sixthiterationlogs | Do you have the time to listen to me whine?

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Do you have the time to listen to me whine?

WHO: Claire Temple
WHERE: Around the village
WHEN: February 20th/21st
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: None to start but will update

It was practically inevitable that it would happen. Most would probably tell her that they went through their own version of a breakdown. How could they not? Being dumped (literally) in a place that one couldn't escape from and forced to live a new life, away from friends and loved ones were the hardest things to adjust to. Let alone the passing of time that eventually felt like it was going backwards. Even focusing on a menial routine drew the hours out instead of making them pass quicker.

Over the last week, the nurse abandons the things that she's been focusing on as a distraction. She avoids the clinic, isolates herself in her room where she spends more time sleeping in hopes of forcing back the sadness of missing her mother, Luke, Colleen and even Danny.

And then there's Matt, who she hasn't properly grieved.

Early one evening, one might catch her walking around without any purpose other than to stretch the muscles out in her legs from laying so much. She stops at the inn, but not long enough to let anyone catch her for company and conversation, though that doesn't work as well as she hopes. On her way out, Claire manages to find a patch of ice and slips, banging the back of her head.

That's when it happens.

In a matter of seconds, the nurse snaps and lets out a very loud, angry scream that echoes in every possible direction, making it seem louder. When she's done and out of breath, she lays there before bursting into tears.

She's really had enough.

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Stella is out for a walk herself, though on the other end of the village from Claire. Having just recently fully healed from her mistaken cold-weather swim across the other village's lake a while ago, she's appreciating being able to go outside without the temperature aggravating her frostbite symptoms; in fact, it seems as if the weather might be getting slightly warmer, but only slightly.

While her walk is relaxed, though, Stella is, as always, alert for danger, even if only on a subconscious level. She has never really stopped being a police officer, even here. The scream brings her attention right around, and as she jogs in that direction she sees the woman lying on the ground. Alarmed, she closes the distance, only to see that Claire is crying.

Stella remembers this woman; they met, briefly, when Claire had first arrived in the village, and Stella had explained the fundamentals of this place to her. They don't know each other well, or really at all, but they're acquainted and that's honestly all that's needed. She crouches down next to Claire, noting the ice nearby and realizing she must have slipped and fallen.

"Here," she says, reaching out to help the other woman to sit up if she wants, though cautious of the fact that she could have injured herself with the fall. "Are you all right?"

She's obviously not all right, or Stella wouldn't be here asking that question. What it really means is can I do anything to help?

As it happened, she immediately felt the anger take over at how she was behaving. This wasn't like her at all but one could only take so much before they crack and this was obviously that point. Did it stop the spontaneous fit of crying? Not entirely, but when Claire heard Stella's voice, she did her best to not look like the child she felt like.

Once she was sitting up and mostly collected she surrendered to a half nod, though it wasn't likely to be completely convincing.

"Just having one of those months." Claire admitted a little more sarcastically than she intended. "But yeah, I think I'm fine physically. Mentally.. that might be another story."

It was said easily enough and even had the amused undertone. Mostly, the mundane day to day finally caught up.

"How no one has gone crazy here yet is baffling."

Stella doesn't call attention to the tears, because if their situations were reversed, she wouldn't want anyone to point out she'd been crying. She lets Claire collect herself as much as she can, not yet convinced she's really all right, but familiar enough herself with using I'm fine as a cover-up or brush-off that she doesn't push.

She stands up, reaching to help Claire to her feet if she seems to need it, still watching her closely; she's not yet certain the other woman didn't hurt herself, even if she looks uninjured. There's a sharp huff of breath at the sarcasm, and a small, very dry smile.

"Sometimes I've wondered if that's not the point of keeping us here," she says. "To see how long it takes before someone's completely lost it."

Trapped in a strange village, forced into strange experiments by captors they can neither see nor speak with, unable to escape no matter how hard they try — it's really a wonder that more people aren't slowly losing their grip on sanity.

"I've been here more than a year. I wish I could tell you it gets easier."

Claire grips Stella's hand and slowly, albeit a little awkwardly gets to her feet. She stands still for a few long seconds to run through an internal checklist to confirm no injury. She wasn't dizzy or seeing stars. No ringing in her ears. No confusion or pressure. Unfortunately, there was a good chance she'd feel it in her back tomorrow morning. Despite her pride, she'd live.

