we will not be moved

hold fast like an anchor in the storm an independent roleplay blog for Simon Tam from Firefly / Serenity. Please refer to the permissions page before interaction. tracking #profugusmedicus

[captainofthetidesbreath]

“Among all species, our human hands are unique — not only in what they can accomplish, but also in how they communicate.”

[hyper-esthesias]

      The prodding and the invasion of his person was an occurrence which was not unfamiliar to The Soldier; and while this doctor was gentle and sure with his hands and tools against his own body, Winter was not in any manner accustomed to such violation even still. While he had asked—or, rather, demanded, the skills of the doctor, whatever cancerous pool of mutating neurons that lay within the vague vacuum of his mind, and that screamed with whatever he used to be, wanting nothing any doctor had to offer. 

      He was afraid.

      But he would never show it—not on purpose.

      The Soldier’s vacant gaze was fixated on the other man, but it was hollow, resounding with a nothingness—even behind the mask. And while he took careful note as to what the doctor did to his body, he could find not the courage in him to truly scrutinise the one who held his life in his hands.

      When he beckoned him to lie back, he deemed it reasonable, but felt the need to remove his face mask, for it would hinder both his breathing and the ability to lie his head completely down. Hesitantly, he took it off to reveal the entirety of his face, only to lie back and carefully watch as the doctor progressed with his repair work on his vessel.

      “Am…I…out—of…commission?” he asked, for he feared the consequences thereof.

[profugusmedicus-blog]

      There was a certain vulnerability that Simon did not expect, and he found himself strangely surprised to see something human beneath the restrictive mask. He did not gawk, nor did he draw any undesired attention to either fact, but instead simply nodded in thanks and affirmation as his patient co-operated.

      "Indefinitely? No." Came an easy response. He was confident with himself--positive that he could repair the damage despite how great it was. As he paced away, gloved hands lifted to rummage through pre-measured doses of stored anesthetic in which he intended to administer locally. Without a team of surgeons--or general practitioners for that matter--a general or regional anesthesia was out of the question. Considering the location of the majority of the entry wounds, a tourniquet with a direct injection of the medication into a main artery was impossible; thus, he had little choice.

      A tiny glass bottle was lifted and held against the sterile light of the overhead fluorescent bulbs for examination, but being apparently unhappy with its contents, it was placed back onto the shelf and replaced within his grasp by another. Holding the vial up within the light again to look it over, it was brought back down once Simon was satisfied, and punctured by a needle to draw the solution into the syringe.

      "You should allow enough time for your wounds to heal, however, or you may find yourself unable to recuperate as well in the future." Simon drew away from the expansive steel countertop and returned to the soldier once again, topic changing to the immediate situation at hand.

      "I'm going to give you the anesthetic first." He informed, referring to the syringe, "you won't feel any pain throughout the procedure." Not the cleaning, not the removal, nor the repair. Simon went to great lengths to make sure his patients were comfortable--half because it was a doctor's job to do so, and partially because it made his job easier. 

[shinykaywinnetlee-deactivated20]

Kaylee had spent the morning running after River playing the closest variation on hide and seek that the two of them could manage which basically consisted of Kaylee running for a hiding place and trying to beat River where ever she was trying to go. It had left her sides and her cheeks hurting from laughter, but even after great mornings, duty would call. There had been some unnecessary heat coming off of the engine, and Kaylee needed to have it seen to before Serenity needed to make a quick escape… which could honestly have been at any moment.  So, she currently found Which was precisely what had lead her to being on her back under the oscillator core, visible only by her shoes which twitched along to music she had playing on the over head speakers, elbow deep in the final touches of a much needed but still rather minor adjustment to the transmission. 

Her hands fell free and landed on her chest with a satisfied thump jast as she saw a pair of well shined shoes appear just at the edge of the room. There was only one person they could belong to, and though her cheeks ached, she felt a smile returning to her face once more at seeing them… only to have it fall slightly as they retreated once more. 

"Simon?" she called out pushing herself out from under the core in a sort of half roll that left her still on her side, but much more visible. 

"I didn’t scare ya off did I? I know I listen to my music a bit loud sometimes, drives Captain up a wall… but… I an turn it down if ya like. I was almost finished down here anyway…" She had hoped it was enough to draw Simon back. Engaged him just a little. She enjoyed his company more than she liked to admit, even if everyone knew it. And company, was always something welcome in her life. 

[profugusmedicus-blog]

      The sound of Kaylee's voice over the blaring chorus stalled him, and his feet came to a grinding halt. Half of him was relieved that she found him, giving him an excuse to tread beyond the threshold, but the other part wished she hadn't, and resulted in his stomach contorting into a mess of knots. He was caught, and that alone was embarrassment enough. Did she too think him a coward to retreating, or even hesitating when she called after him?

      "I--well, no." Simon stammered inwardly as he turned to face her, pacing forward just enough to take a step beyond that metaphorical wall. "I was thinking to inquire after something, but I don't have the heart to disturb you." His hand dropped then, and idly crammed into its corresponding pocket as he fell into a fairly casual posture. As casual as he could be, of course.

      "It's not all that important." He concluded, body growing more rigid in its attempt to shrug off the subject--the false one, that was. There was no real question that he needed Kaylee to answer, nor was there any particular reason he was in the engine room to begin with, and because it was all so unnecessary, Simon felt rather foolish loitering around at his own behest.

      "Another time, perhaps."

[yafictionquotes]

[profugusmedicus-blog]

[profugusmedicus-blog]

      Simon's already infrequent wanderings from his own infirmary--and therefore his sister by extension--became less and less as he felt the need to remain confined within the general area. River was highly unpredictable, and even dangerous to the crew at times, and by the captain's orders he was to watch over her more closely regardless of her progress.

      --But there were times when he could slip away; when he was certain of his sister's safety for a set period of limited time, and he could follow the corridors that were always briskly moved through in passing. It was in times like these that Serenity's token medic was able to shake off the dust and the stiffness from his bones and just simply be. It was also in such short-lived excursions that the doctor's feet also led him to a particular room, his mind a blur and his tongue tied.

      So again he ended up before the engine room, the toes of his polished, leather shoes falling in line with the other as if stuck behind some sort of wall--one that he built but could not manage to climb over or dismantle.

      With a heavy exhale of air escaping from between his lips, Simon lifted a hand and pressed his fingers to his temple, the other situated firmly against his hip. He stood like that for a spell, learned fingers pushing back to rake through his hair and against his scalp--

      --but like the coward he was, he stepped away with his shoulders raised, hands now stuffed into his pockets, and proceeded to retreat back to his metaphorical, albeit sterile cage.

[raktajiino]

[profugusmedicus-blog]

      "Think of it this way:" Simon began as he paced the length of his sister's cabin, lips pursing as his hand lifted, fingers curling in towards the heel of his palm. His mind ran in circles, thinking of anything and everything to avert his sister's attention away from the nightmares that inhabited her mind even despite fighting the lingering pain from the now-patched bullet wound in his leg.

      "I would have done the same thing if I were you, sans planning to launch him into space." His limping came to a momentary standstill as he paused, brows wrinkled in contemplation. 

      "--But it would have been nice if you said something. I didn't particularly enjoy being shot in the leg, you know."

[allmygifs]

[leafsoared]

Hands in his pockets, Wash wandered further into the infirmary and sat down on the chair in the middle. He propped his feet up on the nearby stool, trying not to give away that he was mostly looking for a distraction. He pulled one hand out of his pocket, displaying the small cut. “Well - uh - I think the console decided to take a little anger out on me?” he said, offering up a grin.

[profugusmedicus-blog]

      Had the absurdity of the apparent affliction not been enough of a hint in regards to Wash's desire to possibly avoid something, then the fact that he seeked Simon's company in light of something as minor as the shallow incision on his hand was a dead giveaway.

      The doctor looked up, eyes glued to the pilot's face as his hands fell to meet with the stainless steel counter top. He didn't say anything--not immediately--but instead observed him in hopes that he could figure out the entire visit without saying any additional words. Unfortunately, such was not the case. So instead, he asked something seemingly unrelated.

     "Who is in the cockpit?"

[hyper-esthesias]

      The Soldier lumbered towards the Doctor as his left leg dragged behind him with a smear of blood left on the floor—he had been hit twice in the left lumbar flank and left inguinal region of his hypergastrium, and once in the mid portion of his thigh, that had missed his femoral artery. He struggled greatly—for while he was in pain, he was programmed to ignore it as best as he could, but the blood loss had him dizzy.

      As he approached, he removed his goggles, and kept his eyes away from the Doctor—for both identification precautions, but also his shame, though he knew not what to call it. He said nothing, but grunted and groaned as he made himself to sit atop the infirmary bed—for he was much used to such places of prodding and violation, though he yearned that perhaps this Doctor would be gracious, for he was not of his handlers. Though he would not admit it to himself he was afraid to return to his handlers and their base—their doctors—thus he sought another, in the place he’d been stranded.

      He sighed and took a gasp of air through his mask as he closed his eyes briefly to focus himself away from the pain.——— “Is it…repair—able?”      

