(no subject)

[with_my_teacup]

[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?

Comments

[lastincident]

The Redeemer has her Physiker, so far, we fare well.

[with_my_teacup]

Are all hands safe to shore? God be praised. Will aid be offered if any aboard the Rage have suffered injury?

[lastincident]

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.

[with_my_teacup]

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

[lastincident]

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.

[with_my_teacup]

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.

[lastincident]

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

I cannot promise my captain will not.

Feel free to threadjack...

[dalekemperor]

[...Davros is an annoying, uppity git who gets huffy when other people are doing what he thinks he should be doing.]

If our esteemed physiker is unable or unwilling to do these things, I readily volunteer to take the burden.

[Great. The resident Renaissance man.]

[with_my_teacup]

All the better! The more hands there are to tend to the wounded, the quicker all will be set to rights. I am follower of Saint Francis of Assisi ; Richard Mutolla, recently a passenger aboard the Rage. What shall I call you, brother-?

[Richard Mutolla is a name anyone listening may or may not know-- the son of a Dutchman and a Swahili woman, as predatory and brutal a mercenary as ever cut his way with a saber across a trading ship. But didn't he die ten years ago-?]

[with_my_teacup]

[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?

[lastincident]

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. ]

[with_my_teacup]

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.

[lastincident]

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

[dalekemperor]

They call me Mister Davros around here. It is name enough for me.

[Then it hits him.]

Richard Mutolla... the mercenary Richard Mutolla? Butcher of the Barbary Coast? I'd heard you were dead. Obviously I've heard wrongly. You've simply found religion.

[with_my_teacup]

[Friar Dick's head dips. He isn't proud of his past, but neither does he deny it.]

You might say that religion found me. I was shot by one of my own crewmates and left to die. A pair of Friars whose friary I'd been burning down, up until Toombes' ball found my side, saved me and nursed me back to health. I have a great deal to repay and only a lifetime to do it in.

[Public]

[mistconduct]

[Lying in the sun and sand and struggling to both catch his breath and dry off is a young pirate from the Rage, panting]

Stuff it, preacher, you've got no business tending to my flock.

Public]

[with_my_teacup]

I am the sheepdog for the shepherd and I'd be a poor one if I didn't search for the wounded now.

[He did pay for his passage aboard the Rage, but considering how full of light and love and impossible-to-catch-long-enough-to-kill he is, people can be forgiven for thinking he wasn't worth it.]

[Public]

[mistconduct]

Search to heal them, or search to perform last rites?

[He asks with a sour, doubting look on his face, hair filled with sand as he lies and bakes in the hot, unforgiving sun]

[Public]

[with_my_teacup]

To heal them if I can, to provide comfort if it is too late. What else have I ever done on the journey?

[Oh, I dunno, try to convince Iris not to drink so much, other apparently suicidal things like that.]

Can you walk? You'll need shade before you burn. I can come help you.

[Public]

[mistconduct]

What have you done, preacher? Besides eat our food and annoy us all to death with promises of eternal damnation? I fail to see how you've been the slightest bit of comfort.

And my legs work just fine, thank you. Don't you come near me. I'm only a bit waterlogged.

Re: [Public]

[with_my_teacup]

[The Franciscan's mouth tightens, and then eases. He preaches love, not damnation -- but he knows that others tell of God's wrath more than of his love and it is not for him to be angry at such a mild insult. And if he is angry, then he will pray.]

If God could not forgive I would be first to be damned.

[Public]

[mistconduct]

[Christopher rolls his eyes skywards, then gradually sits up, shaking sand out of his hair]

Good. Go to Hell and set up shop for the rest of us.

[Public]

[with_my_teacup]

You're unhurt, then?

[Dick brightens, because that is good news. He was afraid the young man was concealing an injury, and he can cheerfully ignore the rest of it.]

[Public]

[mistconduct]

I'm half drowned but I'm alive. [With all the sarcasm in the world] Praise Christ.

Re: [Public]

[with_my_teacup]

I do, and thank God.

Can you see others nearby? Are any harmed?