"I feel like I may have just taken one for the team." Claire replied, dusting the snow off her pants before it could melt. When she looks up at the other woman again, she cannot even fathom it.

"A year. What's your secret to keeping your head on then? Because I've been here for over five months now and I consider myself pretty unshakeable. This? This is right up there with Chinese water torture."

Feet slipping along the ice behind her are probably impossible for most people to miss - though if Claire, screaming and crying, notices someone's approaching, it'll be a slight miracle. "Miss Temple!" Mulcahy is not the best at being stealthy, since - all right, he has needed to be a few times in the past, but nothing beyond normal human capacity. And when someone's hurt, why would he wait? There's not all that much ice, relatively speaking, but the area she slipped is patchy with the stuff, buried under kicked-over snow and some dirt, and it's a wonder no one's broken their heads open yet.

He'd been heading home after helping clean up the inn kitchen after dinner, far enough behind her that he couldn't see her slip, but close enough that that scream was unmistakable. (And remarkably Margaret-like.) He'd turned the corner and immediately spotted her lying on the ground, shaking, and, well, there's absolutely no way he can ignore that, not and still call himself a priest and a shepherd of his flock. Fumbling his way to her across the treacherous ground, Mulcahy sinks to his knees next to her prone form, his voice unconsciously falling into the gentle, soothing patterns that he's learned wounded soldiers respond - relatively - well to, trying to project an air of confidence that he's not sure he feels. They have so little here, not enough equipment if something's really wrong...

"Miss Temple, can you hear me? Did you hit your head, or twist an ankle? Can you sit up?" As he asks the questions, the father moves his hands behind her shoulders to help push her into a sitting position if she'd like him to. "We need to move you off the ground, you won't do yourself or anyone else any good if you catch cold now."

Luckily, as a nurse, Claire is able to self-diagnose and from how she feels - besides frustrated and bothered by the mundane day to day life she's been living - isn't indicative of any real injury. If anything, she might feel it in her back the next morning and she has access to some ibuprofen.

No, she is far more embarrassed that the good father is seeing her like this even though there's some comfort taken in the way he worries. It seems so long since the last time she's felt someone's concern. Normally, it's been her doing it.

"I think I'm okay," she answered with a slight groan. Yes, she'll be definitely feeling that in the morning.

With a weak smile, but thankful smile Claire sit up and after a nod continues to move carefully to her feet. As she turns, she's wiping away the tears with the back of her hand.

"Thank you, father. Just seems to be one of those days."

Or, months.

Seeing people cry isn't anywhere near a new experience for Mulcahy - even before the war, when he was still a student, then a deacon, it happened more times than many people would suspect. Many people feel more able to let go and open themselves up to a religious leader, looking for comfort, guidance, forgiveness, or some semblance of respite from their troubles. It's something he considers one of the most essential functions of a church, or any place of worship, providing that safety that people don't have to hold up their masks and can just let themselves feel and absorb whatever their bodies and minds are trying to tell them, with no judgement. And then came the war, and that idea became even more important in a group with so many pressures and so few outlets, and with no end in sight to even look forward to.

The traces of tears are easy for him to detect, but he doesn't mention them at first, instead focusing on helping her back to her feet. There's a bit more slippage with the ice and Mulcahy starts gently tugging her off that patch so there isn't a repeat of her fall. "Yes, those days when nothing seems to go quite right - I'm a little familiar with them myself." Lately, in Korea, that seems to be most days. "If you'd like to come with me, I'm happy to help you check to see that you have no permanent damage, and help you reach where you need to go."

Claire had seen her fair share of tears herself, most of which were for the same reasons that the father encountered over in Korea. Death was inevitable in hospitals, anywhere you went. Sooner, or later, the exposure to that made it easier to deal with emotions like sadness, which is why the nurse shows her shame more than she'd like.

In fact, she wasn't going to accept his help. Not at first. It was only after she was back on her feet and that she realized she didn't really want to be alone. So, she gave a small nod, accepting his invitation.

