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Awake.
Aug 31, 2006 20:23:11 GMT -5
Post by Mannix MacNamara on Aug 31, 2006 20:23:11 GMT -5
{for Addison}
I had the dream again on that occassion when I should have died.
It was the same as always.
Looking up to see the broken wood. Eyes darting in time to see the splash. the angry ripples it sends over the sea's service. My sister's screaming figure on the shoreline. My brother Liam's gray flannel shirt being cast to the deck. And then the water. Just the water, thick and black and unforgiving. Cut away to the green hills outside of Killarney. My sister in her most somber black dress, clutching a lily as if letting go of it would mean the undoing of some rope she has tethered around herself to hold everything together and inside. My hand coming to her shoulder to comfort the way I had when we put our mother in the ground so many years before. The feel of her recoiling from my touch. The incensed face of my brother-in-law. The sensation of rushing to the ground as I collide with the newly tilled soil and nearly overturn the pine box. And then the words written in the air by my sister's wand. 'Stay away from me.' And then nothing.
It is only in my dreams that I am sorry for the things I do. When I'm awake I'm just sorry full stop.
And that day when I awoke a sorrier sight than usual, only one eye opening to squint from the light streaming in from the pristine white drapes that were alight on the breeze of an open window that sent them to flutter against a wall that was an equal hue of ivory.
Only two places in the world are that white. One's a hospital and the other's Muggle Heaven.
And while it was possible from what I remembered of the night before that I was, indeed, dead, Muggle Heaven was not a possibility.
Apart from the eye that was swollen shut, there was a seering pain in my face, surely the work of the hex I had taken head on. Had I been the Muggle cowboy type I might have said cavalierly that you should have seen the other guy. But that would have been a crock of shite. The other guy had walked away. And after I was awake about two minutes I realized I wasn't going to be walking anywhere. Not without being able to feel my toes. Or my feet. Or my calves. Bloody Hell. I couldn't feel anything below my waist.
The eye that still worked darted around the room, looking for my wand or the black onyx stone I carried in my pocket. Neither were in sight and without them it would not be easy to converse with my healer. My mother had the good sense to teach me sign language and lip-reading, but the rest of the world couldn't seem to get by without my writing my replies. Or by the use of the weirding stone. But that was another story entirely.
But what my functional eye did spy was a red button with the friendly outline of a person. I had been in hospital other times, though never for anything as spectacular, and knew that once that button was pushed, someone would be on their way to ask me questions I could not answer, to prod me with things, pop pills or potions in me depending on whether the Muggles or the wizards had decided to drag me in.
Call me a masochist, but I pushed it.
Mostly because the sorriest wizard in all of London didn't want to be given the chance to fall asleep and dream once again [/i][/size]
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Awake.
Aug 31, 2006 21:09:35 GMT -5
Post by Addison Blankenship on Aug 31, 2006 21:09:35 GMT -5
“Rise and shine. New patient is waiting.”
A clipboard nailed him in the stomach. Addison Blankenship’s eyes flew open like curtains being pushed aside from a window. He was lying in the massive storage closet, situated horizontally on top of one of the spare patient beds stored inside. Some faceless nurse was standing in the doorway. Addison shielded his eyes with a sniff and stared at his wristwatch. His two hour catnap was up. Time to get back to his shift. The faceless nurse walked away, her heels clicking on the floor until the sound no longer existed and became a distant memory.
It would take some effort to get off of that bed, he’d be honest. The storage closet was ideal for sleep: quiet, dark, undisturbed. Most Healers caught their shut eye in a spare, empty room, but that crept the hell out of Addison, for some reason. Just knowing that someone truly injured had been suffering where he was sleeping was uncomfortable. Thus, he slept in the storage closet on an unused bed. And, of course, he got constant taunting for that. Most called it “Blankenship’s coming out of the closet”. But opinions about where he slept mattered as much as gum stuck to the bottom of Addison’s shoe. He ran his hand along his stubble-lined jaw, trying to read the paper stapled to the clipboard by the slim crack of light shining through from under the door.
Patient can’t comprehend commands or questions.
Took one hell of a hex, swollen eye, not much known because he hasn’t spoken a word since being admitted.