[profugusmedicus-blog]

      The sluggish approach and the drag of his new-found patient's limb caused the doctor to shift uncomfortably--not from the unsightly way his leg fell nearly limp, nor from the blood that trailed along behind him, but rather due to his own social ineptitude. In walked an intimidating figure that reeked of death, and all Simon could manage as the soldier hauled himself onto the table was an awkward offering of his hands for assistance. Seeing as the weak attempt was disregarded, the medic simply cleared his throat and began a brief examination--such as observing the points of entry and giving the general area a once-over before proceeding any further.

      He had not responded immediately, and instead pulled on a pair of surgical gloves on over his hands. His gaze shifted only momentarily to wheel a small stainless steel table containing various surgical instruments sprawled across it towards himself. A tool was taken within each hand before giving his complete, undivided attention to his patient

      Forceps were used to clamp down on the torn material and lift it away from the entry wound, of which was cut away with a pair of scissors there after. The beginnings of such a procedure applied to both wounds in the soldier's leg, and only when Simon was able to get a better understanding of his affliction did he give a proper response.

      "Repairable, yes." Came a simple reply as the tools were discarded unto another tray. "But if I'm to help you, I'd ask that you lay down--if only to make this a bit easier on you." But seeing as he came limping in with a dumb leg, he was probably less worried about the pain than he was having the limb functioning properly again.

[profugusmedicus-blog]

doctoronserenity replied to your post:

// I was worried about you. D:

skjnfdsdfsdf oh, goodness! I'm sorry! ; w; SQUISHES YOUR PRECIOUS FACE 

[profugusmedicus-blog]

hypermightyrikku replied to your post:

YOU GIANT NERD

butthead

[profugusmedicus-blog]

Ah, I've been busy! Pardon the unannounced absence. Also a little informal hello to any and all new followers. If you'd like a starter of sorts--banter, novella, or anything in between!--just give this a like.

[prettyskeletons]

Anatomical illustrations from De humani corporis fabrica libri decem. Giulio Cesare Casseri, 1627.

[hyper-esthesias]

      His mangled breath heated his mask and fogged his goggles; his muscles stiffened and ricketed as he made his way further towards the medical professional. His extraction had gone awry, and The Asset had been damaged—it needed maintenance. Though, it was nearly impossible to tell his wounds from under his leather coverings, and his approach on the man seemed in menacing malice.

      His foreboding figure made its way even further towards the doctor, until he spoke, when The Asset halted. He processed the information for a moment, and cross referenced the intel with the surroundings, and arrived at the conclusion that this man was indeed a medical professional—but perhaps not keen on his appearance. He did not blame him.

      “Are you a…doctor?” he asked, though he could hardly pry the last word from his tongue; he already knowing the answer. “I…need…maintenance,” he said, yet remained still in his place.

[profugusmedicus-blog]

      Simon faltered beneath the lengthy shadow of the lumbering soldier. He found himself swallowing thickly despite the pride that sat heavily within his chest like a rock wedged between his lungs. He would not shy away, but rather stand his ground--albeit awkwardly in light of the situation and the demands made of the masked man before him.

     "I--" he began to speak, his confirmation having been cut off by a demand as the officer came to a stand still. He did not make a habit of tending to whomever waltzed through Serenity's hatch uninvited, but he was not so foolish to disregard the heavily armed fighter before him.

      "Maintenance, yes." He repeated, palms still lifted defensively as the thoughts within his head whirrled about. Simon learned from past mistakes, from doing the foolish thing and lashing at intruders, and he had a bullet wound scar to prove it. "I could manage that."

[liiwu-blog]

                her mind is like a puzzle, pieces scattered about the                  room from one end to the next. to start with the corners                 would take a lifetime. to bring it all together would                 be impossible.                           ( we make do with what we’re given, reshaping                            until we find the perfect fit, painting our own                            picture with jagged pieces of cardboard and                             the love of a family that smothers and chokes — )                 ‘       simon?’ her brother, her friend, her saving grace.                 his voice snaps her back to reality, away from the                  gnarled and grotesque depths of her memories and                 into the presence of light itself. he’s a warm sea breeze,                 the kiss of it kind on her skin. he is safety, and joy.                                ’their hands are so cold. their                                 hands, their eyes, their hearts —                                 like ice.’

[profugusmedicus-blog]

    "They're not here," he insisted, tone low and gentle. "It's okay. They won't hurt you anymore." He wouldn't let them. Never again would she be subjected to the pain she endured. If he could have gone back and prevented it now, he would have done it in a heartbeat.

      "It's okay," he repeated again, slowly lifting his hands up towards her shoulders and back down in motion meant to both support and warm his sister from the icy memories that swirled around within her head. "I won't let them take you." Palms pushed back then, fingers curling around the upper portion of her arms to draw her forward into an equally warm embrace in quiet hopes that the contact and reconnection with reality would at least satiate River's overstimulated mind.