Damage Control
Damage Control
Summary: Martin's Sickbay visitor doors revolve. This episode: Matto, Roubani, and Castor.
Date: PHD136 (2 September 2009)
Related Logs: A Cubit Short
Players:
Martin..Matto..Roubani..Castor..

Kharon - Recovery Ward

The Recovery Ward bears the faint odor of cigarette smoke, which probably has nothing to do with Martin. BULLSHIT. Sitting upright in his bed now, Martin has been propped face up now that the worst of his back is clear. With his right arm in a sling so that it can heal, he's maintained the use of his left arm throughout the duration of his stay. Right now, however, he's laying back on his pillows to stare at the ceiling, despite the books and magazines that have been brought for him.

Walking in here hasn't gotten any easier since the last time Roubani did it, last night. He has to pause outside the entryway for a time before stepping across, hands jammed securely in his pockets. Matto's walked down from the first floor with him it seems, and he gestures the Raptor pilot towards Martin's bed with a slight motion of his chin. "Dash is that way."

Matto drifts in alongside, seeming a good deal more alright with the place than the Poet, but pausing, no less, letting Roubani go on ahead, a hand briefly raised toward his elbow in a gesture of support. His other hand is tucked around a book which he holds to his side in an easy fashion, and he looks from the Poet to Marty, back to the Poet with a nod before he shifts directions to meander over toward Marty's bedside, "Hey, guy," he greets with a broad grin of his usual variety.

Already raising his head at the sound of incoming voices, Martin lowers his eyes to see the two of them approaching. A small smile forms on his lips as he waves his left hand, elated to see them. "Hey guys…I'm back face up." He quietly proclaims, blinking his bloodshot eyes at them. They're not as bad as they were yesterday, but the blood is quickly fading from the whites. "Hugs are free now that I can give them…" He extends his arm, offering Matto a squeeze.

Roubani rolls his shoulders back as he approaches, ironing the tension out of them before he gets close enough for Martin to see him clearly. Dash's first comment gets a twitched half-smile. "Good to talk to this side of you again, Dash," he says in his soft voice. "We wouldn't have wanted you to get /too/ good at talking out of your arse."

Matto grins back at the Poet and leans in to give Marty a gentle one-armed hug, but a hug that's still warm for all its gentleness, before he stands and shifts a litle to the side so that the Poet can more effectively come up alongside. "I'm sure the nurses are mourning the loss of the view, though," he teases. "Hey, but you look good, for that love tap the Toasters gave you."

"I've done it so well from right side up since I was a kid that it just isn't the same, Poet." Martin replies, cocking a toothy grin towards Roubani as he pulls back from the soft hug. Blushing at the mention of it being a good view, he can't help but laugh quietly. "You guys are music to deaf ears with the afternoon that I've had. Please, pull up a chair. They told me that I'm gonna have some scars but aside from that I'm gonna be able to get back into a Viper."

Roubani glances behind him, spotting one of said chairs. A stool, actually, but it rolls easily and so he pulls it over with his foot. Settling, his eyes turn back to Martin for the prognosis and he nods, with more than a little bit of empathy. Been there, doing that. "Good. Excellent. I think you'll be back before you know it. Just try not to embarass yourself while on that morpha drip…it's simply one of those things you'll never live down."

"Hey… that's great," Kissy grins, agreeing with the Poet with a nod, "You'll be giving them hell again soon enough. Oh!" he remembers the book tucked to his side, holding it out, "Is this the one you wanted?"

Looking to the book, Martin checks the girl on the cover and nods. Reaching out to take it, he stretches his neck muscles to the side to try to curb some of the stress he's been weighed down with. While it's been Martin's recent usual faire to have that 'dragged by a horse' look, it wasn't on his face yesterday. "Yeah, that's it. Jules lent it to me right before the scramble got called, there's a different girl on this one, it's the only way I knew how to tell them apart." He chuckles, glancing between the two of them. "I…think I'm done trying to be the clown for a while, so if you guys do hear something embarassing I swear it's an accident." He winks. "Damage control for me, rep-wise?"

