diamondintherough

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01,

Kan u my die pad beduie na, waar is die naaste dokter, huh? Or you speak English here?

It seems like most of you speak English. I need you to find me a doctor, huh? I was shot and I think I might be dying. Hell, this whole thing might be a hallucination, because I’m entering into shock from bleeding too much. I don’t want to hear Maddy say she was right. Because I’m not dead, huh? Not yet.

Tell them I’m not going to make it back them though, huh? Tell them I lost the stone. Solomon needs it a lot more than me. He’s got his family to put back together, huh? I’ve got plenty. Plenty enough for now, at least.

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If you are hurt, there is an infirmary on level 2 but, oh. Are you new? You probably aren't really hurt but are in shock.

I got shot, huh? I think that counts as hurt, yeah.

Shot!? Oh no! But, are you still wounded? Check your body.

I was taught not to poke around in a wound, huh? There's blood everywhere.

Are you bleeding? Where are you? Do you know your cabin number? What's your name...?

I can't really tell, huh? My clothes are soaked in blood, but it's not hurting. I have no idea where I am.

Can you navigate your way to the infirmary? It's on level [LEVEL HERE BECAUSE GUESS WHAT THE CABIN LIST DOESN'T SAY WHAT LEVEL].

Level 2 of what, huh? How about you tell me where I am, all right?

Go outside. See if you can't find your cabin number, all right? The room you're in is actually part of a bigger structure -- a boat. It's called the Barge.

Number 20, huh? Can't say I know what level I'm on, though, all right?

I'm a Doctor. Can you tell me where you are?

I have no clue, huh? I always heard you're not supposed to move when you're covered in your own blood..

I'm in some kind of hut. It looks familiar, but I couldn't tell you where it's from, eh.

The doctors are in the infirmary, but it looks like you got their attention already. I think you may not need them. If you just got here, you're unlikely to be bleeding, because you're dead. It's likely you're an inmate here, and you have already died, so your wounds need no treatment. I am sorry to inform you of this.

Dutch? From what time?

I'm a dead inmate, huh? That's a new one. How about you tell me where I am, all right? And no more of your tricks, huh?

It isn't dutch, my friend. It's Afrikaans, eh? Close, though, yeah.

Sir, no, it is the truth. Some things here are hard to... believe, but you will come to do so. There is no trick, no deception, unfortunately, you have died.

Afrikaans. I do not know this language, but it reads close enough to Dutch that I can follow, if not write it. Spoken in Africa, I presume? The Dutch colonies? I confess, sir, I am from 1657, and probably your past, so I do not know such things.

Forgive me for giving you such quantities of incredulous information all at one time, but, do believe me, sir, it is the truth.

Then how am I here, huh?

Rhodesia, ja.

What do you mean you're from 1657, huh? I still think you're not telling me the truth. How about I go to dem government, huh? Dem botobata, my friend. Wetin yu nem? Name?

That, I cannot quite account for.

The year when I passed from the Earth was 1657, to put it quite simply. The only government here, sir, is the Admiral, and I do doubt you will get an answer from him, and if you do, it shall only confirm what I say.

I am Captain Edward Sexby of the Parliamentarian Army. I am English, but I can speak Dutch.

How about you get me to the medical ward, Captain, and we can talk more, all right? I haven't got time to talk years, languages, and possible nonsense when I'm still worried about whether or not I might be dying.

Which is exactly my point, sir. You are not dying, not any longer. If you had been shot, surely you would be dead by now?

Find the bullet wound. Not the blood, but the wound.

What the fuck is this, huh?

Pretty much what everyone's been telling you it is.

Edited 2010-03-13 08:34 (UTC)

Afrikaans? Now that's a language I haven't heard in a long time.

Heard it before, huh?

Spent some time in South Africa here and there—for a brief period in the 1970s, last time.

I'm Una Persson. You?

Danny Archer. It's nice to meet a fellow African, eh.

What can you tell me about Dutch man telling me I'm dead, huh? You know anything about that?

Mostly English, actually; my time in Africa was only temporary.

Dutch?

Oh, I see, you've been talking to Sexby. About which I ought to mention, you can filter your conversations over these journals so that others can't read them.

In any case, I'm afraid the captain is probably right. A number of people on board the Barge ended up here by way of a kind of afterlife. Some of us came here voluntarily, though.

Where did you go? You a reporter or something, huh?

How do I filter them?

I would never volunteer for something like this, eh? You people are crazy.

