with_my_teacup | (no subject)

(no subject)

[Public. Really]

[A bedraggled but unharmed friar greets whoever he can reach. His sackcloth habit is torn and some is wrapped over his head to shield his pale gray eyes from the sun.]

If God is willing, we'll need no funerals today. But the storm was rough and landing not easy-- is any man or woman injured or in need? It doesn't matter to me what ship bore you here.

And who is a physiker, to minister when my poorer skills fail?

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I am afraid that remains to be seen, if their captains can parley while we are both ashore. I cannot say I hold much hope for it.

...are you then a doctor of the Navy? Is your duty not first to the sick?

My duty is to my captain, sir. I cannot say I would deny a wounded man if he was brought to me, but I cannot afield to pick up any strays.

Saint Francis wandered and so can I; if I bring the worst wounded to your door, as a doctor will you treat them? I cannot take the dying to be shackled.

I will treat them, and I will not shackle them.

I cannot promise my captain will not.

[The friar's disappointment is palpable, his face beseeching.]

Must we still be enemies? Is the sea not threat enough for us for a little while?

It's not my decision. [ He made his oaths to serve queen and country. He is bound by his word ] We can hope for gentility and civility-- but in truth...

[ Men are savages. ]

I will pray for it, at least.

Perhaps it will come to pass that no-one needs our aid, that somehow all hands weathered the storm.

Mine are with yours, then. Let us hope God has seen us through, on all sides.

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