Addison’s eyes dared to read the name. Mannix MacNamara. MacNamara, as in a certain other healer he knew? Addison frowned, thoroughly confused, sitting there for a few minutes in silence. Picking himself off of the bed, straightening his robe, he opened the door to the storage closet and his eyes were blasted with light. Cursing, taking a few moments to adjust, he ambled to the room his clipboard told him to visit, digging in his pockets all the while. If this Mannix wasn’t literate, Addison would surely have to scream until his vocal chords failed him. He wasn’t feeling very compassionate, at the moment.
He stopped digging around in his pockets, finding what he had been looking for. There we go. An inked quill and parchment, ready to go. The quill was a pretty nifty invention: it had an ink supply, so no menacing bottle was needed. It’d cost him a small fortune to buy, but it was handy. Finally coming across his destination, Addison took in a deep breath and flung open the door. Swollen eye. Some resemblance to Tatum. Not much else he could see. That meant it was even more important to get through to this guy, one way or the other. Addison nodded in greeting to him. A silent patient! Addison had a feeling he’d get along with this guy just fine.
Setting his clipboard down, he folded over the parchment where he’d taken some notes on various patients before starting to write. Most people in this country knew how to read or write; hopefully this bloke wouldn’t be an exception.
‘My name is Addison Blankenship and I’ll be your healer today’, he wrote, momentarily pausing. Merlin, that sounded stupid. Despite it, he continued to write. ‘It’s my understanding that you cannot comprehend oral communication, so hopefully this will be an easier alternative. You’re on the Spell Damage floor and most of the patients here are ill of mind and aren’t permitted to have their wands, so yours has been confiscated for now because of safety measures. The quicker I assess your problem, however, the quicker that problem will be solved. Please tell me what other injuries you may have aside from the ones I can see and anything else you’d like to have me know, Mr. MacNamara.’
Addison handed the quill and parchment to him. He decided to wait about asking the man’s relation to a certain other Healer in the hospital. It was best to first see how he communicated.
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Awake.
Aug 31, 2006 21:32:57 GMT -5
Post by Mannix MacNamara on Aug 31, 2006 21:32:57 GMT -5
The first thing you should know about me if . . . that is if you are willing to take the freefall leap of faith that is required to want to know a man's story. I mean really know it so it feels like you lived in his skin, shagged who he's shagged, taken a shite in the same filthy restrooms . . . and if you're still with me after all of that horrorshow imagery, let me tell you the most important thing about Mannix MacNamara.
I am the proudest son of a bitch that ever clawed his way out of the primordeal sea.
So I can tell you that lying in a hospital bed wondering if I would ever be able to wipe my own arse was beyond painful. It was like a form of torture some Asian bloke devised with a piece of bamboo and a rubber tube. And when I saw my healer was a man, I might have shuddered if I had more control over my ruined frame.
It was one thing to take some tender loving care from a woman. To let her fawn and sigh at your bedside. It was a whole other to have a man staring at you, thinking how wretched and weak you were. Thanking Merlin above that he was not the one in the bed.
I've never been the sort to be glad to lead a man to religion through pity. It's just not part of my schtick
And so for all the pain I was in, I acted as nonchalantly as a scarred, crippled deaf man could when I was handed the paper, even laughing in the shrill animalistic way that I chortled. It was a side effect of not being able to hear myself and the sound made most people uncomfortable.
I will be your healer today.
Now that was the stuff of Shakespeare, eh?
The good eye took in the rest of the writing slowly and then I reached for the quill, my hand a bit shaky as the writing brought another wave of hot white pain through my shoulders
I'm a deaf mute. And your handwriting is bloody awful.
I tried to smirk, but I am sure it was nothing more than a grizzly flex of marred facial features, and that not accomplished as well as I had hoped I just returned to the writing once again
I had a stone with me. In my cloak. I use it to speak with and it has no other magical power. I would like to have that if I may. There's pain in my shoulders. And I can't feel my legs.
And then the wind picked up, making the curtains blow more noticably and something in the movement brought to mind the dream I had just suffered.
And then I thought of a question that wanted answering.
Am I still in London?
If the answer was yes, then there would be other questions. And if it was no, I would be left with wondering exactly what the Hell had happened the night before.
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Awake.
Sept 1, 2006 18:02:25 GMT -5
Post by Addison Blankenship on Sept 1, 2006 18:02:25 GMT -5
The good news: he was literate. The bad news: he was yet another person in this hospital with a stick up his rear.
