ask it after all, albeit obliquely. "I would like to know what happened, if that is possible."

"Sure, I'll letcha' know as soon as I do," Okay, perhaps that's not a really well thought out reply, as circumstances may make that less than possible, but Tarrant does not seem to be thinking, his brain is quite nicely disconnected. "Yep, sure, if they know anything, yeah. You oughta' know and all..." Hello and welcome to blathering.

Corian offers another faint, rather wan smile. "Thank you, van'chela. I appreciate that very much." She rubs lightly at her eyes once more, attempting to summon alertness. It doesn't work all that well. Maybe if she burned incense. "Did you rest well?"

"Yeah, sure, I guess... Don't really remember. You?" Tarrant and coherancy are attempting to figure each other out. At least he doesn't just ramble this time. The shuddering of the ship grows more intense as landing nears.

Corian interlaces her fingers, resting her hands lightly in her lap. "I believe I did, yes, though I had some rather odd dreams." At the increase in shuddering-intensity, she falls silent, gaze flicking towards various available lights. "Soon," she murmurs, more to herself than to you.

Tarrant falls silent, as he seems to realize he's prone to making perhaps less than sense. And since lucidity is something of a required state in his profession lest the powers that be become very upset and do regrettable things, less than sensical is a state to be avoided. He simply nods to the 'Soon', and waits as the ship shudders sharply once, and the light for harnesses fades. Fumbling he shrugs out of his, clambering unsteadily to his feet to acquire both bags.

Corian takes a moment or two to extract herself from the harness, casting a vaguely annoyed look at it as she finally gets to her feet. "Are you all right?" she inquires, though she hardly looks steadier. As you snag the bags, she moves to open the door, absently tucking up her hood before she peeks out the door. She's not exactly sure what she's looking for, but, whatever it is, she doesn't see it.

"Yeah," Tarrant replies, shouldering both items of luggage to follow after you. One hand is brought up to run it through his hair a moment in thought. "You?"

Corian nods. She starts to offer a hand for her poor, battered bag, then apparently thinks the better of it. Her right hand tucks into a pocket, then, after a moment to steady herself, she exits the small compartment, with a glance and a smile as she reassures herself that you are following.

Tarrant does indeed follow, although his swaggering method of following exactly in the right position has obviously been left far behind as he shuffles along afterwards. The ramp comes near and he looks relieved on seeing the familiar spaceport through the door. "Out of here, then getcha' upstairs, then down to the office...yeah..."

Spaceport

Chaos reigns supreme throughout this large spaceport; people, baggage, sundry cargo moving at a non-stop pace. Carts darting here and there through the crowds. Decor is early bureaucrat, designed more for efficiency than aesthetics. The ground is covered in dark grey stone, embedded into the stone are networks of paths, illuminated on either side by red glowing lights that lead to the cargo area, baggage claim, and of course the shuttlepads themselves.These are to found on the far side of the spaceport, circles outlined lined in bold yellow lights. Once it is safe to approach a shuttle, a pathway of red lights lead to the door.

Obvious exits:

Atrium Quarantine Infobooth Baggage Claim

Tarrant has arrived.

Corian leaves the ship behind with a quiet sigh of relief. Pausing, she says "I am able to make it upstairs on my own, Tarrant. It is not necessary that you--" Of course, a passerby takes that moment to jostle against her on his way past, eliciting a quickly-stifled sound of discomfort from Corian. "It is not necessary that you trouble yourself," she concludes, albeit with somewhat less firmness.

Tarrant brings up a hand, fingers resting gently on your back just in case catching you should suddenly become necessary. He may be in a seriously vague state, but his reply manages to be more or less firm. "It's not trouble, I'm coming up with you. Wanna make sure you're all right."

Corian looks for a moment like she's going to argue. And in fact, she starts by saying, "I am fine, van'chela, or I will be." After a brief pause, she concludes, "If it will reassure you, though, I certainly have no objections to your continuing company." She offers a faint smile, then starts off towards the atrium once more.

[Travelspam deleted.]

You head towards the Medical Bay.

Medical Bay

Even the circulation of air can't quite keep the antiseptic smell from this room. Immaculately clean, the tiles of the floor are the same pristine white as the walls. Gadgets and gizmos abound. The highest medical technology available for all the races that might conceivably come to the station are present. A pair of beds near the door provide places for emergent cases, their bioscan devices ready for monitoring. Doors lead to rooms for surgery, short-term care, and long-term care. (OOC note: To set your room doing, try 'I'm <doing>'.)

Contents:

Corian, standing by the door.

Clara, working on a massive stack of paperwork

Obvious Exits:

Short Term Care Chief's Office Elevator Lounge

You arrive from the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.

Tarrant arrives from the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.

Tarrant has arrived.

Clara is seated at one of the desks, working through a fairly daunting stack of paperwork and occassionally pulling up information on the computer. Kramer, oblivious to all but his comm, quietly argues with supply over an order of antibiotics. At the entrance of the pair, he looks up and immediately says, "Let me get back to you Sparky," into the comm.

