#she/they/it for sawbones

[strangeandinteresting]

I think I've posted these guys before, but I tweaked their refs so I'm POSTING THEM AGAAAAAIN! My StEx OCs! If anyone wants to talk or ask about them my DMs are open, I love my babies! Close ups on makeup under the cut because I'm proud of it;

[tortoise-teapot]

my mom is super conservative, and altho has never been online (thank god) so doesn't know the jargon, is absolutely a TERF.

anyway, she uses 'people who menstruate' regularly, because she thinks it's just a Silly Fun Way the kids these days say 'women' when talking about periods

[thesealfriend]

been hooked on the Sawbones podcast for the past few weeks and thankfully there's like a decade of backlog for me to get through, unfortunately I keep having to skip episodes because they're live show recordings (different audio sitch, crowd noises) or the weird MaxFun switcheroo (different hosts) and as much as I would love to engage with this content, apparently podcasts are the one place I get Too Autistic For Change

[transgenderdragons]

she is the ONLY one who gets me

[harrowharkwife]

had a quick lil menty b this morning 👍 doing better now tho

[otherside-picnic]

Really though, who doesn't own a kettle?

[araccoonthatlikesmurder]

@tomscryingcorner

a little personal response / tribute to "here's the life i've always longed for" by Anna Haifisch. the original means so much to me, and even though it's hard, I feel like every day i'm making more steps toward finally being on the other side of that fence <:)

[unsoundedcomic]

Whumptober 2024 - 07 - "Only For Emergencies"

New Tawhoque was a dangerous place for Ssaelit, but if a woman knew just what crooked street to turn down and upon which unmarked door to knock, she might find a sanctuary or two open to those of the Way.

This one was a public house (semi-private house, really, they did not allow Gefendur) called Arbert's. A woman slipped its heavy front door closed behind her and pretended she didn't notice the wall of eyes move to sweep across her from the bar. Finding the newcomer hidden beneath a dumpy rain slicker and a waterproof bonnet, the collective gaze rolled back towards their whispered conversations and their glasses of imported beer. She chose a hightop in the corner, asked for a cheap pour of Trieste, and unwrapped her hand to see if the bleeding had stopped.

"They cut your finger off," a male voice observed behind her. She jumped a foot in the air, then collapsed forward over the injury to hide it from him.

"It is nothing!" she said.

"It is nothing now," he agreed, "But until recently I think it was your right index finger."

"Oh, why do you care? Did you want it?"

She turned. Her shoulders hunched even higher to discover an unreasonably tall man looking down at her, his face half a void of shadow. "Perhaps," he admitted at length. The words sounded strange. Artificial. Pymaric? What a strange thing to say, and in what a strange voice to say it! "Which of the gangs have you crossed?"

"I did not 'cross' any of them!" Her head lashed back and forth in pain, then anger. "I am a good and honest woman! I went to the constabulary! I went to report all my hens dead!"

"O-oh!" He seemed to suddenly lose a foot of height, shocked. Perhaps he loved animals too?

She continued: "I think my neighbour's hounds had at them in the night. One of the constables said it would cost thirty sem for them to go and investigate the scene. I pointed my finger in his face and called him a villain. Then he said he would have that finger, and before I knew it he had nipped it free with a spell! Have you ever heard of such a thing? That is not how policing works!"

"Naught works in the expected manner here," the stranger whispered. For all his prior forwardness, he suddenly seemed to be avoiding the sight of her gory hand. "I… am afraid I can be of no help confronting the local lawmen, but I would happily pay for your drink and direct you towards a more honest physician than the twin-eating sawbones you will find on the high street."

His voice was unnervingly tinny, but there was warmth there. In spite of her anxiety and her throbbing hand, she tried to wind down. She hadn't been in town very long but even the Ssaelit she had tried to befriend were standoffish. She was beginning to understand why. Sharteshane was a land of traps and predators; everyone was waiting to see what you had, and if you were strong enough to protect it. Why she had supposed the law would be different, now seemed beyond her. A final illusion shattered.

