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Hawthorne     The shack was looted a long time back. It has served as the hideout of God knows how many people over the years, and abandoned, occupied and abandoned again. A few years ago it even lost its roof, and a supporting wall. Now, all it can provide is a really bad shelter for the badly bleeding Hawthorne. The man growls as he leans back against the wall, sitting on the rubble-stren ground. A trail of blood could lead anyone through the dust and dirt to the man. The sight where the blood begins shows signs of a brief, but violent fight.

    He winces as he pulls his hand away from his side, and it is soaked in blood. With a snarl he puts pressure back on the bullet wound and shakes his head. He reaches up with his free hand and slowly tugs off his dirty eyeglasses. The night is early, and still pregnant with the promise of trouble...and it seems like this handsome older man has found his share of it.
Lilu It was all a mess, that town. Perhaps, it wasn't the best place to remember what it was like to be around people. It was loud, chaotic, and full of what her mama use to call 'drama'. Wandering, though, that was comforting. Shuffling about in her ratty boots, threadbare farmer's clothing, and cowboy hat, the woman pauses to tuck away her messy, auburn locks, and to make sure her scarf mask was secure against the elements. She pauses, now and then, digging at bundles of trash and rust-forgotten metal; it's then that her toe catches a stone and down a dune she tumbles.

Coming to a stop, she shakes her head and sighs, cursing in French and looking at the new scraps on her elbows, lower arms, and her knees which start to flower crimson. But there's something else that catches the attention of her violet eyes; blood, and not her own. Blinking, she follows after it, cautiously moving closer and closer still to the shanty bunker that was no more than a wall or two. "'ello?" She voices gently. "S'nybody in dere? If y'hurt, I c'n help y'." The Creole promises.
Hawthorne The man tenses as he hears the unfamiliar female voice. His free hand drops to the pistol resting beside him, and he glances in the direction of the voice. A lantern sits nearby, allowing a decent bit of light in the 'room'.

"Come into the light! Hands where I can see them." His voice is deep, with a pleasant whiskey-scratch growl tinting his words. He does his best to keep the pain he is feeling out of his voice, but if the young woman steps into view she can easily tell that he is precariously trying to keep himself from bleeding out from a bullet wound in his side, just to thr right of his chestpiece...and there does not appear to be an exit wound.
Lilu Lilu does just that, hands up and into the light she goes. She's tense, of course, but her lavender orbs focus on the man's wound and she twitches visibly. "Y'bleedin' out," she murmurs, her voice sinking a bit behind the mask of her scarf. "I c'n fix dat, if y'let me." She offers, still keeping her stance and allowing the older man his personal space. "I ain' gonna cause no trouble. I jus' wanna help y'." She promises and then clears her throat. "M'Lilu..."
Hawthorne He furrows his brow a bit as he weighs the option. Finally, as if he has any other choice, the man consents. "Fine. Fine." He lowers his gun, but makes sure to keep it within reach of himself...just in case. He watches her with a hint of wariness in his ice blue eyes as she approaches, and the man lets her do her work. He doesn't whine or show much pain as she works, either. He has a few shallow knife cuts, and the single bullet wound.

Lilu Lilu nods, relaxing now as he allows her near. Reaching for her mask, she lowers it to allow him the full vision of her face. It's brief, a sign of trust or comfort, but soon, it returns up and around her face. Digging in her bag, she rubs a good slash of alcohol on her hands to clean them off. "Lean ova." She instructs, pulling the lantern closer to get a better look. Digging at a med pack from her bag, she pops the metal container open and starts digging for her supplies. Showing him her hands, she moves toward his armor. "Need t'get dis off y'." She explains, and should he allow it, she'll aid in its removal. The shirt, however, gets some treatment from her scissors as she slices up the fabric and peels it away from his side. Then, her fingers prod at the skin around it, checking the inflimation and for signs of infection. "How long?" She questions, following up with a, "N'dey gun? How big?"
Hawthorne He helps remove the leathewr chestpiece, which was a centimete or so off from actually protecting him. When his shirt is cut, though, he frowns. He liked that shirt. He grouses a bit and watches her work curiously. Beneath she finds that he is firmly chiseled with old scars here or there, along with his many tattoos.

"Eh. Twenty minutes? Maybe a few less. Not long. Ten millimeter, like mine.."
Lilu Muttering something in French, she nods and digs more into her kit. Pressing at the wound with some white fabric, she moves his hand by his wrist and sets it in place. "Hold dat." Comes her instruction, her voice now shifted from timid, mouse like, to that of maternal know-how. Setting some tools aside; needle, thick thread, gauze, tape, alcohol, tweezers, she looks his way and sighs. "I c'n feel it, but dis ain' gonna feel nice once I go diggin' in dere. Y'need a drink?"
Hawthorne "Always," he growls in response. When and if a drink is offered he takes a long, skilled swig before passing it back. He then takes a moment and nods. "Do your thing, girl." The man turns his head away, staring out at the night beyond the edge of the circle of light cast by the lantern. he pushes his throughts away from pain and towards something more pleasant. Revenge, perhaps.
Lilu Lilu and takes a breath. Setting the bottle down, she gently lifts his hand away. Leaning him just so, she looks at the wound and gives it a few more presses with her finger tips. Washing the tweezers with more alcohol, before splashing a fair deal on the wound itself, she cleans it away and starts digging. Glancing up toward the man's face, she then focuses downward and starts to hum a soft, slow, hopefully comforting melody. It's not long until she finds the slug, as luckily, it was only dug in a couple of inches; not much, but clearly enough. Prying the entry point wider with her fingers, she keeps to the song, adding a few sung words here and there, an odd sound since none of it is in English.