Corian pauses a beat as she spots Clara, her hesitation apparent, then shakes her head. As she sees that Kramer has noticed her and Tarrant, she offers him a tired smile. "Good... afternoon?" Her tone implies that she's not quite sure what time of day it is, but that uncertaintly doesn't seem to be troubling her very much.

Tarrant follows along after Corian, carrying a couple of battered bags. Realizing attention has been paid, and he doesn't have to accost anybody, he just stays a hair behind Corian, looking around. This is uncovered territory for him after all. He offers a polite nod as well, stepping back from his shadowing of Corian now that medical personel are present to shadow her instead.

"Hey, Doc?" Kramer calls over as he rises to head towards then newly arrived woman. Clara glances up from her paperwork and starts to call a greeting that rapidly turns to a sound of dismay as she joins the head nurse. "Corian...by all the saints, what happened?" Tarrant gets a faintly suspicious look, although she's more worried about the taller woman at the moment.

Corian actually looks a bit amused at the suspicious look, though it's very tired amusement. After a quiet murmur to Tarrant, she turns back to Clara, pleasant smile firmly in place. Maybe she used staples. "There was a bit of an incident off-planet, when I was pursuing some extra work."

You whisper "Perhaps she thinks you will abduct me to a lair in the mountains, as well." to Tarrant.

Tarrant takes the suspicious look and exchanges it for a sheepish one of his own. The guilty look returns, but he takes a couple of steps back to slide into a chair in the waiting area to wait and watch. Corian's murmur kills the bulk of the guilty look however, and he laughs despite the general bleariness, murmuring something not entirely coherant about the Swiss Family Robinson.

"Right. Sure. Incident. My mother's off-ox programming languages, an incident," Clara counters with a faint grimace as Kramer moves on ahead to begin setting up instruments and the like. "And here I was telling Riley last night just how you were perfectly fine and not to worry," she adds, gently leading Corian to the bioscan. "Mind if I get this jacket off of you?"

Corian, apparently docile, moves along with Clara to the bioscan unit. She even takes off her jacket as she does so, with a small grimace as that requires moving her shoulder more than she'd prefer. "I was perfectly fine," she replies serenely. There's a brief pause, then she adds, with a hint of trepidation, "I do hope he did not worry very much. I did not intend to be delayed."

Tarrant settles back into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest and attempting to look coherant and alert. Of course he's failing miserably, but hey, it's the thought that counts. He probably ought not pipe up, but he's really gone indeed. "My fault," he drawls, "Things didn't exactly turn out to plan see, the plan was all shot, very shot indeed..." Ramble, ramble...

Clara makes every effort to help carefully with both coat and blazer, expression falling into the serious concentration of work. At the wince, one hand comes out to steady the arm, the sleeve pulling up slightly. The sight of the bruise there brings a careful examination, then a flash of dangerous glare at Tarrant before the curtain is hauled closed. "Don't worry at all, my friend. We'll have you patched up in no time. Your shoulder's injured, yes?"

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian calls quietly, "Van'chela, as I have said, it was not your fault." She does catch Clara's glare, and is quick to repeat, "It was -not- his fault, doctor. He did not do this, and is, in fact, a very dear friend. And, yes, my shoulder was injured."

Stubbornness should be Clara's middle name, and she looks likely to object for a moment, then sighs and nods. "All right, Corian. Sir, if you'll just stay put and rest, I'll see to you in just a moment," she calls over the curtain, running a scanner over the shoulder for a moment, then sighs. "This needs to come off," she murmurs apologetically, gesturing at the turtleneck as she pulls a besnapped shirt from a drawer. "Do you need help?"

Tarrant gestures dismissively, although since there's a curtain in the way, of course Clara can't see that. He's too gone to notice. Thankfully however he does speak as well. "I'm fine, I don't need any seein' to, but my thanks. I came to make sure Corian got here all right."

Corian casts a look in the direction of Tarrant's voice that mingles exasperation and fond amusement, before she turns her attention back to Clara. "Assistance would be appreciated, yes," she says, after a brief hesitation. She's able to get her left arm out of its sleeve well enough, as she demonstrates, but the right arm seems more problematic.

Clara gingerly assists with the right sleeve, eyes running clinically over the cut as it comes into view. "This is a few days old," she observes, half to herself, then looks up to meet Corian's amused look with one of her own as she jerks her head back at the curtain and murmurs a quiet question.

Clara whispers "I think I'll trust your judgment in this case. Does yon gentleman need medical assistance?"

"Things were a bit of a mess, getting back here seemed like the best idea at the time," Tarrant provides as a rambling comment at Clara's comment. He's a little too prone to offering information right now, his boss is going to -love- this.

