| Signal Lost |
| Summary: | Bell visits Villon in the Recovery Room. |
| Date: | 12 May 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Have One for the Road! |
| Players: |
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| Recovery Room — Deck 10 — Battlestar Cerberus |
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| A much more quiet area of Medical, this elongated room is also lined with beds. Each is similarly outfitted with privacy curtains as necessary and even the paint on the walls has been lightened in an attempt to help lift spirits. Chairs are readily available all over the place so that visitors can pull one up to talk to the patients during their recovery. Near the entrance, visiting hours are posted with a very conspicuous 'No Smoking' sign. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #75 |
Time passes differently for those souls caught in that sleepy limbo between the quick and the dead, installed in this place of healing far removed from the hustle and bustle of the ship. It should be no surprise, then, that a cozy sort of stillness has settled among the inhabitants of the Recovery Room, sheltered as they are from the roaring of engines and the rat-tat-tat of bullets at the range. Only the beeping of heart monitors disturbs the silence that's enveloped the room — muted metronomes keeping that most critical time of all.
One of those is hooked up to young Emilie Villon, ensconced in that fluffy green blanket she carries around wherever she goes. Bandages run down the length of her right arm, gauzy and white — just a shade lighter than her face, which looks all the paler for the livid bruises on her cheeks and forehead. Brown hair fans out on the pillow beneath her head, curling against slender neck and battle-scarred shoulders. Her deep purple earphones match the similarly-colored music player clutched in her left hand, whose screen flashes every few minutes as she cycles through songs.
Bell makes his way politely through the barrage of nurses and medtechs towards the recovery room, a book under one arm. Pleasantly, there are precious few bodies occupying the beds, so it doesn't take the Professor long to find Emilie where she rests. He pauses at the foot of her bed, watching.
"Hey." Snag's thin voice is a little louder than it should be, which means that it's not terribly loud at all — a slight increase in volume that can entirely be attributed to the music filtering into her ears. That little problem is solved by the tap of a finger, which turns off the player and tugs at the purple wire to which those 'phones are linked. Earbuds settle like unopened flowers on her blanket-covered body, which rises and falls in time to her breaths. And — lo and behold, she even manages a fragile little smile, albeit one that'll fade if he doesn't look now.
Bell matches the smile, in kind and degree. For his part, he looks tired - to be expected, given how few Viper sticks are left aboard. "Good evening," he greets quietly, pacing around to the left side of the gurney. "You're looking altogether more presentable than last I saw you. How are you feeling?"
Emilie reaches for the hem of her blanket to pull it above her shoulders — her bare skin has started to prickle in the relative cold of the room. She can't quite meet the man's eyes. "I don't know," she murmurs. "Fuzzy." Her head twitches towards the morpha drip to her left, words slightly slurred. "S — sh — sorry."
Bell purses his lips, following her gaze for a moment. "Nonsense. You've nothing to be sorry for. You did exactly what was asked of you, and you executed magnificently." He looks down to the side of the bed, a moment, then tracks eyes over her injuries. "I, on the other hand… I should have taken the lead myself. I put you into harm's way, and for that I can offer little but my sincerest apologies." Jeremiah looks to the young woman's drowsy face at this, steely blue eyes betraying his worry.
She loses him at 'nothing.' "Mmm-hmm," the girl agrees pleasantly, her smile just a touch on the vacant side as she tries to swim through the haze that's overwhelmed her. She doesn't quite succeed — but she does reacquire signal for one shining moment when he gets to the bit about 'sincerest.' "Oh," is Emilie's answer. "It's — shh — " Green eyes drift closed. "Did we get them?" The Cylons, presumably.
"Quite so," Doc lies without a moment's hesitation. "Sliced him clean in two. They'll think twice before engaging you point blank a second time, if they've got any wits about them." Another slight smile, and for a moment he rests his hand on her uninjured one.
"Coooool." It's drawn out a little longer than perhaps necessary, though Emilie's hardly in a position to notice. Her hand is warm to the touch — and, for a brief moment, her fingers wind about his before relaxing. Reflex, see.
Bell pulls back his hand, and replaces it with the book. It's old but not ancient; a fairly vivid and lively translation of some of the more famous myths from Ancient Kobol. The stories everyone knows, but no one's actually read. "I've been where you are. Feels like you'll never leave. It helps to… to escape," he says, a great deal more earnestly. "To be somewhere else, to remind yourself there's something beyond this bed, that curtain, those walls…" A momentary glance around, as if reliving those weeks. "Enjoy the fantasy. You've certainly earned it."
Faint confusion is writ large on the girl's face as her fingers light onto the cover of that book, brushing smoothly across its glossy jacket — revelling in the contact, perhaps, or just trying to figure out what it is. Bell's picked a bad time to have a heart-to-heart, judging from the way Snag slips in and out of consciousness. Not that the drugs aren't necessary: better this altered state than agonizing pain. "Hey," she whispers softly. "Th — thanks — thanks for — " Eyes squeeze shut as she does her best to come up with the word for 'book.' No dice. "It. This." And though her hand slides the book up her body until it rests on the flat of her stomach, it's not entirely clear whether she's still talking about the gift.
It's more something that Jeremiah needs to say, than something she needs to hear. She'll figure it out soon, at any rate, as the doctors scale back the morpha and reality sets back in. "Sleep well and soundly, Emilie. I'll see you soon," he assures, and gives her good arm a reassuring squeeze. Doc glances to the hatch, as if to leave, but thinks better of it. Instead, he reclaims the book from her and settles into a seat beside the gurney. Spindly fingers leaf through the first few pages, before he begins to read aloud, voice lilting but mild enough to let her rest.
"Its been ten long years since Priams enemies, the twin yoke of kings, Menelaos and Agamemnon, sons of Atreas, who were honoured by Zeus with twin thrones and twin sceptres, raised a fleet of a thousand battle ships from this land. Their angry war cries came out of their hearts like the cries of hapless eagles whose eyrie has been emptied of their chicks. Look there! Above them the eagles hover again and again, their wings turning the air like oars turn the sea, desperately looking for their chicks that had lost the warm safety of their nest. Still, some higher being, Apollo, Zeus or Pan, perhaps, airy neighbours to the eagles, hear their pitiful and bitter cries and they will send justice to their enemies when the right time comes…"