sixthiterationlogs | Dear God, Give Me Courage, for Perhaps I Lack It More Than Anything Else

WHO: Father Francis Mulcahy and others
WHERE: Various, check starters
WHEN: September 2nd through 4th
OPEN TO: Everyone, but only the last prompt will be an open in full. The rest are first come, first served in order to prevent Topic Fatigue.
WARNINGS: None so far; mentions of wartime problems may come up

( fountain, September 2, open to Major )

Considering he'd gone to sleep in his normal rickety cot, the familiar sounds of an April night outside Uijongbu drifting through the lashed-down sides of his tent, the rumble of engines passing by on the road in the distance...

Well, the last thing he expected to wake up to was water.

Jolting awake with the sudden plunge and the screaming lack of air, instinct kicks in just like his feet, and Mulcahy surges in the direction he hopes is upwards, towards light and away from the darkness, a stray thought passing through his mind that he hopes he's not heading for The Light just yet. There's so much left to do, after all. The coughing starts when he founders into the early morning light, because he'd managed to swallow some of the water before he surfaced, though fortunately it seems to be coming out fairly easily. What he doesn't realize right away is that his glasses seem to have disappeared; he's more concerned with catching the rim of the fountain and clinging to it while he spits up the water that invaded his esophagus. Not the most comfortable of welcomes, this.

( inn, September 2, ~~open to two~~ closed )

Recovered, more or less dry, glasses firmly in place, pack still on his back, and more befuddled than he'd ever been in his life (which is saying something, considering some of the shenanigans he's witnessed), Mulcahy has managed to make it to the inn in time for the noon meal. He's still not certain he's not hallucinating all of this, but it hurts when he pinches his arm and everything feels reassuringly solid, the grain of the wood a noticable texture under his fingertips, the air warmer than he's expecting and with almost a sleight weight to it. At the very least, he's certain this isn't a dream, and the rumbling in his stomach seems to reinforce that idea.

If he isn't waylaid, he's going to approach the first person he sees that isn't occupied with something else, smile warmly and a little nervously at them, and ask the first relevant question that comes to mind. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but I was told I could find something to eat here - how does that work, exactly? I don't seem to have any money, but I don't mind lending a hand if it's needed."

( hospital, September 3, open to two )

The hospital isn't at all like the ones he's seen and especially not like the one he knows best, but in his quest to learn the village the building had easily drawn his eye since it was so close to the inn and he'd decided to explore. The 4077 is a temporary camp - it's a mobile surgical unit, after all - so a structure this solid is a change by itself, not to mention the age. The village reminds him so much of some older places he's seen throughout New England and Europe it's uncanny, and in many ways it's similar to several villages in Korea as well, although those similarities aren't so happy. Run down and the upkeep not kept up with, people living day to day and just trying to survive - it's no surprise that a lot of the buildings seem a little shabby, a few into actual disrepair. The hospital looks better than many, which encourages him - it means people are doing their part to keep up areas that may be needed. It's a good sign of a community pulling together.

Still, he's not about to go poking around in places he may not be wanted, so Mulcahy sticks to the hallways and carefully peers in any doors before he enters a room, in case he's about to disturb any patients. He's fairly sure there aren't any there, but better safe than sorry, and he'd like to see if there's any staff so he can volunteer his services should they be needed.

( church, September 4, open to any )

The makeshift cross outside the building had drawn him like a needle to a magnet when he'd spotted it, and while the structure is obviously a house that's been repurposed, Mulcahy can't deny feeling more at peace at the sight. Obviously someone's felt the separation from their congregation much as he has, and apparently for quite awhile if there's been steps taken to convert a dwelling. He stops in the road outside the building, head bowed and hands folded in front of him for several seconds as he silently prays, and then releases a deep breath before climbing the steps to the porch and opening the door. Seeing what needs to be done will be a good way to keep busy, and perhaps he can find some way to help or prepare for a dedication. He's no Bishop, but there seem to be a lack of them in the area, which leads to a distinct possibility of "winging it."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The place was clean, or at least as clean as it could be, he feels. They're operating on a very tight budget for supplies, or even no budget as far as he can see. Hopefully no one would need surgery here, because he's fairly sure that this place doesn't possess a scalpel, much less a full set of tools. It's somewhat hard to be an assistant nurse if there's nothing to assist with.

Lost in his thoughts a bit, Mulcahy doesn't notice the door very close in front of him or the footsteps on the other side, and so when Claire pops up practically under his nose he can't help but jump back closer to the wall with a small yelp, very definitely startled. But it fades as quickly as it comes, since she's obviously there for a purpose and he's likely intruding into her space. Mulcahy smiles, nodding once in a sort of hello and answers her question. "No, I'm not, I'm simply poking around. Trying to find what this place is all about, you see, and this looked a bit promising."

Good thing the two of them were of the same mind where it came to hoping no one needed surgery. What they were equipped to do was mostly staunch the flow of blood from minor to moderate cuts. Kitchen, or the more typical outdoor accidents. They didn't even have suture kits.

Claire gave a thoughtful look before shaking her head, before gesturing behind her into the room. "That's what I was doing and you know what, it's not. Not even a little bit. Which worries me."

A pause, Claire has to wonder why he's interested. He doesn't look, or talk like any junkie she's caught poking around her ER back home.

"You a doctor then?"

The question's not a surprising one for a setting like a hospital, but it always takes him by surprise when someone makes a mistake like that, no matter that it happens very rarely. The collar tabs on his uniform make his vocation abundantly clear, but he doesn't have them here and now. "A doctor? Oh, no, though I've worked with some of the best for quite some time now." Normally he'd smile thinking about his friends in the camp, but the sudden transportation to another place means all he's doing is worrying about them instead. He does manage a smile for Claire though, because she's obviously concerned with helping people, and seems to be thinking about the right kind of problems to try and solve. You might not be able to think of every possible thing that could go wrong, but being able to anticipate would help keep a sense of calm in trying times.

"I have picked up a few things, though, so if something happens I don't mind being of assistance. Just how bad is it, do you know?"

Her thoughts are that he isn't a doctor even before he confirms it and since there is little to indicate that he's a chaplain, it's the furthest from her mind, too. Priests never stuck around in her department unless a family requested one. So, she was only left to assume that he was in training, or an aid.

Claire gave a quick nod and motioned to walk with her.

"I work in an ER back home and what I saw in there was no more than a first aid kit. Treating cuts won't be a problem, it's the possibility of anything worse than that happening that could prove interesting." she spoke candidly. "But from what I understand, they've managed so far."

Falling into step beside - and slightly behind - her isn't unusual for him at all; he's used to following various medical personnel in much the same manner, letting them go first most of the time because they have the greater knowledge of the situation and usually the greater need to act and do something. Even though this isn't quite the same as a regular, "working" hospital, by now it's a habit that he's not even aware of and falls into automatically. He's paying close attention to everything she says, and it's certain he's going to remember it for later.

"I was afraid of that," Mulcahy sighs. "The building looks... disused. I'm sure they've done everything they can, seeing how it's not a collapsed ruin, but that does argue against being especially prepared. I have a feeling the Boy Scouts would be very disappointed in us." He gives a small smile with the mild joke, but it's still true that they're very ill-prepared for any emergencies that crop up. "Do you happen to know what they've faced so far?"

Not knowing exactly why, but that simple action of walking a half step behind put Claire even more at ease than she was. It was a familiar feeling; a much needed comfortable familiar that made everything a little more bearable. At least for the time being.

She caught the joke and smiled, her expression briefly shifting to agree with a quick nod. "Various issues, but the last thing was a plague of sorts. Interestingly enough? The cure was found in peaches."

It sounded crazy, yet crazy and unbelievable was apparently a running theme there.

"Beyond that, there's been earthquakes, lightening strikes and monsters of sorts. But look where we are. This is the Twilight Zone dialled up to 11. I think we should prepare for worse."

A frown crosses his face at her statement; not exactly one of disbelief, but definitely one of confusion and puzzlement. "Peaches? Not to say they're not delicious, but I've never considered them much of a medical treatment. At least, not outside of some of the wilder stories I've heard told."

There's more than a small element of "fairy tale" to her story. The fruit that cleansed illness? Normally with "fruit" his own mind goes right to the Garden, but since that particular temptation lead to man's fall from grace, it doesn't exactly fit the pattern. Tales from the Brothers Grimm or some of the Chinese legends he's heard fit that particular tale much better. Still, it's something to remember for later, if something similar does happen again, so Mulcahy tucks that away in his memory as he continues to follow Claire.

"None of that sounds like much fun to endure. But, what's the Twilight Zone?" And what does dialed up to eleven mean?

Dear God, Give Me Courage, for Perhaps I Lack It More Than Anything Else

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