Roubani glances at the book as Matto shows it off. Martin's way of describing the difference between his high works of literature spark a vague smile, then it fades away. "As best possible, Dash." The promise is made lightly enough, but it's followed by a pause that gains a little weight. He's looking at Dash's face, eye contact briefly broken and then returned. "How are you doing?"

Matto settles a knee against the side of the bunk, opting not to sit, for now, but he folds his arms in a casual slouch as he stands near. "You know gossip's not my thing," he chuckles softly, also taking a moment to wonder whether Marty simply means the covers of the books or their contents, as well, but he makes no issue of it, instead listening with an easy curiosity as Roubani asks the question of the day.

"I'm…off and on." Martin says, nodding his head quietly as he gazes at the two of them. "The last two days were really hard on me, being strapped in like that. You get to do a lot of thinking when all you can really do is look at the floor. I can't dodge and be slippery when I'm strapped to a bed." He chuckles quietly, shaking his head slowly from left to right. "…Last night Tinman mentioned that for a second he thought I bit it. I didn't really think about it until then. Then Case came in. Right about now all I want is ice cream and cartoons, you guys."

"I can't exactly argue…that does sound awfully good," Roubani muses, as though giving the notion serious thought. There's a brief pause where he glances at his hands. "People who aren't in that bed don't have the solidity of pain to reassure them that you're still alive. So they tell you things like that whether or not you're ready or wanting to hear them…but." He shrugs. "It wasn't your day, Dash. That's all one can really say to oneself, and it's all one should ever have to say. We don't ever need to justify just wanting to get back to being alive. So." A slight smile. "I don't know if Matto here can find cartoons, but I can see who I can bribe about something that vaguely resembles ice cream."

Matto returns the gaze, eyes locked on eyes with a gentle maintainance of contact that fades from the jovial to the quite tender as he nods, lips pursing some with sympathy for the description of Marty's time here. "It did look kind of bad from where I was sitting," he notes. "But I never quite have time to think about that sort of thing while in the air. Too much other stuff to do," he murmurs, which is to say that if he let himself think about it he'd likely go all broken. "Oh, she did?" is all the comment about Case coming by garners, curious but not too vigorously so, that being a tender topic, after all. "You okay?" he does worry a little. "Cartoons," he then thinks over his half of the assignment, "Well, I can steal a viceblock from the tool room and let the Poet drop it on my head," he chuckles. "On second thought, of course, it might be less hilarious live."

Martin looks to Roubani with a reflective look in his eyes, Biting the side of his lip, his eyebrows lower and he begins to slowly nod in agreement. "You know…you're right. To hell with all of the what if's right? That shit'll turn me into a raving lunatic…" He replies, words contorting into a laugh at Matto's response. "No, don't you dare, man. You're the sanity in my life and if you dropped a block on your head I'd have to kick your ass. We all know how much you don't like violence, Matto." Martin grins. "It puts you up on chairs. Don't think I didn't see that." He adds playfully. Tilting his head, he flattens his lips. "Yeah, Sam's a whole other story that I'm drowning in, but I think I'm gonna be okay. It's just tense, bad timing, all of that."

"Shame, I could have fashioned a little spinning halo of birds for you," Roubani remarks to Matto, finger making a single slow revolve at shoulder height. A flickered smile at the Raptor driver, then he looks back at Dash pensively around the time he starts talking Case.

Matto laughs at the Poet's offer, face scrunching up a little with the mirth of the notion, "Yeah, cartoon violence doesn't count. You get a crown of birds or stars, and, y'klnow, if things get too bad you and your foe disappear into a cloud of smoke and toss out stars and squiggly lines in all directions like confetti. Now that's a martial art I could get into. We'll have to pull it off next Testosterone Night, Marty," he grins, officially petitioning for a reprise of their faux-combat intermission to the violence of the event. He might look a little abashed at Marty's pointing out his escape onto the chairback during the fight proper, but it's a cheeky sort of abashedness, "Heh!" Then, more seriously, "Hey, yeah, that's got to be rough, just now. Probably for her, too, though you know better than I do. Did Babydoll come down and see you, by the way? She was worried."

