lifeaftr | [CLOSED] Skull and cross bones

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[CLOSED] Skull and cross bones

Who: Doctor Faust (

wanderingdoctorfaust), Héctor Rivera (

vagabone) and Muffet (

prettypurpleparlor)!
What: Old Man Yells At Skeleton
When: Backdated to September 25th
Where: The Denny
Warnings: Two angry old men screaming at each other

It's a quiet evening, almost eerily so in the aftermath of the mind control-fuelled Nastrandir civil war, when the good doctor slips out from the clinic's walls to collect his second cup of tea for the day. Or several more, perhaps. He's feeling like he's going to need it if and when more injured arrive on his doorstep.
There's not many people out and about even as he reaches the doors to the ever-present Denny, but Faust doesn't find the absences particularly alarming. He wouldn't be surprised if he found out most of the populace was having a string of self-care days to recover from...Everything.

He's lost in thought as he passes the tables, walking towards the counter whilst his mind continues calculating how many different types of injuries he can properly heal with his remaining ki reserves combined with the squalid excuse of a supply closet the clinic has to offer.
The numbers aren't looking very appealing.
The room comes back to the forefront of his mind as his elbows make contact with the countertop, and the scent of fresh food and drink rouses him back to the present entirely. Enough hard thinking for now, old man, it's time for your medicine.

He remains wholly oblivious to the fact his arms and hands are scant inches away from a far-too-familiar skull that is still very much alive and active.

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Do you mind- [That's about as far into a mildly scandalized exclamation at this sudden and unexpected impoliteness as Muffet gets before having to break off midsentence because oh shit, hot tea.]

[Thanks to a combination of luck and good reflexes, she catches the cup with one hand before it hits the floor and spills, then scoops up Hector's toppled skull with another.]

Gentlemen.

[She sets the cup back down on the counter with an audible click, the quiet little sound somehow deeply menacing. She does not look amused.]

Would either of you care to tell me what, exactly, is going on?

[Don't let the question mark fool you- this is definitely not a request.]

Faust is already preparing to step forward and exchange purely metaphorical blows with the offending piece of detached human anatomy before Muffet manages to get a word in - and in the process, giving the good doctor the most icy feeling of déjà vu he's had in a long time. Or maybe that's just the massive chill shooting down his spine, gluing him to the spot and choking the breath out of his lungs.
Being the target of Miss Muffet's quiet contempt is quite petrifying, as it turns out.

"...a-ah, that...I just jumped a l-little, is all! Random...skull, just, sitting there, inches away from my elbow..."

Damn it all, it's the clinic incident all over again. Think, Faust, think...!

"...my apologies, Miss Muffet. A-and, you as well...sir...?"

The uncertainty only comes from the fact Faust still has no idea what this skeleton's preferred alias even is. Well, that and a few other things, such as the fact that he desperately wants to sheath his weapons and take his leave, but is unable to due to his body deciding now is the best time to lock up entirely. There's also the fact that if he doesn't salvage this fast, it would make Miss Muffet the second Denny bartender he's angered.
...oh to hell with it, there's no way he's resolving this situation without some flexible thinking - in more ways than one. So he dares to focus his gaze on Héctor, trying his hardest to project an expression both apologetic and pleading through his bag, and pray his meaning is picked up on.
He'll leave, strawman. Please. Don't do this.

Right. Right. He gets the hint. And the thought of Muffet being angry with him is, indeed, terrifying. Much more so than Ginko being irritated. He slaps on a feeble grin, probably not fooling either of them, stuck in Muffet's hand. Can't excuse himself. Can't leave under his own power. All he has is words.

"Nothing, it's nothing, hah... Mind taking me to the back? Just for a little while? Por favor. We can check up on whatever's... baking...?"

[Oh, this isn't contempt. This is polite, but stern, disapproval. With a dash of 'I know you're up to something, you may as well just come clean now'.]

[She has a very versatile range of expression.]

You're both terrible liars, I do hope you know that.

[Spider lady is Not Impressed.]

[She gives a quietly exasperated little sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose with a free hand, as though warding off a headache. Tempting as it is to force an explanation out of them, it seems cruel to do so when Hector physically can't escape- an advantage she'd happily take over a rival, but less so against a friend.]

Now, one tries not to pry into the business of others- but when it occurs in my place of business, that becomes rather... difficult, to say the least.

As always, this establishment is open to all- provided they respect the rules of common courtesy. [Even Foster managed that for, like. Two whole minutes? The rest of you should be able to.] This does include avoiding combat while indoors.

[She'd sort of thought that would be obvious, but apparently not.]

[Having said her peace, she smiles brightly at Hector.]