Let's just say I work for hire, or according to my interests.

Here. This post is filtered so just you and I can read it. There's settings in your journal.

Mad or idealistic. The distinction is sometimes difficult to sort out, I admit.

Ah. That's a fancy trick. Thanks for showing me, huh?

The sooner you learn idealism is dead and embrace reality, the sooner you'll succeed in life. It's not wonder you ended up here.

You're welcome. We really do need an orientation packet for newcomers, and that should be one of the first things on it.

Oh, I don't know. I think I've done pretty well, all in all. In life in general, anyway. I'm not sure about here.

What else would go in this packet of yours, huh?

How long you been here, anyway? You one of dem wardens, huh?

Floods, ports, the death toll, how one goes about getting one's needs met depending on whether one's a warden or an admiral, that sort of thing. Any of those been answered for you yet?

I've been here for several months. About six, I think. And I'm a warden, yes.

None at all. Think you could oblige me over a drink, huh? I'm getting tired of all this writing.

And what brought you here, huh?

Drink's a bit difficult at the moment being that the pub's closed, but there's always the CES—that's the environmental simulator. It's about the only option for "getting away from it all", and you'll need a warden to let you in. Luckily, for now you've got me.

Suffice it to say that I made a deal.

Sounds perfect. When are you free?

Tomorrow afternoon, after lunch?

I'll see you then.

And finally posted!

Blood? How much? Where are you?

I can heal you.

Number 20, huh? I don't really know, my friend.

And I don't need healing, huh? I need a doctor. Dokter.

Number 20. Do you know what else is on your level? Other than cabins.

You're well enough to write, so you can't be at death's door.

No, I got no idea, eh.

How about you keep your remarks to yourself, all right? If you aren't going to help me, then you can go find someone else to bother with your observations.

All right, I'll help. Just stay where you are.

[Damon flips closed the device lid, grabs his jacket and leaves his room. Up then down? He turns and heads for the stairs.]

[After Sexby's prompting, Danny had come to realize that the wound that should have been there was missing. His shirt was still covered in blood, however, and he was still who-the-hell-knew-where. He wasn't about to 'stay' anywhere. He was out in the hallways, moving cautiously and stumbling a little despite the apparent lack of bullet wound, trying to find the medical ward.]

[Damon thundered up the stairs, walking swiftly past cabins and halting at 20, sharpening his hearing. Silence. Either a dead inmate or an empty room, and since the dead cannot offer invitations... He spun on his heel and ran up the next flight. Footsteps slowing as he reached the next 20.]

[Why was he doing this? The man's wounds likely didn't exist - weren't most inmates healed from their deaths? And even if the man was bleeding. Outing himself as a vampire now? After all the effort to hide, and to a total stranger... He paused, fist hovering over the door. Was he so desperate to sink his teeth into another neck? To prove for himself Kurt's desertion meant nothing. He gritted his teeth and knocked hard.]

[Check the man's okay, do the good Samaritan thing, maybe make an alliance. That's all.]

[That's all.]

[A woman came to the door, eyes glazed with sleep. He made his excuses and turned back to the stairwell.]

[Danny was out in the halls, trying to find his way to the medical ward with no idea what it might look like or where it was other than "on level 2". His brown shirt was soaked in blood that had drifted down even to his gray pants, the red glaringly apparent. Some was dried, some still remained fresh red. He felt a bit light-headed and more than a little disoriented as he walked around in a fashion just short of stumbling. Though he was now confident, as had been explained to him, that he had no current wounds, Danny didn't believe in taking stupid chances.

Cheated of his automatic weapons, handguns, and even his knives, Danny had made do with a pen resting in his back pocket. It was the best he had and he was still uncomfortable in the idea of relying upon it entirely. Catching sight of a darkened stranger down the hall, he lifted an eyebrow and shifted his posture a hint to appear as imposing as possible, a cigarette hanging from his lips.] "Can you tell me where the medical ward is, huh?"

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"Medical Ward"

Damn.

BETTER ICONS TO COME SOON, GAWD.

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have some 17th century dutch. I am now totally going that they can understand each other.

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YOU WIN THIS ROUND. (and now I can tag because I have decent icons)

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jk. We'll just say he ignored you until his second entry. Thanks, chum. <3

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He's oblivious to filters right now

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-Private- [Spam/log/assume? I won't have time for posting until Monday, but am cool any which way.]

Log or spam! You pick, and I'm totally fine; I'm swamped with work this weekend anyway.

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Private - Damon has no self control

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