| abstract
| - Melissa Fernandez General Hospital - La Terre - The small grey building that is the Melissa Ferdanez General Hospital has two floors. The lower floor holds an operating room and examination rooms, while the upper floor contains the patient wards. The building seems rather understaffed at the moment, and the front desk is usually empty. There is a small button on the desk, the pressing of which summons a doctor from other sections of the building. The hospital still runs on a harried skeleton staff, stripped down because some people haven't decided to come out of their homes in the wake of revolution and busy because of the wake of revolution and the tide of injured who came in on the day of the incident. Receptionists are non-existent, and what medical staff are available are more interested in the bullet wounds and other injuries their patients have than in greeting casual visitors. This, it seems, suits the longcoated demarian just fine, as he paces down the hallway - well, until he gets far enough into the hospital to be out of the casual press of emergency response. He fishes in a pocket, coming up with a scrap of rather.. bloody.. paper, eyeing wall signs... and setting off in a rather purposeful direction. There aren't exactly name placards on the doors as one might expect, but a passing orderly snatches the bit of paper out of Stars' hand, stares at the scribbling on it for a moment, and then points down the hall. "We're keeping broken bones down there," the man says, then stuffs the bloody bit of paper back into the Demarian's hand and heads off some other direction. Blinking, Stars chuffs.. "errrr.. thanks?" With a shrug, he heads that way. "Huh." The scrap gets tucked back into that longcoat. The room numbers roll over and start to get closer to the partial target after passing a deserted nurses' station that seems to demarcate one section of the hospital from another. As it turns out, broken bones don't in fact dominate this part of the hospital; most of the people visible through open room doors have full-body-bandages or single-appendage bandages along with life support equipment to indicate that broken bones are probably the least of their worries. The one most likely to fit the bill is the one whose arm is up in a makeshift sling, not traction for his injury but a place to rest his casted arm which happens to be shackled to the traction-bar above his bed. There's no guard outside, but he's obviously not going anywhere anyway; right now he sits up in bed with his back propped against the wall and a thick textbook open in his lap. Ah. There we go - the big demarian pads in, soft and quiet.. and without preamble or .. well, asking... leans comfortably on the inner wall, studying the reader curiously. "Hrrr. Good book?" Nathan's head raises slowly to take in the black cat-man, finally settling on the yellowish eyes above the scarred muzzle. Rather than answer he stares, though his left hand does hook the book's cover and tip it over until it closes on one thick forefinger. Stars smiles. Toothily, with a large number of sharp points involved. ".. you'rre 'that Engineerrr, Nathan', arren't you." He nods. "How's yourr arrm?" "Broken," the human in the bed answers shortly. "Who are you?" ".. why clutterr yourr thoughts with irrelevancy?" The big demarian closes the door, calmly. "I think we need to talk, frriend." He moves to the foot of the bed, thrusting heavy paws into his longcoat pockets. "Let's keep it frriendly, shall we? I don't want to brreak anything else." The man in the bed looks the big Demarian down to the waist and then up to his face and then his left hand leaves the book in his lap to reach toward the white-handle-with-red-button-on-top that's clipped onto the raised rail of his hospital bed. It would undoubtedly set off a flashing red diode and an irritating electronic buzz out in the nurses' station, if anybody was paying attention to the nurses' station in the chaos out in the hospital proper. "Hard to take a friend seriously when he won't give a name," Nathan answers as the handle comes into his palm. Stars chuckles, softly. "See, frriend, you push that button and I'll /have/ to get unfrriendly." It's conversational, really, the Demarian shaking his head. "Everryone's always so suspicious." He peers. "So why don't we /talk/. And afterr that, you can go back to yourr book, and I'll head out the doorr, and we won't mess up those nice sheets. What happens to /me/ rremains irrellevant, you see." He spreads his paws. "The choice is yourrs. Always is." Nathan says, "Then start talkin." The demarian inclines his head. ".. I rreprresent cerrrtain.. interrrests.. that have a keen eye on a cerrtain Captain who brroke youurr arrm in passing." He leans on the end of the bed. "They've asked me to collect a rreasonable assurrance that you will avoid such .. unpleasantness in the futurre. That, in fact, you will not seek rrevenge against that ship orr its crrew forr yourr... gun waving antics." He waves a paw. "You see, therre arre those who would find it... rregrretable.. if anything werre to happen to these individuals beforre cerrtain engagements came to frruition. Terrminally rregrrettable." Nathan answers, "My arm didn't get broke because I waved a gun at her; the bitch has a fragile ego and not enough sense not to run her yap about it, an' I only pulled my pistol after she'd run that yap awhile and put her fist in my gut. I even apologized and tried to avoid it. You wanna make sure nothin' happens to her 'til your business with her is over? Five thousand Solar credit and a notification when I can get on with -my- business will get you what you want." "The specifics of yourr encounterr arre not rrelevant, frriend." The demarian's genial. "I do find it terrribly amusing, but my own feelings lack the same rrelevancy." He chuffs, softly, tail flicking in an amused sort of way. ".. perrhaps I need to speak in simplerr terrms - I admit my command of terrran isn't, perrhaps, as good as it should be." He leans forward, lip lifting - and sharp claws drawing furrows in the metal at the end of the bed. "Should any member of that ship come to harrm at yourr hands beforre ourr business is concluded? Yourr entrrails will be fed into a chipperr and made into hydrroponics ferrtilizerr while still attached to you." He stands, inclining his head. "My employerrs do not terribly /carre/ about yourr business. Do we feel each otherr, frriend?" "It's business," Nathan answers, staring straight back into the cat-man's face without an ounce of back-down or even hesitation, in spite of the other's mountainous advantages in any kind of physical conflict. "And it remains business. If you want business to cease, threatening me is a child's way to do it. I'm not the college boy I work for and I'm damn sure not some chica with a reputation for bein' tough but the attitude of a twelve year old tit. Your options are simple: Kill me, pay me, or shut the fuck up." "Ah. Sad. In that case, frriend." The Demarian stands, straightening his coat. "I wish you luck in yourr.. speedy rrecoverry. I'll convey yourr message to my employerr. I'd, frrankly, wish you long life and health, but I suspect both will be rrather limited." He heads for the door then, in a swirl of longcoat. Nathan's book flips back open from the point where his finger keeps the place and he asks, "If you or your employer wise up and decide to let me know who it is who's askin', my answer might be different." Stars glances back over his shoulder, as he opens the door. "... as I said beforre, frriend - why clutterr yourr mind with irrelevancies?" And with that, he's back out in the hall.
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