The slender figure of the young woman named Meralynn stood quietly near the filtration system, a cool stream of fresh water filling a small cup ... her daily ration. A hand lifted to brush its back against the surface of her forehead, wiping back a few loose strands of brown hair. As the water neared the brim of the cup, she drew in her lips, moistening them with what fluid she had within her in anticipation. Her ears picked up the slight sound of sliding feet and she glanced up towards the door. She noted Trelnikk, a smile curving her lips as she nodded. "Welcome."
Trelnikk gave her one of his creepy little smiles, showing all three rotted teeth. Her own smile hid that sense of unease that she felt whenever he was about. Her feet shuffled softly as she made her way towards the "soup" pot. The contents were very thick, almost stew-like, water a far-too-precious commodity to make a proper soup.
The man known by sight more than name as "One-eye" ran a hand over the patch at his left eye, the other pushed the folds of his coat open. The doors slid open and his one good eye made a quick sweep, his boots clumping on the marbled floor, an unlit cigarette dangling from dried lips. With his coat flapping behind him, he briskly made his way to the main desk.
A gaunt figure wrapped in a cloak too big for her anorexic frame ghosted down a corridor and made a right turn, nostrils quivering at the smell of food but once through the doors, she hesitated, drawing her heavy cloak about her and drifting away from guy with the patch.
With a slight grimace, Mera ladled the daily meal into a small bowl, and lifted her tray, making her way towards a table. Noting a movement near the doorway, her chestnut eyes flickered upwards and she nodded with a smile to those entering. Slowly, she sank to a chair, her fingers clasping almost protectively about her small cup of water obtained from the filtration system.
Garth Lowinn, clad in a soldier's green jumpsuit approached the door, pausing to allow an elderly man to enter first. The old man, walking slowly with almost an audible creaking, passed through the doorway to the cafeteria. His black and purple robes trailed behind him as he took slow, careful strides. Tugging on his long silvery beard, the old man craned his neck to look over the gathered souls. His strides were slow as he moved to a table, once or twice reaching out to steady himself against a chair or even another bystander. Then slowly, with an arthritic-riddled grimace, he sat in one of the available chairs.
Reaching into a deep pocket within the coat, one-eyed Zac pulled out a white and blue box. Passing by the desk, he tossed the box upon it. The box of gauze flipped its way to a rest in the chair behind the desk, and he into a lounge chair with a flop, his ruck sack dropped at his feet. Fingers to the bridge of his nose, his head bent backwards, eye closed. He scratched absently at his patch with his thumb, glancing sideways at the old man, feeling his presence fairly near.
Trelnikk continued to give one of his creepy smiles to those entering, still showing off all three of his rotted teeth as he scratched at a particularly large blister.
Meralynn offered a wary glance to the old man, something deep within her unsettled at his presence. She rose slowly ... glancing once more to the old man. "Do you need help ... sir?"
A short cackle issued from his wrinkled face. "Help? No, help I would not need. A meal, however, would be nice." Once again he tugged at his beard.
Mera nodded. "All we have is Phlupp soup ... er ... stew ..."
The man's wrinkled face contorted into a deeper grimace. "I suppose that will have to do." He grumbled slowly to himself. "Dining on vermin. How ... quaint."
As if in synch with the oldster, Zac scratched at his three day growth, his one good eye flitting to a new entrant. A twenty-ish man in a dusty brown uniform walked in. He carried a backpack, and a rifle slung over his shoulder as well as a holstered pistol. Zac’s gaze shifted back up to the ceiling, his eye fluttering closed.
Her eyes curious, Mera glanced a moment towards the newcomer. Meeting her eyes, the man approached. "Hello Ma'am. Would you know where I could recharge some spent batteries for ... my equipment?" He reached in his backpack, getting out a couple batteries, one for a laser pistol. Noting the activity as he glanced around he added, "If you're busy, I can wait."
"Batteries? I believe there is a charger in the janitor's closet. I think that is where Chumba keeps it."
Zac's eye popped open at Mera's words. "Charger? Where?" His voice rasped in a low tone.
Mera didn't hear Zac as she made her way towards the soup-pot. She ladled out another small bowl, her free hand grasping a spoon, as her eyes moved over to the newcomer's backpack. Moving back towards the old man, she placed the "soup" before him on the table, setting down the spoon. As the girl approached him with the soup bowl and spoon, the old man began to mutter something under his breath, his eyes closing and his body spasming violently. His gnarled left hand reached out with amazing speed, latching onto the girls own hand.
The sudden movement of the oldster drew the gaze of several in the room including Zac. His hand flashed inside his coat, yet he waited. The man in the brown uniform also noticed. “You need someone to handle that guy?”
The spasms subsided as the old man still clutched her hand tightly. "Thank you ... Meralynn." Slowly his crooked fingers unfurled themselves from hers, allowing her to step away. Taking the spoon into his left hand, he began to ladle the contents of the bowl into his mouth.
A shocked look was upon her face as Mera darted her glance to the old man. She nodded, her breath releasing after being caught for that moment, her other hand lifting to smooth over the wrist that had been captured.
Zac smirked, his fingers loosening their grip on the butt of his pistol. After a few moments, he rose, ruck sack grabbed as an after thought.