‘I’m flattered,’ Addison wrote, keeping back the other things he wanted to scribble down. He wasn’t always so easy to make mad, but this was one of his days. ‘You are in London, St. Mungo’s hospital. If the stone will make communication easier, I don’t see why you shouldn’t have it. I’ll go fetch it and assess your injuries when I return.’ No feeling in the legs, though. He had the feeling he had a good diagnosis for that, but Mannix would have to wait until he returned. Pocketing his quill and leaving the note with Mannix, he left the room (perhaps a bit quicker than necessary) and made way for the first floor, muttering to himself. He’d had it with these holier-than-thou people. They were worse than the pigs giving out tickets on a Monday morning, that’s how goddamn annoying they were. But he had to keep in mind that this was a colleague’s brother. Those were the only words that were keeping him from doing something unprofessional: colleague’s brother. He kept repeating the words in his mind as he got on the elevator headed down to the first floor. ThisisTatum’sbrother. ThisisTatum’sannoyinggoddamnbrother.
Addison stepped off the elevator a few moments after the elevator doors opened, digging around in his left pocket before withdrawing a key to a door at the left side of the hall. Unlocking the untitled door, Addison slipped into a storage room filled to the ceiling with belongings that would most probably not be returned to their owners. Thus, it was a dusty place. Not many Healers stepped into the place or knew the storage room existed. Coming across the bin labeled with the room Mannix was staying in, he sifted through the man’s belongings until he found the desired item. It didn’t look like it could do any harm to anyone, so he sheathed the stone in the palm of his hand and headed back for his patient’s room.
Placing the stone next to Mannix once he came back, Addison picked up the parchment to write, ‘Paralysis is often a rare side effect of stinging hexes. It could be permanent or temporary, depending on the strength of the hex that hit you. As for your shoulders, I’ll need to check them out to make sure it isn’t anything worse than soreness.’
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Awake.
Sept 1, 2006 18:24:43 GMT -5
Post by Mannix MacNamara on Sept 1, 2006 18:24:43 GMT -5
The second thing you should know about me is that I am motivated by one thing above everything else. And that thing is the pay out, the lolly. I suppose you could call it greed, but I would disagree. My family has always been dirt poor, too many children with too small a day's wages to live on for generation upon generation will do that to a lineage. And from the time I was a boy, I was determined my life would be different. Do whatever I was needed. Save every cent, and then retire early and live out my days someplace where the weather was warm and the water was calm. Drink and soak in the sun all night. Go sailing. Live the easy life.
And I was determined to live it. At any cost.
But the thing about dreams is that you have to fight for them, wage a daily war to keep them from slipping away. I had come to London for my final battle, the job that was finally big enough to be the last one
And the thought that my kin might be a casualty was just an incidental
But first there was this matter of the bed, and the legs that would not work and the healer who I could already tell despised me. Not an easy thing to convey in just a few sentences, but there was something about that abrupt exit that told the tale plain enough.
Left to my own devices, the devious wheels long housed within me began to turn. The plan would need to be altered, not abandoned. I was still in London, that was something. And from what I knew of my sister from what my brothers relayed, she had taken a second rate job as a healer in some hospital in the city. Doubting there were many wizarding medical centers in all of the UK, let alone, London, I chose to see my current circumstances as a stroke of good fate.
She couldn't slam the door in my face. And maybe the sight of me ruined in a hospital bed would bring out her inner Florence Nightengale.
I could only hope
And then the healer returned, looking more annoyed than ever, and I was stolen from my thoughts. I took his next pretty note and read it over. Remnants of a stinging hex. Joyous.
Taking the stone froom where had lain in, I reached out for his hand and placed the stone within it once more, its power being that whoever held it could receive from me a mental dialogue that served as speech.
I can read your lips if you have the bullocks to look at me. But if not, you can stick to your paper and shite writing. And you can look at my shoulders. After I see my sister. She lives in London. Her name is Tatum.
There I was, trying to call the shots as always. I doubted my healer for the day would appeciate it. But that was all the more reason to do it. And though my shoulders ached worse than a kick to the groin, there was business to attend to. I would suffer until it was finished
Suggest you go and get searching for her . . .
