(2016-03-12) Brain Stupid
Brain Stupid
Summary: Monica check in on Quinton, who's only kinda making sense.
Date: 2016-03-12
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://mushname.wikidot.com/logtitle)

First Aid/Medical ShadyGlenApartments

This three bedroom apartment is nothing exciting. The inside is a decade or two more modern than the outside at least, but drab. Beige floors, off white walls leaves the place looking a bit instititutinal. At least the previous occupant tried to liven it up a a bit with modern furnishings.

Two bedrooms are used for patients, the third for the doctor on duty. The two patient rooms are furnished sparsely with three twin beds each and several candle heaters to keep the rooms warm in the cold of fall and winter as well as to provide needed light. A small nightstand sits next to each bed with an additional lantern for light.


The sun hasn't quite set yet, but Piper has finally left Quin's side to go check on the kids. The poet has taken this opportunity to slip a flannel on, although it's not buttoned. His poor, skinny frame is a story all of it self. A gun shot wound mares his stomach, still pink and angry looking. There's small bandages on his side from the cut glass and his right side is pretty bruised. He has less bandages than yesterday on his head, but with what he still has, his blonde hair is sticking every which way. He looks tired, despite sleeping as much s they would let him. His goal, unapproved by any of the doctor types is to get dressed and out of there.He's stopped at the flannel though, sitting on the edge of the bed and swaying slightly.

Monica comes in to check on Quin. She kind of left in a hurry last time she was here and… it's uncomfortable. Quin is a nice guy. He's community. That makes him like family. So she heads back to the infirmary to peek in the door. Finding it not in trauma-room mode and Quin up and around, she comes the rest of the way in and waves. "Hi. You're looking… well okay better is overstating it, but you're vertical at least. How're you feeling?"

Quinton's head comes up, slowlyy. He's doing the underwater movement people do with head injuries. "…fine…." His tongue darts out to wet his lips, "…better….home…" He doesn't move though to make that happen. Not yet anyway. His pale green eyes take longer than they should to focus on her, but they eventually do and he frowns, like he's trying to remember something, "You?"

Monica nods. "Monica." She doesn't seem upset that Quin doesn't know her name. "You should stay here a while longer, I think. You're a little wobbly yet. If you fall, you could really screw yourself up." She offers a hand to help him back into bed. "I know, it's boring, and there are a million things to do… but getting your brain working again is your main job right now."

Quinton blinks, it's almost owlish, and he slowly shakes his head, "No…..okay?" He's remembering something from yesterday, did she scream? Was that someone else? Piper? He sighs, a hand reaching up to gently rub his eyes, "…fucked up…brain…doesn't…" andf then his hand moves from his eyes to the side of his head and does a motion, like it's scrambled.

Monica says, "Oh. Am I ok?" She ponders that for a few moments. "I lost half my family in the plague. It just… seeing you banged up… and the blood… just brought that back, like it was happening again, right now. I figured I wasn't adding anything but germs anyway, so I left. So… am I ok?" Mon shrugs. "Hell if I know. But I'm back to how I was, at least." She reaches out to take Quin's hand and urge him back into bed if she can."

Quinton frowns as he tries to take that all in, but then nods slowly. "…bad….sick. Understand…" He lost everyone but Kayla, and he actually thought he lost her too, honestly. He certainly lost himself. The hand suddenly taking his has him looking up at her. he doesn't budge at first, that frown deepening, "No good…it's not….ever better…" He holds onto her hand though, glad for an anchor.

Monica looks at Quin. She can't read minds or anything, but really its a safe assumption what he means. She hugs him, pressing the buckskin of her clothing against his flannel and bare chest. "Not really, no. But… people help, you know?"

Oh! Well, he's being hugged. Quin sways against her, he's much thinner than he should be. The hand not holding hers goes around her shoulder, "No…head…never…" He sighs, hating trying to explain, but if he doesn't, she's gonan think the wrong thing. A soft grunt, his bruised ribs hurt, but she seems to need this hug as much as he does, "Fever….hurt my brain…Not always clear. Names…" The he shakes his head, he'sbad with names now, really bad.

