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Author Topic: It Doesn't Concern You  (Read 1981 times)


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It Doesn't Concern You
« on: March 26, 2016, 10:22:38 AM »
The way the ship was heading at the present time – there was not an awful lot the crew could do. Half of them were injured where the other half was exhausted, and whilst he didn't like to make comment, that meant, to Ric, that the crew was now a sitting duck. If, for whatever reason, the Scourge decided to follow, they would catch up in no time – that was the advantage to smaller ships – and decimate what was left of the pirates captained by Barabal. With their quartermaster, lookout and first mate on bed rest – and others wounded or exhausted from the rescue, Alaric could not help but worry. He had been sat in his cabin for the better part of the day, watching Loire sleep – and whilst that may have been a creepy thing to do, it was certainly a necessity. The lookout had, for lack of a better word, been suffering from something one could only describe as night terrors – and despite his best efforts, every sleeping draught in Ric's collection hadn't even skimmed the sides of it. Right now, however, whilst the sun was still streaming through salt-streaked windows, the blond in his bed seemed at peace and that was all he could ask for.

If the healer was to have any hope of tending to his other patients without worrying too badly about the lookout, then now was going to have to be the time. Castamir could wait – his injuries were clean and tended to the day before the rescue, which was, at part, a good advantage to the carpenter. Bowen, however, had just been washed up and nothing more had been done with him. Alaric had been partially to blame for that, his concerns wrapped too tightly around Loire than they had been his best friend, and a pang of guilt sat idly in his chest. No, he'd made the decision – today he would rise from his seat at his desk and go tend to the other injured. Packing up his bag, he snuck quietly out the door – taking one last glance at the man in his bed before he clicked the door shut. Trudging past the straggles of tired men on the deck, he headed straight for where he'd placed Bowen in the first instance. The Captain's Quarters. It had been cheeky for him to do so, but in his panic that any injury the man did have could easily be infected if made to lay with the others, he had pretty much pleaded with the captain to allow for such a thing.

Padding into the room, throwing the door shut behind him in his hurry – he dumped a bag on the desk, taking a chair and flinging it around to the bed before seating himself down on it. Elbows rested themselves on the edge of the bed – chin planted lightly on knuckles as he looked over to the man in the bed, eyebrow quirked. “And how, pray tell, is everyone's favourite pirate?” A hand reached over for his bag, pulling out a flask and offering it to the taller man who lay there as he had done for a day or two. “Drink this, you'll probably need it.” Placing it down in the middle of his chest, he moved from chair to standing, towering over Bowen as he tried to get a good look at his injuries. “Now, on a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain right now?”
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Re: It Doesn't Concern You
« Reply #1 on: March 27, 2016, 12:07:39 AM »
Bowen might have been ordered to bed rest, but that didn’t mean he was particularly good at following those orders.  It was wonder enough that he hadn’t appeared back on deck by now, sword in hand, proudly insisting that he was well enough to tend to his duties.  In any case, he’d already been engaging in enough un-rest-like activities without even leaving the bed.  But Ric didn’t need to know about any of that. 

What it really was that had kept Bowen mostly hidden away from the rest of the crew had much more to do with what went on in his head than what aches and pains still plagued his body.  The wounds he’d taken were not nearly so debilitating as they might have been; he considered himself lucky in that count.  But it was his wounded pride that kept him sequestered. Every hurt was a keen reminder of his own stupidity, his helplessness, his many failures…   He could have won the day, could have killed that bastard and his whore.  Could have rescued Loire and saved him from all the things they’d done to him…  But what had he done?  He’d let her kiss him.  He’d failed in every way imaginable. 

Perhaps that was he had hadn’t minded so much that Ric hadn’t come to tend him yet, probably wouldn’t have minded if Ric hadn’t even bothered to come at all.   It would have served him right if that damned brand had just continued to burn its way right through him.  It was that damned thing that tormented him the most.  It made his flesh crawl every time he caught a glimpse of it, and that in turns made him inconsolable and furious.  And always humiliated.  Well, he supposed that had been the point.

