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[mr_gaeta]

"Alone she sleeps in the shirt of man
With my three wishes clutched in her hand..."

Simon finally hooked him up to a morpha -- morphine, whatever it's called here -- drip once the nerve block wore off and the supposedly unidentifiable opioid had left his system. Gaeta's half-drowsing, eyes closed in a vain attempt to sleep outright; the pain's still too great, though, and the exhaustion more prominent.

And if he sleeps, that means he can't do the only thing that's worked so far.

"The first that she be spared the pain
That comes from a dark and laughing rain..."

The words are a little roughened with hoarseness, a touch slurred by morpha -- but his voice still rings clear through the infirmary.



[ooc: for continuity's sake, all threads now take place before Boyd's and Simon's.]

Comments

[fireinthehole]

Harlan County born and raised; no desire to spend the gas money to go elsewhere; at least there's this bar to explore. Stories of the Sirens well in mind, Boyd prowls down the hallway to see where the sound's coming from.

Boyd sticks his head in the infirmary door.

Notes the source of the music.

Considers.

He takes another four or five steps toward the man in the bed, but doesn't announce his presence just yet.

[mr_gaeta]

It's fair to say Gaeta doesn't notice him yet.

"When she finds love, may it always stay true
This I beg for the second wish I -- "

The words cut off in a lurching gasp. Gritting his teeth, trying to reign in the worst, he bears on.

" -- made too," he finishes in half a hiss.

[fireinthehole]

Seems like the verse is over.

"Don't they give you drugs?" Boyd inquires.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta cracks his eyes open. Manages to focus on the man above him, after a beat.

He can't quite tell if he's one of the doctors or not.

"Yes, sir," he manages once another beat has passed. "They're not helping much."

[cbucsrule]

Wow, that... that sound, someone singing. It's pretty frakking haunting. He follows it, lets his feet carry him to the medical area. There's a guy lying there in one of the beds, no one he knows, but that song, man, that song.

It's beautiful and terrible at the same time.

He's not even sure he oughtta be here, and because of that, he stays back a little. Rests his arm against the wall, head tilted down, and just... listens. He'd like to help, but he's not sure what the frak he could possibly do.

Water, maybe: he's got an unopened bottle with him. Holds it out in offering, just a little.

[fireinthehole]

Boyd nods, taking this in.

Taking in the half of the missing leg, too.

"What's your feeling on marijuana?"

[mr_gaeta]

"...on what?"

His brow knits. There's a similarity of the word, as fuck is to frak and morphine to morpha. Gods help him if he can parse it all the way through, though.

(Some frakking help the morpha's being: taking away his ability to think and taking so little of the pain with it.)

[callipygos]

She always loves a good song in the springtime.

It may be why she's following the tune with light tread, arriving finally in the doorway to the infirmary. She pauses a moment to listen.

(Normally, she would avoid places of pain.

But then again ... they do put her in mind of Ares.)

[mr_gaeta]

"To have her please..."

Gaeta opens his eyes, taking in a shaky breath. He notices the water first; the hand holding it second.

Last: the face above him.

Even with the drugged-up glassiness firmly in place, it's amazing how fast his expression darkens.

[mr_gaeta]

"But wish no more, my life you can take -- "

His fingers tighten on his thigh, just above the spot where he was instructed don't touch. Gaeta swallows on an increasingly dry throat. "To have her please just one day wake..."

[cbucsrule]

"Hey, man." His voice is just a little whisper. He doesn't know what the situation is, but he's not bad at reading them and figures this demands quiet. "I didn't mean to disturb you. Just followed the sound."

The singing: he'll know, maybe.

"Can I... can I get you anything? The water bottle's brand new. Haven't even touched it."

The only thing he can really tell is the situation here? Not good, and that sucks. The guy looks like he's in a world of pain. Probably, he ought to leave the poor guy alone.

[callipygos]

Her eyes are drawn to the bandages, and consequently to what is no longer there.

This is exactly why she was so glad to have missed all that battling.


But Aphrodite stays, for the moment.

She'd like to hear how the song ends.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta musters up a barely audible snort. (It's more difficult than usual, with the cannula in place.)

"Yeah, right," he mutters. "The frak's with the special treatment now?"

[mr_gaeta]

"To have her please just one day wake -- " Another labored breath. "To have her please, just one day wake."

The chord resolves; the song ends.

Three seconds later, Gaeta's picked it up again.

"Alone she sleeps in the shirt of man..."

[fireinthehole]

Boyd's brow furrows.

But all he says is, "It's something you smoke. Can help with pain, nausea, anxiety. Gives you a little high. What I've got on hand is a little aged, but it started out potent, so it might do the trick."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta wets his lips.

"'S it gonna react with what they've got me on now?"

[fireinthehole]

"That depends on what they've got you on." He sounds awfully calm about it. "You know what all it is?"

[mr_gaeta]

"Morpha. -- Sorry, morphine," he corrects, and his eyes drift closed for a second. His leg twinges; grimacing, Gaeta's fingers tighten on the bandage.

[cbucsrule]

"Sorry." The word's automatic; it always is when someone's in such bad shape.

But...

Frak. He's only met one other person here who used the term, and that means... unless there's another world where people say it, and he guesses that's all possible, that it could be this guy knows about the planets getting nuked.

One thing at a time.

"I don't mean to... to intrude or anything. I just followed the sound of your song." Gods know he spent enough time in hospitals, either on his own or visiting injured teammates, but he doesn't have any love for them. There's something so cold and impersonal about them.

"My name's Sam."

[callipygos]

Doesn't he know any other ones?

Still, she imagines it must be ... hard to focus, right now. All that pain.

It's not really her area of expertise.


After a slight pause to listen a little closer, Aphrodite begins to hum along. Her voice is low, soft and sweet as a spring shower, even with no words articulated.

[the_cupbearer]

The words are nearly unintelligible from where Ganymede sits, but the melody pricks his ear enough to have him getting up and following it. The singer is unknown and for that matter the song is as well, but he finds it curious enough to move, knife and reed in his hands still.

For now he stays in the doorway, filling in the gaps in the song's melody, inventing a countermelody and rhythm silently, and forgetting them again when his attention shifts from note to note coming out of the young man's throat. He doesn't interrupt it yet.

[fireinthehole]

"You're in luck."

Boyd's still studying him. His voice is calm and even. And quiet.

"Anecdotal evidence suggests it's a good pairing. It won't kill you. And the one enhances the effect of the other."

[mr_gaeta]

"I know it is," he snaps, and tries -- with no success -- to push himself a little higher in the bed. "You shot me in the leg, not the frakking head."

It's such a small injustice, in the string of injustices he's faced and dealt with and moved past -- but to have Anders condescend like this, treating him like a child without apology, is something he quite abruptly can't bear.

[mr_gaeta]

He forces his eyes open, studying the other man as best he can.

At last, one corner of his mouth twitches up in a faintly rueful smile. "Yeah, sure," he says, exhausted. "Why the frak not."

Anything to make it stop.

[river_meimei]

River's barefoot steps are silent, except for occasional rustles of her skirt against itself or the walls. Whether she's drawn by the song or by something else is hard to say; she's listening to something, though, and she's drifting down the corridor towards the infirmary with a faint concerned line between her brows.

At the door, she halts with one foot drawing up briefly, her instep brushing gently against the other ankle before her weight settles. She brushes light fingers against the doorframe, and leans in for a look.




Oh.