And again if I had the power to smirk, I might have.
After all, I do so enjoy making new friends
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Awake.
Sept 1, 2006 18:57:33 GMT -5
Post by Addison Blankenship on Sept 1, 2006 18:57:33 GMT -5
( YAY FOR CRAP POSTS. )
Staring at the stone that laid within his hand, Addison looked quizzically at Mannix after the message had been played like a record in his mind. Neat trick, he’d admit. BUT. It was interesting that the rude expected to be treated like royalty by those who were being degraded. Sure, Addison would take care of the man and act professional, even though they’d gotten off to a sour start. But being a jackarse to the hand that fed you wasn’t going to heal you any faster.
So he was related to Tatum, by some miracle or another. He couldn’t see the link personality-wise, but they did have some resemblance in terms of features. “I wasn’t given that information. But now that I know that’s how you’d rather do this, then fine. No more writing.” His voice was void of emotion, as was his face as he handed the stone back to him and- once again- exited the room in search of Tatum. He could’ve said, “Sure, I’ll go find her” but all that he’d wanted to say to Mannix had been, “I won’t be your goddamn errand runner”. Addison could’ve said that or nothing at all, so he went along with saying nothing.
It almost took a murder to get a hold of Lynne when Addison got to the first floor. When he finally did catch her pregnant form popping out of a patient’s room, however, he made her aware of his desperate woman-hunt and Lynne agreed to try and find Mannix’s sister for him. Ten minutes had passed since that compromise had happened. Addison had no place barging in on patient rooms, looking for her, so he lingered in the hallway, leaning idly against the wall, eyes occasionally darting to a door that would open only to reveal an unfamiliar face. How those two were related still confounded him.
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Tatum MacNamara
Junior Member
Healer
Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.
Posts: 128
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Awake.
Sept 1, 2006 19:14:31 GMT -5
Post by Tatum MacNamara on Sept 1, 2006 19:14:31 GMT -5
The seeker from the Appleby Arrows had roaming hands. And if he wasn't careful, he was going to have his second leg broken before the end of the day. The old woman with the cauldron scald had been nothing but cranky and somehow thought she was a nurse meant to fetch for her. The list of why her day was utter shite was going on and on with every room that she visited.
And just when it seemed it couldn't get worse, Lynne found her in the staff room where she had hidden herself to try and sneak a smoke, telling her that Addison had wanted to see her. At first, her spirits had rose considerably despite the fact that she chided herself for it. Admittedly, she had thought about him many times since that evening that she had saved him from a pig and he had saved her from a sleepy bum, but yet, she had gone out of her way to avoid him, and the more she thought of him, the harder she tried to. And maybe his asking after her meant that he had been doing the same . . .
but just as quickly her hopes were dashed as Lynne revealed that her brother had been admitted to the hospital. Quickly, she demanded a name, desperate to know which brother, though she could guess easily which would be in London and capable of landing himself in the hospital. Though as she stormed out of the breakroom, she prayed silently that it was not that one. Anyone but that one.
Spotting Addison, her face clearly upset, though her tone much angrier than she would have liked, she half-asked, half-snapped, "Which brother is it?" And then in the slight space where she awaited the answer she simply repeated again and again and again Ni Mannix
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Awake.
Sept 4, 2006 14:27:15 GMT -5
Post by Addison Blankenship on Sept 4, 2006 14:27:15 GMT -5
Some time later, Tatum finally approached. She was a bit upset, which caused his stomach to mournfully churn for whatever reason, but he supposed that if his sister had been admitted he would’ve been experiencing the same grief and torture of wondering what had happened to her. Pushing his form off the wall, seeing she was in no mood for formalities, he answered her question pointblank. “Mannix.” Addison silently wondered how many brothers she had and if they were all like this one. But this wasn’t the time to be asking such things.
Addison scratched at the back of his neck, still amazed that someone as compassionate as her was related to. Well. Him. “I’m sorry to bother you like this, but he won’t let me lay a hand on him until he sees you, for whatever reason. If you’re busy, you can come up later or we could figure something out. I just wanted to get the news to you so you were filled in.”
He didn’t have the heart to tell her his injuries quite yet. It seemed too big of a blow to say that her brother had been injured and that he may not be able to walk again. But what really blew was that Addison would have to tell her sooner or later.