When the door opened, he wasn’t asleep, but he was bored out of his mind, blue eyes staring at the ceiling, his thoughts who knows where.  That lost expression fled immediately, though, and Ric was met with a friendly smile.

“And how, pray tell, is everyone's favourite pirate?”

“I can’t say,” he answered, gaze following Ric’s hand as he produced that flask.  “Maybe you can ask him and let me know.”  He gave no hint as to who he meant, really he wasn’t even sure himself.  Mostly he’d said it simply to be contrary, to try and recapture his sense of humor, which had been in short supply since he’d been rescued.  At least he had the good sense not to be a bad patient, and he took the offered flask without having to be told twice.  Still, he couldn’t resist a mock complaint.  “This had better be rum,” he smirked before downing the contents, though he half expected it to be some kind of concoctions disguised as rum. 

Head flopped back against the pillow, giving the carpenter a bit of an odd look as he hovered over him.  Having spent the past day or two avoiding most attention (other than certain attentions from the captain, of course), he couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious to be examined so closely.  Not least of which because Bowen was like a child when it came to injuries… he just couldn’t leave them alone.  His face was still a fair mess and he’d worried his split lip so regularly that it hadn’t seemed to make much progress at all towards healing.  The same might be said for the chafing on his wrists; he’d obviously been scratching at it.   The worst of it, though, was the brand.  He’d obviously paid it more than a little attention, and not only because it itched and stung…

“Now, on a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain right now?”

“Three?  If that.  It’s not really so bad.  I just ache…”  Of course, what he didn’t tell Ric was that he’d done nothing to help the aching either... what with the things he and Barabal had done. 

A pause, then the question that had been plaguing him.   “How’s Loire?”


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Re: It Doesn't Concern You
« Reply #2 on: May 13, 2016, 11:47:24 PM »
How typical it was of Bowen to try and make a joke out of anything that came from Alaric's mouth. It was nice to know that the Bounty Hunters hadn't changed everything at least, though, this did little to comfort him when he knew back in his own cabin was a man who could be completely changed. ”Funny, thought I just did.” He chuckled lightly, quickly trying to get through his once over of his friend, not really wanting to get too much into his space. Taking the once over didn't really give him the full picture of what it was that might be wrong with his friend – what wounds would need seeing to and what would need a lot of his attention. ”And what else might it be? Don't worry, I saved the piss pour concoctions for Castamir. Man's a pain in the arse.” Shaking his head, he waited for Bowen to finish the contents of the flask, taking it back to put in his kit. He liked to keep things in order, that was always his way of managing his life – if he could keep his stuff in an organised state, then maybe he could keep everything else organised too. ”Three? Not bad. Right I need to take a look at you proper, so I need you sat up. If you can manage it. There's no rush though.” Scratching idly at his beard, he took a step back, giving Bowen the space should he chose to sit up or not.

“He's....” Sighing heavily, he flopped back into his chair, kicking his feet up to rest on the edge of the bed,whilst wiping a calloused hand down his tired and weathered face. “.... I don't know.” Licking his lips, he folded his arms, allowing his head to lull back and stare at the ceiling of the Captain's Quarters. How long had he been awake now? When was the last time he'd slept? He couldn't remember, and the reality of it was, he was exhausted to the point he could drop at any moment – but he had too much work to do. Too much he could miss if he just so much as blinked. “He's barely sleeping, and when he does it only leads to night terrors. I've tried every thing I got and I'm getting nowhere fast.” There was a light hiss as nose began to ache again – despite having been set, sometimes there was a delayed response in his face whenever he did something... such as wiping a hand down it. He brought his fingers up to pinch lightly at the bridge of his nose, as if that was going to make it any better. “But other than that, he's healing. Physically at least.”