"That's what you call it, Testosterone Night?" Martin smirks to Matto, turning a little on his bed with a wince so that he can watch them more comfortably. "If you make props, Poet, I'm one hundred percent game. I have no qualms about using that night of boxing as a means to drowning in attention and taking the chip off of some peoples' shoulders." Martin replies, pausing to run a hand through his hair. "Yeah…yeah she stopped by last night to say hi. She said she was gonna get some books and come back. Left not long after you did, Poet. Did you guys see her around today?" He pauses. "How worried? I tried telling her it wasn't her fault…"

"I'm sure I could scrounge a few things…" Roubani says, as to the props. Oh boy, faux wrestling NOW WITH FAKE LIGHTNING. There's a mild chuckle, and he shifts a bit on the stool so he can cross his legs. "She was in the library a few hours ago. Ajtai was, that is. Searching like mad for something to bring you." He absently brushes a stray thread off his knee. "She has some difficulty with 'what-ifs' too, I think. She'll work through them. She seems to care about you a great deal."

"And I'm pretty sure she's out with Beta just now," Kissy adds to Roubani's statement, explaining, perhaps, why she hasn't gotten 'round again yet, "But, you know, just your general flavor of worried, I think. She hasn't seen… much in the way of combat, so flying backseat into -that- was, well, kind of a shock to her system."

"Seems a lot tougher a girl than I took her for when I first met her." Martin replies quietly, turning his head to look at the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand. Reaching for them, he quickly adds in a sidelong manner, "Anyone got a light?" He lifts his eyebrows to them. Biting his lip, he knits his brow together in a concentrating manner. Turning his gaze to Roubani, he searches his face in hopes to find if there was some inside meaning to his words. "She's a great girl, a total sweetheart. We met while I was complaining over laundry. Her and I are becoming pretty good friends, pretty quickly."

Leda has been sitting at Epi's beside and reading softly to her. However, Epi is sleeping now and Leda stands to check on Martin and he has heard some of the conversation, "Don't worry about Kitters, Marty, she and I had a talk…that was her first big mission and it shook her up a bit." He then looks at Roubani, "Lieutenant." He then looks at Matto, "Kissy." He then says, "I got a light." He says fishing out a silver zippo.

If there were indeed more layers to Roubani's words, his eyes turn away before Martin has the chance to really look, pocket patted halfassedly for his own lighter. It stops when Castor announces he's got one. "Evening, Leda. They let you smoke in here?" He makes a soft 'hmpf', but it's not disapproving. "They've gotten soft in their old ages."

"Babydoll's good people," Kissy smiles, then, one brow quirking upward, "Yeah, are you sure you ought to be doing that in here?" he asks, glance casting about to the others recovering in the ward and then looking back to Marty with a patent 'think of the children!' expression. There… might be some children in here, if there were any left alive from the massacre in the cargo bay, after all. In any case, there are sick people.

Matto says, "Hey, Tinners."

"They haven't stopped me yet. No one's using oxygen in the RW, so I guess they're letting it slide." Martin replies, reaching for Leda's lighter with his left hand. Frak it. If Cottle can, Marty can. His words muffled by the cigarette between his lips, he nods upwards to Leda in greeting. "Hey man…good to see you again." He interjects. Pausing, he looks to Matto and simply gazes. Pursing his lips, he actually decides to take the cigarette out of his mouth and put it in the pack. "I should probably quit anyway."

"Well, then a cigarette for celebration." Castor says as he isn't going to stop, after all, he offered a lighter to Martin he didn't light the cigarette. He then says, "And yeah, she is good people." He looks over at Martin, "You might want to keep talking to her. I made sure she got your stuff so you can do the music thing later." He then smiles at Matto and then to Roubani since he is around familiar faces in here. He looks back at Martin, "And I had to come and see you Marty, if I didn't I'd be a bad friend and a poor pilot."