"Being here makes those 'days' seem ten times worse. Maybe because the days are longer." Claire said, shaking her head. "I could really go for a pint of Ben and Jerry's right now."

She looked at Mulcahy, realizing it was something that came much later in his timeline.

"Ice cream."

The question must have been obvious on his face, but fortunately she answers the question he was going to ask before he can, and he signals his understanding with a soft ahhh. Mulcahy knows he missed out on a lot of general popular culture notions due to his religious upbringing and then his studies (boy, does he ever know that), but having so many people in this village from so much farther beyond his time has just made it so much worse. Although he's become surprisingly... all right with not understanding things, and he's doing fairly good job at working things out with the associated clues.

"Perhaps, yes. I know they're not really longer, but with so little to do here- we didn't have much in the way of entertainment in camp, but we did occasionally get a movie, or a new book, and if we didn't have any casualties we could travel a little ways away and find other things to do. I worked with the local orphanage many days, and it was quite uplifting. And of course, we could get letters... which we can't get here." It's depressing talk, but it's true. If there's one thing he would wish for more than anything, aside from simply going home, it would be to receive a letter from his sister.

"Would you like to go to the clinic, or would you mind if I chose our destination, Miss Temple?" He thinks he's being sneaky. He's really not. (He really can't be.)

It's comforting talking to him. Or, maybe it's listening to someone who she can relate to with what they've both seen and been through. Even though she hasn't been in any war, the nurse has seen mass casualty incidences and worked in an ER unit that never slowed down.

At his question, she shook her head and smiled. "The clinic isn't necessary, but I trust that if some delayed effect happens you'll know what to do. Lead the way."

Turning to face the same direction as him, she began walking as he did.

"I think that's what I miss most," Claire began, "My mom, my friends. The guy I'm seeing. And as much as I'm glad there are people here to talk to, my entire life is back in New York."

"I won't guarantee that I would be able to help you, but I do know more than most in my calling do, and if I need to ask for further help I will. You could likely talk me through whatever needs doing, if it does. Although I hope it won't."

There's still snow packed on the ground in a few places and they're not going far, so Mulcahy doesn't really pick up the pace. He keeps his arm around Claire's shoulders for a few steps just to make sure she doesn't take an abrupt tumble, but once he's certain she'll be fine for a bit he pulls back, keeping close just in case but not trying to steer her. He knows very well that most medical professionals don't like needing help, and so he tries not to push it on them unless it's needed.

"Yes, I agree - in the camp, we all just wanted to be home. Now, I'd be glad to be in the camp again." At least that's on the same world, with connection to his friends and loved ones not in the army. "My sister is probably very angry by now, and it's not wise to make her angry. She's got a mean dunk and she's not afraid to use it."

It's a bit of a joke; not an untrue comment, but a small joke to try and make her smile. Mulcahy gives a small smile of his own, trying to coax one out of her, as he keeps walking to the church and his home.

"Me, too," she answered, slipping her hands into her coat pocket and not minding the care in which the good father was showing her. Then it occurred to her that he was the very definition of what her mother told her about priests and ministers for that matter.

She laughed softly, looking over at him. "That was my aunt. She got mad and when she got this look in her eye, the room cleared."

And it was funny given her mother was the one who was the calm, levelheaded one.

"Do you think they know we're gone?" It was a question she'd asked others before. Answers varied, but it seemed most hoped people from their world didn't know. Or that things were 'paused', which made no sense.

"Oh, Kathy knows just how to keep a fairly rowdy group of youngsters in line. She's a Mother Superior, you know. One can't be too careful to monitor what the new nuns are getting up to in the early evening." All true but still light, teasing almost. Kathy had written him about some of the trials and tribulations that came along with her promotion, just as he'd written to her about life in the camp. It had been good to have that outlet, even though he'd wanted to see her more than anything; not being especially close to the rest of the family, he treasures that connection with the child just above him all the more.

But her question is a serious one, and much as he'd like to cheer her up and have her be in a better frame of mind, Mulcahy can't help but sigh and look up at the stars. It's the one truly beautiful benefit to being here, being able to see all those stars without the light pollution that was prevalent in the cities, and with the time to stargaze that they rarely had in the 4077. "I don't know. I've spoken of- many different options, really, with a few people, and I can't see that there's a benefit really either way. We're here and we can't forget that - I suppose would be better to not have them know, so they can be spared the worry. Almost all of us have family. And also our friends would be frightened, and we can't do anything to tell them where we are or our conditions. It is... a daunting prospect."