"Is it still raining?" he prompted when she took too long to decide on an answer. "It is forever raining here. It is as though the city must be kept wet, or its amphibian skin will crack open."

"And out will pour the bloody flies," she agreed, removing her coat. It had done little good. The clothing beneath was sodden, draping, and she coloured to realise how prominently her bosom rose. Oh, dear, her nipples were visible too. These cheap Sharteshanian weaves simply did not reflect her patterns correctly-

Now it was the stranger's turn to give a start! He shuddered and stumbled away as though burnt. Had it been the fly remark that had disturbed him? He was surely scandalized to hear such language from an Aldishwoman. Of course he would be! Soon she would be a ribald Sharte, all cusses and swears-

Ach, no, no. He was trying not to look at her chest. A gentleman! Of course.

"You must forgive me, sir! I dove into the rain after the attack without first buttoning my slicker and… and…" Her good hand fumbled at her bonnet, slipped it free of her head so he could see her earnest green eyes. Oh, a mistake! Now he would see she was a Soud, and hate her-

He stumbled again, struck, and grabbed at his midsection! Then from her eyes to her hair his attention alighted once more upon her missing digit.

"What is it?" she demanded, "Are you ill? What is wrong with you!"

"D-did you keep your finger?" he sputtered, almost wailed, "Or did the constable take it?"

"What a question! You monster! Bartender!"

"Bartender!" he echoed, "Aye, please bring to me my emergency order! I require my emergency order!"

A moment's pause, and a broad-shouldered Bronze suddenly jumped the bar. He was nearly seven feet tall, with a touch of the Glut about him. A steaming hot bar towel was in his grasp. The stranger grabbed it, two-fisted it with all the alacrity of a drowning man reaching for a watertight coffin. Then she swore she heard a hiss as his impossibly perfect white teeth bit down upon it hard. When he started gnawing it like the hounds last night had surely gnawed at her poor hens, she flew from the pub, never gathering the courage to ask if he'd been the one to leave nothing in that coop but two beaks and a pile of bloody feathers.

[sporadicthingcollection]

Smash or Pass: Part 1/4 (LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: It's the last stop before the Grand Line and you slink away for a quiet evening. The universe, however, decides to clown on you. Sequel to Kiss, Marry, Kill. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: Semi-explicit. Warnings: Alcohol, death threats, implied threat of sexual assault. Word Count: ~3.1k.

Mama told me what I should know

"Too much candy's gonna rot your soul

If she loves you, let her go'

Cause love only gets you down!"

---

PART 1: In which you are threatened with a knife, a gun, and a good time.

You thought the night would be fine. You thought no one in this bar would bother you. You thought you’d have a little nightcap or three and head back to the ship. You thought you’d have one last night to spend on your own before sharing a small space with five other people for the foreseeable future.

But nothing worked out as you’d hoped.

As soon as you got comfy at a table in the corner, a horde of rough-looking sailors descended and lit up the place. Loud. Rowdy. Obnoxious.

Ugh. At least they’re not Marines. You can lay low. Sink deep in your chair and focus on your drink.

Gazing into the scrying beer glass, you let your mind wander among the swirls. Thoughts ebb and flow.

Like how you need to remember to get more sutures before you cast off. Or how heavy your fingers feel under all the jewelry. How naked your ring fingers look with no adornment. Your family would be nagging you to get married by now. They’d like Sanji.

But they wouldn’t like that stupid, stupid clown.

He’s been on your mind a lot lately. You hate it. But how could he not be? Made you an offer you had to refuse. You tell yourself it wouldn’t have worked out. Where was he last month when you were looking for an escape? You hope you never see him again.

…but if you did see him again, you wouldn’t complain. He’d probably sidle up to you and say something like—

“Well, hello, gorgeous."

Yeah, that's exactly what he would say.