Corian nods at the doctor's assessment, confirming, "It happened, I believe, the day before yesterday. My apologies for the vagueness--my sense of time is somewhat skewed." She puts on the snapped shirt, one may assume? If so, she does so with alacrity, as she's not a fan of having anybody see her far-too-skinny self any more than necessary. "And, yes, I believe someone should perhaps take a look at Tarrant as well. They were not gentle when--" She pauses, visibly editing her words, then says simply, "Yes."

Clara helps the snapped shirt on, although keeps the shoulder section undone to continue the initial examination, already running the scanner over it again. "When?" She doesn't even so much as glance up from her work as she turns to prep a pair of hypos. "Visible signs of hand to hand combat, bruises and lacerations...I'm glad you made it back all right," she adds, pressing each hypo above the gash. "An antibiotic and anesthetic. You'll need the latter while I clean this out."

Corian is tired enough that she doesn't even bother to paste on her pleasant facade, expression just a bit bleak at your assessment. "It did not go as intended," she says quietly. "I trust... Clara, please. I do not ask you to lie to Riley, I would never do that, but please... he does not need to know of this, does he?"

There's an emphatic, almost nervous, headshake at Corian's comment and Tarrant gives the door a decidedly longing look. Escape or be honorable and stay here while Corian's reapired... A quandry indeed. "Uh, maybe I should go..."

Clara is already working with an antiseptic cloth to get out the worst of the grit, quiet for a moment. "Corian...Riley's more than my lifemate. He's my commanding officer. If he asks, I have no choice." She glance up then solemnly. "If he does not ask, this is all covered by physician-patient privacy privilage." A startled glance is cast at the curtain. "Ah, sir? I'd appreciate it if you'd stay? Someone will need to help Corian get up to her quarters after this."

Oh now -that- does it, Tarrant's unlikely to budge an inch now. Someone give Clara a cookie for sneakiness. "Yeah, oh, good point..." He still wants to escape, but he's not about to, by any means.

Corian casts a brief glance at her shoulder as it's cleaned, brows furrowing faintly. She murmurs something about melant'i, but nods to Clara's comment about physician-patient privilege. "That is all I ask. And I will hope that he does not ask." She takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, expression somewhat closer to her usual pleasantry. She casts a brief look towards the section of the curtain hiding Tarrant from view, though she doesn't comment.

Clara is a doctor. She had to take sneakiness classes in school. They were required. She trades the cloth for a sonic cleaner to get rid of any remaining ick and hides a pleased glance at the curtain before her voice softens considerably, a slight hint of steel creeping in. "If this has something to do with the contract on him, though..." Suspicious and sneaky. It's a two for one sale.

Other than the fact that Tarrant was one with whom the badguys tried--unsuccessfully, mind--to place a contract? "Nothing at all," Corian reassures, tired pleasantry by now firmly in place. "This was another matter altogether, to the best of my knowledge."

Clara relaxes significantly, seeming to trust the answer as she sets aside the sonic cleaner and gives the wound a careful manual examination. "All right, then. You're blasted lucky this didn't infect, and I'm still not sure it won't without knowing where you've been. I won't ask though," she adds with a faint smile. "Just make sure you come back in two days so I can check on it. The bruises..well, I can't do much about them. I suggest a long-sleeve shirt for a few weeks," she offers, already sealing the cut with the resonator.

Tarrant is half-asleep in the waiting room chair at this point, only awake enough to keep an ear out for the state of Corian's health. Breaking ones' friends is a 'Bad Thing (tm)' after all.

Corian's smile holds a trace of amusement. "I will attempt to locate a long-sleeve shirt or two." Seeing as how she's never seen in public in anything else, that shouldn't be difficult. "And I will be certain to come back in two days, yes. Many thanks for your assitance, Clara."

Clara snaps off the resonator and resnaps the shirt to full modesty before giving the begrimed clothing a sympathetic look. "I also recommend a long, hot shower and a nap, just because those help no matter what the circumstances." She peeks through the curtain thoughtfully, then picks up her scanner and moves silently towards the half-asleep Tarrant.

Corian looks just a bit disturbed as Clara approaches Tarrant. She slides down from the biobed, gathering up her clothing as she does so, and follows, though her wavering course is somewhat to Clara's side, so she would also be in Tarrant's line of sight, were he to glance upwards. She doesn't speak, though, instead remaining quiet and watchful.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Tarrant doesn't seem to notice he's being stalked by various evil people, as his chin's tucked down on his chest and his eyes are closed. The sudden lack of conversation hasn't alerted him to anything suspicious either, which it should have, as he's not exactly thinking straight at the moment. He's probably still wrestling with the knotty mental issue of how to get his watch back together.

Corian isn't evil. She's just desced that way. Actually... no, that isn't even correct, she's desced as sweetness and light.

Still not speaking for a moment, Clara snaps on the scanner and starts to run it over Tarrant without touching him. She glances away from the readout to murmur to Corian, "I'd say he needs a good long nap, also." As the numbers flicker across the tiny screen, Clara's expression deepens into a frown. "Kramer, I need some help..." She reaches a hand out to rest on Tarrant's arm gently. "Sir? Sir, can you stand?"

