MD #186 : The Broken
The Broken
Summary: Corpsman Sawyer returns to Recovery after a slight 'misunderstanding' with one POW to bring more sincere comfort to the other. Instead of insults and slaps, there are whispers and hugs.
Date: 11/10/17
Related Logs: None
Yari Emily 
Recovery Ward
MD 186

Emily was admitted for observation, having been moved from the brig. No suicide watch, no prescriptions, just observation. She was given a sedative last night to help her sleep and she's been zonked pretty much since then until about half an hour ago. The commotion started to rouse her. She's in a gown under her sheets and without restraints. The only sign of detainment is the MP near her bed, who does not seem particularly concerned about her charge attacking anyone.

Yari's had half an hour to cool her head, run some laps, say some prayers, do some pushups, then shower and change into less sweaty/food/vomit-spattered fatigues. Her cheek is no longer sporting a nice, bright pink imprint of Atticus's knuckles, but there is a wretched, purple blotch working its way out from the smacked capillaries and a /little/ puffiness to her left eye. She comes bearing a tray again, but this time it's not pisces diablo. It's a hearty stew, steamy and warm, and paired with a mug of hot tea. Also ice water, because she doesn't know this patient's preferences. Her slink into the room is all but silent, and she hugs the wall around all other activity, approaching Emily's bed from as far away from the cuffed man's view 'round that screen as she can get. A hesitant smile and bob of her head is offered to the roused girl/woman, after the MP, and she opens with "Thought you might be hungry."

Emily looks up at Yari's approach and then the tray. Tea, stew, and water. Her eyes brighten just a smidgen. "Famished. I'm afraid the food here has taken some adjustment but I had faith my appetite would kick in." She moves to sit up more, moving her own pillows. "Thank you for the kindness." Even having been isolated to Piraeus, Yari probably understands that certain way the nobility spoke. Her husband likely knew a few. Few said thank you for anything. Emily does notice the coloring to the cheek and lightly taps her own in the same place. "Are you alright?" Woman to woman.

"It's no trouble," Yari dismisses the gratitude. It's her job, right? She keeps her voice on the hushed side, eyeing Emily like she's unsure what to make of her. A horse with a new handler. A hand flies to her face once she's set the tray down, many seconds too late as if she's just remembered it's there. Emily may or may not understand the way a peasant thief looks, when they've been busted swiping a loaf from the scrap pile. It's a special sort of guilt, and it's one that Yari forcibly swallows down to clear her throat and she flashes a shy smile. "It's nothing. Sometimes it's all a woman earns for her work." The smile turns thinner and she looks away to stir up the stew with a spoon, making sure there aren't any molten pockets of broth waiting to scald her tongue.

Emily nods but watches the reaction, hands folded neatly in her lap. There is patience there and plenty of reserved calm. Even with the guilt. The words about how it's earned, Emily sighs and looks down with a nod. Oh yes Yari can tell she knows this well. "Your truth is absolute." Emily realizes something and looks back over. "You're part of this crew. I've not heard any speak that way here. Is that common? Am I to be concerned about that here as well?" Voice low, whispering. She's had to conspire about this before.

"No," Yari assures hastily, tone kept cautiously soft nevertheless. Round and round the spoon stirs. "No, it's safe here." A pause, as she stops stirring and nudges the bowl just an inch nearer to Emily on the tray. "Promise." Even if her body language suggests otherwise. "I'm just…I'm still a bit new, is all." There's a hint of Picon-borne in her speech, her accent, perhaps a touch of the swarthy, seafarer's look in her complexion. "Been almost two months, I think. Hard to believe it. Still feels strange, some days, but it'll get better. S'what I'm told, least. A-and for you. It will. That is if you're…staying aboard?"

"Ah." Emily takes a pause to think on that and how it all comes together. "I've decided that this is a very strange place. I don't know what to think about how it all works, but I also know almost nothing about it. Even what I was told to expect has been wrong." The Lady turns her eyes down to the bowl and moves it closer and takes up the spoon. "Ah then you are like me. A bit turned around, though you seem to have fared well but for the discoloration." A polite way to put it. She listens to the accent and words while she eats, clearly not turning up her nose this time. "Commander Marcus said likely Sir Atticus and I will not be returned anytime soon. I am apparently applying for something called asylum." Which says plenty right there. "I've no wish to return to my old life on Picon." Her right hand starts trembling and it distracts her, a worried look in her eye for a second or so. It's fleeting. The hand is tucked under the sheet and she uses her left to eat, which goes against all her principles. "You are from Picon?"

