circle7 | an apple a day

Entry tags:

an apple a day

Given the nature of their profession, there is not exactly one location they can accurately label as 'home', but there is still something comforting about being back on familiar territory, and not in some dusty, archaic, out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere town. As soon as they had been relieved of their...luggage (read: the good doctor), Viana had all but dashed out of Evan's view to wash up (at the end of the day, she was still a girl, with more stringent hygiene standards than half the members of the Organization). Evan had made his way to do the same, albeit much more slowly, and not before a good, well-earned nap. Sleeping in the couch did not make for great comfort.

Both being adults and fully capable of taking care of themselves, there is no real reason for Evan to check up on his sister, either, but like the 'home' aspect, it is something he naturally feels compelled to do. In absence of his parents, it just feels like an inherited responsibility. The rest of the inhabitants are used to it, anyway, and though they've been informing him all night that no, they haven't seen Viana (with half-exasperated, knowing smiles), they don't particularly volunteer their help, either.

The search even brings Evan to a wing of the temporary base that he doesn't usually frequent, and it is there that he comes across an open door. He gives it a customary glance-over as he passes - a curtain in the middle of the room, what looks like a stolen doctor's bed, an empty desk, and fold-out chair. Just as he's about to leave, though, the curtain moves, metal rings jangling against the railing they're hanging from. Evan pokes his head through the doorway again.

"Viana?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Evan blinks at him for a split second, before breaking into laughter - wide-eyed, incredulous laughter, staring at Bentley like he's from another galaxy. "Doc," he says, not quite reassuringly, "if I we wanted you dead, we would've offed you back in your quaint little town." It's not exactly...the best choice in words of confidence, but it's about the best caliber Bentley will get in this new environment, sadly enough. "That's cute, though, doc," he adds, after recovering. "You almost paint us out to be like those old-school movie mafias."

"I-it's not like I've ever encountered a mafia before!" The poor doc looks embarrassed, like he should've known, but hey, in his 'quaint little town' there's no reason to worry about that sort of thing. What a silly man he must've looked like, too. So honestly afraid of being killed, and yet here he is, in (relatively) good health. He really did believe those old fashioned movies about gangs.

"You could've... I don't know, wanted to pry information out of me and then kill me." Justifying himself doesn't seem to help much, either.

Evan, seemingly calm, just nods and smiles. He's not a cruel person, however, so he lets the topic slide, pretending not to notice the doctor's embarrassment. "So yeah, have you seen Viana? I haven't seen her since we handed you off to the big guns."

Still recovering, Bentley shakes his head, eyes averted. "Afraid I haven't," he grumbles.

Right on cue, a hand settles on Evan's arm, and a familiar voice sounds from behind him. "What are you doing here, I was looking all over for-" Viana steps into view, looking much happier now that she isn't caked in at least a centimeter of dust and dirt. She's even better dressed, too, in just a big shirt (likely borrowed from her brother, considering the cutting and the modest, plain look of it), and her characteristic shorts. "Oh...doc?" She glances around. "...Your office?"

The (not quite) new face surprises him - maybe for a moment he didn't recognize her, all cleaned up and actually modest looking. (Happier looking.) But who could miss that bright, violet hair, anyway?

"Temporarily, I believe." Bentley's expression tightens a hint. Of the two siblings, Viana is much more intimidating; or perhaps just overwhelming.

She walks in without invitation, hands on her hips like she owns the place (and for someone who owns little property to begin with, she might as well treat the entire world that way), inspecting, appraising. "Huh, it's pretty nice for having been whipped up in a week. Didn't know we had access to this stuff." She opens a nearby cabinet, sifting through the bottles there, turning them so that the label faces her, and mumbling a few of the longer, more convoluted names to herself in amusement.

Evan pulls her back. "He works with us now," he chides, though not unkindly. "You shouldn't touch his stuff."

