tushanshu_logs | I still would be your shelter; [closed]

[The breathing's a shock, sure and true. A greater one she can't say she's ever had, and for a time they come too hard, too fast. She's hurting, aye, in all the same places she recalls as Edward carried her, but the hurt's no great thing. Her body, for what it's worth, seems to be on the mend and she's nowhere she recognizes.

Her instincts suggest this place is Precursor. The black stone walls that seem to shimmer and glow remind her too much of the Observatory, and although she listens to the - kedan, are they? - when they speak, she absorbs little.

It's shock, maybe, that sees her hands shake, has her breath come in gasps. She lives, yet every sense she possesses says she should be otherwise. There are things in the world she can't with the limited scope of her life understand, but this? This lays her low. She's taken lives enough, been there to watch and bear witness to many folk drawing their last breath, felt the slick bloody slide of her blades in all the spots that make men vulnerable that she knows there are things no one can or should come back from. Yet she breathes. A world between Life and Death, and Dreaming besides? And she breathes.

Focus. She presses her palms against her belly and exhales. No matter the place, no matter the secrets, or what's kept her alive or brought her back from the death, it's something she'll have to accept and overcome. She's done it before, many a time now. It's neither daunting nor damning. She is an Assassin, and they're well-used to being outmatched.

And she can't stay on this bench in the great hall of this black palace forever. She stands slowly, aching, one arm outflung to catch her balance. The kedan want to herd her to a cart that will take her into the town they call Keeliai, and she'd agree readily enough if not for--

Anne.

She sees her, and almost - almost - her heart stops. All the things that ail her, the pain and uncertainty and even the iron-clad resolve become something distant in the face of a sudden urgency to know if she's okay, if her being here means the same thing it does for Mary herself. She has half a mind to curse Kenway, should anything have happened to her, but instead she just says, quietly,]

Anne?

[ No wounds slow Anne as they do Mary, but the adjustment is greater; hers is not a mind trained for spirituality beyond that of God and his Hell that she's surely destined for. She's as superstitious as the next sailor by now, and there are scores dead because of her that she doesn't want to meet. That she doesn't take well to.

But speaking of battle and war, the kedan crowded around her are almost reassuringly mundane. She's been angry, scathing and plain curious in turn - what business of hers is their war? she asked thrice - and their offer to answer her questions would have been more valuable if she'd any thought what to ask. They argue and babble and recoil at her harsh words like fine ladies, and she feels silly for allowing that to soothe her, and sillier in the split moment that occurs after she steps through into the antechamber but before the blind disbelief sets in to drain all the blood from her face. ]

Jesus.

[ Too busy thinking of those ghosts that'd wish her harm to have considered this, and suddenly she's as unsteady as if she'd taken a blow to the head. She looks like she did then, like the body she lay beside in a rowboat as it cooled, but now alive. Vital, with colour in her skin and anger in her eyes. I don't deserve this chance is her first wild thought, and she crosses the room slowly. Uncharacteristically uncertain. Voice strained. She'd try for a smile but she's done with hopeless fights. ]

Are ye some apparition, Mary?

[She'd know that voice anywhere, would that she were down to the darkest depths of the hell she'd sent so many others to, and Mary opens her mouth to reply and yet says nothing.

None of the training she's ever had, nothing she's ever faced could have made sense of this scene. Nothing is true, she thinks. The thought's a flash in her mind, there and gone and sharp, like the cutting edge of the knife and it leaves her raw and tired.

Her fingers flex against the black stone, and then she gathers up her strength and pushes herself away from it standing under her own power and aught else but will.]

All you see before you's flesh and bone, Anne. Soul and spirit. I'm breathing, same as you.

[The last time she drew breath, Edward was there to carry her. Damn his eyes, she misses him too in that moment, but her worry's all for Anne. Kenway always could take care of himself, oft at the expense of those around him. Yet still, she believed and always has in the greater good of him.

She takes several steps forwards, still chilled with a fading fever, and when she's but an arm's length away she reaches out and touches Anne's cheek, gently. There's a weariness to her, something that came broadside to their time in prison, and shadows chase at the light that shone so brightly in her eyes. She seems older, how much of it is beyond the pale, petty bounds of the physical? Mary always could read the girl better than she could herself, it seemed.]

Christ. You ain't hurt, are you?

