4/7/99

Despite a limp off his left leg, Tarrant walks as if he is perennially on stage, ever observed. He isn't a short man, but neither is he excessively tall. He is wiry of build, but not so much so that he could be termed skinny. Rich auburn-brown hair is combed back into a slightly old-fashioned cut, too long to be corporate, too short to be daring. Intense eyes of a grayish-green lurk beneath neatly aristocratic brows. His facial features are almost upper-class, although a great deal of that is because of how he carries himself. He moves with a swagger and dramatic bearing. His voice has a distinct drawl, a purred tone to it, although he is still comprehensible.

Tarrant is dressed in his usual archaic style, but perhaps a bit more practically than usual. He wears a shorter tailed jacket of non-descript deep brown over a white button-down of combed cotton. The collar of the shirt is high, and held shut by a simple silver-toned clasp. Dark blue jeans fall to single turn cuffs over square-toed boots of a rich deep brown.

Tarrant appears to have tangled with something larger than he is . . . like maybe a mountain. His clothing is dirty and stained, and small rips are located here and there. What exposed skin is visible is obviously mottled with bruising. The cuffs of both pantlegs are torn and stained with rust. He is leaning on a singly curved strip of wood as a cane, unsurprising as his left foot appears to be hanging at an angle that is not just awkward, but would seem to be impossible. His complexion is decidedly gray in hue.

Tarrant comes limping in. Well, he always limps, but now he's -really- limping. He seems intent on reaching his way to the non-descript and unmarked office doors near the far end of the hall. Well, on that and on scanning the hallway itself, searching for something or another.

Corian is absorbed in her portable terminal, though there seems to be a hint of distraction about her manner. Maybe it's that distraction that causes her to look up and glance about the room, gaze eventually settling on you. She blinks, a hint of alarm touching her features, but is fairly unobtrusive as she makes her way to your side. "Van'chela," she says quietly, "You need medical attention."

And bingo, that would have been the other thing Tarrant was searching out. "Corian," he sounds exceptionally relieved, pausing in his halting trek. "Needed to find you first. I was going to ask where you..." He shakes his head, forcibly pulling himself back to the subject at hand. "I found out..." There's a quick glance around and then Tarrant lowers his voice. "Sarducci, you have heard the name?"

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian inclines her head, though she really seems more concerned about your current condition than anythign else. "I have, yes," she replies, voice equally quiet. "Van'chela, whatever it is, it can wait until someone has seen your foot."

Tarrant blinks several times, perhaps taking a moment to register and comprehend this. "Are you sure?" He does not seem to be objecting, merely requesting an answer. "This's important, hasta' be."

Corian inclines her head, reaching as if to offer a bit of support. "I am quite sure. You can tell me later, whatever it is. Please."

Tarrant seems willing to accept support, it was an adventure getting this far. Medbay's even further. "Okay, later. Maybe tell Dr. Aleron, if I can think of a way. She'd care too. Just gotta leave bits out. Yeah, bits out."

Corian carefully slips an arm around you to help you out of the hallway, meeting a few curious looks with a pleasant smile, as if this sort of thing happens to her every day. "There's more than enough time to determine what to tell her, van'chela," she urges quietly. "Let us concentrate on getting upstairs first, yes?"

[Travelspam deleted.]

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, standing by the door.

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 standing by the door into the operating room, discussing something quietly with Kramer. Both doctor and nurse are attired in scrubs, although in an unhurried, post-operative manner. At the sight of the pair coming in, she starts a half-smiled greeting that is rapidly replaced by brisk concern as she strides forward. "Let's get over to the bioscan. Kramer? Start a pint of synthplasma."

Tarrant looks somewhat relieved as he recognizes the floor tile of medbay. He's concentrating on the ground you see, as the ground is what has to be traversed. Traversing is not altogether simple some days. As the new direction is indicated he sets about heading that way with a vague nod.

Corian's concern is hardly brisk, but still very much present, despite her pasted-on pleasant smile. She quietly urges Tarrant towards the bioscan bed, one arm still carefully bracing him.

Clara moves to Tarrant's otherside, brow furrowing considerably until he's safely resting on the bioscan's bedding. She automatically checks the bed's readings while snatching up her scanner. "What happened? General overview," she adds.

Oh dear, now see here's the part where Tarrant has to come up with something coherant to say that doesn't give anything away really. "My foot was hung up in something, getting it out did not work as planned." Well, that's vague hopefully. He sounds a lot more coherant now that he's lying down than he did when upright.