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Tatum MacNamara
Junior Member
Healer
Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.
Posts: 128
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Awake.
Sept 4, 2006 14:46:57 GMT -5
Post by Tatum MacNamara on Sept 4, 2006 14:46:57 GMT -5
The name drained all color out of her face and caused Tatum's eyes to close of her own volition. Under her breath, she muttered a few curses, all in Gaelic and not typed here because Lise is lazy and the Gaelic dictionary is a pain in the arse. She had not seen her brother in nearly fifteen years. For awhile he had tried to write her, but the unanswered letters stopped as the years went on and that had suited her just fine. And now after all those years, he was upstairs in Merlin knew what kind of condition, and she hated herself for being worried as much as she hated him for asking for her.
Opening her eyes, once more, she quickly glanced at Addison before moving past him and beginning toward the stairs.
"I'll see him now. He'll be a pain in your arse until I do."
She reached the stairs and started up them, only making it up one flight before she stopped and hung her head, muttering to herself once more.
Looking back to Addison, blinking to keep back any tears of anger or of weakness, she spoke in a very low voice, controlling her tone as best she could to mask the feelings that she was othewise awash in.
"Will ye come in with me?"
She shook her head, feeling wretched to have to ask for help, inwardly feeling like a heel and a leech just from having to voice the simple request.
"I ken ye dinna ken me well, Addison. An . . . ye dinna owe me anythin . . . but . . ." she pressed her lips into a thin line and drew a sharp breath to keep back a full onslaught of tears, ". . .I canna go in there alone."
Hanging her head in shame once more, she repeated much more softly, "Please dinna make me."
She was not sure how any of that sounded. Did she seem a distraught and terrified sister? Or was the truth obvious, that she was afraid of her own brother. Not of some physical threat by him, but moreso of what he wanted, of what it would cost her. And moreover, of how she would react. Inwardly, she prayed Addison could not see those things. If there was one thing she hated more than anything, it was people knowing her that way, knowing the places that hurt her, the things that made her cry, that made her afraid.
In fact, if it had been anyone else, perhaps with the exception of Sean, she would not have even had the courage to ask.
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Awake.
Sept 4, 2006 15:24:50 GMT -5
Post by Addison Blankenship on Sept 4, 2006 15:24:50 GMT -5
I doubt it.
“Take your time.”
Watching her for a few moments as she went up the stairs, Addison stole a glance down the hall, musing what to do now. The rest of his patients didn’t really need any care at the moment. All of them were either too drugged up to do anything or they were asleep. That was the cure for everything: drug them up and let them sleep, maybe God will hand out miracles. Not much else could be done unless someone went nutso, like Jason had done a few days ago when Aimee had been in the room to witness the whole event. Jason had attempted to slit a throat of Aimee’s patient with a shard of glass. Oh, that’d been fun. Especially when Aimee barked his ear off for being negligent. After a patient went nuts, however, you’d have to find a new treatment, figure out why the previous treatment hadn’t worked, yadda yadda yadda. It was a tiring process. Even more so when you suggested the wrong treatment. Everyone paid for it. Sometimes with their lives, as demonstrated by Jason. Nearly.
Tatum’s voice snapped him out of his daze. Registering the question, he looked at her, a bit puzzled. But his confusion didn’t mean much when he saw she was fighting back tears. It alarmed him. And at the same time, it made something inside him weak. Something that made a refusal impossible to verbalize. And that, my friends, was dangerous. But he had fallen victim to it.
“I’ll go with,” he consented, heading for the stairs. How happy Mannix would be about that, he didn’t know. But he wasn’t his main concern right now.
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Tatum MacNamara
Junior Member
Healer
Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.
Posts: 128
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Awake.
Sept 4, 2006 15:45:59 GMT -5
Post by Tatum MacNamara on Sept 4, 2006 15:45:59 GMT -5
Tatum gave a weak smile of gratitude with a very soft "Thank ye" before beginning up the steps again. The words were feeble but they were all that she could manage in the present circumstance, and she found herself repeating them over and over to herself as she made the walk to the room whose number Addison had given to Lynne. It was a way to distract herself from the thoughts of what she was about to see. She did not bring her eyes to Addison at all as they approached the room, lost her own fog until they reached the door when she finally did manage a glance at him.