[ Anne nods, even if it's untrue - she's not remembered to breathe proper for a good stretch of time and her mouth is dry from it; she's so focused on the impossibility of the body in front of her - and the touch of her fingers - that it's almost physically painful. Turns out wanting something to be true is a better incentive than anything the kedan have offered yet; hang the other world, hang God's plans and hang her own hesitation. She'll do anything for this. (Later, she'll wonder if she was supposed to be Mary's incentive, or the other way about. Or whether they'd been plucked up like a favourite pair of pistols, complementary-like.) But bolstered by the reassurance and her own snap decision, she even manages a decidedly shaky grin. ]

Nothin' worse than my pride, getting snatched so easy. And I'll not speak a word against them that did it. [ It's a promise breathed more than spoken; on a whim she takes Mary's hand from her cheek, holds it in hers and wonders at the difference, jail-softened skin against her own new-worn calluses from months aboard the Jackd--

Hell. She looks back at Mary, freshly chagrined. ]

Ah, piss. Edward's returned to England a week past, else I'd wager that Emperor'd have taken him too.

[Those callouses don't go amiss. Nor does the quality of Anne's skin, tanned and chapped by wind and sun. It speaks of only one thing, freedom. She found it, then. Mary closes her eyes for but a moment, and she's smiling faintly when she opens them again.]

Kenway's a tough bastard, he'll manage. You threw in with him, then?

[She's not certain who'd be looking after whom in that scenario, but she's gladdened by it nevertheless. They're closer than kin, these two, in her mind. She loves 'em both dearly, with the same fierce pride. They've saved her life each in their own way. Battles fought and won and lost alike. Mary twines her fingers with Anne's, support and stability in equal measure.]

Edited (repetitive phrasing oops) 2013-12-28 00:38 (UTC)

Aye, for a time. Took pity on him, like. He'd work to do for your mentor and nobody left but me to watch his back or his ship. [ It's easier to talk like this, about what's happened since. Mary doesn't need to hear about their grief, how badly they handled themselves and what they lost. She's got a perception in her that'll tell her readily enough - if she looks for it.

But she's in no state to look, and even with the edge of fitness Anne's not got the kind of strength to support Mary if she falls. She still needs clothes, medicine, food. When she turns to indicate they're ready to head towards the carriage, she manages to collar one as they hurry past to ask about such things - in tones now used to being heeded. A nice change. ]

[And it's one that gladdens her to hear. Oh, Anne always had the capacity for great things in her, same as Edward did. Could be she was a touch rougher for it, but that's how you had to be, a woman in a man's world, doing men's work and oftimes twice as much to prove your mettle. In some ways, Mary'd taken the easier road, dressing and seeming like a man. But Anne never pretended to be aught what she was. The girl's as subtle as a hurricane and twice as merciless besides.

It makes her laugh, weak though it is, and then it makes her cough. It's a wet noise that racks her body and her hand tightens on Anne's. Damn this mortal coil, condemning her to all the frailties of life even in the one thereafter. The kedan answers them readily enough, explaining the whereabouts of everything they seek, and Mary files it methodically away in a mind well used to the gathering of such intelligence. She steadies herself with one hand against the side of the carriage and pulls herself aboard with an effort.

Prison took a damn sight more of her strength than what she had to spare. Still, stubbornness does what her body seems ill-equipped for, and she settles on the bench in the closed carriage and waits for Anne to follow.]

What of Adéwalé, then?

[She always liked the quartermaster. There were moments aplenty where she was more fond of him than of Edward and all his-- damnable, inescapable myopia. She hopes that the man simply tired of dealing with Edward and left - she'd spoken with Ah Tabai during her last visit to Tulum about her mentor taking him on as a student. Perhaps that came to fruition.]

Not killed or taken, if that's what you're fearing. He's an Assassin now, same as Edward, and both your doing if he tells true.

[ Not many pirates left at all, really, with them's that survived all finding new purpose in the Creed. She shucks off her overcoat before climbing into the carriage, meaning to cover Mary with it. Better than getting carted through a city in her smalls, in any case; there was a time when all they'd had was bluster and their pride, before the desperation had set in, but there's nothing betwixt that time and this for Mary. When she joins her on the bench, she interlaces their fingers back together under the coat with nary a thought. ]

Ye can lean on me, Mary.