Clara's eyes are glued to the scanner as she moves it along the length of Tarrant's body, then nods at Kramer to hook up the IV while she continues down towards the left ankle. She sucks in a soft breath, holding up a hand to Kramer. "Scalpel." He slaps said instrument in her hand, repeating the word, and she slits the pants to the knee along a tear. "I'll say it did. If you were a groom at a wedding, I'd say you were trying to get out of the old ball and chain."

Corian moves around to the other side of the bioscan bed, still very obviously worried. There's enough puzzlement in her gaze, though, as to suggest that -she- doesn't know what happened. Maybe that's why she's remaining quiet.

"Something like that," Tarrant can't quite stifle a vaguely amused chuckle at that, eyes closing as he stifles the urge to explain it was attached to the wall instead. They don't remain closed for more than several beats however as he tugs them open to watch the proceedings and give Corian a questioning look. "About what I was saying?"

Corian says quietly, tone rather soothing, "It can wait, van'chela. There is plenty of time to explain it. It can wait until the doctor is finished, yes?"

Clara continues her examination quietly, occasionally murmuring a request to Kramer as the pair go about initial triage. A hiss indicates a hypo going in just above the break before Clara looks up solemnly, Kramer already holding Tarrant's leg at the knee. "Mr. Czolgosz? I just gave you an anesthetic. I need you to hold on now...this has to be set."

Tarrant does not seem certain about the fact, delivering this information has been his driving goal for a while now, but he nods. At Clara's statement he nods, "Gotcha', I'm not goin' anywhere ma'am."

Corian casts a brief glance at Clara, then rests her hand lightly on Tarrant's, murmuring something soothing in, perhaps, an attempt to distract. Right.

"On three," is Clara's quiet comment to Kramer. "One, two, three." Both fractures are yanked deftly into alignment as Clara clenches her jaw at the effort exerted, then exhales a sigh of relief as she runs fingers over the area. "Good. Very good. Regenerator, please."

Thank goodness for anesthetic, but Tarrant still ends up a further shade of gray. He has had better days than this, that's for sure. Corian's presence does however seem to provide something of a distraction, although what variety is perhaps debatable.

Corian winces in decided sympathy, her hand tightening gently on Tarrant's. Her gaze flicks to Clara for a moment before resting, finally, on Tarrant's face.

Clara seems to want this repaired as quickly as possible, trading quiet comments concerning internal hemmoraghing into the muscles in Latin teriminology. Stringing electrodes in the pertinent places, she finally covers the ankle with the felt pad. "One last time, sir. This time the regernator." Corian gets a look of gratitude before she nods at Kramer. "One, two, three." Zzzap. Double zzap, actually.

Tarrant does not pass out, although it is a near thing indeed. He had closed his eyes against impending be-zapdom, and it is a while before he ventures to open them, as they had been wrenched quite tightly shut at the regenerator's use. "Thanks," he manages rather raggedly, eyes moving from Clara to Corian.

Corian gently lifts her hand to smooth Tarrant's hair, a hint of a wince still in her gray eyes. She smiles, though, with a murmur that might, in some language, be 'you're welcome'. Her gaze shifts back to Clara, concern pushing to the forefront once more.

Clara is already running the scanner over the repaired area, then sighs with unfeigned relief. "Excellent." She moves to the side of the bed to let Kramer undo the electrodes, resting her fingers on Tarrant's arm. "It's going to be fine," she assures both him and Corian. "There's no damage to the musculature, and the breaks healed nicely."

"Very much appreciated, Dr. Aleron," Tarrant murmurs, wiggling the foot expirimentally. "I've done enough damage to that leg a'ready, I'm glad to know I didn't do more."

Corian straightens slowly, offering Clara a smile. "Yes, thank you, Clara," she says quietly. "Your help is most appreciated."

Clara can't suppress a smile at that, glancing back down. "Hey, now. Don't move it just yet, all right? Actually, I'd rather you didn't even walk on it for a while. I'm going to cast it up for four days to be safe...-because- of the prior injury and improper healing," she adds in gentle admonishment, then nods at Corian. "It's what I'm here for."

Tarrant winces somewhat at the mention of a cast, that is after all, likely to slow him down. Tarrant only has two settings, 'going' and 'asleep'. Slow is not normal for him. "Not walking on it a while," for a half beat it is as if he is likely to object, but he merely murmurs, "Check."

Corian, as she knows Tarrant well enough to judge what he will and won't find objectionable, goes rather still until he acquiesces. "Don't worry, van'chela," she says pleasantly. "I am sure that you'll be able to stay busy." After a brief pause, she adds, "I can keep you company for some of the time, if you like, to keep you from getting too bored."

Clara merely nods and crouches down, the sound of an opening cabinet and rummaging coming from the far side of the bioscan as she arranges the supplies for the cast, doing her best fade routine to allow the other two to talk.