Wait. That was loud. That wasn’t your thoughts. It can’t be. You turn. 

Buggy the Clown grins at you. “Fancy meeting you here, Miss Sawbones."

You dive to the floor as he pulls a knife from his sleeve and throws it at you, sinking up to the handle in the wall. You clamber to your feet, put on your best snarl, and raise your fists.

All eyes are on you and Buggy as you size him up. The clink of chains and scrape of drawn swords sounds all around you. You’re not sure who your allies are, but you’re grateful for the support.

Especially because there’s just as many goons behind Buggy. He looks as surprised as you feel. His stance softens as he glances around. You could get a punch in while his guard is down—

“Hey!”

A gravelly voice splits the very air of the room. Like a child caught in the cookie jar, you freeze. You’re in big trouble.

Buggy freezes too. His shoulders hunch and his eyes go wide. He glances at you, and then to the side. You look in the same direction.

Standing behind the bar is a stout woman in an apron. A cigar dangles from her lips and she wields a wicked glare. Along with a very, very large shotgun.

She points at a big sign hung above the shelves. NO FiTiN IN DaH baR in big red letters on weathered wooden planks.

“‘No fittin’…?'” Buggy mutters.

“If you’re gonna kill each other,” the matron says, “do it outside.”

Due to a sudden lapse in self-preservation, you speak up. “He started it—“

Everyone jumps as she fires into the ceiling. “And I’m ending it. Get along or get out.”

You glance at Buggy. He glances back. You can see the whites of his eyes, even from all the way over here. Slowly, he replaces his knives back into his jacket.

You lower your fists, feeling awful sheepish.

The bar matron nods. “Back to your drinks, all of you,” she says. 

You can’t help but feel a little embarrassed as the crowd disperses. You can read. You’re very literate. How’d you miss that?

“Guess we both need glasses,” Buggy says right next to your ear.

You jump and nearly swing on him again, but you pull the punch. You have no interest in being shot tonight. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Getting a drink, same as you. Last stop before the Grand Line.” His voice dips low and he leans in close. “And last chance I’ll likely get to cut you and your little captain’s throats.”

You scowl. “Over my dead body,” you growl.

“That’s the idea.” The matron clears her throat loudly. He flinches and pulls back, but the glare remains. “Once you leave, babe— snnckt!” He draws his finger across his throat and his head rolls off his shoulders and into his arms. You yelp and he cackles as he puts it back.

Well, now you’re in it. This wouldn’t have happened if you stayed on the ship, you dumb lush. You could have just drank with Zoro. Or shot the shit with Usopp while he shot at shit. Or let Sanji hit on you while you sharpened his knives. Literally anything would have been better than this.

But here you are. Time to get yourself out of it. Somehow.

"Well, I’m not going anywhere," you tell Buggy. You sit back down at your table. "So get comfy, clown."

He places his hat on the table and plops into the seat across from you. He snatches up the mug -- your mug -- and takes a long, long, long pull. He tips his head all the way back, throat bobbing with every swallow.

You try and fail to drag your eyes away. You like sharp throats.

When it's drained, he slams it back down on the table. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and how he doesn't smudge his makeup, you'll never know.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He kicks up his boots onto the table. “So what’re we drinkin’? Rum? Ale? Whiskey? Bet you’re a rum kinda gal.”

This is gonna be a night.

---

One bottle in. You glower at him and he smiles back, eyes twinkling in the dim light.

Second bottle. The sun is fully down. He’s started chattering about nothing and everything. Rage roils inside you.

Third bottle. The room slowly spins. He’s still talking. You might leave just so you can strangle him.

Fourth bottle. You flip him the bird. He just giggles.

Fifth bottle. You mix it up a bit and order some shots. The matron brings the glasses and leaves the bottle. 

“Hey, the good shit.” Buggy pours two glasses and raises one. “Cheers.”

