MD #190: So Very Much to Learn
MD #190: So Very Much to Learn
Summary: Sam visits her latest patient in his new quarters.
Date: Sun 15/Oct/2017 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: Picon PoWs
Atticus Samtara 
Brig - Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
The battlestar's brig is comprised of a line of four individual cells organized in separate walled-off bays. Each cell is six feet wide by eight feet long and possesses a bed and toilet. Whenever even one cell is occupied, so too is the metal desk and chair at the entrance hatch — and backup for the guard is never far away. Each cell has had their bars specifically reinforced to prevent a Line member from being able to gain access or escape. Brig rules are posted behind the desk on a white panel with blocked black lettering.
Wed 02/May/2049 (IC Date)

It's been a couple of days now since Atticus was declared fit enough to be moved from medical down to the more secure facilities of the brig. Swapping the patient scrubs for standard issue fleet sweets he could be almost be a member of the crew as there's nothing to deliniate him from the hundreds of others aboard. His blackeye is fading away but still noticable on the left side of his face, but otherwise he's come to no visible harm since being shot. Right now he's sat on his bunk with his back to the wall, left leg tucked up but theinjured right one left to dangle over the side. He's not really paying attention to the comings and goings, which are few and far between, as he has something far better to focus on: a tablet loaded with books. Books that he's steadily working his way through at a speed that implies he's not just doing so to pass the time.

Carrying a mug of coffee in one hand and making her way through the security hub, Dr. Stone knows most of the security personnel by name if not assignment so it takes a bit of time to walk from point A to point B, but eventually she reaches the cell where Atticus is currently houses. The old surgeon doesn't speak right away, instead she studies the knight from the other side of the door that seals the cell, a pensive expression in her eyes and a subtly furrowed brow.

Atticus seems fairly engrossed in whatever it is he's reading, something that's been careful vetted by various people as 'safe' for him to read. It's only when he gets to the end of a chapter and moves to stretch out the leg he's been half sat on that he realises he's not alone. Well, bar the MP at the desk, but there's always one of them there. The white coat makes him tilt his head slightly as he looks at her, although he doesn't seem particularly surprised that someone is here to check up on him and his progress. Figuring a demonstration is better than words he sets the tablet down to one side and slides off the bunk so she can see his knee is now very much weight bearing. There's still a bit of a limp as he takes a few steps before stoping a few feets hort of the bars, but all in all, progress is pretty damn amazing. "Afternoon," he greets civily enough, guessing the time by the last meal having been lunch, "checkup I presume?"

"Lingering stiffness in the joint? Any swelling above or below the knee itself?" The old surgeon wonders after watching the progress from the point of sliding off of the bunk to the few feet short of the inside of the cell door.

Atticus is clearly trying to get a measure of the medic as she asks her questions. He doesn't recognise her as one of Orion's clerics though, nor does she appear to be a flesh-eating elf deamon, so he seems to take the queries at face value for now at least. "A little," he confesses, "if I haven't moved it for a while, like first thing in the morning. Eases up after a few streches though." As for swelling, he jut shakes his head slightly at that, not having noticed any, but he'll certainly be checking from now on, in case.

"Lingering muscle stiffness while the tissue knits and heals will be an on-going issue, you should expect it to ease over the next week or two. Moderate physical therapy, stretching to loosen the muscle tissue and at pace walking. No weight training. No running. No high impact," the surgeon pauses and re-phrases to, "nothing that causes sudden stress to the knee. The more you lean to the otherside to shift the weight off of this one," she indicates with a gesture from side to side what she means, "the more you'll skew the muscles in the other leg. So. Pace yourself. Will you roll up the cuff so I can see the incision site? I did my best to minimize the potential for scar tissue, but you'll have some of that anyway."

Atticus listens attentively to the instructions given, then gives Sam a faintly wry smile as she lists the banned activities. Casting one arm around the six by eight cell he occupies. "I don't seem to have the space to run," he notes, tone still civil, but so noted. And if I have any issues I alert the guards?" It seems the sensible thing. "Anything in particualr I should be watching out for? Bar the aforementioned swelling." At her request to view the wound he glances down, then seems to come up with no reason why not to, so bends and starts to scrunch up the leg of the jogging bottoms. It's not easy to get it up to above the knee, so he gives up part way and takes them off that leg instead. He's decent underneith mind, but medics have generally seen it all before anyway.

"Redness, in moderate amounts, are normal and healthy. If you see spreading redness, marked increase in swelling, change in color in the skin tone, from your usual coloration to more red or purple," Sam moves a step closer to the bars of the door but doesn't actually stand flush against the bars either. Both caution and a measured amount of prudence there, in the spacing. "The stitches I used will dissolve naturally, so those won't have to be removed. If I were to provide the security personnel with a container of salve to reduce the .." there's a moment where the look on her face is that of attempting to translate thoughts into words before she continues with, "scarring around the wound, can I trust you to use it?"