Monica lets up a little so she doesn't squish his sore ribs. She nods. "Fever from the plague?"

Quinton nods, making a positive noise. He finally gives up any stubbornness and lets her steer him back towards the bed. "Used to….brain more."

Monica nods. "I think you have the important stuff, still. Plus… your brain's an amazing thing. You can re-learn a lot. Plus there are mnemonics. Like… you could think with a Jamaican accent "Welcome to Jamaica Mon, have a nice day." It's the punchline to a joke my brother told me once. And see, you'd have my name right there. Mon." She tries to arrange Quinton's pillows for him.

That's…horrible. At least the poet thinks so. He hates this, so much. Sitting down he groans, his hand pressing into his side, "Stupid." What is, his wounds? His head? Her idea? The world? There's not many pillows, but there is a sweater on the bed, like maybe it had been draped over him at one point. He wears sweaters a lot. "names…change . In my head." It's not remembering them, they literally just change. It's awful.

Monica shakes her head. "You're not stupid. You were hurt. You're still healing. You're lucky to be alive at all." She nods a little and reaches for the sweater. "If it sounds like I say that to myself in the mirror sometimes, you're right. Something Nora said to me though. There's no wrong way to have a body. Maybe… there's no wrong way to have a brain, either. Or we both just do the best we can with what we have, huh?" Mon takes Quin's hand again and squeezes it. "Anyway. Have you seen Piper lately? I have some pants for her kids."

From Quin's expression, it's clear he's not buying that. He doesn't lay back, but at least he's on the bed. "Not…much.." Is he being truthful, or just feeling sorry for himself. Or maybe he's not able to stop himself from talking today, even in broken sentences. He looks to the sweater in her hand,a nd then her hand in his and his expression turns guilty, "No…left to…kids."

Monica squeezes Quin's hand. "You and Piper. I know. Seems like you guys communicate with each other well enough. Does it matter beyond that?" She does draw her hand back and stuff it in her pocket. It's not even her gun hand. "Is the youngest one… yours?" Doesn't seem likely but… genetics can be funny.

Maybe his head hurts, that's why he's frowning? Quin doesn't stop though as he offers a single other name, "Kayla." Most people have connected the two as siblings. If not, they are certainly living together. Her last question though, it has him huff, somewhere between humour and emotional pain, "…no…" he shifts backwards slowly, like maybe he'll lay down, but he then reaches for the sweater.

Monica says, "Yeah. Protective little sister. I got that when we were deskunking. She seems nice. Lot of anger in her, but nice." She helps him into his sweater. "You're probably pretty stiff. I got thrown off a mechanical bull once and I couldn't even raise my arms over my head for a week.""

oh, he was just going to hold it. But wearing it…that's better. It's a slow process, he's very stiff, and the bruised ribs make it hard. But Quinton pushes through the pain, he seems to need to be wearing it, now that that option has presented itself. Obsessions are weird. "…means well…"

Monica nods. "Be glad you don't wear a bra," she mutters as he wrestles his way into his sweater. It kind of slipped out, and she blushes. "Um… yeah. I know she means well." Mon changes the subject if she can. "Better?"

That has him pause, making sure he heard her right. Quin eyes her as his head appears from the sweater, the flannel on underneath. He lets it go, but stores that for later use. If his brain will let him remember, that is. As soon as it's in place, both ahdns move to touch the knitted pattern, and he calms some. The fever did a lot more to him than just fry his brain, he never had needs like this before. "…yes." It's better, well, as better as he can be, considering. "..Thank you."

Monica ruffles Quinton's hair very gently - sore head - like she tended to with her little brother. Maybe she understands the tactile need more than Quinton gives her credit for. "You're welcome. Get some rest. And stay here until Eli says you can go. Seriously. Okay?"

Quinton's slow to move, so she totally gets the ruffle in. He's older than her, so that's just annoying and won't fly when he's better. "Rest…ok…" No promises on the other though. he's got stuff to do and staircases to fall down…er-climb up.

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