[Kenway's words. An echo. Something tightens in her chest, and she says quietly,]

Already was, Anne.

[Metaphorically and otherwise, although she does lift a hand to inspect that jacket. It looks suspiciously like hers, and she fingers the fabric with her free hand, wondering where the ratty old thing might've been found. Would the gaolers have ever kept their possessions? It seems an odd thing when they were so glad to rid them of what little they had to their name in the first place.

She smooths the jacket down, rests her head on Anne's shoulder. God, she smells of salt and the sea, rich and warm-like. Oh, it's awful enough, being out on the ocean for months at a time. Right miserable, when the hard biscuits turn to ash in your gut and the rum can barely call itself by the title anymore. There's always a stench in the hold of unwashed bodies you don't realize until you've spent time elsewhere, and going back down into it is an exercise in squalor. Being an Assassin mitigated some o' that, aye, but she was a sailor and a soldier first. A killer in each life, peaceable in none.

An Assassin, now. Same as Edward. It's enough to make her smile, though it's wan, and her fingers tighten on Anne's in gratitude. She always knew Kenway'd wind up being an Assassin, it was just the matter of the route he'd take to get there that stayed in the shadow and shade of an uncertain life.]

Tell me. What happened-- after? You said Edward returned to England?

[She doesn't want the immediate details. Not of what happened just past her death, nor of the fate of the children. Mary had just enough time to know she'd borne a girl before they took the child away, interred her that dank cell, and Anne... there's too much pain in her, plain to see. Too much loss. Mary'd prefer not to invoke it at all, if necessary. She always has looked out for the girl.]

[ Maybe later she'll tell her of the bright-eyed, solemn woman who'd found her on Tulum as she'd listlessly wandered, face flushed with success beneath her white hood and bearing an oilcloth bundle of what effects could be salvaged from the jail and the markets in Kingston. She'd fought for the right for the mission, been right praised for it, even if Anne'd been too low to do anything but thank her. The entire settlement had inherited Mary's concerns, it had seemed like. A strong enough community that she'd never twigged they were killers until they'd let her roam the training plazas.

But she marshals her thoughts, dredges the bones of what Mary'd want to know, and only keeps her head from resting on hers for the need to nod. ]

Aye, but only after we'd sailed all over creation to hunt his enemies. Torres, Rogers. Roberts, too, though I gather he weren't a Templar like the others. [ Evil men, she'd been told, and no argument, but. Africa, Mary. Two months at sea and her too responsible for the run of the ship to spend it drunk. If anything's aged her, it's that. ]

His wife had passed, two years without him knowing, but left him a daughter. Sweet girl, raised proper and right demanding for it. [ She'd met her, in a flurry of brief introductions and Kenway beaming at all and sundry in that reckless way he does when he's no idea what's going on inside his own head. She laughs, more a breath than a sound, at the memory. It's easier than envy. ] I'll tell ye, one look at her and he was a man in love.

[That gets a laugh, half-delighted with the joy of it all. Some part of her, distant, wonders if maybe she should be bitter that Edward, who's brought so many around him low without consequence or care, should have something she and Anne both were denied.

He's a good man, Edward. And good things come easy to him, and leave just the same. She always expected - demanded, in a sense - better from him than he was ready to give the world, but mayhap that's all changed now. I did my part, she'd told him, and meant it.

It's good to find she's not so steeped in envy as all that. That her care for him, bastard that he oftimes is, can outstrip all the rest. Maybe he doesn't deserve the whole of the world in the palms of his hands as easy as all that, but he'll earn it. She knows he will.]

I'm sorry for his wife. He loved her, true enough. Did for years. He'd more loyalty to her than to any cause or creed, I can't imagine her unworthy of it.

[She's loved and lost her fair share, after all. It's not a pain she'd wish on others.]

And a daughter. I hope he can handle her proper.

[ Continued from here

It's Anne's place they've been staying in, beyond the first exploration of the suite. Convenience, reassurance, even plain old habit and an unease for the size and unfamiliarity of the rooms have all combined to leave her quarters in cheerful disarray. And it's Anne that answers the door, too, and her hand that rests against Edward's arm to pull him inside, but that's just as much a matter of habit. Supporting him as a friend rather than as her captain.