Atticus wishes briefly for a piece of paper to make a note of all that, but instead has to resort to repeating it back to try and ensure it sticks in his memory. "SPreading redness, increase in swelling, discolouration. As she steps closer he holds his ground, but he's a little over an arm's length away, so she's not putting herself at immediate risk. Once she seems satified he pulls the trousers back up again then nods once at the question posed. "It's hardly in my best interest not to ensure as solid a recovery as possible. Lame I am no use to anyone."

Arching one eyebrow upward, a deliberate expression that takes time to train the muscles to actually do (and worth every amount of effort spent on the muscle coordination to make possible), the old surgeon eyes the knight for a long silent moment. "You aren't going to say that scars are manly and refuse, on principal?" is wondered before she takes a sip from the cup she's holding, now that it's cool enough to do so.

Atticus looks mildly confused by the Doc's expression then shakes his head slowly. "A scar is neither here nor there, but any impediment to movement could mean the difference to life or death. Why would anyone deliberately disdvantage themselves so?" These people are fraking wierd… Unsure if she has anything else to bring up he instinctively moves to tuck his hands into the belt he doens't have, and ends up clumisly dumping them in his pockets instead before asking straight up, "is there anything else?"

"I knew your father," Dr. Stone finally says. "I never had a chance to meet your mother, but I was there the day that he died. Many of us were, in fact. Many of the men and women that you'll meet or have met, in fact, knew him, served with him, remember him. It wasn't all that long ago, for us, that he was still counted among us. I'm sorry for your loss."

Atticus turns his head away as Sam mentions Amos, then, clearly not wishing to discuss the topic he turns completely and takes the few steps that place him back at his bunk. Before he sits though he turns back towards the bars and says harshly, "my father was a tyrant. His death helped pave the way for the ear of peace the machines have been able to usher in. I know this crew clings to the chaos and death of war, but do not think that you can drag the rest of us down with you. The martyr who brought his reign of terror and oppression to an end is the hero of that tale, not the man who hunted and killed those who stood for freedom from colonial tryany." Bit of a sore spot that one it seems, almost like all anyone wants to talk to him about is a man he hates.

"Hmmm," comes from the surgeon as she sips at her coffee again. "Do you really believe all that you just said, or have you spent so many years saying it over and over and over again that it's become habit as much as custom?" She then tries out the words, "Colonial Tyranny," and makes that off pitch hum of sound again, "Sounds like the name for a bad cover band."

Atticus stands by his bunk, but doesn't sit, just folds his arms across his chest. "I do not need to believe it," he replies shortly, "I have seen it to be true. I was not so young when the Machines came that I don't remember the time before, the time your crew laughingly call 'peace'. If you have come to try and pursuade me that my father was some kind of noble warrior, fighting for truth, and honour, and justice, then I can tell you know you are wasting your time. I know him for what he was, and I know you and your crew for what you are, and what you stand for. I would council you against wasting your breath in trying to trick me into thinking otherwise."

"That's actually not my intention at all," the surgeon replies after studying the son of the man she once knew for a long silent moment. "In truth, I only wanted to make sure that my work is not being undone and that the healing rate is on pace. That you're the son of a man who saved my life, the lives of my people, this ship, this crew and countless more - time and again - though his own actions, the actions of the men and women under his command and through those selfsame marines the lives of this ship, her crew, and all of the men and women we've encountered during the last war and now? That's details, and whether you elect to think on those details or not, does not change any of what I have just said. Or any of what I remember, or how I feel. I'm glad to see you, Atticus Ommanney, it gives me great joy to know that you are still alive. That is all," she says and waits a beat. "Have you any questions about wound care at this time?"

Atticus takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as Sam talks. He doesn't interupt, but doesn't seem to be listening either. He hears it all, but none appears to sink in, or have any effect. When she's done he unfolds his arms again, then shakes his head at the final question. "None. Any swelling, discolouration, or increased stiffness I'll report to the guard though."

"That'll do," she replies then gives the cup she's holding a subtle tilt side to side to swirl the contents around. "I'm Colonel Stone, by the way. I'm the one, along with the help of Lt. Zahav and an expert team of assistants, who fixed your knee. And, equally, the reason you got jabbed so many times to boost up your immunizations. Sorry that our marines had to shoot you," which is both a blunt apology and recognition of the necessity at the same time. "It was the least we could do, considering, to fix that which we broke."

Atticus looks perhaps faintly sceptical that such work could be done by a woman, but he is at least polite enough not to say anything in that vein. Instead, he offers a simple, "thank you, Colonel. As I mentioned before, I have no desire to end up lame and useless." Because one apparently goes hand in hand with the other in his head.

The colonel chuckles quietly, "You have so .. so very much to learn, young man. So very much," she muses, humor shading her tone of voice. "I know that look, and I know that attitude, and I know the hallmarks of skepticism when I encounter same." She shakes her head, mild amusement visible in every nuance of her body language and tone of voice as she turns to walk away, that quiet chuckle again coming from the surgeon as she does so.

Atticus watches Sam depart, until she reaches the guard desk at least, then sits himself abck onto his bunk, folding his left leg back up again into the same position it was in when she arrived. He gives her another quick glance, then gently probes his right knee to get a baseline feel to compare against incase of swelling, then picks up the tablet once more and goes back to his reading.

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