Viana twists out of his grip, frowning (or pouting, more accurately). "I was looking for a bandage," she mutters, like a child caught red-handed while doing something they're not supposed to. It's a tone she only takes when talking to her brother. "That's all."

"Cabinet to your left," Bentley interjects, but he hardly seems bothered. He's already familiarized himself with the contents of the room - every cabinet, drawer, shelf and table. "You could just ask, y'know. I am a doctor." That lopsided smile finds its way back to his face again, oddly, as he goes to grab his clipboard. Right away, he starts jotting something down.

"I don't trust you," Viana says immediately, and she doesn't move to take the bandage, simply sliding out of the door. She crosses her arms over her chest, like her brother, and leans against the frame the same way, also. Evan gives her a curious look, wondering where her antagonism stems from, and wondering where she got cut up to begin with, but she has one of Those Sour Expressions on her face, and he has enough experience to know not to push an immovable force too much. It tends to be more useless than not.

"Thanks," he says, and what pride doesn't let Viana do, he goes ahead and carries out instead. Pulling out the cabinet to his left, he retrieves a few bandages of varying size (it's doubtful Viana would tell him what she needed, or even admit to needing anything now).

The doctor can't help but frown just a little. If anything, Bentley has no reason to trust Viana. Or Evan for that matter, really, but he's pointedly more pleasant company, and definitely more polite. Bentley looks between the cabinet and Viana.

"You realize the cabinet has a glass front, don't you?"

She doesn't answer, inspecting her nails in a clear show of ignoring the doctor. It's childish, but she's certainly shown to be prone to such behavior before. Evan looks apologetic, and he retreats, pulling her with him as he makes his exit. "Sorry about that, we'll leave you to...catch up with settling in," he says.

"Figures," he mumbles to himself, shaking his head. With a clack of metal (his left arm against the clip of the board), Bentley lowers his notes, leaning it against his hip as he looks back to Evan. "If it's not too much trouble, could you bring back what she doesn't need? Little short on supplies, unfortunately." Although, Bentley wouldn't be surprised if she uses it all, just to spite him.

"I need them all!" Viana says, an obvious lie.

Apparently having had enough, Evan shakes his head, letting out a sigh. "Did you two fight over something while I wasn't looking?"

Case in point.

"No," Bentley responds, "and if Viana needs all of those, then something's wrong." He almost sounds just as stubborn as Viana does, especially talking as though she's not there.

"You should tell the doctor that the only thing wrong around here is him, thinking he knows everything about everyone and then treating them like idiots," Viana hisses back, except she's looking and speaking at Evan when the words are obviously not meant for him.

Evan looks between the two of them, feeling a distinct sense of déjà vu.

The doc's brow tightens. Where had that come from? "What are you ta-" Wait, she couldn't be referring to the other day, could she? Sheesh. Just when Bentley had started to get settled, thinking that was over with...

Clearing his throat, Bentley puts on a more professional demeanor, setting the board aside and crossing his arms. The sudden switch from childish adult to an average doctor is almost an odd one for him.

"Let me see them. Your injuries."

Viana narrows her eyes at him, making no effort to move. The standstill lasts for all of three seconds, before, with a great huff, Evan all but shoves his sister into the room. She nearly trips over her own feet, and admittedly, it's not the most graceful method of persuasion, but perhaps graceful methods don't work on Viana. She whips around to glare at her brother instead, making the cut on her left palm obvious to Bentley.

"What was that for, tonto!"

Quite obvious indeed. Bentley proves to be not quite an average doctor, when rather than taking her hand and to inspect it like that first time, he kneels down by her side and tilts his head to peer into her palm. Upon closer look, his eyes widen, quite intense.

"Wh... This is terrible!" He still makes no move to touch her hand, despite the exclamation.

