(2530-04-30) Days Since Accident: 0
Summary: A typical morning on the docks, and a random run in between Fallen Angel Crew and local clinic staff
RL Date: 30 April 2020
Related: 2530-04-29-not-vulture-alfredo-dinner
betsy marcus finnegan 

**Docks - Shipyards, Eavesdown **


This section of Eavesdown Docks has become the center for anything to do with repairing or supplying ships. Two large shipyards - Deutz and Phoenix - face each other across a broad dusty avenue. They say you go to the former if you fancy yourself a law-abiding citizen of the Alliance, and you go to the latter if you want to thumb your nose at the Purplebellies. From the outside, they appear to offer the same services as each other, and for the same prices.

Smaller repair yards and related shops abound. These are interspersed between landing pads, warehouses, shabby bars, and ubiquitous street vendors. Some of the larger warehouses are filled with supplies - everything from spare parts to whole ship engines, food and drinks by the ton, furniture, and much more besides. A flea market offers second-hand goods for those who are short of cash and don't ask questions. One more shipyard stands to the west, where new ships are actually constructed.


Morning. Ish. Betsy's still sleeping for shit, but with the little pick me up she managed to secure at the Bat Cave, she's definitely feeling better for it all. So, she went for her morning run and the day has turned suddenly rather lovely, after the morning rain came through. It's killed the dust in the air and now everything is covered with a sunny slight dew that will burn off in the hour, but right now it's perfect for sun bathing. So, that's Betsy's plan. She's stolen a folding lounge chair out of the Fallen Angel, set it up on the open cargo ramp, right at the end so she's in the sun, and is just settling down to lay out with a cup of coffee. Probably should drink water after running, but coffee is better. She's just in her work out clothes, though this close to the ship she has strapped a single blaster to her hip just in case. Black shorts, a black sports bra, and her runners are her only accoutrments otherwise.

The docks are a busy place to sunbathe, and people move to and fro, some rushing and others stopping to admire sports bras. Down toward the other end of the row of ships is a kerfuffle, though. People running around, a crowd gathered, the occasional pained yell. It doesn't have the frenzied crowd feel of a fight - this crowd is silent. Must be an accident or a death. Overhead, an ambulance shuttle descends and the patient is put into it and rushed away. That leaves the people dispersing. Among them is Dr. Finnegan Hill. She's carrying a bundle, discarded surgeon's gown - under one arm and a medkit with the other. Because she was able to remove and roll the gown in such a way that most of the blood is on the inside of the bundle, her uniform is relatively clean, with only a smear of blood here and there.

Marcus has dressed a little more normally, a lot of tweed, which is likely a mistake for such a sunny day. He makes his way down the ramp and pauses seeing Betsy sitting and sunning herself like a stray cat. He seems to have been on a mission to head into town, but he forgets about it after a moment, the two haven't talked since thier not-a-date was interupted the night before so he wanders over to where she is lounging and says, "morning" trying to make his voice not crack or give anything away when he does, it comes out just a little more low and gruff then he meant it to. He then looks up to see Finn coming away from the sight of the trouble across the way, and recognizing her from the diner waves in her direction.

Trying not to be a gawker, Betsy hasn't remained sitting up staring at the events, but her eyes are definitely on the mess even as she's trying to look casual. Her coffee has been neglected for fingertips hovering a bit too near her weapon, just in case someone tried to intervene in a violent way. Her body language screams protectiveness, like she was some sort of body guard even dozens of feet away. Old habits die hard. The sight of Finnegan coming away with that gown, the touches of blood to her uniform, it pulls Betsy's eyes. She's staring, silent, mind completely somewhere else. She's sat up again now, every inch of her body language poised in the deciding to fight or flight mode. Fortunately, Marcus' words shake her out of it, bringing her back to the present. She hadn't even realized he was there. "…M-morning. Morning. Do… you know what happened?" She tries to get her mind to catch up with the present and even gives the doctor a faint smile and a nod, since she was staring quite strangely a moment ago.