Yari's attention cuts to the unsteady hand and twitch of concern furrows her brow, but she says nothing. Likely nerves! It's a sensation she knows well. "Asylum," she repeats, nodding a little. The address of 'Sir' Atticus pales her expression only a little. It's not much of a surprise, considering what she's just heard - and felt - of his rhetoric. Satisfied that Emily's taken up the task of eating, Yari helps herself stiffly to a bedside stool and folds her hands neatly in lap. She sucks in a deep, recomposing breath through her nostrils and musters up a bit warmer of a smile. "I was," the corpsman confirms softly. "Was born there, seems too long ago, now. Mum moved us away to Piraeus, few years after Pa passed. Went to stay with Pa's parents in their cottage, on the farm, when Mum had to go. Then she went away to fly, and…and the darkness came. The fires of Hades, alight in the coldest eyes I'd ever seen in my young years. Wish I'd been one o'them children, frozen away in the wood, but…not sure which a worse fate might've been - to have lived it, those twenty years, or to have lost so much time. Good and the bad."

Yari ducks her head and shakes it self-reprimanding. "Doesn't matter now. Picon, Piraeus…there are memories I find myself missing from both homes. What little I can remember of gods greatest of bounties is the sea. We were always on the water. S'what Pa did, I think. Lookin' after Poseidon's creatures. Gram used to say he were -" oops, some of that old slang creeping back in, "was, half selkie."

The slight reaction of paling at the mention of Atticus also has her frown a little. She doesn't say anything to it just yet, though. She continues her eating without being a pain about it, listening to Yari and watching. "Piraeus." The word is unfamiliar on her lips. "Away from Picon. Another planet? I've heard rumors of other planets and civilizations out there. None of my court would ever discuss such things in a social setting, though." The way she describes the aftermath, though, does grab Emily's attention. She stares at the other young woman for several seconds. Most of it seems foreign to her, the concepts and the history. Emily has been holed up in a proverbial tower for Gods know how long. The discussion of memories has her look down to her right hand, still trembling by her side, then to the bowl. "I no longer trust myself. I do not know what of my memories are true or false, or that I would be able to speak truths I know. Gunree Lleufer whispered that Clerics may have been inside my head." Which is probably just as alarming for everyone else, but more-so for her. But her smile edges back in as she listens to Yari speak of her family. "I've never seen the sea. Again, tales told by others. It sounds magnificent. But you grew up a peasant farmer?" There's no intent of cruelty with the term 'peasant', it’s just the word she knows.

"That must be very hard," Yari empathizes, in regard to the untrustworthy memories. She'd never met a Cleric - not that she'd known, anyway, but the Knights had seemed scary enough. And the doctor, her husband. Her smile's gone, but there's no frown to settle in its place. Just pensive neutrality. "I suppose by the end, we might've been viewed in that way. The surviving view to not cow to the 'Loyalist' way of thinking. Gram and G'pa fought in the second war. They never lost their will to fight. Just had to be quiet about it, this time. We had a few crop fields, some goats, chickens…nothing so big. But it was home. Till it wasn't." She adjusts her weight on the stool, right hand picking at the sore, knobbly knuckle of her left ring finger and nods at the woman's tray. "It's chamomille. The tea. Little honey and lemon, if that's all right."

"It is like being lost in a forest at night with no torch to light the way. I don't look it, I suppose, but I'm rather terrified right now." Which means Emily is probably very appreciative of the company. "If I were alone in my cell I would probably go mad." She twitches her lips in a hint of a smile that never quite arrives. "I do have memories of someone telling my about a war against the machines." The hand is trembling more obviously with those words. "I'm afraid they are vague and hard to place. The memories I have of being that young are hazy. It sounds like that was not a terrible life, though. Part of me misses that simplicity. Part of me thinks I'm a spoiled child for missing it versus what I'd come to live with." Reaching for the tea, she draws it under her chin to smell it first. "It smells lovely, thank you for bringing it." There's a glance towards Atticus' bed, then back. "I saw your reaction to his name. He is not one you enjoy being near, is he?"

"No," Yari confesses. She's maybe a little glad for the company, too. Broken company, not the chipper 'you’ll be fine kid' kind of company that swarms the marine bunkroom. "I suppose he reminds me of someone. And what's worse…I see a little of my son, in him. If we hadn't been taken away from that life, I fear that is what he would have become." That. Not he. That. "We were fortunate. Many more were not."