With a pull, and then again, the bizarre sensation of something being dug out of his body would come to play. Pressure, and then a void, as she drops the slug and quickly presses more fabric against the wound. "Talk t'me," she requests. "How y'doin'?"
Hawthorne The grizzled man sits through it all, staring off into the darkness. Once she is done he reaches into the pocket of his pants and withdraws a small metal case. With a hand dried in blood he slowly takes out a piece of paper and tobacco, and he rolls a cigarette with surprising calm, considering she just stitched him up. She can likely see the pain in his eyes, though. The man lights the cigarette with a match and takes a long drag before he leans back and grunts.

"Our cure, to be no more; sad cure!," he states idly. To almost anyone in the Wasteland that would seem an odd statement, seeing as most cannot read, nor have read Milton, of course. "I feel better," he offers finally.
Lilu Lilu glances up once more, listening to his words before lowering her gaze; now come the stitches. Another wash of 'disinfectant' and the woman goes about threading a hook like needle. In and out, in and out, she pulls at the skin to close. Task completely, she ties off the stitching and pulls some glass bottle from the kit, scooping up some greenish black gunk out of its vessel. Slathering it on, she blows across it slowly with her newly exposed mouth, the feeling and odd rush of prickling chill and pinching heat. Bandages now, she presses the gauze down and sets them all in place. "Need t'keep it clean. Dat'll help keep de 'nfection 'way, but don' last f'eva." She warns, sitting back on her heels now.
Hawthorne He sits in silence and lets her work. When all is said and done he glances down to inspect the wound. "Mn. I have running water not too far from my place's less radioactive then some other water. It'll do. I'll keep it clean." The man turns to peer curiously at her before he finally nods. "...Thanks."
Lilu Smiling, slightly, she nods and rinses off her hands as she had when they first began. Scarf up, she starts gathering what supplies she can reuse; boiled water is a wonder sometimes. "Dey's town near by, dey got nice rooms n'all dat. S'lil odd 't times, but maybe dat jus' me." Considering something, she then offers a canteen Hawthorne's way. "S'clean. Please, use dis first. Don' risk it."
Hawthorne He reaches out to take the canteen, and he sniffs it carefully. In the end he hands it back. "I have supplies and a place of my own. I just wasn't able to really get back there, though...due to...well...bleeding out." He frowns a bit to himself and brushes his fingers back through his silvery hair. "Do you mean El Dorado?," he asks curiously. "No weirder then any other town out this way."
Lilu Lilu nods, looking at the canteen and gently pressing it back his way. "Well, till y'get back home den." She counters, closing up her kit and slipping it into a side pack of her own. "Yeah, dat's de one. Honestly? I jus' ain' use t'towns, period." Staring, her violet eyes flit to his wound, then back up to the man's face. "How'd y'get it? Dat wound?"
Hawthorne "Had a disagreement with a few former business partners," he offers as a way of reply. He rubs at his eyes and then slides his glasses back on before sitting up a bit more and grunting at the pain from it. "Might head into town and get a few drinks. No rush to head back home after the night I've had."
Lilu "S'pose so. If y'need de help, I c'n walk y'dat way." She offers, reaching out as he sits up, hand hovering and ready. Drawing back, she brushes against the thighs of her pants, standing and looking down at the seated figure. "Don' wanna spend de night out 'ere, 'nyway. Dey's...well, strange t'ings out yanda."
Hawthorne He shakes his head at the offer of help, and he rises slowly. He grunts and winces, but then pushes the visible sign of pain from his eyes. He makes his way over to his dropped backpack and slowly fishes out another shirt, which is not -quite- as nice as the other one. not all the buttons are on it. he sli9ps it on to cover the wound, and then makes his way back over to put on his leather chestpiece. "I don't mind you joining me, but no help physically," he states rather adamantly.
Lilu "Why? Y'one 'f dem 'tough guys' who don' need no help?" She glares slightly, her arms and hands up, helping fit his armor back into place. "Don' let pride make y'stupid, Hawthorne." Lilu tsks, giving the ties one more pull to cinch it all together. "I had brotha's, y'know. Couple like you, actin' like y'doin' now." Giving the freshly mended side a swift, but firm enough pat, she stares up into his face and points with a rust stained finger. "Dere. In y'eyes. Ain' foolin' nobody."
Hawthorne The pat to his wounded side makes his finger twitch, and it is clear he almost drew his gun from it. He manages not to, however. "I'm who I am," he grunts in reply. The man leans down and picks up his backpack, shouldering it. He -is- moving easily now, and not showing clear signs of pain. The only way she could really know he is -in- pain is because she worked on him through it. He is clearly quite an expert at hiding wounds.