Something bubbles up in your chest. The urge to speak. You’re gonna say something stupid. You just know it. And you’re just lubricated enough that it slides through. 

You raise your glass. “Another day, another bender. No retreat, no surrender.” You toss it back and it scorches your throat on its way down.

Your head is so full of cotton that it takes you a moment to notice the laughter. Strong. Sharp. Bellyful. Contagious. You like that laugh. You’d like to hear more of it.

And then you realize it’s coming from Buggy. He has his head tossed back and his eyes scrunched and he’s letting out the most glorious laughter you’ve ever heard.

Before you can be properly disgusted with yourself, he recovers. “I got one.” He pours another pair of shots and slides one to you. “Here’s to our wives and girlfriends. May they never meet.”

Two more shots tossed back and two more glasses slammed on the table. It’s all going right to your head and the more it does, the more you’re enjoying yourself.

“Everyone knows that one,” you say. You pour. “One drink is good, two at the most. Three I’m under the table, four I’m under the host.”

His eyebrows shoot up, lips pursed into a circle. Then he laughs again. “Workin’ blue tonight! Alright!” Two more shots poured. “It ain’t the length, it ain’t the size, it’s how often I can make it rise.”

You weren’t expecting that and you almost spit the shot out. You hack and sputter as it goes down the wrong pipe, but you recover.

Though now you’re thinking about Buggy’s dick. You should probably stop that. You wonder if it’s small and that’s why he is how he is.

“Y’alright, babe?” He takes a pull right from the bottle and spills some on his chin and shirt. He’s sauced too. Small comfort.

One more comes to mind. You reach across and snatch the bottle. “Now he lays me down to screw.” You pour one shot. “I pray this clown knows what to do.” You pour the other. “If he should cum before I end…” You raise yours. “I swear to God I’ll fuck his friend!”

He stares at you a moment, grinless, just long enough for you to worry. And then it returns with a howling cackle. He slams his glass into yours hard enough to slosh some whiskey out and you both shoot it back.

You stare at each other, giggling like hyenas. Some part of you knows this is ridiculous. You’re getting smashed with a guy who tried to kill you and your friends. Who was just ready to kill you. Who is plotting to slit your throat right when you’re not expecting it.

You just laugh harder. What’s your life come to?

You come back down to see him staring at you, head resting on his hand. "You laugh cute."

“Nuh-uh.” You take a swig from the whiskey bottle. “I laugh like a News Coo.”

“News Coos are adorable!” He snatches the bottle back and takes a pull. “We switchin’ back to rum after this one? Or do we wanna get avden— abvench— adventurous?”

A good question. "Let's go nuts."

"My kinda woman!" He slams the table to catch the matron's attention. "Bring us something strong!"

---

Bottle six is gin. Neither of you like it and you both down the whole thing. Bottle seven, you're back to ale.

On eight, you wonder if the throat-cutting threat was a ruse and he's really just going to give you alcohol poisoning.

At least it's a fun way to go.

"So there I am," Buggy says, "looking at the giant hole in the hull where the cannon once was, holding a cannonball like this--" He jumps to his feet, pops his head off, and clutches it to his chest like it weighs fifty pounds. "--when the first mate himself walks in."

Your jaw drops. "What'd you do?"

"Only thing I could do.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Threw the cannonball at him!"

He lobs his head to you. You squeal in surprise, just barely managing to catch him before you fall out of your chair. The giggles flow from you like water from a spigot.

He grins as you look at him. "Gotcha," he says with a wink.

Maybe it's the booze. Maybe it's the surprise. Your cheeks heat up all the same. You throw the head back and clamber to your feet.

A moment of clarity hits you as you sit back down. "Why are we drinking together? You wanna kill me."

"It's not that weird. Best drinkin' buddies I ever had tried to kill me. When I tried to skip out on the tab, but... y'know." He takes a gulp from his mug. "’Sides, I like you."

"Why?"

“Barber. Cute laugh. Helluva haymaker." Another swig. “You'd do better with me than that group of losers."

