I need new clothes, I need somewhere to stay

[salamanca]

Who: Lalo Salamanca and YOU.
What: Lalo comes back from his travels with Methuselah badly injured.
When: January 29th thru the next week or so after
Where: Around town. See individual prompts.

Content Warnings: Description of injury, blood, and infection; others tba.

See individual prompts in the starters below.

Comments

cw: medical stuff

[bestsir]

[ Goodsir can't help a small grimace at the sight of the festering wound. Hopefully he can treat it and the poor man won't lose the leg. Thank God for the modern medicines he's found here. ]

A little longer like this and I'd have to consider an amputation. I shall do what I can. There are antibiotics that you can take that should drive out the infection, and I have brought some, and in the meantime, I will clean the wound and replace the sutures.

[salamanca]

[ Lalo, for his part, is terrified, although he does a good job of hiding it. He's gotta admit: it'd be pretty funny if this is how he died right now. But all things considered, he'd still rather not die.

But he can't escape how his life is still in Goodsir's hands right now. Literally, at that.

He's macho enough that he mostly doesn't show how much pain he's in, other than the occasional wince. ]

C'mon, man. You gotta want something for this. What is it? I'll suck your dick. [ A hasty: ] That was a joke.

[bestsir]

[ Harry freezes; his expression is what someone of another era would call a bluescreen. ]

That— [ A cough. ] Nothing of the kind is necessary, I assure you.

[ Once he has a basin of water and the rest of his supplies, he goes about removing the inexpert sutures, cleaning the injury, and setting it to rights. He tries to be quick, knowing how miserable the experience has got to be, and when he's done, he applies a fresh dressing and gets one of the precious bottles of amoxicillin out of his bag. ]

Take these. One per day.

[salamanca]

[ Lalo allows himself a small moment of delight. He can't help it. But then he relaxes and tries to be a good patient.

The experience is indeed miserable, but Lalo doesn't complain. He doesn't even groan. Occasionally, he sucks in air a little more forcefully than necessary, but that's it.

Lalo takes the bottle of amoxicillin gently, carefully, like it might shatter. He knows how precious something like that is here. ]

Thank you. [ Said with genuine gratitude, or at least the closest thing to it that Lalo is capable of. ] For how long?

[bestsir]

Ten days. You will start to feel better before that, I think—but you mustn't stop taking it until the time is up. I'm given to understand that stopping too soon will let the infection return, and possibly in a way that can't be treated by the same drugs.

[salamanca]

[ Lalo nods. Tired now. Then he closes his eyes, lets his head fall back down. Slides the antibiotics into his coat pocket. ]

Gracias.

[bestsir]

[ The meaning is clear and close enough to the Italian grazie that Goodsir can answer: ]

You're welcome.

[ And then, because his curiosity is irrepressible: ]

You're Spanish?

[salamanca]

Non. Mexican.

You're Irish? [ Usually, he'd have more to say, but he's exhausted. ]

[bestsir]

Ah. I apologise—I had forgotten about the Americas.

[ Goodsir smiles. ]

I'm Scottish. I got my education in Edinburgh, and grew up in a small town across the Firth.

[salamanca]

Ayy, Scottish! [ Scottish, Irish. Same thing, right? Lalo smiles quietly to himself. ]

I guess the better question, considering where we are now, might be when you are from.

[bestsir]

1. [ Funny how he's ... accustomed to this question now. ]

I was part of an expedition to the Arctic, commanded by Sir John Franklin. There are several others from that expedition here as well.

[salamanca]

[ Lalo's an educated man, so that rings a bell. He stares at Goodsir, a little incredulously. ]

Wait. No shit?

[bestsir]

[ A very small smile. ]

Indeed. You ... you know of us?

[salamanca]

[ Lalo waves off the question with his good, non-injured hand. ]

Only a little bit. I'm no expert. But you should know that knowledge of your expedition lives on. In the future.

[ Technically all of that is true, anyway. ]

Ah... I hope you can forgive me, I think I could use some rest now, actually. [ He lays all the way down and closes his eyes. ] But, Mr. Goodsir, you are a friend of the cartel now. [ Lalo opens his eyes long enough to smile at him, before he closes them again. He's exhausted. But he does keep speaking with his eyes closed. ]

If you ever need me to "take care" of somebody, you just let me know. Just tell me who and what you want done, and I'll set him straight, no questions asked. [ Or her, it's an equal opportunity offer, but Goodsir doesn't seem like the type to sic a cartel don on a lady. ]

[bestsir]

[ For just an instant, the name Cornelius Hickey forms in Goodsir's mind. The prospect of having the man removed from this place, or even just beaten to within an inch of his life (again), is so tempting that it actually shocks him a little. He goes visibly pale, appalled at himself more than at Lalo, and looks away. ]

That's not a favour I should ever wish to call ... but I shall take the offer in the spirit in which it is meant.

[ He looks back with a shaky, awkward smile. ]

Go rest, Mr. Salamanca. And if you have further trouble, seek me out.

[salamanca]

[ Lalo nods, pale, and leans back, closing his eyes. ]

Goodnight, Doctor. Thank you for your help.