Lilu Lilu tsks again, rolling her eyes and stepping out of the 'shack', waiting outside of it for him to join her. "Guess dat's fair." She relents, motioning up toward the town who's lights might be able to been seen by this point. "Dey saloon got rooms f'rent, n'if y'don' got it, I c'n spare de caps f'y'."
Hawthorne "I may be a shot man, but I am not a poor one," he offers with a soft chuckle. "Also, I would prefer you keep conversation about my wound to a minimum. There are some who would be happy to use it as an opportunity." He does not have the uneducated pronounciation or drawl of most Wastelanders. It actually makes him sound a bit odd, sometimes. That whiskey-scratched voice and growl, however, is pure Wastelander. He moves along with her through the night, drawing closer to the lights.
Lilu "S'y'own business." She shrugs, her slender shoulders giving an apathetic bob. Her own wounds, scratches really, are left in the back of her mind, even if her knees sting with each stride. "Jus' keep followin' up de Main Street n'y'find it. Dere's a hotel 'round dere, too." She advises, her brows dipping in such a way that might suggest she wasn't comfortable heading into the town just yet. "I, ah, I take y't' de gate."
Hawthorne He moves at a leisurely pace alongside the young woman. If he notices her own wounds he makes no mention of them. "I own a business," he agrees. He puffs on his rolled cigarette as they move through the nighttime wasteland. "Your accent. You clearly are not local," he offers more as an observation then an inquiry.
Lilu "Dey such a t'ing 'nymore?" Comes her reply. Looking his way, then forward, she rolls her arms and readjusts the strap of her side pack. "M'fr'm...huh, don' recall no more. Been wanderin' a great deal after de bandits..." She stalls and takes a breath. "'nyway, s'jus' how de fam'ly talked. Daddy said we all did dat, fr'm b'fore de bombs fell. Called it Creole. Mama said de family started out down south a-ways, den dey were east, near de swamps n'bayous. Den, dey came out dis way 't s'm point."
Hawthorne "A lot of people are not smart, lucky or brave enough to travel long distances," he offers simply enough. "They sit in one place and take this life as it comes at them. But I'm from out west, myself. Never went that far out eat, personally." he shrugs a well muscled shoulder and tosses the remainder of his rolled cigarette aside into the night.
Lilu "I t'ink dey were pretty smart. Taught me e'vryt'ing I know 'bout farmin' n'medicine." She explains idly, watching after the smoke as it goes flying into the sands. She pauses, moves to it, and snuffs it out completely before returning to his side. "Know what I t'ink 's special 'bout dese days? People wit fam'lies."
Hawthorne "Wouldn't know. Closest people I've had to a family in the last twenty years just shot me in the stomach." He glances sidelong at her as they walk along towards the town. "I'm sure there's something to staying in one place and farming, but I'm not one for making my living off of the soil."
Lilu Lilu frowns behind her scarf, falling silent for a time. "Told s'mone jus' last night dat fam'ly ain' all blood." She pause, "M'sorry...y'gon' go afta dem, I bet." She guesses, eyeing the man up and down before focusing forward once more. "Well, we all diff'rent. Dat's good t'ing. Y'do what y'do, n'I feed n'patch y'up."
Hawthorne "Well, once I'm all better and that hole is just a scar? Yes. Yes, I am going to go after them. No rush, though. All good things to those who wait, as they say." Well, most people these days don't say that, as it goes back to being uneducated, once again.
Lilu "Mmm. Daddy's say dat, too. S'good words f'farmin'." She agrees, stalling as they come up and onto the outter skirts of the town. Taking a breath, she looks the man's way and thumbs down the street. "Jus' keep on dat way. Y'be 'lright in dere. Jus', 'memba what I said 'bout keepin' dat t'ing clean. Dress it, daily." Comes her instruction before she turns to head back out into the wastes.
Hawthorne "Hey," he calls out to her before she can fully depart. He reaches into a sikde-pocket on his backpack and withdraws a handful of caps, holding them out for her. "Not much, but...thanks." It looks like a small pile of about twenty ten to fifteen caps. "I'd likely be dead without you. You stick around this area and I might seek you out the next time some fool takes a weapon to me. It's really only a matter of time."
Lilu "Keep it. I don' want y'money." She explains, waving it off. "Yeah, I be stayin' 'round here. Workin' on gettin' m'own clinic n'hunk 'f land t'farm, too." She explains, smiling, but only the hint of her cheeks causing her eyes to squint give away the expression. "Y'take care now, Hawthorne."
Hawthorne He shrugs and pockets the caps, his pride abated by at least offering. "Take care, Lilu." With that the man turns and makes his way into the town.