Yes, I'm certain you've a burning desire to observe the strawberry tarts. Shall I put you down by the sink, then?

[Sure, she's not buying his excuse, but it's still only fair to let the poor guy get moved where he'd prefer to be, given the lack of legs.]

The admonishment washes over Faust's body like a bucket of boggy river water being dumped upon him, the weight of the scolding sagging his entire body down with guilt. This truly is just another repeat of the clinic incident, and right now that stings just as much as his failure to uphold the Denny's most basic rules. Damn it all, he can't keep letting his guard down like this. Ginko's words from the last time this happened still ring in his head like a broken record, and it's all Faust can do to not hurl the scalpels across the room in frustration.

"...yes, Miss Muffet. I understand."

The good doctor won't say anything else, leaving Muffet to safely escort the Strawman's disembodied head away from the counter and into the kitchens.

[Boredom or Faust, what a horrible choice he's being given. Ugh. The nervous grin stays right where it is.]

Or you could put me on the other side of the room! Anywhere I'm not, ah, scaring your customers.

[Isn't that a good enough explanation? People have a right to be creeped out by walking skeletons. Or talking skulls, whatever the case may be.]

[Maybe if you were talking to someone who wasn't literally a giant spider, it would be. Frankly, the idea that skeletons might be creepy still hasn't even occurred to her.]

[Obnoxious, sure, she's met Sans. But creepy? Not particularly.]

Well, if you'd prefer... though it's not as though you aren't a customer, yourself.

[At the acknowledgment, Muffet gives Faust an approving nod.]

Very good. I'll get you a tart when they're done baking, they should be ready soon.

[If this reminds you vaguely of dealing with a primary school teacher, that's probably because Muffet's found over the years that the tactics she used to use for dealing with her little cousins while babysitting are also remarkably effective in interpersonal negotiations:]

[Be calm but firm, scold without losing your cool, offer snacks when somebody seems depressed. Low blood sugar never helps a situation.]

Your other customer, then. [His casual act is slipping--not that it was great to begin with. Please get him away, why must this happen when he has no limbs?]

I'm just here to hang out, not to eat, I don't have hands, so I'm technically not a customer!

[...Also no one has money, so.]

[Don't remind her that no one has money here, every time she remembers she still cries a little inside. SHE MISSES SPIDER CAPITALISM, OKAY.]

[With dry amusement:]

Is that the requirement, now? [You must have at least one (1) hand to be a customer.] If so, I think I've more than enough hands for all of us. [One of the free hands gives a cheery wave to illustrate the point, while another is occupied carrying Hector.]

[She does, at least, deposit him gently on a table in the corner, then turns to head over into the kitchen. It's a reasonably nice table, admittedly. Very good view.]

...it becomes slightly easier to breathe without Muffet's withering disapproval baring down on him. Or perhaps it's because the strawman is no longer within his direct line of sight? Regardless, with Faust suddenly finding himself able to move again, he'll hastily stuff the gleaming surgical implements into his coat pockets before awkwardly leaning against the counter, his mind running a mile a minute. Has the worst passed, or is it about to come? How many lines has he just crossed with Miss Muffet? Is there anything, ANYTHING, he can do to salvage a single shred of this...?!

As the good doctor ruminates, he'll neglect the ever-tempting cup of tea, the delicious scent mocking him for his inability to be a reasonable human being in the presence of reanimated corpse parts. What are his options here? Running - hahahahaha. No, that's not how he operates. Should he try and talk to...no, the strawman very much wants nothing to do with him, and if nothing else, Faust can absolutely respect that wish. It appears all the good doctor can do is simply wait for Muffet to return and...and at least just be honest, this time. Well, as honest as he can be without delving into topics he absolutely has no wish to delve into, anyway.

[Nice table, good view, no nine foot tall bald freaks in his line of sight, everything is... as good as it'll get?? He has no way to entertain himself, but that's fine. It could be worse!

For now he'll simply sit there, unable to do anything else. What a day.]

[What a day, indeed.]

[At least by island standards, it could be far worse- no one seems to be injured or physically on fire at the moment.]

[Though, speaking of delicious scents, Faust may find another one drifting into his vicinity in short order, as Muffet walks out of the kitchen with a plate balanced neatly on one hand. As promised, when deposited on the counter in front of Faust, it proves to hold a single fresh strawberry tart.]

Here we are, fresh out of the oven.

[Troubles may come and go, but good baking is a constant in this turbulent world.]

...his hand is already reaching out to collect a piece of the delicious pastry before the good doctor even realises what he's doing, his fingers instead curling into a tight fist as decades worth of willpower is channelled into freezing the offending limb in place, firmly in the middle of the void between the delectable bounty and the good doctor's mouth.
Priorities, Faust.

