hearrrtofgold | 14 ⚓ Voice ⚓ Recovering honor and lordship in his own domains?

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14 ⚓ Voice ⚓ Recovering honor and lordship in his own domains?

Raise your hand if you didn’t die.

In the spirit of supportiveness, if anyone’s still messed up from that port I’ll take over your heavy lifting.

[Private to Francis]
[Temporary pairing, Duke repeats to himself. Temporary. No one’s expecting him to graduate the guy this month. Which is good because he’s not sure he could – he doesn’t like Francis, thinks he’s an ass. In and of itself, however, that’s not a crime.

Even being a politician is not, honestly, a crime. Usually. And Duke has weathered stranger things -- it’s not like anyone asked him to warden Arla.]

You like to talk. Want to do that, or should I just ask if you need anything then back off?

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I didn't die but my damned leg is broken and that is going to be more trouble in the long run. [SULK.]

But I've nothing that needs lifting except perhaps a drink when I am up and about again.

But it's going to heal, right? [It's a little easier to forget how inconvenient healing fractures are after living around a man who doesn't notice his own broken bones.] And you can get around? If necessary I can lift you.

And I've got that covered. Still, you didn't die, and I feel like you deserve a ribbon for that.

I haven't drowned, which I feel is a turning point towards better things.

For the moment I'm laid up in bed-- but after I have healed a bit I ought to be able to manage with a pair of crutches and my false leg under me. I wish she had broken that one, sweet as it is, that one'd be repaired faster.

See? Not drowning deserves a medal. Even though I'm not sure how you would've managed that in the average cave.

Who broke it?

It was Hidalgo-- perfectly savage little woman when the poison water made us mad. [He's a little impressed, but largely irritated. It isn't as if he hasn't nearly been killed by women before and he didn't like it then, either.]

What happened when you went mad? [That's a plural "you" - he's mostly interested in Hidalgo's violence, but wonders analytically what the others in the party experienced.]

I heard voices. I kept thinking that the light had gone out or was going out. It was dreadful.

She-- I don't know what she was thinking, how much or little it effected her, but there was a period of madness, like the red fog of battle and then I came to with a broken limb and half-real memories-- I think they were half real.

I can't imagine.

[There's a noticeable pause.] Do you know who attacked first?

[Private]
What did you remember?

My last clear memory was of wanting to take shelter; I thought I heard voices gabbling in french, and I was seeking out some crevasse to hold. I do know I didn't attack at all. And I remember that she lunged for me; I saw that clear enough, because her dress was glowing.

Did you catch anything the voices said?

Her dress was glowing. [Of course it was.] Had she been violent before?

I didn't catch anything; I thought it was French, and I don't have any French. It was some gabble. But I was sure that it was the enemy.

She'd seemed civilized enough the rest of the time we were together, I don't know her much beyond that.

And I've got virtually none. But if you remember it someone on board might be able to translate.

I'm not surprised.

...Are you going to talk to her?

[Bush has as little chance of remembering the whispers that drove him into the dark as a man has of recalling birdsong and echoing it accurately back, and thinks the notion ridiculous.]

I am going to talk to her warden and tell him she may have my pistol, but what ought I to say to her?

[Deb raises her hand.]

Not fucking dead here.

Good. I'm guessing it'd take a lot to make that happen.

Probably not. Considering it was just a fucking drug that got me.

When you ended up here, you mean?

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14 ⚓ Voice ⚓ Recovering honor and lordship in his own domains?

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