She'd have handed him a strong drink, but that's one thing they've not gotten around to yet. ]

[Mary looks a sight paler than the consoles would have lead one to believe, but there's a strength to her too, in the way she holds herself as she stands. She's on the mend, all things considered, whatever that 'mend' may be. The local medicines aren't much meant for humans, but it's brought the fever down, and she's eaten and slept some.

But she knows dyin', now, and this ain't it. This place may make as little sense as a sailboat in a storm, but she's never been one to turn down second chances.

Which is why, despite everything, Edward gets pulled into a hug when he comes through the door. He carried her, damn the man, and she's always had more faith in him than even what he had in himself.]

Bloody hell, Kenway.

[It's a curse and a greeting both as she curls her fingers in the fabric of his coat. She's questions enough for him, but they can wait. Right now, she's glad and grateful to see him again, the bastard. It was either this or hit him, and she's not trusting to the strength of her arms much right now.]

[Edward's dazed enough to let himself get pulled into that hug, wrapping his arms around her in turn. He might even be burying his face into her shoulder a little, because damn him, getting to see her again means so much.]

I should be the one to curse you, giving us both a fright like that, Mary. [He sounds a little watery and shaky even as he says it, not that he'll admit it. For so long he'd wondered things might have been like had things gone differently, had he set aside his greed a little earlier and not let Roberts toss him in that damned gibbet. If he'd escaped sooner. If he'd been with them before they were captured...

But blame leads to nowhere, just as it does for Caroline. He's glad to have even this moment with her.]

[ Anne'd thought she'll be fine staying back, but when they embrace and Edward's voice shakes, the emotion coming of the both of them isn't something she can ignore; she laughs light, hands on a shoulders each now to anchor them. They'll go back to that moment otherwise, because she knows them too well to doubt it and because she's done the same each day since waking in that damned pool.

And she rests her forehead over her hand on Edward's sleeve, laughing again to hear their voices together. Damn, she'd said her goodbyes to him, and all. ]

[Not just a fright. She left them both, those she loved best. Death is final, or meant to be, and there's some unsettled feeling in the pit of her gut that she knows she'll have to address some dark day in the future. The dead walking amongst the living. It ain't right, proper or true. But perhaps she can be selfish, for a time. Enjoy it, even.

Something aches in her at Anne's laugh, but she lifts an arm and pulls her in, too, pressing her forehead against the girl's red hair as she keeps Edward drawn close with her other hand.]

Fine sentimentality, from us vagabonds and thieves.

[She's had more practice than Edward has at keeping her emotion in check. Her tone, by contrast, is even. Half playful, a matched set to Anne's bright laughter.]

[Edward shifts -- and he might've surreptitiously wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve, but you saw nothing -- and pulls out of the hug, enough to look Mary in the eye.]

Hey now, I'm moving on from all that. Leastwise I was, before the Emperor brought me here. [He glances to Anne for affirmation, wondering just how much she had divulged to Mary in the space of their two days here. Had she told her everything, or held off mentioning any kind of future that Mary wasn't a part of?]

[ she catches his eye as he straightens up, and her grin lilts instead of the nod that would have dislodged Mary early. She's told some of his story for him, but that's the danger of up and leaving a legacy behind you. Did he really expect Mary to sit idle and patient ~~or Anne to respect the space-time continuum~~ ]

Aye, but it's surely not manners or pleasant company the Emperor wants. Might need to linger a while longer with us vagabonds, Edward.

[ The man could have picked anybody he liked. That he chose them means it's pirates he's needing. ]

[She lets her hands fall away from him, easy enough. Though she keeps close to Anne for a time, darkness drawn to light. Oh, she ain't so poetic as that, mind. Mary's seen darkness aplenty, but she's hardly the thing herself most days. This, now. This is different. Everything's heavier, weighing their triumvirate down like shot tied to their ankles as some cruel hand pitches them overboard.]

Anne has the right of it, I suspect, Edward. Reckon we'll need all our skills before too long.

[She claps a hand to his shoulder with energy conjured up from King and Country knows where.]

You've got your blades, I see.

[A more blatant hint there never was.]

Edited (I tried to /mall that tag, oops.) 2013-12-31 06:26 (UTC)

[Seeing Mary's without her own blades, Edward doesn't need much more of a hint, and unfastens one of his bracers. He knits his eyebrows and looks between them, disgruntled.] And why do you two give a monkey's toss what this or that Emperor wants? I've had enough of being pressganged into the service of crowns and empires.