It matters little whether Bentley made to touch her or not. Viana jumps back anyway, staring down at him like he was another species altogether, not unlike the look Evan was giving him earlier. Evan's brows are raised two, having not expected that particular...move on Bentley's part, but he doesn't say anything, though whether that's out of surprise or amusement is hard to say. Viana stumbles back, holding her hand to her. "...W-what's terrible? It's just a cut!" She even looks back down at it herself, to make sure that in the span of three seconds, it hadn't mutated into some gross, abnormal injury while she wasn't looking.

Bentley straightens, his face grave.

"...You have no love line on your palm."

"Wh-whaaaaat?" Viana exclaims, shockingly disturbed by such ridiculous news. She holds her bleeding palm closer. "Yes I do! It's just covered by my cut!"

"I don't know," Bentley says, voice lowered. His expression becomes even more somber. "It should be right here." A metal finger outlines a crease of skin on his outstretched right palm, just below the fingers.

"No, it's this one," Viana answers, defiantly, and she rubs away a bit of the blood at the crease circling around from the side of her hand, ending up towards the dip between middle and index fingers. "And it's right there."

Evan coughs politely. "Umm..."

It's not enough to get Bentley's attention, unfortunately, but his expression suddenly cracks - right into a smug, somewhat incredulous grin.

"I can't believe you actually know that," he says, taking a precautionary step (or two) back.

"Of course I know it," Viana answers imperiously, lifting her chin to tip her nose into the air. "We're not idiots you know."

Behind her, Evan is inspecting his own palm with a confused look on his face.

Bentley laughs. "No, it's the opposite, really. Only idiots would trust lines in their palms." Skepticism may be expected, though, from a man of science.

Viana's expression instantly darkens - so quickly, in fact, that it might be safe to say she had been expecting some condescension sooner or later. With the injured hand, she pulls back a fist and slams it in the direction of Bentley's jaw.

"V-Vi! What are you doing!" Evan shouts, but a split second too late.

Edited 2010-03-07 08:45 (UTC)

Bentley barely escapes it; he feels the gust of air against his cheek that comes from a speeding punch. The reaction after is quick enough, though. He catches her hand by the wrist a moment after it misses, turning and trapping her arm between his own and his side. Who knows when or how he prepared them, but it's safe to say that the next thing Viana feels is something constricting around her hand - bandages being wrapped around it.

"Granted, I would've deserved that," Bentley concedes, "but you shouldn't throw your injured hand around. You were a millimeter away from needing stitches." Exaggeration, maybe, but a cut on the palm is nothing to mess with.

She struggles (of course she struggles), but a grown man's grip, let alone the grip of a grown man with the additional advantage of a superhuman arm, is more than she's used to dealing with, and she doesn't get very far very fast. The hand in Bentley's grasp flexes and jerks, making bandaging not impossible, but somewhat difficult. "It's just," she says, between pulls and pushes, "a cut! Even I know you're bluffing me!"

"Vi, stop mov-" Evan begins, but it's too late. She already jerks up her knee between Bentley's legs from behind.

"Who's the doctor here, huh- augh, would you stop- if you keep flexing your hand out, it'll- Nngh!"

Well, at least the doc finishes the bandaging before he collapses on his desk, groaning. His body gives a shudder of pain.

"That was... incredibly unnecessary..." His voice sounds a little higher in octave, choked out between quieted gasps.

It seems to appease her. A little bit. Unlike Viana, Evan seems to know when to make an exit and an appeasement. "We'll...just get going now. I'll leave these bandages on the counter, doc," he says, not-so-surreptitiously pulling Viana back outside by her uninjured hand. She goes with minimal fuss, perhaps having no urge to kick up more dirt with things as they are (being that she's better off, and Bentley...relatively is not as much). "Sorry about that again, doc!"

Whatever response Bentley gives just comes out as an unintelligible sound, before there's the thump of his weight sliding to the ground.

Next time, Bentley, just take the punch to the face, he advises himself mentally.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

an apple a day

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

whoops forgot my KEWL STAWK IKON

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject