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31_days2009-09-09 01:12 pm
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2009-09-09 01:12 pm
[Sept. 9] [Suikoden III] Forte's Compassion, Stephen's Compassion
Title: Forte's Compassion, Stephen's Compassion
Day/Theme: Sept. 9, 2009 "Yougottadance. Aslongasthemusicplays."
Series: Suikoden III
Character/Pairing: Forte Ismeiro, Stephen, Tevan
Rating: PG
Author's comment: Directly continuing "Forte's Compromises" from the 7th.
"They smell nice. So fresh," Stephen sighed, taking a deep whiff of the air-dried sheets. "Oh!" he exclaimed, looking back at the thin and flushed man he had just been speaking with, "Tevan, wasn't there something you wanted to ask the doctor while he was here?"
Forte pulled his notepad out of an apron pocket and flipped through the pages until he found the information referring to this specific patient: Case #52, Tevan. He was too busy to make more detailed charts for his patients now, and, anyway, as with any plague, all the cases were so similar he might as well be copying the same list of symptoms over and over. Twenty-six years old. A carpenter.
"I...I don't think," Tevan mumbled in a raspy voice. He lifted his hand to gesture Stephen over to his bedside, and whispered to him restlessly, "I can't ask him. I'm too afraid. ...Can't you ask for me?"
"Of course," Stephen answered gently. He understood the sick man's fear. If their places were reversed, he was sure he would be making the same request. "Dr. Ismeiro, how are Tevan's prospects? Do you think he's going to..." At this point, even Stephen had to fight to find the words, "...To make it?"
Forte pushed back his wig, which was slipping too far forward from all the leaning over beds he kept engaging in. He hated to be asked to make the determination at this point. It was a bit early to tell, in his opinion. He would feel terrible if he told Tevan he would recover and this failed to come true. As unsatisfying as it was going to be, he would be honest. At least he wasn't telling the man he had no hope. "I can't tell. The next two days will be crucial."
Stephen thought he detected a shiver of fear through Tevan's bedridden form. "Thank you, Doctor." He silently wished Dr. Ismeiro would move along quickly and give him a chance to privately reassure Tevan. Just as the doctor was doing his part, Stephen wanted to do whatever he could to help. Sasarai had said, "a priest is a doctor for the soul," and he had taken those words to heart.
The doctor seemed to read the atmosphere almost instantly. He flipped his notebook closed, returned it to his pocket, and headed off to care for other patients. As the sole physician on the devastated island, there was a never-ending list of things for him to attend to. There was no point in lingering. Lives were on the line.
Stephen folded over the haphazard stack of sheets and laid them across the empty bed, then knelt down to speak privately with Tevan. "He's not just saying that to cheer you up, you know," he smiled, "He won't lie to his patients. And it's a good sign that you're conscious and coherent at this point. The people who lose consciousness or hallucinate for an extended period of time don't seem to do as well."
Tevan listened attentively. His thoughts were strange and flighty, so it was hard to put his whole trust into a good prognosis that relied on his level of coherence, although there was always the possibility that most of it was nerves. But Father Stephen was really trying. Unlike the doctor, who had to divide his time fairly and rush about to wherever the need for his skills was greatest, Stephen could afford to idle somewhat and he had clearly invested a lot of time in assuring and reassuring Tevan. "Well, whatever happens to me, Stephen, I've got to make sure to thank you for being such a great guy."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't want you to go and give up just yet. That's dead man's talk," Stephen chided him.
Now this provoked a lopsided grin to cross Tevan's face. "What's that?"
"You've got to keep going as long as life lets you. You can never give up until you're dead. Heck, it's better not to give up, even if you're dead!"
"Is that strictly orthodox, Father?" Tevan chuckled, causing him to choke up and cough for a few moments while Stephen's cheery expression dimmed to one of anxious concern.
"It's just what I think. I don't think it has anything to do with theology. Before I was a priest...I didn't live an easy life. And I saw a lot of people give up. Their eyes were empty and they faded away. Living might seem scary, but dying- that's terrifying."
Tevan's coughing seemed to have subsided. It was not a symptom Stephen had observed in any of the other plague victims, so there was a possibility it was a result of an unrelated health problem. Stephen decided not to comment on it.
Tevan touched his lips and his hand came away with flecks of blood on his fingertips. "Oh...oh," he gasped.
Stephen reached into his robes to find his handkerchief and pass it wordlessly to Tevan. He'd seen this before when he was out on the streets. His lungs.
The carpenter dabbed the blood away, but continued to stare at the specks it left on the white fabric. No matter where he looked, he felt like he was staring death in the face. He would have to try harder to be like Stephen. He would not be a dead man walking.
"I believe in your strength, Tevan. You're going to be all right." Regardless of what he had just seen, Stephen said this only because he meant it. He had no use for empty platitudes and Tevan seemed to know this, because he smiled again, and his eyes flickered with a light Stephen had not seen in him before.