Okay, that gets a startled reaction. Someone got in range to touch Tarrant without him realizing it. Hello and welcome to the wonderful world of adrenalin. He's suddenly a great deal more alert, snapping back quickly. He's a nice guy, he doesn't do anything nasty or evil, he just looks -entirely- less than thrilled. Scanners are deeply evil things in his book. "I'm fine," he asserts. "Corian, ready to go?"

Corian offers quietly, pleasant expression replaced by definite concern, "Tarrant, she means you no harm."

"You're -not- fine," Clara asserts, jaw setting in determination. "And Corian is utterly correct. I don't care who you are...-what- you are," she adds with a concerned look at the scanner, "but I can tell you're ill. Let me help you." She holds out a hand, fairly radiating concern.

"Great," Tarrant murmurs, rubbing at one temple with the heel of his hand, "Makes it sound like I'm a rock or something...or a really odd dining room table." He shakes his head somewhat, "I'm supposed to be downstairs," his tone is wavering however, downstairs is very far away.

Corian rests a hand lightly on Tarrant's shoulder. "Van'chela, you should not go downstairs until Clara has seen to you. Please. It is not that much for me to ask of you, is it?" Yes, she'll play shamelessly on the guilt that she's almost positive Tarrant still feels. She's not nearly as nice as she looks.

"No, I can definitely attest to the fact that you're neither rock nor dining table," Clara promises, that garnering a faint grin from her. "And you'd never make it that far. Please, sir. Don't make me sedate you just so I can help you." She glances at Corian approvingly, and adds, "You wouldn't want to worry her more after all she's been through, would you?"

Oh see now that's just evil and cruel and nasty and of course it works like a charm. Guilt is an effective tool indeed and Tarrant even manages to mostly stifle the softly exasperated sigh. "Okay, okay, what am I supposed to do?"

Corian murmurs a quiet thankyou to the man, though she doesn't speak further. Her hand remains lightly on his shoulder as she glances to Clara.

Clara looks decidedly relieved as she nods at Kramer, the doctor and nurse moving to either side of the injured man. "First of all, let us help you up and over to the other bioscan area. You've multiple contusions, a few fractures, one major fracture that's half and incorrectly healed, and fluid buildup in the lungs. I know nothing of you phisiology, so I can't begin to prescribe an antibiotic or estimate healing time yet, Mister..."

Tarrant is entirely capable of standing on his own, he got up here that way after all, and he goes about doing so...err, okay, so it's not as easy as he'd thought it would be. Still however he manages the feat, pausing to steady himself. The various people invading his space are getting less than thrilled looks, although he is striving to be polite as he answers Clara's question, "Czolgosz. And my medical records should be on file around this building someplace. Heaven help me if I know where though, the folks downstairs get protective of such things for no apparent reason."

Corian's brows arch skywards at Clara's listing of Tarrant's illnesses and injuries. She doesn't say anything, but there's something about the sudden firming of her lips that suggests that she's certain to have words with Tarrant on the matter--later.

Clara completely ignores Tarrant's discomfiture, utterly determined to heal this man whether he wants it or no. "Czolgosz. All right, Mr. Czolgosz, if your med records are here, I have access to them, then. Kramer?" She gestures for the nurse to help Tarrant to the bioscan and turns to her terminal. "Spelling of the last name?"

Tarrant makes his way over to said bioscan, clambering up onto it with some minor assistance. He's determined to prove he's altogether all right, "C-z-o-l-g-o-s-z, my ancestors had a thing against clueful spelling I guess."

Corian despite the fact that she'd really and obviously prefer to follow Tarrant, folds herself lightly into one of the chairs in the waiting area, fingers interlacing and resting lightly on one leg.

Clara sighs vaguely from her terminal and comes back to the bioscan with a hypo in hand. "This is a combination decongestant and shotgun approach antiviral, good for all known humanoid races, of which I assume you belong to one. I'm afraid your records are currently...locked. I can get access to them in a few hours, but for now I'd like you to stay in Short Term care for observation. Later we'll need to rebreak and regenerate that arm, but for now, I'd rather you rested." Her tone goes well beyond doctor and straight into medical officer, as if contradiction were unthinkable.

Tarrant has a good forty years on Clara however, and is entirely capable of thinking contradictory thoughts. Amazingly enough however he doesn't argue the issue, although the temptation to do so is obviously written in his expression. "Few hours, sure, check."

Clara lifts a brow at the expression, currently ignorant of Tarrant's relative age, and simply nods, although her voice is far more comforting that her own stoic expression. "It's not far, I promise. Not to mention rather quiet, with a full compliment of nurses. Corian? Did you want to stay or head home?"

Corian looks just a bit surprised at the lack of resistance. Maybe Tarrant -has- been assimilated. Then she summons a pleasant smile. "Thank you for your assistance, Clara. I would prefer to stay with Tarrant, if he does not object to that."