"...I'm so sorry for causing a scene, Miss Muffet."

No amount of tea or baked goods is going to dissuade him from owning up to his mistakes. That, and he honestly doesn't feel like sitting down and enjoying a delicious tart and a warm cup of tea after what just happened.

Apology accepted. [Muffet seems entirely unruffled by the whole affair, calm as she usually is.]

It isn't the first time we've had some incident or another in here, and I doubt it will be the last- that's simply the nature of people. [Specifically, the nature of the service industry. You just sort of get used to weird shit happening.] As long as you don't do it again, we needn't worry about the matter.

Though if you'd like to talk about it, I'm always willing to lend a listening ear.

[She is technically a bartender at the moment, after all. "What's troubling ya, buddy?" is part of the job description.]

...wait, really? Just like that?

"Are you...I mean, it absolutely won't happen again! I won't allow it. It...yes. Sorry, I'll, just..."

In lieu of not quite knowing how to respond, Faust will instead lead his outstretched hand back to the cup of tea, pretending he's not trying to gauge Muffet's reaction. He's still not completely convinced he's off the hook, if he's being completely honest, but...

"...we are all a little on edge at the moment, it appears. Recent events have not been kind on our psyches, nor our relationships with those we care about. And yet, the infirmary's beds remain empty, and the clinic's storage cupboard remains fully stocked. I'm well aware several of us know basic first aid or even battlefield medicine, but..."

Okay, maybe he's redirecting the conversation a little. He'll come back around to the skeleton situation, he swears.

[She's a practical woman, at heart. If the issue's dealt with, why waste time and energy on it that could be better spent elsewhere?]

Ah. Yes, many of our fellow castaways do have a tendency to be... somewhat excessively self-sufficient, at times. [Not that she's naming names, Hector.] I suppose it's no great comfort to recall that the Storyteller would presumably be aware if any of them hid away and died in a corner somewhere.

On thinking of it, perhaps our local deity's ability to revive the dead is part of the reason for such low turnout. If someone makes up their mind to recover unassisted, they'd either succeed- in which case the matter need never come up at all- or fail. In which case... well.

That hits a nerve. A really, really sensitive nerve. The good doctor does not raise his voice, nor does his body language change...but when he speaks, it is through grit teeth, and his hand grasps his beverage with far more force than is necessary.

"...whilst I cannot say I have fully grasped the hearts and minds of those around us just yet, I'm still taken aback by the idea that most of the general populace here possesses the sheer grit to overpower their own self-preservation instinct, and yet they choose to waste it on slowly dying alone from easily treatable injuries, instead of admitting they might need help? And don't get me started on this resurrection business, I swear, it...!"

He's not being fair. He's not being rational about this. He should stop, take back his words, reconsider what it is he's saying...

"...ugh, listen to me - I sound like a senile old fool, complaining about the kids on his lawn. Maybe I was there once, where they are now. Perhaps if I met my younger self now, I would say the same things to him, sensitivity and rational thought be damned. Good grief."

He sighs, torn between being frustrated at the stubbornness of others and at himself for not having more patience after literal decades of handling patients just like this. Perhaps the answer to this conundrum is at the bottom of this cup of herbal wakefulness...

[Muffet reaches out and pats him gently on the hand. There, there.]

It's a terribly frustrating situation for everyone involved, I've no doubt. I suspect that all parties believe they're doing the best they can in a difficult situation, with varying degrees of accuracy.

She's right, and he wholeheartedly agrees with her assessment of the current state of affairs. He may not be wholly satisfied with it, but since when has he ever been satisfied with the medical care systems back on Earth, either? Granted, that was only because those systems were unified in their stubbornness to only grace specific members of the societal hierarchy with basic healthcare, and subsequently all absolutely deserve the scathing criticism he's accumulated for them over the yearsssssand he's spaced out, oops.
Faust's eyehole 'blinks' a few times before he finally responds, shaking his head slightly as if to ward off the invasive memories of his past work.

"...yes, you're right about that. I do try to have faith that those sincerely in need of professional help will find their way to the clinic, eventually. Just because we cannot truly die here surely does not make it a preferable alternative. Surely...?"

In lieu of any further speaking - or thinking, for that matter - Faust will simply attend to his tea, giving a small hum of satisfaction after a rather generous sip. At least he managed to achieve his initial objective of getting a second cup of Miss Muffet's delicious brew inside of him. Just the warmth of it travelling down his throat alone is enough to inspire a semblance of wakefulness within him, and the fog obscuring his thoughts begins to thin out.

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[CLOSED] Skull and cross bones

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with Faust's permission

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