"Hello," Finnegan greets them. She looks tired, but sounds calm and collected. "Cargo container accident. It's under control." Whether or not the victim of said accident will keep all body parts is dependent on the amount of vascular damage that occurs before they get him to the city hospital, where re-attachment is a lot more successful than in their podunk clinic. "No deaths." Yet. Shouldn't be, but again, that's dependent on transport and treatment at the other end.

Marcus leans down and says to Betsy in response to her question "Cargo Container accident, it's under control" Then winks at Finnegan, "Can we get you some coffee Doc? I just put a pot on a few minutes ago" His head nods behind him toward the ship, One hand reaches out and rests comfortably on Betsy's shoulder.

His hand was there. And the explanation, given quieter but in a voice she knew and a voice that wouldn't be wherever her memory was. Betsy's shoulders drop a bit, the last few dregs of adrenaline still pounding but she's not ready to act. Her smile is more natural and more genuinely focused on this moment, "Oh… He made the coffee, that means it's actually drinkable. And maybe… water? Whatever happened looks like a mess. Take a minute. Relax… Do you want…?" Betsy reaches down and pulls out that familiar silver cigarello case, having rolled a few for her sunning plans. She offers one in the direction of the doctor with one hand as her other comes up to rest over Marcus', squeezing his fingertips in silent thanks for a long moment.

The doctor gives Betsy a LOOK. "Thank you, no." But Marcus gets a more thoughtful regard. Mmmm. Coffee. She glances back toward the passenger docks, her route to the clinic, and then back to the man. "That'd be wonderful, thank you. I can take a moment." Which means that she thinks she SHOULD take one. Though, while waiting for said moment, she moves over to adjust the sign that says: Make the Docks a safe workplace. days since the last accident. 0. 0 days. Why would they even put a sign like that in this place? There are so many accidents that there should be an appendage disposal pit. Or something.

Marcus steps back into the ship a moment and returns with a large styrofoam mug, a good 20oz of coffee, pipping hot, within. He offers it in Finnegan's direction, and looks back at Betsy, "she's a dctor Bets, she is not going to want to stick that poision between her lips."

"It's not *that* bad, I use the natural stuff! Hand rolled!" Betsy offers, but she is also polite enough to actually not light one around the doctor, which is a huge sign of respect to anyone who knows her. She shuts the case and settles back in her lounge chair, a frown painting her lips as she notices the woman changing the sign. "…That's… not the most reassuring of things. Guess they're all gorram lucky there is a whole clinic on this planet." Doctors are…strange. Intimidating, odd creatures. Betsy stares again a moment or two before realizing, "Uh, there's more… chairs inside. You want one with your coffee? Get off your feet? I can grab one for you too, Marc. Enjoy the day while the dust isn't choking us but it's actually sunny."

Finnegan accepts the cup with a gracious, "Thank you. I've actually met many doctors who smoke, drink, inject, or do whatever they can to try to make it through. The hours are long, and the work can be stressful. Amphetamines are a serious problem. I tried a cigarette once, when I was fourteen, and decided my lungs had other ideas about what was acceptable rebellion than my teenage self had. Also, my mother smelled it on me and grounded me for a month. It didn't prove cost-effective, in my world." Having allowed the dark liquid 30 seconds to cool, she takes a cautionary sip. Her head shakes slightly at Betsy, "I don't have long."

"Marcus," He says, "We met at the diner briefly when I made a total ass of myself" He nods to the woman in the chair, "This is Bets, If you know anyone looking for a posting we could use a medic on board." He grins, "I think its been what 2 years since Betsy has had a real honest to god check up"

A slightly uncomfortable chuckle comes from Betsy's lips as Finnegan talks about the various things doctors use. She rolls her mostly bare shoulders in a little shrug, "Whatever gets you through the day, right? I can't judge." She mutters carelessly, stretching out back in her lounger and JUST about to relax until she catches the tail end of Marcus' words. Gray eyes go wide and she just glares back at him for a moment. "… Not… wrong… but we can wait until we eventually get a medic. Who was huffin' and puffin' when we were running yesterday, hmm?" Two can play at that game. She then looks back to the doctor, "But yes, I'm Bets…"

"Oh, I can," Finnegan says, with wry grin. "It's not fair to patients, who need to be able to trust in their doctors. "Nice to meet you, Bets, and you again, Marcus. Kincaid, right?" Trying to ease Bets' nerves a little, she tells her, "You're welcome to stop by. I know I can be horribly intimidating…" She's 5'1" and cute like a panda "… but I promise to be gentle. You too, Mr. Kincaid. Marcus."

