|Ashur|| Tucked away in one of the medical rooms is Ashur the broken Legionnaire. Word's been spreading through El Dorado of the recent battle at Roswell, though as is always the way of stories there's conflict between versions. But it's agreed that a group of locals got involved in a spat between the NCR and the Brotherhood of Steel, and at least one happy-go-lucky trader's been plying himself with alcohol and talking about his best friends who saved him from bad, awful men. It's also agreed that the big Legionnaire with the braids went down during the conflict, and that it was a lucky militia patrol that brought him back after they investigated.
The soldier's sitting up in a bad. He's nude, getting that out of the way, but covered in blankets and enough bandages to resemble a mummy more than a porn star. There are discolored patches on his skin where charred, necrotizing flesh from laser burns was cut, rows of stitches upon him, and more gauze and wound sealant than you can shake a stick at. But he's conscious, at least.
Immeasurably bored. But conscious. Staring at a crack in the plaster of the wall near the door to his room.
|Stockton||Stockton is the first one in, leading with a big mitt to shove the door in before ducking through the door frame to take a look inside. Word spread quick, so they came quickly enough. The Doc and her guard. The Merc is dressed as he usually is, though the clothes at least seem recently washed. At least he isn't limping any more. Spotting the big Legionairre, he grunts in greeting, "Heard you were the only one to stay in the fight," he grins a little, "Brought the Doc to patch you up," he gestures behind him at the shadowing Sparrow.|
|Sparrow||Sparrow steps around her bodyguard. She nods to Stockton though her expression is stern. She may not always approve of the big golden man's methods but she helps her own. Ashur's made his way somewhat into that category. "Damn, they did do a number on ya didn't they." She shakes her head and moves over to the large man and takes off her helmet and sets them aside. She glances over the people who are in the Milita Medbay and asks them for a few things before handing her helmet to Stockton and moves over to Ashur's bedside pulling off her duster. "Don't try and move too much, I'll try and keep my answers to yes or no. But first let me have a look at you. It's going to hurt a bit." No apology, no suck it up, no more than 'This will hurt you'.
The blonde looks back at the big man and gestures for him to have a seat. "This is going to take me a while." She tells him succinctly.
|Ashur|| "Before the face of the enemy, the Dissolute crumbled and fled," growls Ashur, with a sudden ferocity of anger enough to aggravate the bruising of his ribs and trigger a cough and irritated hiss. "They forget that superior technology does not make a superior man; throw a spear hard enough, and you'll kill a god." He clenches his teeth and exhales. "I would not have it. I slew that man -- Paladin Grant -- before his own men with my bare hands. Had my trifling companions stayed, ours would have been all the treasure of their carried hoard."
His fingers curl into angry fists. Those hands are black and blue. There's no protection for punching a suit of power armor over and over and over again.
Sparrow's comments earn a nod. "Healers have come intermittently; I've caught glimpses as I faded in and out. They've kept the dressing clean." A deep breath. It hurts to speak, but he's too stubborn to not angrily rant.
|Stockton||Stockton takes the doctor's helmet and couples it with his own on a flat surface. A gloved hand reaches up to push his hair back in one direction as he gives the wounds a look over himself. A low whistle leaves him but he is just as quick to go back to a snap look of disdain. "One of these days, yer gonna remember that it's the Dissolute that /might/ come to yer aid when ya finally can't punch yer way out," he rumbles before moving around to find a folding metal chair. It doesn't like him on it, but he is all the same. He's fiddling with his guns, doing a quick field strip to check the springs and mechanisms, letting the dirt and dust of the day find the floor with a huffed breath into the channel. "Well, she'll stitch yah best, 'n you can go back to punchin' yer problems in a jiff."|
|Sparrow||Sparrow shakes her head. "Well, most folks spend most of their time tryin' to stay alive, not to figure out how much it will take to kill them." She tells Ashur with a shake of her head and moves to set her medkit, "I'm gonna have to charge you a bit. but I can't leave ya like this ya wont heal none." She shakes her head and pulls a doctor's stool up to the bed and starts working on removing the bandags on the worst bits. "Well, I don't think even my best healin's gonna help here. You wont be punchin' for a week or two at least." She sighs and pulls on some gloves and gets too it her expression grim, drawing out the lines in her forehead and around her eyes. Making her lips thin out and her age to double in moments.|
|Ashur|| "There are problems that cannot be resolved with force," the Legionnaire concedes, leaning his head back as his braids dangle and brush his wounded shoulders. "A group of men with guns are not one of them. Had they committed on my mark and rallied to me, victory would have been swift."