"Here we go."
Ominous words that held the power of her own inner foreboding spoken gently before she entered and it seemed her world crashed to a hault. In her mind, she had pictured her brother without a scratch upon him, lying in that hospital bed. She had only thought of what horrible thing he was apt to do, not how horrible he might appear. And when she saw him so battered and bruised, it caused her to gasp slightly, her hand coming to her cover her mouth for a brief second.
Swallowing hard, she soon stole her expression to one of impassivity, reminding herself that she was a healer and he was a patient just like the other patients. And on top of that she hated him and didn't care what he looked like. Moving stiffly to his bed, she perched herself upon the edge, focusing on her eyes because they were the easiest thing to look at and not feel pity for him and she did not wish to be weakened by any form of sympathy.
"Ye've made a right mess o'yerself this time" she said, speaking slowly enough so that he could read her lips with his one good eye. "What is it that ye want from me? Healer Blankenship's a busy man an ye should ni dally about with his time like a child."
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Awake.
Sept 4, 2006 15:50:25 GMT -5
Post by Mannix MacNamara on Sept 4, 2006 15:50:25 GMT -5
Every person has their breaking point even with the people they love the most. Until that point, they were malleable, bending under weight, giving into it with a supple grace, bowing to whatever sleight you levied against them, suffering every pain you caused. But every person can only be pushed so far, no matter who you are.
The fact that my sister lasted as long as she did was a testament to her grace and to the size of her heart.
I think I've made it clear enough that I am, by no means, a decent man.
Tatum had been long suffering, but the crack had come finally. And with it, I think I split my own self in two, though I would never admit it to her or to anyone else. My sister had been the one thing I had loved in all my life, and then like a clap of lightning, she was gone from my skies. The fact that I heeded her request to stay away spoke to how secretly grieved I was for my own errs as normally I am not a man who does a think he does not wish to at another's simple command
But I did find myself in London again in search of her. And not to give an apology, but to use her the way I had used her so easily in the past.
And that was a testament to the sort of man that I was and am.
The longer it took for my sister's frame to fill my doorway, the more certain I was that she was not going to come. But then at long last she did. And in an instant, I could see that my work would not be easy. Even if she felt sorry for me. I kept my eyes focused upon her words, watching them and not missing a syllable. But what plagued me was the man in the doorway, a man who had no business there at all.
I reached over and seized his little notebook and wrote him a little lovenote before shoving the stone into my sister's hand.
This is between myself and my sister. I don't care how valuable your precious time is. Get out.
And then I gave my sister a glimpse into my thoughts
Hullo to you too, Sis. I'm not telling you a thing until he's gone. Even if he can't hear. And don't worry. It looks worse than it is.
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Awake.
Sept 4, 2006 21:25:55 GMT -5
Post by Addison Blankenship on Sept 4, 2006 21:25:55 GMT -5
Everything was dandy until he entered the room with her. Then, when she gasped at her brother’s state, Addison felt a sudden pang in his stomach. That sort of “I shouldn’t be here” pang that sends a surge of awkwardness through your veins. This felt wrong, but she hadn’t dismissed him. For whatever reason, she still needed him to be here. Hopefully the reason wasn’t because Mannix was violent and because he had the chance of doing something stupid. Addison didn’t want to get into a wrestling match with this man. But he obeyed the request Tatum had given him and he stayed in the room.
The moment his name was mentioned to Mannix, however, he knew he was in trouble. Especially when he started to write a note. He was sure the note would be ever charming, as was Mannix’s personality.
Addison scratched at the back of his neck, taking the note, reading it over before he locked eyes with him. He was right, he shouldn’t have been there. However, he wasn’t going to have Mannix tell him that. “Your sister asked me to be here,” he said gradually, giving him time to read his lips. “Until she tells me to, I’m not leaving.” So there you go, buddy. Chew on that.
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Awake.
Sept 5, 2006 5:59:29 GMT -5
Post by Mannix MacNamara on Sept 5, 2006 5:59:29 GMT -5
{Switching my own posting order . . . cause I can. }
So my sister would not see me alone. As the fellow once said, ain't that a kick in the head?