"I am not joining your crew."

He watches the ale swirl in his mug, tracing the rim with his fingers. His lips purse and he glances everywhere but your face.

You try to wait for him to speak, but music catches your attention before he can reply. A lively tune, one perfect for dancing. It looks like some of the pirates pulled out instruments and are entertaining their fellows.

"Aw, I love this song," you chirp. “Luffy’s right, we gotta get us a musician already.”

A chain of dancers sails past. You wish you could hop in, but you’ve got two left feet in ill-fitting high heels when you’re sober on a good day.

Buggy watches you watch them. “Go cut a rug. I’ll watch your shit.”

You shake your head a little too hard and the universe spins. “No way. Can’t dance worth a damn.”

“I’ll give you a hand.” His left hand detaches with a little flourish. “Or two.” Off goes the other one. “Or all of me, if you want.”

“Then who’s gonna watch my shit?”

He blinks, then sits back. “Whatever. I gotta piss anyways,” he mutters. He tries to stand, only for his feet to slip out from under him. “Can I get a hand?”

“Alright, but I’m not helping you aim.” You’re less sober than he is, but you’re drunk enough to try. Hauling yourself to your feet, you offer your hand. He takes it, pulling himself upwards.

And then you see the smile on his face. In a burst of coordination, he pulls you into the throng of people.

Oooooh no. No. No no no. He whirls you around, making your head spin. You step on someone’s foot. “I. Cannot. Dance.”

“Can’t?” He lifts you up, moves you to the side, and places you down again. “Or won’t?”

“Both!”

“Bullshit. Hand here.” He plants your hand on his shoulder and places his own on your—

You slap the smile off his face. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your point. He accepts it.

“Sorry, thought you were shorter,” he mutters. He puts his hand on your waist. Even through his glove, you can feel his warmth. “Stand on my feet.”

“I’m not a child!” You try to pull away, only to collide with a very large man and get knocked back into Buggy. You’re trapped. No way out but to dance.

You know what? Fine. You stand on his feet — making sure to stamp his toes good — and glower at him. “What’s next?”

The smile returns. “Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

You clutch him as tight as you dare. And thank God you do, because soon you’re spinning like a top.

He guides you over and under, side to side, forward and back. And you don’t trip once. Neither of you do. You don’t even feel nauseous. How is he doing this? Is he magic? Is he just that good?

You glance down. Detached from his ankles, his feet support yours as they scoot around. The rest of him glides through the air, guiding you among the other dancers.

It might as well be magic.

"Light off your feet!" you say.

Buggy's chest thrums with a chuckle. Your stomach jumps into your throat as he drops you into a dip just long enough for him to wink at you. "Ain't I clever?"

He pulls you back up and your stomach slides into your boots. The dance continues.

Whirling, twirling, ducking, weaving, bouncing, bobbing… Is this what a dolphin feels like, swirled around by ocean currents? Or a kite, floating on the breeze? Or a princess swept off her feet by a dashing scoundrel?

Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you ponder what your life has come to. A pirate, dancing on the feet of a clown who tried to kill you and your friends. Who then stole several kisses from you and made your heart flutter and got really drunk with you and now you're a little in lo--

No. Don't say it. If you don't say it, it won't come true. Unless it's the other way around?

It is the other way around. If you say it, you'll jinx it and it won't happen. So you admit it to yourself: you're smitten with this psychotic jackass.

The laughter bubbles forth and it just won't stop. You don't want it to stop. You never want this to stop. This feeling, this dance, this fit of hysterics.

But it must, as all things do. With one final fiddle run, the music stops and everyone applauds. You would join them, but you’re too busy holding onto Buggy for dear life, catching your breath and trying to stop the room from spinning.

“Can’t dance, huh?”

He’s as breathless as you, mouth parted as he takes breaths deep enough to shake his shoulders. Sweat glistens on his face. Glows, even. A few shimmering strands of hair have slipped from his bandanna and stick to his forehead.