Tarrant must have been assimilated, as he manages to hold his tongue once again and does not object to Corian's reply, well...okay, he does, but not too terribly. "You should go home and sleep, Corian."

"There's a wealth of extra beds in there," Clara adds gently, leading the man towards STC with Kramer's assistance. "Both of you can catch some safe, well guarded sleep. And you -are- safe in my Medbay. I guarantee it."

Clara passes through the swinging doors to the Short Term Care ward.

Clara has left.

Corian just look at Tarrant for a moment, a hint of steel in the gray of her eyes. "People do not always do as they should." She gets to her feet, following the group.

Tarrant passes through the swinging doors to the Short Term Care ward.

Tarrant has left.

You pass through the swinging doors into the Short Term Care ward.

Short Term Care Ward

All is quiet here, save for the occasional moan alerting a nurse more
pain medication is needed. Impeccably clean, the ward stretches for quite a ways from the door. The nurses' desk, always manned, is tucked to one side inside the door, facing the corridor. Opposite that is the large cabinet holding medicine and supplies. Half a dozen beds line each side of the ward, separated by temporary partitions.

Contents:

Tarrant

Clara

Obvious exits:

Out

You walk here from the Medical Bay.

Uh-oh, Tarrant's in trou-ble. He catches that steel hardened look and the guilty expression returns. He gives Clara a polite nod, "Not at all worried about safety, sure. Thank you ma'am."

Clara leads the way to a pair of beds towards the back of the ward, pulling the curtains closed so that a pair are adjoining with a semblance of privacy, then lets the nurses help get everything settled. "Excellent," she offers, then hurries from the room.

Clara heads out the swinging doors into the Medical Bay.

Clara has left.

Tarrant endures being chivvied into one of the beds, his eyes sinking half-shut again as he's flat. As Clara leaves he drawls softly, his tone sarcastic, "Yep, I've made another friend I think." There's a hmmphed snicker, "If looks could kill I'd be a smear on the floor in there."

Corian gets on to one of the beds as well, though she remains upright, legs folding lotus-style. "She recovered," she says quietly. Her tone has a faint edge that it didn't have even during the worst of the recent evil. Yup. You're most definitely in trou-ble.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Tarrant is not really capable of cowering, the position doesn't allow for it, and he's got far too many non-cowering instincts built in, but for some reason, at this moment, though he doesn't entirely understand why himself, he -really- wishes he could cower. Trouble that wants to shoot him he can handle, trouble that comes stalking in the dark of night, even that he understands. But an annoyed woman? Tarrant knows fear. He mutters something vague about mountain lairs, "Yeah, she did."

Corian regards you for a long moment, then shakes her head, hands lifting so that she may assure herself that each and every snap on the shirt she's now wearing is fastened. Bad enough that anybody can just walk in and see her -neck-. Oh, the horror. "You should sleep." Her tone is, yes, still rather edgy. She can't complain at you as much as she'd like, because of the setting and her own near-exhaustion, but she does feel a certain need to make her displeasure known.

"I'm not the only one," Tarrant murmurs, sounding quite effectively cowed however, and unlikely to bring up the subject of your apparent anger. "You should sleep too. It's a good idea, is sleep."

Corian had difficulty sleeping because she was worried about her brother's reaction to her absence. Now, -knowing- that he was worried, and with her anger at you compounding that, she is expected to sleep? That'll happen. She does, however, lie down and curl up on her side. With the positioning of the beds, and the fact that she's not about to lie on her injured shoulder, she's facing away from you. "So, then, you'll sleep." It's half an inquiry, half a... suggestion. Yeah. That's the word.

"Yeah," Tarrant replies, although the single word answer holds a great deal of resignation to it. "Sleep's a good thing, it helps." He's trying to keep his own words even, and any emotion based inflection out of them, although it's quite an effort to do so.

"Good." Corian still sounds very awake, and still rather annoyed. She does, however, unbend enough to say, "I believe Clara can be trusted, for what it's worth. Not with everything, of course, but with enough."

"That's good to know," And Tarrant does sound quite grateful, "I usually avoid uncleared hospitals. Folks downstairs don't care 'what' I am."

Corian casts a vaguely irritated look in the general direction of 'downstairs'. Her words somewhat indistinct, she says, "Well, Clara does not care, either--or so she said. But it seems she does care if you are well. I know that I certainly do."

"Figured I'd ask downstairs about getting some help," Tarrant explains quietly keeping the rasp from his words by the work of a moment's effort. "Has to be some set up."

Corian makes a quiet sound that very well -could- be a sigh, but doesn't sound quite right for said noise. "I had thought that you should know better than to neglect yourself, by now. But what of the broken arm? And there's also the fact that you said you were all right on quite a few occasions." Her words are quiet, though there's just the smallest quiver to her tone.