[Slipping off the hidden blade, he holds it out to Mary to take.]

I've only two blades, so you'll have to cope with the one for a time.

You don't think we're obliged to the man? [ Her answer to that's standing beside him and her disbelieving expression says as much, but she puts off actually saying it. Better things to do, like going over to the table and pulling chairs out as an invitation, and keeping an eye on Mary's overexerting herself. But the blades are a reminder that there's things they'll want to discuss that she's no right to, and after a moment's consideration - area, time, how much of their funds she's used up yet - she weaves around them to get to the door. ]

Sit yourselves down, and I'll get us something stronger to drink than water. [ Door click! And given that it's her apartment, neither of them are going anywhere until she's back. ]

[Damn, she's a perceptive girl. Always has been. Mary nods to her as she leaves, and eases herself into a chair as she straps the blade to her wrist, cinching down the straps to adjust it proper. Edward doesn't keep his equipment in the same shape she does, but tinkering with it will give her something to busy her mind and hands over he next few days. It eases her mind to have it, and she's grateful to him for its use regardless.

She settles her elbows on the table, laces her hands. Then,]

I'm not beholden to the Emperor. Neither are you, nor Anne. Bringin' me back ain't something I'm grateful for.

[It's unnatural. She don't mind living, always liked it plenty and proper, but no one needs the power over life and death, suchlike this implies. She'll fight to keep it now it's hers, same as any prize, but she has misgivings aplenty.]

But neutrality, Edward, has never been my lot in life. I'll not sit idle while the world spins on around me. And I won't ignore a fight if it lands on my stoop.

Edited 2013-12-31 20:45 (UTC)

[Anne, you're a saint. The patron saint of parched sailors. Edward likewise takes a seat, giving Mary's point due consideration.]

And I'd be shocked to hear you say otherwise, Mary. Alls I'm thinking is... that perhaps it's better I wait things out, for a time. Get information and find where others stand. [He sits back, and crosses his arms.] Rushing in on something I knew nothing about and cocking it all up was how that mess with the Observatory began in the first place. I won't do that again.

[And as much as he doesn't like to admit it, he agrees. Mary's returning to life here is unnatural; it goes against God Himself. Edward doubts he'd feel any different if it were Thatch getting prised away from the jaws of the Devil, or Caroline restored to life, God rest her soul. Everyone has an appointed end.]

Suppose Ah Tabai and the other Assassins were here -- what do you think their angle would be? Same as yours, fight the good fight where one's to be found? [He's still the student here when it comes to how the Assassins think and act. But for once, he wants to hear what Mary has to say on the subject, rather than scoffing at it.]

[Wow, did she stumble into some alternate universe twilight zone where Edward Kenway has a scrap more sense than what God gave twittering birds? Mary is silent for a moment, she leans back in her chair and just studies him, keen and speculative, as if seeing him perhaps for the first of all possible times.]

Bloody Hell, Edward. You've done some growing, since I saw you last.

[Is that faint pride in her voice? You bet it is, and her smile is crooked and warm with that same sentiment.]

They'd do the same, aye. Protect those who can't protect themselves. Suffer no loss to liberty. Being here is a loss to it, no matter that they call us free. We aren't meant to be here, and we've no right to remain.

[Getting Edward and Anne back is a priority, definitely, and she is. Not going to think too closely about what that will mean for her down the bowline.]

This place-- does it seem strange to you, Edward? Like the Observatory was a queer thing to behold? Not quite the same, but cousins, morelike.

I needed to do some growing up, like you always warned me. After all what happened at the prison, it... it laid me low for a time. [An understatement, to be sure. But he doesn't need to spell it out for her when he'd been so desperate to get her out of that prison alive. How he'd refused to leave her behind.] I realised I wanted to do right by you. Not disregard your memory by carrying on how I always did, caring for no one and nothing but riches. Even Adé wound up leaving me behind for the Assassins, and that was when I knew things needed changing.

[Edward reaches to take her hand, briefly, and squeezes it in affection.] I still have a long ways to go, and a great deal to learn. But I couldn't have even began on this new path without all that faith you had in me. So I suppose... what I want to say is thank you.