What was he doing rambling about Loire in here? No, he was here to heal Bowen, not discuss his other patients. Hell, what kind of healer was he if he was going to neglect the needs of the man in the here and now? The weak smile that curled his lips spoke only of the exhaustion that the carpenter held, and yet all the same he was trying. ”Enough of that though. Need to get you patched up proper. I've neglected you a little longer than I dare admit.” The carpenter cracked his knuckles, rising up from the chair once more, but keeping his arms well and truly folded before him. ”I need to look at ya, so the shirts gonna have to come off. And I'm askin' nicely. Don't want to wrestle ya for it.” He didn't know how much Bowen would object to the idea, nor did he know if the man would try and fight him even in jest for it, but the first mate had nothing left to prove to Ric. As far as the healer was concerned, the man sat before him had survived the most horrific events of ones life, and that in itself made him a hero. He needn't know any more details than that.
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Re: It Doesn't Concern You
« Reply #3 on: June 03, 2016, 02:22:01 AM »
The instruction to sit up was met with a half hearted grumble, a complaint that was only given out of habit, or perhaps out of sheer stubbornness.  Or perhaps because he knew that, despite his time on bed rest, his entire body still ached.  If he moved slowly, he could avoid the worst of his aches and pains, but at any time the wrong move would leave him paralyzed by it.  So he took his time, putting his focus on the healer’s words, thankful that Ric didn’t see any need to hide the truth about Loire from him.  He’d already had it with being told not to worry.  How could he not worry? 

Propped up on his elbows he paused, letting out a breath and sparing a glance for Ric, noticing clearly for the first time just how spent the kid looked.  Clearly he’d been telling everyone else to rest but not following his own advice.  One more thing to add to the list of scoldings the damned fool deserved…  but scoldings could follow after the examination.  It was never wise to anger your doctor before he’d had a look at you.  Still, even as Bowen pushed and shifted his way into a seated position, he took note of all those little signs of exhaustion, filing them away for later reference.  At least, he was until Ric spoke a bit more of Loire’s condition.   Night terrors.  It wasn’t a surprise, and yet it stirred up his guilty conscience all the same.  If he’d done more, tried harder… Such thoughts had been the subject of most of his own dreams in the days since they’d been rescued.  Every dream a new attempt to save the lookout, and every time a new failure. 

Realizing he’d allowed himself to sink down once more into the depths, he forced a smile and pushed himself fully upright, stubbornness pushing him more than anything. “Don’t lie,” he teased, forcing a bit more levity into his tone.  “It’s just another trick to get my shirt off.  Should’ve asked last week.  I’m not much to look at just now.”  All that self deprecating humor was little more than an attempt to choke back darker thoughts, to dull the sting of his wounded pride, for if he laughed it off, if he convinced the world he wasn’t bothered, maybe it would mean he truly wasn’t.

Biting back another wince, Bowen carefully removed his shirt, revealing the tapestry of bruises beneath.  That branded shoulder was angled away, as if by hiding it Ric might forget it was there and then they wouldn’t have to talk about the state of it.  Bo had nearly taken a knife to the damned thing himself before he’d lost his nerve, but still he’d clawed at it in bouts of anger and frustration. 

“I’m, uh…” Suddenly at an uncharacteristic loss for words, Bowen found himself suddenly fascinated with the study of his own hands.  “I’m glad… I mean…” With a huff, he eased himself back against the headboard.   “Don’t waste too much time on me.  You ought to get back to him.  He’s the one that needs you the most.”


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Re: It Doesn't Concern You
« Reply #4 on: December 19, 2016, 05:37:45 AM »
It was quite obvious that Bowen himself was suffering with some repercussions of the kidnap, but Alaric didn’t want to push the topic, having learnt the hard way what such a thing could do to good men. “Shut up – still as handsome as the day I met you, you mardy git.” It was hard to joke back when one was no longer in the mood to even laugh, but they had to try didn’t they, to at least get back to a time where they were much happier than they had been the past couple of days. Alaric could only do his best in restoring the balance on this ship, but even then, he didn’t think the crew was ever going to be the same again after this setback. The healer himself wasn’t sure he could heal from his own nightmares of drowning like he had done.