"I was all right," Tarrant insists quietly, "Under the circumstances. I could do the things that I needed to do, which is plenty all right on a mission. Afterwards, then it's to be sorted out then." Okay, maybe this makes little sense, but he's not exactly coherant at the moment. "After de-brief becomes a different story than before."

Corian's voice is very quiet. "I will remember that distinction, should it come up again in the future. Thank you for explaining it." Funny, she doesn't really sound all that grateful.

"M'sorry," Tarrant murmurs, shifting one arm up and over his chest, stirring in the bed. "Didn't mean t'offend."

Clara comes in from the medical bay.

Clara has arrived.

Clara comes in pushing a regenerator unit stocked with several prepped instruments and hypos in the underside tray and a dismayingly thin medical chart balanced on the top. Wheeling it back towards the far end of the ward, she looks distinctly bemused and worried. "Corian? Mr. Czolgosz?"

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian is curled up on one of the beds. She's on her side, her back to Tarrant. Maybe that's because she's more comfortable on her side, and she can't really lay facing Tarrant without hurting that injured shoulder. Hearing Clara, she sits up, rubbing quickly at her eyes and face. "Yes?"

Tarrant is still on the bed upon which he was installed, having behaved and not escaped. "S'Tarrant, please, or Wilkes, or 'Hey you'. Dad's 'Mr. Czolgosz'." Wow, he seems -so- danged guilty at the moment.

Clara pushes the equipment cart past the curtain and offers Corian a fond and reassuring smile. "Just seeing if you were awake. Go on back to resting," she suggests, tweaking up the chart from the cart and moving to stand by the other bed and look down impassively. "No, sir. I was brought up to respect my elders," she offers, tapping at the folder lightly and smiling. "Now, sir, I need to fix that arm...would you like a local or general anesthetic?"

Tarrant cannot help but roll his eyes at that. "Great, age jokes..." He shakes his head, "Whichever's least likely to cause me to randomly babble 'nymore than I already am. Or easiest for you, one."

Corian doesn't return to her curled-up position, instead folding her legs lotus-style. She inquires of Tarrant, somehow managing to smooth the edge from her voice, "Would you prefer that I left, van'chela?"

"The local will kill the pain without dulling your wits...but many individuals find it duly distressing to witness a major bone being purposefully broken," Clara offers blandly, then flashes a grin. "You don't want me to make jokes, sir. I promise." At Corian's question, she returns to the cart, quietly working with items there.

"S'up to you, Corian. Won't bother me if you stay, but it's probably not gonna be any fun. Should go home and sleep and rest and sleep n'all." That would be Tarrant of course, if the rambling phrasing didn't give it away. He ahhs quietly at Clara, "Local'll work then." He tries to keep the humor out of his tone, innapropriate as it is. "I think I'll su'vive the 'xperience."

Corian rests her hands lightly on her knees. Apparently she's going to stay. She still, after all, has the same difficulties to prevent her from sleeping. She doesn't say anything, though, expression rather opaque.

Clara returns with the appropriate hypos, administering the first up the length of the arm at various spot, then the second at the neck. "Fun is relative. This might be more enjoyable than watching street entertainers, actually. It's all a state of mime, really. There...feel that?" she asks, poking lightly at the forearm.

Tarrant groans, although not at the poking. Sounding more than a little amused he notes, "If the puns get any worse I think I may ask you to break the other one so I don't notice the pain." He then shakes his head slightly, "Sure don't."

Corian smiles faintly at the joke, and shakes her head fractionally. "That was..." No, she can't even think of a word--well, not one she can use and keep up her 'nice' image.

"They get worse," Clara assures with a bright smile, still examining the arm. "If I could direct your attention to the ceiling, please?" she suggests, carefully wrapping a single constrictor about the healing break. She glances back at Corian with amusement. "Qua'lechi? The books you lent me have been quite useful. You may want to look away for this too, though."

Tarrant shudders at the mention of more horrific puns, but casts his attention up ceilingward as per suggestion. "Must be some sort of pun-ishment..."

Corian shakes her head, with a faint smile to Clara. "It is not quite so bad as that," she replies. "And I was warned to expect it." She looks away as well, but to Tarrant's face, rather than to the ceiling.

Clara isn't making any puns for a moment, though, her entire attention focused on the constrictor as she works with it's dials, then braces a hand on either side of the break. After a moment of machine-like humming, there's a rather dismaying and loud crack. "Separation complete."

Tarrant does not make any comment to that, but he's turned a really festive and entertaining shade of grayish white. His eyes half-close, although he still regards the ceiling calmly.

Corian, with a visible wince at the sound of the crack, reaches towards Tarrant with her left hand, then, with a faint shake of her head, rests that hand on her knee once more. She doesn't take her eyes from his face, her own expression one of concern and sympathy.

Clara settles said arm on the side of the bed with extreme care before unwinding the constrictor and replacing it with electrodes. "Mr. Czolgosz? Sir?" She does rest a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "Have you ever had a bone regenerated?"

"Yeah," Tarrant replies, keeping words to a minimum. "I have."

