ways_infirmary | (no subject)

(no subject)

The

(gunslinger)

man with the gunshot wound's awake when Simon comes into the infirmary.

"Good afternoon, sir," he says as he steps up to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

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A spark of respect is the only outward acknowledgement of a hit well taken as he crafts his reply. He has never been keen on revealing his past to all who ask, for various reasons.
"From down south a-ways, though of late I've spent more time in the west, rambling." He assumes he's already been marked as a gunfighter - the wounds and the gun hardly leave room for misinterpretation in the land he rides through.

Yes, but he's not in the land he rides through. Apparently Simon has failed to make that clear.

"...South and west of where, exactly?"

Shane is still wrapping his mind around that concept - besides, Simon said they were at the end of time. He did not say a word about having left Wyoming.

"Of the country." Shane elaborates with another one of his raised eyebrows. He has decided to trust Simon for the time being, but Simon is making it deucdedly difficult.

This may take longer than he thought.

"The, ah ... the country I come from is called Osiris." Beat. "What's yours called?"

Shane's eyes narrow slightly. Simon he does not doubt, for now, but clearly there is something he is missing, and that is not a feeling he relishes.
"United States of America." He answers shortly, not annoyed so much as confused.

He nods. "This is the part that's difficult to believe. You're going to encounter people here who have never heard of the United States of America. And people who've heard of it, but only as something out of distant history."

Shane rubs his face wearily, noting with distant pleasure that his hand doesn't shake so much now as it did when he first started rising above the haze of drugs and blood loss a few days ago.

"You seem to be an honest man, Doctor Tam, but the things you ask me mto believe..." He trails off, not feeling the need to elaborate further.

"I know," he says. "If it'd be easier for you, you might ... put it aside, for now. Wait to decide whether or not to believe it until you've seen more for yourself."

"I might have to, at that." He nods, agreeing with the suggestion. The movement, however, dirupts the careful balance in posture that keeps him from feeling the effects of his wound, and he grimaces. He has had to rely on such tricks too often in his life, and after a moment of careful, minute shifting, his expression relaxes again and he focuses on Simon.
"You have been very patient with a displaced man, Doctor Tam. Thank you."

He's noticed the grimace.

"I can give you something for the pain, if you like."

Shane considers, carefully. He does not like the idea of being drugged senseless, especially if the doctor's impossible story turns out to be true. A man would need his wits about him in a place such as that.

He als cannot deny that the pain has been growing ever since he woke up, and if it goes on as it has he won't be able to ignore it for much longer.

Slowly, carefully, he nods. Best to heal, for now.

Simon turns to the cabinet, and returns in a moment with a hypo full of painkiller.

"Try to rest," he tells Shane as he sets the needle. "You're doing well; I think I should be able to discharge you by tomorrow, if not this evening."

Another careful nod as the drug speeds into his bloodstream. Considering that he thought himself a dead man a few days ago, he is in no position to protest a little more time in a bed.
"I'll do that... Doctor..." The rest of his sentence is swallowed by a jaw-cracking yawn as the drug takes hold and the sharpness in his eyes dulls.

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