[He pauses, looking down at the table, sheepish but humbled. She was right, years ago he'd sooner throw himself overboard to Davy Jones than to admit she spoke sense all along, but things between them have changed. As to her question...]

This place isn't the same as the Observatory, far from it. But they've both wonders and terrors beyond our knowing, aye. No doubt there are secret things here the Templars would be eager to sink their dirty claws into just the same.

[The Emperor's power over life and death being just one of them. And he can scarce wrap his mind around what they might do with things like magic...]

[Christ, he really has changed. For the better, it seems, and Mary tips her head to one side in acknowledgement of that fact. When he takes her hand, she returns the pressure given. It feels a little like having come to the end of a road only to find another buried beneath overgrowth, and she's glad of it in a way. At least her death meant something, then. Cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless.]

I didn't mean in what it does Edward. But you can't tell me those black palace walls don't hearken back to another time and place.

[At first she'd considered this some Templar plot, but that suspicion's abated some. She'd have heard tell of it by now, some dark whisper, and yet all the avenues she generally plies for information have remained silent and still. It's a point of frustration, to be true, she feels a little like a bird with clipped wings. A petty metaphor, if a poignant one.]

[ continued from here.

The absence of available alternatives and the open invitation was enough to settle them, but even so and on such short notice it's decided quickly for Mary to travel as Kidd, and for Anne to take her cutlass and guns. There's no telling what awaits them: what manner of medicine, or doctor. A welcoming manner hides all ills, but if he's willing to help it'll be just what they need to get her back on her feet.

All considered McCoy likely isn't expecting to see Anne in person so soon, or ever, given the brevity of their talk. Still, less than an hour after he sends the coordinates (and her computer obligingly turns those into directions from Wood to Earth), she's standing just inside the clinic. Warm with the last dregs of annoyance at the cold and the cart driver she'd all but forced to take them most of the way, his next patient at her side, it's just as well she spots the man quickly. ]

Leonard McCoy.

Well, she is right. McCoy hadn't expected to see the woman's face this soon, but he is thankful that he made contact with her when he did now that he sees who else Anne has with her. Immediately the doctor is out of his seat and grabbing his medical kit.

"Alright, bring him back here," he orders calmly before turning around and heading down the hallway to find a vacant room for the three of them. The room is sparse with the exception of a medical bed in the center and a few chairs and cabinets for patient and doctor alike. "Help him up on the bed so I can get a better look."

[Once they're alone, Mary rolls her eyes and, without bothering to correct the man does as he bids her. She doesn't like the idea of Doctors any more than she likes the idea of gaolers, but at least the one's meant to help and do no harm.

It doesn't mean the presence of a knife, resting in the sleeve of her coat with its tip against her index finger is lessened at all, mind. In her current state, might be Mary that gets to him first if he tries anything off-colour, but he's grateful for the cold steel regardless.]

[ Mary's expression is met with a shrug from Anne; if he's worth his title he'll realise his mistake soon as he takes his better look, and he's acting true to his word, and calm enough besides. It's habit that has her glancing at each door as they pass, the unnerving quiet behind each one in a place meant for patients and those sick or in pain.

Still, they're in the room without incident and once Mary's up on the bed she takes a place of her own standing beside it. ]

[ He pulls out a small device, a medical scanner, and begins running it over her from head to toe as its high-pitched whir travels along with his every swipe.

It picks up his elevated heart rate, viral infiltration, and a strange disparity between his hormones. Testosterone is low and estrogen is much too high to--Oh

Oh.

Goddamn can he be any more of an idiot? Well, they would discuss that point later; for now, he continues his assessment. It doesn't take long to get to the heart of the matter: Infection at the sight of the uterus lining, unhealthy dischage, a heavy infiltration of neutrophils, and a UTI, which is all pretty common with this kind of barbaric procedure. Thankfully, it's nothing he can't cure. ]

Well, I pray to God this doesn't come as a shock to anyone, but your partner here's sufferin' from postpartum infection. From an unsanitary childbirth.

[ He looks from one to the other, preparing himself for either compliance or utter shock that someone he thought was a man has given birth. ]

[Mary just smirks, a little. There's always a queer sort of amusement comes with that little revelation.]

Cottoned on to that, did you, with that fancy device of yours?