He waves a hand dismissively with a flutter of fingers.
"I have a pouch of caps over there," and he points with his face to the little footlocker that has most of his armor piled around it or inside it. "Take whatever your fee is. I care not." He doesn't move as she treats what she can and cleans what needs cleaning; he might be surly, but he's not a stupid patient. You don't jerk around with the healers.
|Stockton||Stockton isn't about to go rooting around in another man's pouch, he reserves that for Blasphemy Sundays. Instead he remains on the chair only getting up if Sparrow asks for assistance. Otherwise he's happy to watch the big boxer get stuck with little needles. "You can't expect the people of this town to just fall in line with what you say. Half of 'em are still tryin' to figure out if they wanna murder you fer havin' been Legion in the first place. The rest ain't just gonna dosee-doe cuz you barked an order, doesn't matter that yer battle tested. They don't know you, and you still wearin' that cloak." He shrugs a shoulder slightly, "You want 'em tah listen, do somethin' that'll freak 'em out and join the Militia. Show up Swagger Caine."|
|Sparrow||Sparrow chuckles quietly and shakes her head a little bit but lets the men talk it out. Sparrow's not exactly a soft demure woman but she's not a chatty one either. She works quietly on getting certain things that the Militia surgeons had missed and sneaks a quick poke of the Stimpak into the Ex-Legion's hip with a quick stick and fires off some of the serum into him. She leans back up and shakes her head at Stockton, "Well to be fair he's been out there fightin' for El Dorado as much as you have." This is said flatly, reminding Stockton of facts without any seeming investment in it at all. It explains much about why Sparrow's not a Doc with ehr own clinic. She leaves a lot to be desired in bedside manner.|
|Ashur|| "I do not expect them to obey me. I expect them to recognize opportunity and read the flow of battle. For their own self-interest if nothing more; how many times will two-bit scavengers have the chance to raid a Brotherhood armory?" He scoffs and scowls, but he's aware Stockton is correct, and it shows in the disgruntled look on his face and the sourness of his voice. It infuriates him that a battle that could have been won wasn't. "Who knows? There might have been a ballistic fist.. I have seen the Praetorian with them. It would make a fine weapon."
He grows quiet finally, sucking on his teeth when Sparrow sneaks a stimpack into him. "Who is Swagger Caine?"
|Stockton||Stockton gives Sparrow a chuff and shakes his head, "And crowin' all about it," he nods with a disdainful smirk before his attention shifts from the Doc to the warrior again. "You'd think they'd pick up on that, but usually all they see is if'n the other guys have bigger or more guns than they do. Most of 'em don' even realize the potential of their weapons," says the seasoned Merc turned Cowboy. "You'n a ballistic fist is damage I don' need to imagine," he chuckles, "Swagger, ay, kay, ay, Joe."|
|Sparrow||Sparrow says, "Swagger Caine, yeah, Joe .. Kid wears his britches a bit too tight these days I think." The Doc says with the same simple neutrality as previous. She shakes her head a little bit and sighs a bit before working on wrapping the big braided man back up. "Done what I can for now, give things a bit see what that boost did for you and we can consider if you need to stay here. Provided they ain't keepin' ya around for other reasons." She takes a deep breath and looks back towards Stockton and lifts her shoulder, "Yeah, well a good Merc's a salesman. Maybe ya could learn a thing or two."|
|Ashur|| "Joe Caine," Ashur repeats, vocalizing the name to commit it to memory. Between the painkillers he's on and his ongoing recovery, he'll need all the help he can get-- he took a wallop on the noggin, who knows if he'll even remember this conversation as more than a fever dream? His brow furrows, he adjusts himself beneath the sheets, and then he scootches back down into the warm indent his weight has gradually pressed into the mattress. "You have my thanks. The both of you. I need to rest now."
He closes his eyes.
|Stockton||Stockton is already pushing to his feet to gather up helmets, gear, whatever was needed. This is about the time they move along to the next patient, "There's still the kid's goat if'n yer feelin spunky," he says to Dr. Sparrow, Medicine Woman. A smirk is given for Ashur as he starts to give in to the pain killers. "Rest well, dream of gigantic women," He tells the Legionaire and winks as he ducks out, holding the door for Sparrow when she decides to mozy along.|
|Sparrow||Sparrow stares at Stockton for a moment before moving to adjust the blankets over the bandaged Ashur and stands, cleaning up and then pulling her Duster on before turning to head back out the door. Slipping out with a nod to the Militia docs.|