What little breath you’ve recovered vanishes from your lungs. Your heart flutters — no, it flaps, like a gull fighting a gust.

You wanna kiss him, but that last shred of self-restraint stops you. “Let’s go again,” you say instead.

His face lights up. “Lemme-- Lemme get rid of this.“

His forearms slip out of his coat and fly to his shoulders, catching his coat as he shrugs out of it. They zip over toward your table. Pretty slick, you admit to yourself.

And then it gets caught on a chair. The arms yank and yank, but it’s snagged good. You giggle.

“C’mon, you piece of…!” He huffs. He pecks your cheek. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He scrambles over to the snag, tripping on every table and chair along the way.

And then you realize he kissed you. Your spine goes rigid.

A tap on your shoulder knocks you out of your stun and you turn. You half-expect it to be one of his hands, but a rather large pirate is there.

“My captain fancies you,” he rumbles. He nods at a smug-looking blond with the worst come-hither face you’ve ever seen. “He would like the pleasure of your company.”

Nnnnno, you think. “Nnnnno,” you say. Buggy has freed his coat and is draining the rest of the bottle you’d abandoned. “Already spoken for.”

The man’s hand engulfs your shoulder and pulls you around. “It wasn’t a request.”

The blond snakes his arm around your trunk, his hand going to your breast. You try to pull away, but the goon’s grip is like iron.

A sharp whistle makes everyone turn. Buggy stands there, arms behind his back. His expression is neutral, but you see his clenched jaw and the bulging tendon in his neck.

“And where are you going with my leading lady?” He’s got the showman voice on. “Our number isn’t over.”

The captain smiles. “I’ll return her once we’ve had our fun,” he says.

He takes a few meandering steps towards them. “Look, gentlemen: we can play this as a tragedy or a comedy. Your choice.”

The goon straightens up. He cracks his knuckles with a chorus of pops. The captain draws a rapier. You’re not sure how well a Chop Chop man handles being stabbed.

Buggy glances between the two of them, nonplussed. “Comedy it is.”

Two disembodied hands slam a bottle over each man’s head. Shards of glass and drops of rum fly everywhere. The pirates’ grips go slack, and you jump away as they hit the floor with dull thuds.

Chaos erupts.

---

⬅⬅⬅ | To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | To the Tip Jar | ➡➡➡

[malcolmschmitz]

REVIEW: THE VICAR MAN

Okay, so, I finished @ameliahcrowley 's THE VICAR MAN. I promised to leave an Amazon review but Amazon won't let me. So in the spirit of our agreement, I'm leaving a review somewhere and figuring out Amazon later.

TLDR: The Vicar Man is good! I liked it! If you like funny historical fantasy you will probably like it!

So as you could probably guess from the title, The Vicar Man is a spoof of The Wicker Man, the classic folk horror movie. (It's mostly drawing from the Christopher Lee one, not the Nic Cage one, and thank goodness for that.) Dora's village worships a dark, eldritch god and sacrifices virgins to it for the good of the harvest. When a stranger comes to town- a nice young vicar who genuinely seems oblivious to the horrors at hand-

Dora can't just let him get thrown on the sacrificial pyre. She has to save this guy. And the easiest way to keep someone from being a virgin sacrifice is to make sure they're not a virgin anymore. Problem is, Dora's aro/ace, and moderately sex-repulsed. But a man's life's at stake. She sets off on a quest to seduce the Vicar, poking fun of many historical romance tropes along the way.

It might be more accurate to call this story an unromance novel than a fantasy novel- it follows all the conventions of a romance novel, down to the plot beats, but none of them quite wind up where you'd expect. This isn't a traditional love story- but it's not not a love story. This isn't a traditional horror story- but it's not not a horror story. If you're aro and/or ace, you like the idea of historical romance, but you're not here for the Love At First Sight Based Solely On Pantsfeelings? This book was made for you, specifically.

