Log:A Bit of Blood Will Do You Good

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A Bit of Blood Will Do You Good
Characters  •   Cinder  •  Mark  •  Anchor Man  •
Location  •  Sanctuary - Garage - Sick Room
Date  •  2019-12-30
Summary  •  Cinder gives The Anchor Man some blood while Mark watches over him.

The Anchor Man has been limping around since they let him out of sick bay, but it was a lot of strain on his system and his Little Monsters have been gnawing away. So it is he's back on a sick bay shelf looking sallow and limp.

Mark is hanging out, looking gruff and forbidding. Apparently he's on duty, which is outside of his more normal responsibilities, but he's here. Maybe he traded for some reason.

Cinder comes down to the Sick Room, as ordered. Usually, he is bright and pleasant down here, trying to keep the spirits of the War Kids up. Today, he looks troubled and distracted. He does say his hellos and such to the sick but no more. He offers his right arm for the needle. He has commission work and needs that left hand. But the sketchpad doesn't come out, preferring to grumble and stare into space.

The Anchor Man flashes Mark a weak smile, he's been a little all over the place emotionally since his concussion, but he is a lot more himself lately despite not feeling so good. He gives Cinder a weak wave. "Thank you for helping rebar make it to Valhalla. It is strong blood. Good blood."

Mark watches Anchor Man, giving him a small nod and another for Cinder as he settles back against the wall, watching the room, though his eyes keep drifting back towards Anchor Man and Cinder.

"I am glad to have helped. I'm always glad to help down here." Cinder says, sincerely. "Anything to get you all out of the sick bed and into battle and...live with purpose." He nods a little and eyes Mark almost accusingly...for whatever reason.

The Anchor Man says, “It was a good death." He looks between the two men, brows knit. He's queasy, He's exhausted. He hurts. In a tone that brooks no nonsense, "All right. What has you two grumpy at each other."”

Mark quirks his lips and raises an eyebrow at Cinder, though the eyebrow raise is a little disguised by his tattooed mask. He shrugs. "I'm not grumpy at him. Dunno why he's grumpy at me - beyond his usual grumpiness at all Monitors."

"It's not just your job. It's...nevermind." Cinder shifts a bit.

The Anchor Man flicks his eyes between Mark and Cinder. "Trust me, Mark's okay. He's been really good to me, you know? Carried me to safety when I was bit and everything." The Anchor Man is as subtle as a War Rig's cannons, alas.

Mark's gaze flicks over towards Anchor Man and he snorts softly, looking a bit more amused. "Just doing my job." His gaze flicks to Anchor Man again, but then immediately back to Cinder.

Cinder says, "I heard you found art supplies on the expedition. I want it known far and wide that I would like the colored items. I'm dying to work with color. And maybe Savvies can reverse it to recreate it. And my portraits...with the color? Even better. Even a little color would be great."

The Anchor Man flashes Mark a wickedly little smile, "Very diligent." He closes his eyes for a bit against the nausea, "It's hard to imagine what they'd look like... Do you draw for tattoos?"

Mark nods once, still frowning. "We've finished the Counting. The boss is determining which parts are Sanctuary's cut and which parts are available for individual claims. I know some of the more obvious stuff has gone out, but it's mostly things like books on specific disciplines to the Savvy. The art supplies are likely to be last out, but there were a lot of them. Don't know how many are still good, though. I wasn't part of the detail tasked with checking the pens and paints and stuff, but I know some still worked."

"I do!" Cinder chirps. "My older brother does tattoos and I've drawn for him and others who aren't rushing various OrgMechs. Portraits are my passion but I can draw anything, I think." He pauses to listen to mark and squeaks out a sound of joy. "Paints? Pens? They can still be useful, though they are likely long dry. The pigment can be worked with chemically and recreated. Hopefully. Maylis makes her own dye. I could surely make my own color supplies. Imagine capturing the red of my hair or the green of plants. The blue of the sky. The purples and oranges of a sunset." He sighs, dreamily.

The Anchor Man slit open their eyes, "Odds are some people will claim some as personal shares and they'll get back to the savvy that way. It'd be good to trade for lux." he nods clowly, "It'd be pretty to see."

Mark shrugs. "I'll make sure the people in charge know that even the dry ones can still be of use. I think there were things labeled 'pastels' and 'crayons' and 'colored pencils' along with the other stuff."

The Anchor Man croons "Pastels. Crayons.... Such pretty names. Wonder what they mean."

Mark shrugs. "From what I saw they were some kind of pigment sticks and were stored with the other art supplies." He considers a moment more and then pushes off from the wall and walks over towards Anchor Man. "How are you feeling?"

The Anchor Man smiles a little weakly, "Tired mostly. I'm tired all the time lately. Could you... tell me a story? From when you were young?"

Mark sighs softly and studies Anchor Man for a few moments before sitting down next to him and patting him on the shoulder. "What kind of story?"

The Anchor Man smiles up, hopeful, "I'm not sure? Something that happened to you maybe, or something you saw."

Mark settles back in his seat, thinking silently. "I'm not great at stories. There are too many, but they're... not so much stories as trying to pick apart bits of life to make them have a narrative."

The Anchor Man watches him, "I just...want to know more about you, I guess. And it's good to be distracted from things." He pauses, "I remember when I was a Little being ill and the Lady who took care of us telling stories. It's nice. Soothing you know? But the world doesn't end if you haven't any. I bet you hve copper stories."

Mark laughs. "Some, at least monitor stories. But I'm not really allowed or supposed to tell a lot of those." He sighs a bit and pats Anchor's shoulder again. "I'm better at answering specific questions."

The Anchor Man miles crookedly, "So I can't ask what the weirdest thing you saw while working was, huh? I don't want to compromise your ethics... Okay, what was your favorite thing to do when you were a Little?""

Mark snorts, "When I was a little, huh? A lot of it's hazy." He laughs a little. "There was a game we'd play. Everyone had stones and we had this one stone that was a different color, so we'd take turns throwing that and then everyone else would try to throw their stones to be closest to the marker stone without moving it. There were some variations, but we spent a lot of time playing that one. There were some memory games we played, too. Answering questions about what had changed or tracking pairs of tiles." He shrugs, "I'm pretty sure those were part of how they sorted for Monitors. Probably still have the kids play them."

The Anchor Man says, “Oh yeah! I was good at the stone tossing one, but I hated the memory one. I liked tag and dare too." He smiles softly, "It's nice you know? The way things stay the same for kids in a lot of ways."”

Mark nods. "I think the Breeders, now, are better with the kids. There's more... formal systems and stuff. We were... I mean, they cared, but also we ran a little wilder, we weren't as protected."

The Anchor Man thinks that over, "I think I might have liked a little wilder. I was always trying to climb things, even as a really Little."

Mark nods. "Yeah... it's enjoyable until you lose a friend to something stupid. The boss doesn't talk about it much, but I know she lost a sister to an accident." He shrugs. "In a lot of ways the children are the most precious thing we have. Makes sense to guard 'em."

The Anchor Man's eyes go wide, "Oh! I didn't know... I bet that's part of why she's so good. not that it wouldn't be better if the sister lived, but I can see.... Mark? I'm getting sleepy. If I take a little nap... Would you wake me if you go?"

Mark smiles half tenderly, half in amusement. "Yeah, you nap. I'll wake you up if I've gotta leave." He pats Anchor's shoulder again, gently and then settles in, watching the rest of the room, but not moving away from Anchor Man's spot.

The Anchor Man reaches out to squeeze his knee, then rolls into a better position for sleeping, careful of his tubing. He drifts off quickly.