[Which she doesn't like the look of, but at least the exposure to the technology here has her somewhat prepared for the oddities it entails. She coughs, braces one hand against the bed and reaches for Anne with the other.]

I don't care about the whys, Doctor, we were both privy to them. Can you fix me, or nay?

[ Anne too is smirking by that point, despite herself, Mary's condition, and the unrecognisable device he's pointing at her. If it were dangerous or had any ill-effects, Mary surely would have said something, or McCoy would be bleeding from somewhere vital. But personal distrust aside, the fixing's the priority, so she keeps her mouth shut on that score and moves back into reach of Mary.

Which is helpful, because she can't help the bitterness as she agrees, mouth twisting into something rather less amused. ]

Aye, we knew full well. It were the cure and the care she lacked.

[ McCoy gives the woman a withering glare for that comment. ]

This fancy device is goin' to save yer life, kid!

[ Leaving the bed for a moment, he rifles through his kit for the correct hypospray, clicking through the correct antibiotics he wants to use. When he returns, the cylinder is held at his side while he regards Miss Bonny. ]

Well, lucky for her [ Or him? Does she simply dress androgynous or is there gender identity going on here that McCoy needs to delicately address? He doesn't want to make her uncomfortable or offend her. ] we've eradicated this kind of infection from my time. It's nothin' a cocktail can't fix, I assure you...

[ And with that he holds up the slim hypospray and goes for the woman's carotid artery without a bit of pre-face. Hey, it's hard to remember that people aren't used to this kind of technology. ]

[ she's vaguely wondering if his device tells him more than just the state of a person, with how rapidly he rattles off the fake name - it's not looking to be a problem, but it's suspicious all the same - and is on the way to actual cheer until the hypospray makes its appearance.

If he'd moved any less decisively or with less precision she'd have had the time to interrupt him, but in the time it takes her to draw her pistol and press it beneath his chin he's already connected with the needle. Shit, if they've been fooled - did the machine tell him something about 'Kidd' that changed his mind? She pushes, to move him away from Mary. ]

What the hell did ye just do?

[Mary reaches up - a shade slower than Anne, owing to the state of her injuries - to knock his hand away and press the tip of her blade against that which a man values most, even above their wretched lives. She says nothing, she doesn't exactly need to clarify Anne's point, salient as it is.]

[ Ah Christ. You would think he'd have learned by now to be a bit more conscientious around those not of his world--Well, time. This isn't the first gun or blade or ax or phaser or telekinetic show down he's ever been a part of. They're pretty common during away missions.

Calmly and slowly as he can, McCoy follows Anne back a few steps, watching her intently while groaning when the other woman decides to thrust a knife at his crotch. Classy ladies, these two. He keeps his eyes on the one with the pistol since he'll be a lot worse off missing part of his head than he will be a eunuch.

It's hard, but he suppresses the snort that threatens to condescend Anne when she asks her question, as if it isn't plainly obvious! Like hell is he going to let two ignorant pirates dictate how he runs this clinic and its patience! if he deems a hypospray necessary, then it is! ]

You know, you'd do better killin' me if you angled that back a touch--You'll sever the spinal cord below the foramen magnum; otherwise, you won't do more than ruin my southern good looks. [ Sure his eye and cheekbone would probably be sacrificed in the ricochet as it ripped through his jaw, but details. He's trying to wedge doubt within her, nothing more. And with the kind of weapon she's using, it may do nothing more than scorch him if he's lucky. Pistols from that time and using that kind of ammunition work better as a game of chance than a real death threat. ] So, either change yer trajectory and get this over with or let me do my job to keep yer friend here alive as well. I'm a doctor, not a swindler!

An easy death's not what waits if you've steered us wrong, and you've not answered the question, Doctor McCoy.

[ Being a doctor doesn't excuse a man from lying any more than being a pirate means she's not being completely sincere. The doubt sinks in as he hopes, but only after a healthy dose of irritation. It isn't the pistol that wavers first but Anne, as she glances back. Looks Mary over again, for either some decision or a sign of worsening. ]

[She feels fine, oddly enough. A sight better than fine, but some poisons are known to do that. Calmly, she assesses her symptoms. She knows most poisons that can kill a man, ones that can drive him to the very damning edge of madness, and she's taken small doses of each over the years to ensure a certain immunity. What sense is there in carrying poisons that with but one small misstep could lay you out easy as any target?