Marcus nods, "I just got a check up at the VA about two weeks ago, so I am fine" He gives Bets a dark look at her out of breath comment, "But Bets has a body like one of them old earth marble statues, perfectly scuplted but badly smoke damaged, crumbling and pot marked from centuries of mis-use" He nods knowingly, "Someone should make sure there isn't too much water damage or internal parasites, if we want to keep this work of art around for a few more centuries."

Well, Betsy had a question, but her mind has now completely skipped any functional words as she just slowly turns her head towards Marcus, staring at him in speechless shock? Dismay? Murderous thoughts? It's hard to tell. "…You, Marcus Kincaid, clearly have a death wish." She finally very flatly, very calmly says. "…You won'tk now when I will get my revenge. Or where. But it's coming." And then she's smiling. So sweet smiling. That too-sweet smile is turned back to the doctor, "Doc, you have to forgive me, if he actualy bothered to SAY your name it's lost beneath the various revenges I'm plotting, but I think I didn't actually get it yet. I could keep calling you just Doc but… I occasionally have manners. And you *are* intimidating. That whole doctor thing is a little terrifying, you know?" Short stuff or not. Betsy might be teasing with those last words, but it's hard to tell. Probably one of those all jokes have a core of truth in them.

"Nothing involving bullets or blades, please," Finnegan tells Betsy, regarding methods of revenge. "Or poisons. Or…Oh, I'm so sorry. Finnegan Hill. Outside of the clinic, I don't mind any variation of my names that you come up with, but when working, I do prefer Dr. Hill, to keep the young nurses respectful." She does her best at offering an 'I'm not evil' smile. She has one she reserves for relaxing patients that, though not genuine, is at least pleasant. Genuine smiles are a rarer creature, from this particular person. "And, I do know. It /is/ terrifying. We have shiny medal things, and machines that beep, and we often venture into parts of the body that are reserved for NO EYES, EVER. But we do it with good intentions, and I never am adverse to trying to find squiggly things in a person's poop under the microscope. Everyone needs a hobby, right?"

"Are you suggesting I need to start locking the hatch to my cabin?" He looks at her and shakes his head, "I am not afraid of you Bets, do you know why?" He chuckles softly and smiles, "Because if you wanted me dead, I would be dead already, and there would be nothing I can do about it, so there is no point in worrying about the things you can not change, you just accept them and keep going."

"Dr. Hill then, thank you." Betsy does seem genuinely respectful, if still intimidated, even if she could probably break the woman over her knee. She never would. A ground pounder knows the value of medical staff, scared or not. She takes another long drink of her coffee, almost have finished with the mug already, her brows skeptically arching as the description of the doctor's duties is laid out. A small crack of a smile comes at the end. "…the poop line is good. It's a good ice breaker for the pain in the asses like me, I'm sure. I'll keep that in mind." She winks at the doctor, but doesn't look any closer to agreeing to come in. Marcus' words earn him the first genuine smile of the day, even if she had been considering murder, her head rolls to the side to rest slightly against his hip where he stands near by, the affection definitely a few inches above friends. "You are so lucky you're pretty…" She mutters to him, but she's smiling. He wasn't wrong.

Finnegan arches her brow in confusion and deadpans at Marcus, "There are things I cannot change?" The horror. She takes a few appreciative sips of coffee and nods to a passerby who claps her, too hard, on the shoulder with a "Thanks Doc." Same person makes an obscene gesture at the accident sign before disappearing into the belly of a nearby ship. "It's not really a line, Bets. I really DO like microscope work, and it really is a sort of hobby. Mostly not poop, on my free time, though. Food, plant life, insect wings. Whatever. It's amazing, the world you cannot see." She leans forward show off the ring on her right hand, "My fiance gave me this. He know I'd have no use for diamonds." Instead, it's a little orange rock set into rose gold. "I gave him this one night as a joke; told him it was a gall stone. It's really just a rock I found in the lot behind the clinic. I wanted to see if he'd scream like a girl and throw it, but instead, he mounted it and gave it to me. Probably a little glad it WASN'T a gall stone; I would never take something like that. It'd be a violation of trust."