From the look on her face, I could tell there was no sense in arguing. Not when I wanted a favor and had already pissed her off. If I pushed my luck, I wasn't going to get anywhere, and I needed to get to my destination, even if it meant having to let the healer that was getting himself higher and higher on my list with ever moment win . .. for the time being. And taking up the notebook, I decided to scrawl him one last love note before simply igorning him.
Well I hope you enjoy the floorshow then, Doc. And that she makes it worth your while.
Perhaps the last bit was the kindest thing to say concerning my own sister, and I'd tell you again that shouldn't surprise you, but I think by now, you know the words to the refrain.
And then my gaze fell upon my sister and I began to explain to her my reasons for coming, praying she'd keep her good sense and not react in any way that would give away my words to her . . . colleague.
I'm in London to do a job. The last job. There's some buyers in Knockturn Alley who want a medallion owned by this eastern mystic wanker who'll be in town next week. They'll pay a pretty penny for it. Even at half the sale price it will be enough to retire on.
I paused for a moment, knowing that she would immediately glean what 'half the sale price' meant, but just in case our years apart had made her less savvy, I continued.
It would have been an easy mark. I hear he's always chasing skirt when he's abroad. We'd run it like we used to. I'd tail him, find out where he haunts. You'd meet him in the pub. Let him buy you a few. Go back to his place. Distract him. And then I'd bust in and stupefy him, we'd get the medallion and get out. It would be a cinch. Things are a bit more complicated now that I'm stuck here. But you could do it alone. You're a clever witch. You'll find a way.
Despite an angry complaint from my shoulder, I reached out and took my sister's freehand, glancing at Addison as if I was embarrassed for reaching for my sister's comfort when really all I was doing was trying to butter her up.
Then things can go back to how you like it. You give me my cut when I get out of here. I'll stay away. And maybe you can quit this shite healer thing and get out of London. Buy a boat. Nobody believes this is you, Tate, that you're happy with this life. This could be the best thing that ever happened to you. Just help me with this, Sis. You know I need you or I wouldn't ask.
And then I fell silent, holding my breath to await her answer and giving her hand a tiny squeeze for good measure.
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Tatum MacNamara
Junior Member
Healer
Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.
Posts: 128
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Awake.
Sept 5, 2006 17:39:08 GMT -5
Post by Tatum MacNamara on Sept 5, 2006 17:39:08 GMT -5
Tatum blinked slightly as Addison voiced his refusal to go. His agreement to stay with her had been shock enough, but actually refusing took it all to another level. But her thoughts were stolen as Mannix wrote his rebuttal, a slight flush coming to her cheek with Mannix's innuendo.
"Jus get on with it," she muttered, bringing her eyes to focus on the stone rather than his mangled face. Her mind recalled briefly the first time she had ever held it. She had been about 4, making him nearly 9. Their mother had worried so much that Mannix was isolated by his brothers, that they would ostricize him as they grew older because of the difficulties his deafness would bring. At the same time, she worried for her only daughter, that she would be lonely with no sister to keep her company. And so in an effort to give each of them the gift of the other, she had purchased the stone, placed the charms upon it, and mounted it on a silver chain for her to wear around her neck. This made it so the two of them could talk anywhere, Mannix patiently reading her lips when she replied to the words she heard inside her head. In those days, they had been closer to each other than she had ever been to anyone. She had given him the stone many years later, before she had asked him to exit her life for all time, and in her mind, the item had come to represent just how far apart the years and his actions had ripped them.
The more he spoke, the heavier the stone came, and she found herself shaking her head. The thought sickened her and angered her all at once, and each word seemed to stir her ire a bit more. When he finally finished, she just sat their in disgusted silence before pulling her hand away.
Turning her shoulders so her brother could not see her face to read her lips she brought her eyes to meet Addison's.
"Ye should drag him back te whatever gutter he was found in an leave him there."
Spinning around to look at her brother, she took the stone and placed it in his hand.
"Get stuffed, Mannix."
And that was all she said, rising from the bed and making her way to the door. Before she slipped out, she looked back to her brother.
"Now, he's done what y'asked an got me, so dinna give him any more trouble."
Looking back to Addison, looking more distraught that she might have hoped she quietly muttered, "I'm sorry ye have te deal with him and his shite."
And that said, Tatum hurried from the room, hurried down the corridor, down the stairway and out of the hospital completely, wanting to restore as much distance between she and her brother as possible.
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