“No time is wasted on you, Bowen. You know that.” He sighed heavily, taking a good look at the man, wiping his hand over his own busted lip that was in the process of healing itself. “He’s literally just gone down to sleep, and the lavender seems to be helping slightly. I should be alright for an hour or two.”  As soon as the shirt came off, Alaric let out a huff, not quite in annoyance, but in defeat. How many of these people had been damaged all because he walked out of the tavern. Surely two bounty hunters would not have been able to take on three pirates had they all remained together? His eyes, however, didn’t remain on the bruises that spattered his torso and instead moved to the branding – similar he had seen on Lo, but nothing quite so blatant. The Hunters mark. “ “I… think I have something for that.” He murmured, sucking on his teeth and turning to his kit. His fingers twitched over vials until he picked out a small one with a glistening slow moving liquid inside, before picking out another vial with a slight yellowed liquid in it.

He placed the glistening vial between his teeth, holding it there whilst he made a makeshift gauze from cloth, dousing it in the yellowing liquid and placing it on the side near the bandages. Placing the Lavender Oil vial back in its spot, he turned his attentions back to the one in his mouth, slipping it free and pulling the cork out, stepping closer to Bowen. “This’ll deal with the burning, that…” he pointed over the gauze, before quickly turning back to the vial “… should hopefully speed up the healing process. But if push comes to shove we might have to cut it out.” Pressing Bowen’s chest lightly, he tilted the vial, watching the liquid slowly seep out, almost like honey, down into the branding, making sure it was well and truly doused before putting the cork back in. “That’ll take me another week to fill again when we hit the mainland.”

The carpenter picked up the gauze and shoved it over the oozing burn, before beginning to wrap it around with bandages. “The bruises will heal of their own accord unless, of course, you want to smell of pig fat for the rest of the day.” He folded his arms, eyeing Bowen up once more, before turning his attentions back to the man’s face. “Anything else I need to tend to? Any open wounds or pus-filled burns?”
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Re: It Doesn't Concern You
« Reply #5 on: January 02, 2017, 08:16:17 AM »
He watched Ric’s hands move with all the blatant skepticism of a man who had lost the ability for optimism.  Even as the young carpenter busied himself with vials and gauze, Bowen didn’t believe for a moment that there was any healing that mark on his shoulder.  Knowing very well that half of it was his own mind making things all the worse, there was no stopping the feeling of crawling flesh that accompanied even a stray thought of that brand.  He nearly told Ric to just go ahead and cut it out now, but he held his tongue, only pouting as those careful hands tended and wrapped the burn.

He’d fallen so far into his own misery that for a time he forgot to act like this entire mess was nothing more than a joke.  He avoided the carpenter’s eyes, scowling in turns at his hands and then the wall and back again.  Only half hearing Ric’s words, it was oddly enough the mention of pig fat that caught his attention again, and the carpenter was rewarded with a sharp look of both surprise and confusion.  Did he want to smell of pig fat?  Well of course not!  And he doubted very much that the Captain would go in for it, either.    “I think I’ll pass on the pig fat,” he answered, his voice a mix of wry amusement and a hint of disgust.   Really, Alaric, that’s just gross…

Clearing his throat to push aside those thoughts, he addressed the other question.  “Well, actually, there is something.  T-two somethings, come to think of it.” There may be some who would imagine that this recent ordeal had taught Bowen the value of thinking before he spoke, but here he was again coming up with a plan only in the moment and running with it before he had the chance to think better of it.  After all, you never really knew when you were going to die. 

There, studying Alaric from the captain’s bed, was a thing very rare indeed.  Something very few members of the crew could say they had ever seen for longer than the span of an instant, a thing that many of them would say did not even exist.  But there it was.  Bowen was, in every true sense of the word, absolutely and completely serious.   “You can answer me a question.  And I expect you to answer it and not go running off.  I might be not quite myself at the moment, but it won’t stop me from chasing after your skinny arse if I have to.” And just as quickly as serious Bowen had appeared, he was gone as the former soldier’s brow creased, nose crinkling as if he’d just caught a whiff of that pig fat he’d just been threatened with.  “And you’d damned well better listen to me, because I just sounded like my bloody father…” 

Ric had better appreciate the kind of sacrifice Bowen had just made for him!