Corian almost smiles at Clara's question, lips curving in an expression that seems to hold a hint of wryness. She still maintains her silence, though, shifting a bit closer to the edge of her bed.

Clara nods peremtorily, returning to add the felt cover to the electrodes. "Then you know that there's no way I can dim the pain it causes. I'm truly sorry. Still, one of the hypos I gave you had an agent in it to heal minor fractures, so I won't be working more than this and your left leg. On the count of three. One...two...three..." Zzzzap.

If he was festively gray before, Tarrant is a whole circus of gray now. His eyes close all the way, and are in fact squeezed tightly shut against the pain. There's a softly murmured sound that doesn't exactly sound pleased, but beyond that he makes no sound or reply.

Corian, with a decided wince, slides down from her bed and moves to stand behind Tarrant's head. Her hands rest just behind his shoulders, and she murmurs something soothing to him.

Clara glances up thankfully at Corian, giving her a briefly approving nod of her comforting efforts, then goes about slitting Tarrant's pants leg up to the knee with a scalpel. The electrodes and pad are transferred to the new location carefully. "One last time," she says softly. "One, two, three..." We all know the sound by now.

Ah well, if there'd been any hope for saving the jeans before, it's shot now. Tarrant does not pass out, although it's a very near thing indeed. By now he's the color of new milk, and as the tightness of expression passes from the actual zapping he just sets about catching his breath.

Corian rests her right hand lightly on Tarrant's shoulder, though the left remains on the bed behind him. "There, van'chela," she says quietly. "It's over, all is well." And, funny, she doesn't sound even remotely upset with him any more. Funny how watching someone endure excruciating pain can do something like that.

Clara deftly removes the regenerating electrodes and stores them back on the cart before pulling down another hypo and moving back to the bedside. "Mr. Czolgosz? Tarrant, sir?" Her words are quiet and comforting. "Just relax now. Are you able to speak?"

"Yeah, sure, sorry..." Tarrant even manages a ragged chuckle, "I almost wonder if they make that have that effect on purpose, t'keep folks from bein' careless."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian, after a glance or two, locates a chair and hooks it with one foot to draw it closer. Perching lightly on its edge, she says lightly, "Carelessness is certainly a trait one may assign to you, van'chela. Most definitely." Yes, she's joking, and her tone almost makes that clear.

Clara can't dim an understanding smile, nodding slowly. "I often wonder that, actually. Three days of rest for the afflicted limbs, please." She grins up at Corian. "Oh, dear. Another breakable person? My life was already interesting," she teases, then holds the hypo in the line of Tarrant's vision. "You and I both already know why I don't know how to treat your brochial infection. May I please take a blood sample in order to find the best treatment?"

Tarrant flashes an amused look up at Corian, "I do try." Clara's question however dims the smile, he really gets antsy about questions along that line. He doesn't look like a guinea pig, really, back back oh evil doctor. "Uh..." There's a distinct pause, Tarrant does -not- like this idea. He does however give consent, "Sure."

Corian pauses a beat at Clara's question. "No, I do not believe he is breakable by nature." She looks for a moment like she's going to say something more, then shakes her head fractionally. Details and Tarrant are not the best combination. As he acquiesces, she rubs gently at Tarrant's shoulder, leaning closer to murmur to him in a language that Clara almost definitely doesn't speak.

You whisper "She -is- to be trusted, Tarrant. I believe she means you well. She merely wishes to heal you. Thank you for doing as she asks." to Tarrant.

Clara sighs slightly and takes the sample with near slight of hand swiftness, then peers down at Tarrant seriously. "Above and beyond all else, I am a doctor. My only goal is to help you," she assures softly. And since she only speaks three languages and a few words of Edrilac, she's clueless. "Now. I imagine the pair of you would be happier after hot water, decent food, and being in your quarters?"

Tarrant looks a little bit sheepish at Corian's words, murmuring to her softly in the same, although Clara gets an apologetic look for the random discussion in another language. "Going home would be nice, yeah, after going downstairs..."

Tarrant whispers "Thanks Corian, the reassurance is appreciated. I just don't want to end up somebody's hamster."

Corian smiles at Clara's words, with a brief nod. She says softly to Tarrant, "You won't." At his talk of going downstairs, however, she shakes her head. "It can wait--or I can do it, if they would recognize me. There is that which I need to discuss with them."

Clara's lips firm in doctorish determination, although she shakes her head in unaffronted dismissal of the apologetic look. "I have to agree with her. Whomever it is waiting on you, I'll vouch that the shower and meal are all part of medical prescription still. For both of you."

Tarrant shifts an arm beneath himself, pushing himself upright. "Then I will hafta' go AMA, sorry ma'am, much as I appreciate the idea. It'll be ... brief."

Corian gets to her feet, expression managing to be both annoyed and resigned at the same time. She doesn't argue--yet. Not until she hears what Clara has to say.