Day/Theme: Sept. 9, 2009 "Yougottadance. Aslongasthemusicplays."
Series: Suikoden III
Character/Pairing: Forte Ismeiro, Stephen, Tevan
Rating: PG
Author's comment: Directly continuing "Forte's Compromises" from the 7th.
"They smell nice. So fresh," Stephen sighed, taking a deep whiff of the air-dried sheets. "Oh!" he exclaimed, looking back at the thin and flushed man he had just been speaking with, "Tevan, wasn't there something you wanted to ask the doctor while he was here?"
Forte pulled his notepad out of an apron pocket and flipped through the pages until he found the information referring to this specific patient: Case #52, Tevan. He was too busy to make more detailed charts for his patients now, and, anyway, as with any plague, all the cases were so similar he might as well be copying the same list of symptoms over and over. Twenty-six years old. A carpenter.
"I...I don't think," Tevan mumbled in a raspy voice. He lifted his hand to gesture Stephen over to his bedside, and whispered to him restlessly, "I can't ask him. I'm too afraid. ...Can't you ask for me?"
"Of course," Stephen answered gently. He understood the sick man's fear. If their places were reversed, he was sure he would be making the same request. "Dr. Ismeiro, how are Tevan's prospects? Do you think he's going to..." At this point, even Stephen had to fight to find the words, "...To make it?"
Forte pushed back his wig, which was slipping too far forward from all the leaning over beds he kept engaging in. He hated to be asked to make the determination at this point. It was a bit early to tell, in his opinion. He would feel terrible if he told Tevan he would recover and this failed to come true. As unsatisfying as it was going to be, he would be honest. At least he wasn't telling the man he had no hope. "I can't tell. The next two days will be crucial."
Stephen thought he detected a shiver of fear through Tevan's bedridden form. "Thank you, Doctor." He silently wished Dr. Ismeiro would move along quickly and give him a chance to privately reassure Tevan. Just as the doctor was doing his part, Stephen wanted to do whatever he could to help. Sasarai had said, "a priest is a doctor for the soul," and he had taken those words to heart.
The doctor seemed to read the atmosphere almost instantly. He flipped his notebook closed, returned it to his pocket, and headed off to care for other patients. As the sole physician on the devastated island, there was a never-ending list of things for him to attend to. There was no point in lingering. Lives were on the line.
Stephen folded over the haphazard stack of sheets and laid them across the empty bed, then knelt down to speak privately with Tevan. "He's not just saying that to cheer you up, you know," he smiled, "He won't lie to his patients. And it's a good sign that you're conscious and coherent at this point. The people who lose consciousness or hallucinate for an extended period of time don't seem to do as well."
Tevan listened attentively. His thoughts were strange and flighty, so it was hard to put his whole trust into a good prognosis that relied on his level of coherence, although there was always the possibility that most of it was nerves. But Father Stephen was really trying. Unlike the doctor, who had to divide his time fairly and rush about to wherever the need for his skills was greatest, Stephen could afford to idle somewhat and he had clearly invested a lot of time in assuring and reassuring Tevan. "Well, whatever happens to me, Stephen, I've got to make sure to thank you for being such a great guy."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't want you to go and give up just yet. That's dead man's talk," Stephen chided him.
Now this provoked a lopsided grin to cross Tevan's face. "What's that?"
"You've got to keep going as long as life lets you. You can never give up until you're dead. Heck, it's better not to give up, even if you're dead!"
"Is that strictly orthodox, Father?" Tevan chuckled, causing him to choke up and cough for a few moments while Stephen's cheery expression dimmed to one of anxious concern.
"It's just what I think. I don't think it has anything to do with theology. Before I was a priest...I didn't live an easy life. And I saw a lot of people give up. Their eyes were empty and they faded away. Living might seem scary, but dying- that's terrifying."
Tevan's coughing seemed to have subsided. It was not a symptom Stephen had observed in any of the other plague victims, so there was a possibility it was a result of an unrelated health problem. Stephen decided not to comment on it.
Tevan touched his lips and his hand came away with flecks of blood on his fingertips. "Oh...oh," he gasped.
Stephen reached into his robes to find his handkerchief and pass it wordlessly to Tevan. He'd seen this before when he was out on the streets. His lungs.
The carpenter dabbed the blood away, but continued to stare at the specks it left on the white fabric. No matter where he looked, he felt like he was staring death in the face. He would have to try harder to be like Stephen. He would not be a dead man walking.
"I believe in your strength, Tevan. You're going to be all right." Regardless of what he had just seen, Stephen said this only because he meant it. He had no use for empty platitudes and Tevan seemed to know this, because he smiled again, and his eyes flickered with a light Stephen had not seen in him before.