With a heavy sigh, Bowen leveled the younger man with those serious eyes once more, practically daring him to look away.  “When are you going to finally tell Loire how you feel about him?”

Then, without missing a beat, he offered out one of his wrists, still bearing the irritated chaffing he’d suffered from the chains he’d worn. “And do you have something to help the itch?”   It might have seemed to be unrelated, but if Ric was worrying about his wrists, there’d be less chance of him running off.


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Re: It Doesn't Concern You
« Reply #6 on: January 14, 2020, 11:13:54 PM »
“Never known a soul to accept it.” He muttered, thankful Bowen had said no as he didn’t have any pig fat on him. That, quite like the goopy liquid, had been hard to come by. At least, if he stuck to his plan, he’d have plenty of time to replenish his stock and make himself a useful nuisance rather than being the deadweight he currently felt. It was never going to be easy for him – but he certainly would try. Bowen continued to speak – shifting and using his father’s voice, but Alaric let him continue. Something in his gut told him where this was going, but still, he had to give him the benefit of the doubt that he wouldn’t bring up… But he never should have. There he sat – talking about Loire, a sore subject for Alaric who had barely left the man’s bedside from guilt-ridden reasons. Loire’s injuries had surely been made worse after he had to dive into the water after him – he was sure it was. The Earth, or the Maker or the Sea was getting its dues that should have been taken with him.

“Never…” He finally sighed, his eyes no longer meeting with Bowen’s as he spoke, continuing to rummage through he tried to find more gauzes and potions to help Bowen’s current state, but still, he offered him answers to his statement. “I’m no more use to him now as I was then, and I am now culpable for his injuries.” For the first time in quite some time, Alaric felt anger bubbling away in his chest – the idea that he was at fault for all these injuries, and all he could do was try to help them. He grabbed his bag tightly as he tried to compose himself, but the more he thought about what he could say to Loire, the quicker the anger bubbled. “What exactly would I even say to him? Loire – Sorry for the fact you got kidnapped and tortured because I decided to leave you on your own but I think I’m in love you?” He finally snapped, his lip trembling as he finally looked up at Bowen. “’Cause I sure as Maker wouldn’t forgive me if I were him.”

It took him a few moments, but his outburst had been enough to satiate the guilt, even for a moment, and he looked back down into his bag – searching. “As far as that itch goes…” His fingers danced over the bottles in his bag before he pulled out a small, minty smelling vial. “I mean – I’ve never tried it but… it has cooling effects so it might help.” He offered the vial and gauze to Bowen so he could hold it on the itch until it subsided – with no guarantee it would in the end. Alaric could feel the desire to cough raise in his chest – and continued to try to swallow it down. Ever since the water had filled his lungs, they had occasionally spasmed as if trying to release him from the waters once more. His body shivered as he heard the splash of waves outside, but in face, he tried to keep composed.

He took a moment to himself, eyes scanning over Bowen’s body as he tried to take note of anything else that may need his attention, looking in curiosity at Bowen in case he had any more complaints before he spoke. “Soon as we hit shore – I’m gonna take some leave. And you ain’t to tell him.” For the first time in Alaric’s life, his voice was commanding versus the usual kind and gentle askance that he would normally settle for. No – this time he was serious. Bowen was to be the first, and last, to know after he’d told Barabal and he didn’t want it going any further than that. The carpenter needed to heal in more ways than one and some shore leave of a good six months would do him some good. He could put his hands back to work beyond healing the wounded from battle – or he could just relax. Once they touched down in port – he was not getting back on the ship for love nor money. Not until he was ready.  ”You’re all going to have to look after Rhaw for me.”
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