Roubani's lips twitch when Martin puts the cigarette away again. "I suppose we all should, shouldn't we." Yeah, right. He glances at Castor and then back at Martin, asking quietly, "Music thing?"

Since when did Kissy become Morality Police? He must be taking lessons from the Poet. In an case, the moment of disapprobation passed, and the affable smile returned to Kissy's features, "It's not a bad plan," he notes, to Marty or Roubani or both, "I've been cutting down my gummy bear intake for months now, putting off going through withdrawal, y'know? I don't want to be living in Black Squadron berthings when the tobacco products get used up; between Toes and Lifer I think someone will go absolutely ape."

"It's okay, Tin. I think I'm gonna start cutting back, try a few things different for a change. I think I'm gonna wait until I can get out of here before I light up again unless the nurses tell me specifically it's okay." Martin replies, resting back down on his pillows. "Yeah, the music thing. Kitty's an artist and my headphones use earbuds. They disconnect at a pretty good length. I told her if she wanted to draw down here and keep me company, she could use the music player."

Castor looks at Roubani to explain but Martin does a much better job and so he goes quiet. He looks at Matto, "Kissy, I thought Black Squad was the part of the air wing with their head on straight…you know less crazy than Red Squad." He may or may not be teasing as he says that. He looks over at Matto, "Which reminds me…" He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small package of salted gummy kids…in shapes like baseball player and kid on bicycle. "For you Kissy, I need to keep my part of the bargain for the pancakes."

"That sounds very nice," Roubani tells Martin, regarding the music. "I'm sure she'll be down very soon." The loop of prayer beads around Roubani's left wrist make a soft sound as they clack together while he stands up, and nudges the stool to the side with his foot. His back makes two distinct cracks of protest, in its rusty old age of 22 years. "I should be going shortly, before Eos notices my scent is gone. But I'll be back round soon. Any requests, Dash?"

Matto's metaphotical ears perk, attention all suddenly drawn toward Castor. Gummies. He may just as easily be holding a bag of chamalla in front of an addict. But Kissy shakes off the crackhead look in favor of a bright lopsided grin, and he takes the bag with glee, "Hey, great! Thanks for scavenging, Tinners," he chuckles, then, looking toward Roubani, he nods, "Have fun," he tells him, which is to say, 'be safe.' "I'll see you later, guy."

"Hey, Tinman, don't throw the Vigilantes under the bus. I'm half of the reason why Red's gotten that reputation as it is. But I'll have you all know I've decided that it's time that I get things straight. Fun is fine, but crazy isn't. You're gonna see some changes out of me, and gods willing maybe try to work on weaseling into some leadership in the Squadron." Martin says, running his hand through his hair again. "I should be getting some sleep here, myself so if you see Kitty, let her know I crashed out so she doesn't come all the way down? As for requests…" He pauses, shaking his head. "Just come down and talk to me. You guys are family to me and now's not the time but I'm kinda piecing some stuff together that I need a little help with. Nothing exhausting, just…I dunno…maybe I'm seeking some encouragement. Oh! If the mess serves some of that tuna casserole…" He starts a sentence that doesn't need to be finished.

Leda smiles, "Good to hear that Martin." He then looks at the others, "Acctually I have CAP to get too."

Roubani smiles a little at Matto's reaction to the candy offerings. "I will." Martin's given a slight nod once he's done speaking. No comment about the "tuna". "Good night, Dash," he says quietly, and then he's off.

Matto is too happy to have gummies, folding the package and tucking it carefuly into a pocket, to be too disgusted by the threat of tuna goop. "I'll ask a nurse for a hazmat container and bring you some down," he offers with a chuckle.

"Gnight guys…thanks for coming down again." Martin says graciously, making a monstery face at Matto for blaspheming against the cult of tuna casserole. Taking in a slow, deep breath, he reaches up to the light above his bed and clips it off. Sleep will come. Sleep must come. "You guys really made my day, have a good bit of sleep when you do."

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