Emily looks saddened to hear how it all comes out and the fears of it. This is her world, all she knows, and the men are so awful that they are no longer people. The mug of tea is moved and settled on the blanket, eyes looking at it. "Sir Atticus is scared. Achingly," she says quietly. "He does not understand why anyone would leave or be dissatisfied. We are told many awful, terrible things about the world before the machines. Those old enough to remember are very few." Emily keeps it nearly to a whisper. "Those who dare speak of long-ago times are either killed or cleansed by a Cleric. The same with those who defy the new order. He is old enough to likely recall the world before the machines. If he spoke out, they may have cleansed him in whole or in part. Or just done it purely because they favored him to display valor for my family." Her right hand won't stop shaking and she tries to stuff it under her right leg. "Atticus is worth saving. He is brave, he is diligent and loyal, and he has no shortage of valor. He has looked after my family and my own safety for many years. I cannot express the depths of my sadness at seeing him viewed as such when I know another truth. But as he never quit on me, I cannot quit on him." Her eyes lift to look back to Yari. "On behalf of him and my family, I apologize for him. I sincerely hope one day perhaps your son can look at him, as can you, and hope your son see's a worthy role model. I really do."

"Even a king among men is slave to the Skath. I know. S'what Gramps used to say." Before they split his skull in two with a bullet. Yari sounds nothing but grim, now, staring through the screen at the man bound on the other side. She lifts a hand to rub at her cheek. "I makes me thank Matutina I was born a girl. The explusion from school, REAL school, the belittling, the rape, the isolation…it is all more favorable than to have been born a man and have to choose. Or worse - be rewritten, as you say. I hope he can be restored to who he might have been, otherwise. Learn to look upon women as equals. Souls to be respected. Not kept under heel. S'not how real men think. Vasilis will learn. But he has only six years of walking in his father's shoes."

"I had a discussion with someone about this. Gunree Lleufer." She still has her voice very quiet. "I never viewed it as slavery. It is execution to me." That hand won't stop and there's a concerned look to it that she can't hide. Worry streaks her brow as she continues, "We are born. We live. And if we cause problems, we die and someone else wears our body until it dies. A blossoming artist paints something unflattering and the next week only remembers being a lady of ill repute for the last five years and that is now her life. The artist is dead. As a people we are being killed off and we have only fear. I spent the last ten years in a castle, living the guarded and protective life of a noble girl. While the peasants we kept down, I have worn gold. But being at court means I saw the regular punishments and I loved seeing those insolent peasants pay." Wait, what? She stops there and tilts her head. "The peasants deserved to be poor." She shakes her head, hand trembling non-stop. "Our Courts were fair and just, the people just need to learn their place." She looks terribly frightened by this and stops talking, forcing her breathing to be controlled. Eyes close. Yeah, she was close to having a small panic attack - right at the edge. Long, controlled breathing. "Your son sounds young still. I believe in children. They are our best hope if we teach them correctly." Annnd she seems to have returned to normal.


For a second, Yari's face reads 'imma slap a bitch' as Emily shares her secret of taking pleasure in the beatings and hangings. What's she think of Yari's notched ear, then? That's only the tip of the 'berg. But, as the Princess tries to reset her statement again, and again, and again, and that hand seems ready to take flight, the corpsman gets it. Sorta. Afraid that she's gonna spill the soup, Yari pulls the tray away and sits it in place of her ass on the stool, then just leans over the bed-ordered prisoner/patient and wraps her in arms. It's a hug, not a strangulation move.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I mean what I say about the courts." More fright to her face. "I can't lie." This isn't what she wants to say, not even near it. The pain and fear in her eyes is like looking into a dark well. "Cleanse them all." A few tears leak out and she crushes her eyes shut. A lot of people would probably be losing their mind and yelling or sobbing. But Emily is mild about it, all things considered. She winces as Yari stands up, leaning away and ready to be killed. But it’s a hug. Emily realizes that and her arms lift and she clings to Yari with both hands, the trembling one feeling like a muscle spasm. Wet cheeks are put into the shoulder and a hot, tearful breath brings three words, "Please help me." She doesn't have to say that she's scared of what she's saying. No one could miss it. "I.. I'm not a bad person. I promise. I want to be good."

"Shh.." Yari shushes gently as her bent torso adopts the sort of rocking rhythm one expects of a mother of three. One hand brushes up the lengths of those royal locks to lay over her crown of braids, anchoring her there. "I'm sure we'll find a way to best to help you," she whispers, never minding the scalding tears seeping into her uniform. There's a long pause, then she adds with so small amount of effort "…and Atticus." Somewhere in her mind, there's a wordless tune she remembers from her days as a wee one. It's one she's hummed soulfully to hush her babes to sleep before they woke their father.

It's one she uses now.

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