As he talks, Mulcahy is steering them down the road to the line of houses just south of the main buildings in town, heading for the one with the makeshift cross in the yard. It's not especially hard to notice that, and it's probably no surprise to Claire that he's brought her here. "Would you like to come in? I think I still have a bit of Miss Kelly's chickory that I could make a drink out of for you."

Wanda was carrying some kindling back to her house when she heard a cry echo through the chilly winter air. She dropped the sticks at her feet and searched for the source of the scream. Whoever it was, it was more important than gathering sticks.

It was easy to spot Claire on the ground though Wanda was careful when she noticed the slick patch of ice at the woman's feet. "Clarie? Can you ear me?" She knelt at the woman's side, brushing away her hair to take a look at the wound. Wanda wasn't a physician but she was resourceful and could tell that Clarie hit her head rather hard and she was crying.

"Are you alright?"

Wanda didn't know Claire very well but she knew that the woman was strong. It'd take more than a fall to make her cry.

With both her hands up and covering her face, Claire hadn't realized someone had heard her. Silly considering the village wasn't overpopulated but that there were at least one, or two people wandering at any given time of the day. But the voice that was asking her if she was okay wasn't one that was familiar to her.

Slowly, she removed her hands and glanced up before shifting to sit. Claire had seen the other woman in passing but was pretty sure they hadn't met.

"Yeah," Claire says quietly, wincing a little at the pain that radiated across the middle of her back with the movement post fall. "I think. Just having one of those days."

Wanda's expression softened. "I understand. Stay still, I'll check your head before you stand." She wasn't going to mention the part about Claire crying. It felt like prying and Wanda valued privacy for herself and by extension, others.

She gently pressed at the wound, feeling the soft indent of flesh at the back of her head.

"We should get you somewhere to rest." Wanda didn't know if Claire was ready to get up.

Claire can certainly understand the feeling of being frustrated over life. It's the same feeling she had been struggling with as of late but combined with a restlessness that didn't help. Mostly because of the weird energy in the air that leaves her feeling on edge like she is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Making her way into the Inn, she stops long enough to look around before going to snag herself a bit of food for the day. Not that she feels all that hungry but she knows that she needs energy.

Not that she seems to be in a rush to eat when she finds herself sitting at a table just a few minutes later, poking gently at the food with a fork. The only thing she actually tries is the coffee which she sips at regularly, glancing around every now and then.

Edited 2018-02-25 20:06 (UTC)

As expected, Claire was more than a little sore when she woke up the next morning, though not nearly as much as she was a few months ago when she took her tumble out in the forest area. Had she and Karen been the owners of a coffeemaker, there would be no need for her to make the short trek to the inn to get her morning fix.

When she walks in, she makes a bee-line for the kitchen and emerges a few minutes later with a steaming cup and a couple pieces of toast with some homemade jam she'd found in one of the cupboards. She spots Claire and wanders over.

"Want some company?"

Seemingly lost in thought, Claire looks almost surprised when a voice cuts through and pulls her back to the present moment. Glancing up, she blinks a couple of times before finally seeming to understand what's going on.

"God, yes. I'm sorry, I was completely zoning out there." She looks sheepish as she motions at the empty spot across from her, chuckling softly. "Please tell me that it looked a little normal though, okay? I didn't have my mouth open or anything, did I?"

As soon as the other nurse said it was alright, Claire slid onto the bench across from her and set down her mug and laughed quietly.

"No mouth open but you did look miles away." she said playfully. "Was it a nicer place than this?"

Claire, herself, had been daydreaming of white sandy beaches as of late.

"Well, it was warm, there were some good looking people running around and I wasn't worried about the other shoe to drop. So yeah, it wasn't too bad." Claire admitted, somewhat playfully but also serious at the same time. All delivered with a little chuckle before she took a small sip of her coffee.

"How are you holding up these days?"

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Do you have the time to listen to me whine?

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