Marcus slides one hand down and runs it through Bets's hair, not the long part, the short scruffy part, drawing his nails like claws through the shaved portion. "That's good, Betsy might help you with finding all new forms of parastic life that has evolved to live off of alcohol and nictotine in her body. Could be your next major scientific paper. Maybe we should set her up with an appointment to come in and get checked out?"

Oh no. He got the spot. Betsy's side shave has been horribly neglected for weeks now, so it's over grown in the worst ways except for the areas where a scar that winds up the side of her head no longer lets hair grow. Even that's mostly covered by the awkward grow out and Marcus' fingernails against her scalp is enough to calm the beast, her eyes half lidding as she leans into the scratching. "…gorramit I need to shave this down…" She mutters. It's definitely not a complaint about the touch. Finnegan's story keeps a genuine, bemused smile on her lips even as she's being half distracted. "That's… incredibly sweet, actually. You got a good one there, Doc. Even if I'm a bit disappointed it's not a real gallstone. Wearing internal body parts would be pretty damn epic." Marcus' stomach is given the most gentle of swats as he goes on about new forms of life, but she doesn't even acknowledge the appointment thing.

"Not until she's ready," Finnegan says firmly to Marcus. "I won't force that, unless there's a reason to believe it's needed." She looks down at her ring, so fondly, and adds, "Only if they were my gall stones, which I thankfully do not have. Or his. Otherwise, it'd be inappropriate disposal of medical waste. Technically, it might still be that if it were mine, but who would care?"

Marcus keeps skritching and nods, "I will make sure to give you a call next time she shoots herself in he foot doc, and then we can get all the baseline tests done we need to." He chuckles and looks down at Betsy, "You hear that, no carving gallstones out of the bowels of your enemy just to make a bracelet, it's unethical"

The reassurance of not until Betsy was ready gets whatever previous heckles were up down. It takes a lot to trust a doctor, but Finnegan is getting up the ladder pretty quickly, or she at least knew the right things to say. Betsy might be an attack dog, she's slightly built like one too, but she's still got that loyalty and want to trust somewhere beneath the tough surface. It doesn't take too much to get through, especially when Marcus is scratching the side of her head. "…what if I got permission to like… use some body part? Finger bone earrings would be great. I'd actually *wear* those. And doc, if you make jewelry out of your own body parts… my respect for you is going to go up by leaps and bounds."

"There's nothing to refute in that statement, Marcus." Probably a lot to refute in Betsy's, but Finnegan doesn't try. "It hasn't happened yet, but long hours and heavy workload can do amazing things to people. If I decide to go into morbid accessorizing, you will be the first to know." Another sip of coffee as a defense against exhaustion.

Marcus nods and finishes the skritching, puling on Betsy's hair slightly, to make her look up at him he leans down, and without fan fare plants a small kiss on her lips, before nodding to the Doc, "Well I have errands to run, behave yourself you two."

Bets knew that drinking of the coffee. She often did the same and was about to take a sip when Marcus tugs at her hair. She gives a little grunt of complaint that he's stopped, but then he's kissing her. She returns it. Quick. Comfortable. Like this is something they did every day. "…Go. I'll be here." But there is a bit of a stupid smile on her lips now that wasn't there before and a happy warmth to her cheeks. Oh no, that was a 'honeymoon' stage kiss. She's still firmly in the fresh of it. "How… long you been with your guy, Doc?"

"Forever," Finnegan replies. "For all the ever that matters, anyhow. I REALLY should get back to the clinic. They're short of coverage and I have no business socializing." That means balancing the medkit, the bundle of dirty medical carb, and the styrofoam coffee cup (by this point it had better be eco-friendly foam!), but she's resourceful and manages it. "I'll see you two around."

"It was good meeting you, Doc. Stop by, we always have coffee and generally don't bite." She gives the woman a little wave, but doesn't seem to mind being able to go back to her sunning with what is left of her coffee. Once the doctor is well out of shared air space, Betsy does reach down to grab her cigarello case and finally pull one out.

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