Tarrant does not perk up too visibly at Corian's suggestion, although the hint of it is there. He is -trying- to behave after all. "Busy I don't think'll be too much of a problem, considering recent events."

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

"Which you can explain later," Corian replies smoothly, after a brief glance around the area.

Clara goes about molding the clay type substance into place around a cloth sleeve over the newly regenerated ankle, still expressionlessly silent as she concentrates on her work.

Tarrant murmurs quiet agreement, careful to hold the leg, and hence the ankle, as still as possible so as not to interfere with Clara's work. "Yeah, gotcha'. Sure."

Corian absently straightens a rumple in Tarrant's jacket, though the straightening likely doesn't do much for the overall effect. "Do you need to get a message to anyone?" she inquires, expression thoughtful.

Clara finally touches a wand-line instrument to the cast, which hardens instantly in response. Rising, she dusts off her hands and offers a warm smile. "All done. Now, we'll let this synthplas circulate a few moments more to restore any bloodloss from all the bruising, and you can go home and get some rest," she offers, then moves away again to work on a chart.

Tarrant starts to answer Corian's question, but then his brows drop. "Maybe not, it might not be the best." He blinks at Clara, nodding slightly and murmuring his thanks.

Corian glances after Clara, with a nod and an echo of Tarrant's thankyou. A faint smile crosses her lips before she turns back to Tarrant, with a nod. "As you wish, van'chela. You know the situation, after all."

"Actually," Tarrant says softly, looking rather ruefully amused. "That's the the problem. I don't. If I did, I'd know who to send a message to, and who not to."

Clara jots notes in a chart at the counter still, her left hand coming up absently to finally pull her skullcap off and release her hair, curls spiraling out in irritation.

Corian's brows lift at that. "Ah," she says quietly. There's another brief glance about the area, and then she shakes her head, murmuring quietly, "Later." Voice still rather quiet, she adds, "You will tell me if there is anything I can do, yes, van'chela?"

Tarrant nods simply to the question, the un-IVd hand shifting up to check the chest pocket of his coat in a fumbled gesture. "Yeah, will do. Right now I'm not sure about what all needs doing. Hoped you might, or know somebody who would."

Clara finally folds the chart shut and returns to undo the IV line gently. "Okay, that's about it. You'll like feel like you were hit by a shuttle for a day or two, but it'll pass. Can you handle crutches, or would you prefer a wheelchair? And is there anything else I can help with?"

Corian blinks at Tarrant's statement, a baffled expression crossing her face. She shakes her head, but edits whatever it is she was going to say as Clara appropaches once more, offering a smile instead.

Tarrant shifts slowly to sit upright, testing his balance carefully as he moves. "I can manage crutches, like as not, ma'am. Should be easier to get around that way, hmm?" He doesn't explain his comment to Corian, perhaps still gone enough to think it doesn't need explaining. After all, -he- comprehends it. "You've been an awful lot of help, I can't thank ya' enough."

Clara starts to turn to go and find crutches, only to come face flush with a pair being held out by Kramer. She grins ruefully and turns back to help Tarrant up. "No need to thank me, sir. Any friend of Corian's is a friend of mine. It's what I'm here for. Corian? Will you be assisting Mr. Czolgosz to his quarters, and do you need help?"

Corian glances briefly at Tarrant, then says smoothly, "I will be, yes. And I believe I can manage on my own."

With assistance, Tarrant manages upright, and sliding from the biobed to stand upright, all his weight on his good foot. He offers Corian a brief, unreadable look, and then sets about concentrating on his footing again.

Clara accepts the crutches from Kramer and moves them to a usable place for Tarrant, smiling warmly. "There you go. You comm me if you have any problems or questions, all right? I even make house calls if properly bribed."

Corian moves around the biobed to stand at Tarrant's side as he rises, hand moving in an arrested movement towards him as he gets his footing. His unreadable look is returned with a quick smile, which is extended towards Clara, a glint of amusement edging out the worry for a moment.

Tarrant slides onto the crutches with a head-nod by way of bow to Clara. "My thanks again." He grins perhaps a bit sheepishly, "Four days you said?"

Clara nods once, stepping back and folding her arms as she offers a pleasant smile. "Mm-hmm. A blink of an eye in the grand scheme. And let me know if it so much as starts to itch so I can fix it. I'm not one to sumbit my patients to four days of torture, despite what Corian's brother says. I'm lots nicer than that," she adds with a grin at the other woman.

Corian's brows lift at that, though she does chuckle at Clara's words. "If Riley says that, perhaps you should shoot him some more, cha'leket. It is good for the soul to be hit with foam discs, you see."