What it is is a comedy, and it's fast-paced and funny the whole way through. Dora's incredibly likeable- especially if you're a snarky, nerdy bluestocking, or if you've left a high-control religious group- and her inner monologue never fails to please. Norman, the titular vicar, is a sad, wet cat of a man, a poor little meow meow, adorable and kind and So Very Doomed. The relationship between the two of them - well, I shan't spoil things, but I thought it was delightful.

This book has one quality that didn't always gel with me- the language sits a bit wrong for a historical, even one that's set in the year "uh. well. there's probably a king? named George?". There's a fair bit of Tumblr dialect sprinkled through here- in particular there's a handful of jokes that revolve around 21st century feminist terms, sometimes deliberately using them for a jarring and inappropriate effect. And sometimes it hit right, but sometimes it didn't do it for me. I'm oversensitive to language, though- heck, I invented an entire goddess for one setting so I wouldn't have to use 'modern' trans language in a setting where it doesn't belong!- and it probably won't bug most people.

Overall, I really enjoyed the time I spent with THE VICAR MAN- I'd recommend it if you like funny historical fantasy, if you'd enjoy reading a sendup of Gothic romances and folk horror, or if you like the idea of an aro/ace unromance novel. I'd especially recommend it if you like The Misadventures of Sawbones and Its Menagerie- the narrator, Dora, has a very similar narrative voice. They share that 'outwardly quiet and polite, but with a constant snarky inner monologue' energy.

Strong recommend, and thanks to the author for the review copy!

[spawksstuff]

The John Davidson Show aired June 8 1982 - De's Parts

Long transcript below. The whole interview is on YouTube. It's very funny.

John: DeForest Kelley has appeared in classic motion pictures like- think back- “Gunfight at OK Corral,” “Raintree County” plus numerous television appearances among others, “Gunsmoke,” “Bonanza.” Generally a bad guy, a villain, however his most popular success has been the outspoken, somewhat cynical but thoroughly likeable Doctor Leonard “Bones” McCoy. Find out what the “Bones” stands for when we meet him. His name is DeForest Kelley. Welcome!

John: What does “Bones” stand for?

De: First, I wore these glasses because I want to see something. You really are a good-looking devil. Handsome, isn’t he?

Bibi: He sure is.

John: What does “Bones” stand for, just going right on? What does-

De: Bones. Bones is an old, old country expression for “doctor”. They used to call them “sawbones” 

John: Oh yeah.

William: We were going to call him “saw.”

John: That’s too obvious for outer space.

De: Obviously the captain would pick up on that and call me “Bones”

John: I see. Did you make that up on the set or that’s-no?

William: I don’t remember how I got that.

De: I don’t either.

John: It was written in there?

De: I think maybe Bill threw that in. I don’t know.

John: You’re always arguing with Mr. Spock on the show. You’re always saying things like “I’m a doctor, I’m not a..”

De: I dislike him terribly, that’s the reason. We don’t agree on many things. Of course it’s a very simple explanation for it. Spock has no emotions, McCoy does so we- Bill ends up being the referee between us. So that’s the way that developed.

John: Might Spock change? Is it true that Spock-

Leonard: Spock change? To please him?

John: Isn’t it true that Spock actually writes poetry or something, what did you tell me? Or is about to write poetry and become emotional and romantic? No? Where did I read that?

Leonard: Sounds like a great idea. I don’t know where you read that.

John: No? Alright, so he’s going to be that same guy. Is there a love-thinking back to the original series, series, Spock never had a love interest right, except that one time in seven, seven years? But there were no romantic interests?

Leonard: No as a matter of fact there was one episode that was a love story for Spock. It was with Jill Ireland.

John: Really?

Leonard: And it was pretty tough playing the scenes because she’s a very attractive and interesting lady who happens to be married to Charlie Bronson.

John: Really?

Leonard: Who was on the set all the time.