If there's some manner of ill contained in that thing, it's too subtle for her senses. The common ones, anyway. So while Mary studies him, she reaches for that other sense, one honed and sharpened from more than a decade's practice. Hers will never be as strong as Edward's, he's a natural at it, descended from all the right lineages, but hers suits her just fine. To see a man's aura is to see in part his soul.

Anne's is blue, as Mary knew it would be. Bright and blazing, like the sky o'er the Caribbean on a cloudless day. It's a hard, cold colour, strong and unyielding, in many ways like Anne herself.

The doctor's aura is a gentler shade, like the tinted glass of a sun-bleached bottle, but it's the right and necessary hue, however you please it to be. Mary sets her jaw, flicks the knife perhaps a little too pointedly against the man's femoral artery, and then eases off.]

He's not set to steer us wrong, Anne. Give him a moment, I trust he'll be all too willing to explain.

[ Of course he would end up with the one woman with more conviction than sense in her. His own bravado may not have panned out, but it at least got the pair of them to ease up. ]

It's an antibiotic [ Ha, as if they even know what that is. This is why he'd rather not get into it! ] It'll kill any bacteria attackin' her body and let her heal. She'll need plenty of rest until her fever breaks, but she won't be dyin' from her infections any longer.

Good enough? Now, ya wanna stop pokin' me like I'm a spitted pig please? Jesus...

[ There's not an ounce of remorse as she steps back to the bed and stows the gun as asked. If he'd said that in the first place, they wouldn't have had to start all that unpleasantness, and if Mary improves then she'll be first in line to buy him a drink. ]

No harm done, then.

[ No harm done. Right. His life seems to be a constant cycle of this phrase that generally starts in some kind of harm. Not bothering to suppress his exasperated sigh, McCoy heads to one of the cabinets and pulls out a bottle of pills. He takes out a handful and brings them back to Anne. ]

These will bring her fever down. Give her--Or him [ McCoy glances at the woman on the bed, unsure of how she wishes to be perceived and hoping for a little feedback. ] once a day until she's back to normal--How, exactly, am I supposed address you? Which gender pronoun do you prefer? [ The one good thing is that she's human, so this shouldn't get too out of hand. ]

[Mary reclaims her seat on the edge of the patient's bed and sets to cleaning her fingernails with that knife she'd so lately pressed up against the good doctor's intimate bits, raising an eyebrow faintly in Anne's direction. A man's a man and a woman's a woman no matter how they dress, inn' it? She assumed, now that the doctor knows well and true enough what she's been born with, that the matter would cease to be an issue.

Still, she lifts a shoulder in a shrug.]

Should I take my clothes off to ease your confusion?

[ She'd have laughed outright at the exchange, except she's occupied with the bottle McCoy hands her and has to settle for a near-derisive grin. Mary's got a different kind of confidence in her acting as Kidd that covers what voice and shape might betray, but she's never seen someone try to keep the ruse going after she's revealed it outright. Maybe she's a hypocrite for enjoying the confusion of other people when her own discovery of Mary's sex wasn't exactly her most brilliant moment... but she can live with that. The bottle, meanwhile, is tucked into a pocket and his instructions filed away. ]

[ There is a giant, suffering sigh coming from McCoy that doesn't seem to be ending any time soon. ] No, there's no need for that! I'm aware yer of the female sex, but gender ain't got nothin' to do with sex. [ Ugh, it's so obnoxious when his accent grows thicker when he's angry. ] Would you prefer to be labeled as a man or a woman in my records and in daily life? Which one are you more comfortable as?

[Is this guy seriously for real? That is everything her expression says as she glances at Anne. It's like Pirate Mean Girls over here.]

I fail to see the difference between the two, but if it pleases you, I'm a woman in all senses of the word. That said, if you find yourself discussing me with others, 'James Kidd' will do. It's not their business what I've got between my legs.

I still would be your shelter; [closed]

anne;

prays this posts properly

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[cont. mary, mccoy, anne]

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wow I can't believe I forgot brackets!

whoops

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misunderstandings ahoy

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tagging this thread as a break from a gender essay = why

HA! Irony

sthsth the worst irony. sorry for piratical ignorance, mccoy