Tarrant settles onto the crutches gingerly, nodding. "If it itches, call, check." At the mention of foam discs he brightens, glancing to Corian, "Foam discs as in those from the toy store?"

Clara holds her hand in the shape of a gun and blows across the finger tip, slouching into a swaggering stance and looking smug. "Unloaded a whole clip at him yesterday. I nearly have him browbeaten into agreeing to his yearly physical." She adds a grin and nod at Tarrant. "Wonderful, wonderful things."

Corian nods to Tarrant as well. "I thought they would make good gifts for Riley and Clara," she informs him, expression innocent. Clara's news earns her a pleased smile. "Excellent. Then I can be content in the knowledge that my gifts are being put to good use."

Tarrant nods to Corian, looking decidedly amused. "Seems they did make a good gift then, yeah." He chuckles quietly, assessing travel options.

Clara steps back out of the way to allow such travel, grinning. "Fantastic gifts. Now, get a shower, get some food, and get some rest, Mr. Czolgosz. You'll feel like a new man in the morning."

Corian moves to Tarrant's side, far enough to avoid hindering the crutch movements, but close enough to make an attempt to prevent a fall, should the crutches prove to be troublesome. "Thank you for all your help, Clara," she repeats, with a warm smile.

Tarrant nods to the advice, offering a somewhat ragged grin. "Yes'm. I shall look forward to this random becoming of another individual." He attempts a wink, although it doesn't quite come off. "Thank you again." He starts forward, unsteady at first but managing better as he nears the door.

Clara laughs appreciatively, shaking her head as she makes her way back over to Kramer to finish the discussion they'd been having earlier.

Tarrant heads towards the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.

Tarrant has left.

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:

Stairs Elevator General Housing Library Security Maintenance Medical

You arrive from the Medical Bay.

Tarrant makes his way towards the elevators, careful of the crutch-tips on the glossy marble.

Corian prompts gently, remaining a step away, "Van'chela, your quarters are on this floor. The elevator is unnecessary."

Tarrant blinks several times, looking somewhat confused. He nods somewhat, shifting direction to head down the correct hallway.

Tarrant heads towards the General Housing Hub.

Tarrant has left.

You head towards the General Housing Hub.

General Housing Hub

The ubiquitous black marble is a bit worn in this room, especially along the straightest path between the door and the desk from which housing is requested. This path is relatively short, however, as much of the room consists of a long hallway, doors lining the walls at equal intervals. Above the reception desk, a monitor lists room numbers and current occupants. Light tapestries and other forms of art occupy the spaces between each door, adding a touch of the exotic.

<< To see a list of current occupants, type +view monitor >>

Contents:

Tarrant

Obvious exits:

Elevator Lounge

You arrive from the Second Floor Elevator Lounge.

Tarrant unlocks the door to room F10 and goes inside.

Tarrant has left.

You unlock the door and go into room F10.

Far Away

This room is plain, yet efficient. But there all similarity between it and its brethren ceases. It may have at one time done double duty as a storage area, as the walls are lined with shelves. At the moment, the bulk of them are empty, although some hold low boxes, and others neatly folded clothes. A small door leads into the refresher unit in one corner. The rest of that wall is taken up with a long low work area. Various gadgets and pieces of machinery are scattered across it. The bed is a wall unit which may be tucked away for storage. A low coffee table hunkers down next to a tiredly sagging couch in the middle of the room. The walls are mostly decorated with maps where they are not hung with shelves. A single framed print however dominates the far wall, a sepia toned picture of Ford's Theater.

Contents:

Tarrant

Obvious exits:

Out

You come in from the Housing Hub.

Tarrant manages to manuver in the tight space to the edge of the couch, sliding down onto it, looking decidedly relieved and perhaps somewhat less than coherant. "Sitting's good."

Corian moves to unfold the fold-out bed. "Just rest easy, van'chela," she offers, with a faint smile. "You seem to have had a difficult day."

Tarrant blinks several times at the bed unfolding, looking perhaps more than a little sheepish. The bed is, after all, is rather sad shape, even if the blankets are neatly kept. "Yeah, difficult day, yeah."

Corian sees the set to rights, then drifts back over to the entrance. See, Clara suggested a shower, and she's definitely not going to stick around for that, much as she'd like to--for reasons of friendship, of course. "I'll check on you in a few hours," she says tentatively, "But for now, you should probably take Clara's advice."

Tarrant nods almost absently, "Thanks Corian." His nod may be absent, but his tone is exceedingly grateful. "'Preciate the help."

Corian shakes her head, with a faint smile. "I am glad to do it. Please do comm me if you need anything--anything at all." She regards you for a moment, expression just a bit troubled,t hen slips out of the room.

You leave the room, pulling the door shut behind you.


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