Clara doesn't seem surprised in the slightest, but very dismayed. Instead, she moves to help Tarrant upright. "Be -careful-, then? Please? I do -not- want to have to regenerate you again. And I'd like to see you again this evening. I'll even make a housecall, but it'll take about that long for me to whip up an effective antibiotic."

Tarrant uses the good arm and the bed to lever himself onto his feet. Steadying himself against it he straightens fully, dusting absently at his windbreaker. "This evening, certainly. I appreciate your efforts, ma'am. I'll be very careful, promise." That last word however garners the hint of a wince and a glance towards Corian.

Corian smiles faintly at Tarrant, expression rather reassuring. "Please let me know if you learn anything of interest, van'chela? But not," she adds, "Until after you have rested and such." With another smile to Clara, she adds, "And, yes, thank you, Clara. Your assistance is most appreciated."

Clara inclines her head in fully veiled concern, rather placid. "My skills are always yours to call upon, Corian, and to any of your friends. I'll check on you both this evening, then after I'm off duty."

Tarrant attempts a bow of sorts to Clara, although it's a little on the scruffy side. He snags the two bags that someone thoughtfully brought into the room, shouldering them with an impish expression and heads doorwards.

Corian starts to say something more to Clara, but, no, one of the bags that Tarrant is abducting is hers, and she needs to -get- it. She calls something appropriately grateful over one shoulder as she follows the man, reaching in an attempt to rescue her poor, abused bag. "Tarrant, I'm perfectly capable of carrying that."

Tarrant must be deaf, gee, he didn't hear Corian. Maybe he's had his hearing affected, yeah, that's it.

Tarrant heads out the swinging doors into the Medical Bay.

Tarrant has left.

Clara stifles a faint smile at an all-too-familiar scene, following after at an appropriate distance and shaking her head.

You head out the swinging doors into the Medical Bay.

Medical Bay

Contents:

Corian, standing by the door.

Tarrant, standing by the door.

Obvious Exits:

Short Term Care Chief's Office Elevator Lounge

You walk here from the Short Term Care Ward.

Clara emerges from the swinging doors of the Short Term Care ward.

Clara has arrived.

Tarrant heads towards the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.

Tarrant has left.

Corian persists in attempting to re-steal her bag. She really does look thoroughly odd, especially as she's still wearing the disturbing shirt o'many snaps. But... ack, see, there he goes. She really can't win.

You head towards the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.

Second Floor Elevator Lounge

Despite being one of the major hubs of activity in the Complex, few people linger here. While there are usually people present, usually they are on their way to someplace else. The lobby is nice enough, with broad tapestries hung on richly paneled walls, and floors of veined black marble; but it is simply too busy for most people to stop and chat in. The occasional tasteful potted plant lurks in the corners, and large mirrors are hung near the elevators for passing lobbyists to check their appearances before descending to the main level. Corridors lead to the northeast and southwest.

Contents:

Tarrant

Obvious exits:

Elevator General Housing Library Security Maintenance Medical

You arrive from the Medical Bay.

MEDIC> Clara watches the pair head out with an air of resigned humor, then sighs and heads for one of the wall units to feed in the blood sample and start analysis.

See, Corian and Clara are not the only evil people in the building. Tarrant can be mean and evil as well. He heads amiably to the elevator, pressing the call button for the up direction. His expression is all innocence, if somewhat woozy innocence.

Corian is starting to look exasperated, though still generally amused with the situation. "Tarrant, will you -please- give me my bag?" She's not evil. She's -nice-. Everybody says so.

Tarrant blinks several times, apparently he has chosen to hear the question this time, but he's not handing over the bag. "I won't hurt it, honest. I was just carrying it to your room's all."

Corian says patiently, "But I can carry it, van'chela, and you can get finished downstairs all the faster, and then rest."

Tarrant shakes his head, pressing the call button again. "I'm supposed to help you to your room, that's what Dr. Aleron said earlier."

Tarrant pushes the button.

From the elevator, With a ping, the doors slide smoothly open.

From the elevator, The doors slide shut, soundlessly.

Corian protests, "But that was before you had -two bones- regenerated." Hah, the elevator is on -her- side. "Just give me the bag, Tarrant. Please? I'm tired, I would really prefer not to have this discussion." Doesn't she sound tired and pathetic? Shouldn't she get her way?

Oh, see that's -evil- and cheating, and -nasty-, and Tarrant's buttons are so -easily- pressed. He loses the impish look and rather sadly offers over the bag.

Corian loops the bag over her uninjured shoulder. She does look a bit guilty at the button-pushing, though she says only, "Thank you, van'chela. Will you comm me after you have rested?"

Tarrant nods to the question, stepping back so as to allow you to abduct the elevator. "Certainly, I'll see what kinds of information I can find out and let you know. You must rest as well however."

You push the button.

Corian inclines her head. "I will certainly do that, yes, as soon as I have eaten. Good luck, van'chela, and thank you."

From the elevator, With a ping, the doors slide smoothly open.

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