Pinned to the safety of the wall, the cloaked figure some called Thistle, drew in deep breaths as if she could gain sustenance from the scent of cooked food. A wisp of pale hair fell from the hood's confines to be pushed back by a dirty hand, nails cracked and grimy. She gathered her courage about her and moved in, bare feet slapping against tiles, barely seen from beneath the overlarge cloak she wore. Her head kept low, she walked a brazen path toward the food, quite expecting to be called on the carpet at any moment. She took a few more deep breaths to calm her pounding heart, arriving without intervention, it seemed. After a moments pause she snatched a bowl and ladled out some of the stew, all the time watching from within the hood for authority.
Mera smiled to the one moving towards the food "Please ... help yourself ..." Meralynn noted her condition, wondering when she had eaten last.
A young man entered the hospital, casually pulling off his hood, revealing the lightly stubbled brown face and shaved head of Ed Archer. As he stepped inside he wondered where Doc Calsso was with his blood tests. He stopped on into the cafeteria where activity seemed to have picked up for some reason. Trelnikk gave Ed another of his creepy smiles, all three of his rotted teeth showing and he waved back to Trelnikk ... nervously, murmuring, “Hmmm...”
Reaching into the backpack, the brown uniformed man offered Mera a tear-gas dispenser. "Maybe you need this more than me if someone else proves troublesome ... In case you're wondering, no lasting effects."
Mera blinked, taking the dispenser within her hands. "Th...thank you....." She realized that indeed, one never knew when they would need such a device.
Ed glanced over, commenting quietly, "Heavy equipment ..."
"The rifle and backpack? I've had a little trouble along the way." The man flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his brown uniform as though the ‘trouble’ had been taken care of as routinely.
"I bet." With that one phrase, Ed conveyed his belief there'd been trouble ... and skepticism of the man's motives.
"Came across some bandits trying to rob a merchant. That's why I need to recharge my guns." He shifted his gaze from Ed and regarded Mera again. “The closet you said?”
Mera nodded. "It is just down the hall ... third door on the right."
"Be right back, and thanks." He nodded to Mera and walked off.
"Yeah, right." Ed nodded slowly, thinking it was odd that anyone carried guns like that. He murmured to himself, "Ex-Legion or Church?"
Zac made his way to Mera, not wanting to interrupt, but needing a shower card. He spoke quietly. "Hey Doc?"
Meralynn glanced upward, more out of habit than anything. It was not unusual for people to mistake her place within the hospital "Yes?"
Zac nodded to the desk. "Brought another box of gauze ... need a shower card." His hand rubbed across his face as proof he needed a shave.
Mera nodded, and a smile curled her lips. "You are turning out to be quite a scavenger. Ash should hire you full time." Her steps brought her to the desk, her UoM uniform rustling with the movement.
Zac smirked thinking, that though Ash didn't know it ... she had. "Yeah ... okay. The card?" He held his hand out as he spoke.
Reaching into the desk, she pulled out a card, and stamped it. "There you go." She lifted it to him.
Zac would have a winked if he had two good eyes, but it ended up just a mere blink. "Thanks, Doc.”
Across the room, the old man picked up the bowl and brought it to his lips, draining the last drops of the soupy-stew into his gut, then wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his long purple and black robes. The old man's eyes slowly panned the cafeteria, taking in the movements of those around.
Trelnikk crept a bit faster than usual to the "soup" pot. Quickly ladling some of the soup into a bowl, he slurped it down right there.
As more people approached, Thistle scurried off, nearly forgetting her bowl. She found a corner and dropped into a crouch. Using her hands, she immediately crammed the food into her mouth, uncaring if she burned her fingertips, like a robot, barely chewing her food.
Garth Lowinn, having entered some time ago and seated himself, got up and made his way to the soup bowl, waiting. He watched the girl hurry off, smiled lightly, and ladled out some of the stew. Taking his bowl, he slid back to his table, his sword clanking against the chair. Ed glanced at the obvious Legionnaire, his attention drawn by the sound of the out of place weapon. “That's unique...” He mused softly to himself.
Spinning on his heel, Zac headed to the flight of stairs, but slowed his pace seeing Thistle. With a tilt of his head, he stopped, then squatted, keeping a fair distance. He watched her and her veracious appetite. "Hey kid ... slow down." He smiled. "There's plenty to go around ... least tonight." He nodded, then stood, moving to the flight of stairs. With coat flowing, boots clumping, he headed up the stairs.
Thistle shoveled a few more fingers full into her mouth before she noticed the man there. The bowl fell from numbed fingers to clatter on the tiles. The light caught just right as her almond eyes traced with silver, wide and frightened, watched him go. After a moment she brought trembly fingers to her mouth and licked off the remaining broth.
"Hey, Meralynn ... where's this stuff coming from?" Ed pointed around to all the food.
"Well, ... Ash has a few scavengers under her thumb ... every so oft, we get lucky"
"Yeah ... like the lady with the portable army?"
Meralynn chuckled. "You might say that. The meat in the stew is rock phlupp, you can still catch them every so often."
The old man's ears perked a bit. "Ash? Who is this ... Ash?"
Meralynn noted the grind of the old man's voice. "Ash? She is the head medic of the hospital at the moment."
The man grunted once in acknowledgment, his eyes returning to his empty bowl. "Thankless work that would seem to be to me."
Mera commented softly, almost under her breath, "Some people see things differently from others."
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