William: Carrying a large stick.

John: But Bones had a love interest, just one.

De: One, just one. So I-

John: Why not more?

De: If you think that he was in heat, what once in seven years think about my situation. One time. I don’t know, the captain was the stud on the show and uh…

John. Heyyy!

William: If you can’t win at “Battle of the Network Stars” you might as well have a lot of things going on.

John: Be an outer space stud.

De: He got all the action but he had to leave them on the planet, that was the thing.

John: Well, maybe that’s ok.

William: Planet hopping.

John: Well, bye I have to go now. Lotta guys would love an excuse “my ship is waiting” you know. I have heard about Star Trek conventions. I’ve never been to one. Tell me what that is.

De: Well it’s really no more than a gathering of several thousand fans who come to see us on these occasions and they-

John: How did these get started?

De: I don’t know. Someone had-intended to have a very small gathering of about 200 fans in New York at one time and I think around a thousand showed up. So they decided to do it again and I think the next time 5000 showed up and then it began to grow you know.

John: Once a year?

De: Well, no. There are any number of them going on

John: Oh all over the country?

De: Yeah.

John: And they stay for three or four days is that-?

De: Yeah about three days

John: Bibi have you ever been to one of these?

Bibi: No I haven’t. But I’ve heard so much about them, I’d love to go on one of those

(unintelligible)

De: There’s a huge one that’s gonna take place in Houston in June and when I talked to the fellow last I think he had something like twenty-thousand advance for it already

John: Where in Houston because this show will air in June right after the movies- by the way Star Trek II premieres June the 4th at a theater near you around the county. Yes?

De: It’s going to be held at the Summit I believe is the name of the place.

John: At the Summit in Houston.

De: In Houston.

John: Now what do you do at these? Bill what do you do at these conventions?

De: We dance and sing and play musical instruments and that sort of thing.

Bibi: You don’t-?

De: No we don’t.

John: Well you guys-

De: Bill will tell you.

John: Bill?

William: Well I’ve gone to about a half a dozen over the years and we sit and talk to the audience just about-like this. Much more interesting than this I think.

John: Do they know more about the series than you do? Is it trivia time?

William: Well I don’t’ remember the series at all. I’m too busy concentrating on what the next question is here and the plots go out of mind. I don’t remember I- truly have no- vague recollection of memories

De: They know the dialogue verbatim on some of them.

John: It’s something we’re going to talk about when we come back. First of all you’ll meet Nichelle Nichols and James Doohan, but the series was a long time ago and these guys really don’t remember that much about working on the series whereas we see it in reruns

Leonard: Wait a minute. That’s what Bill said.

John: Oh Bill said that?

Leonard: He doesn’t speak for the rest of us, I remember everything.

John: Well let’s see after this break if Leonard really does remember.

<Later>

John: You guys look exactly like the way you did on the series, nobody changes here.

De: Thank you.

<Later later>

John: But you also, a sword fight I was told that you changed the sword that was used and therefore broadened the character.

George: Well you know it was suggested

Bill: It was a broad sword.

George: We made the sword

(unintelligible) 

John: You used a fencing sword instead of a samurai?

George: Samurai sword.

John: What did that mean to you? How did that change Sulu?

George: Well you know we’re in the 23rd Century and by that time there would be a lot of intercultural feeding, certainly, you know the fact that Sulu talks the way he does while looking the way he does is a personification of that and there’s no reason why an Asian looking person should not be interested in fencing. I - you know  as an Asian American actor-

Bill: Did you say “aging” or “Asian’?

George: Asian and aging both. I said maturing but.

John: If George brought that change to his character haven’t you all contributed-Leonard did the ears

Bill: He’s an older, of Japanese persuasion

Nichelle: Have you ever heard a laugh like Georges? Ah-ah-ah-ah

George: Oh-this is-it’s all downhill now.

John: DeForest?

De: On the episode that he used that sword he almost changed a few genders.

[heartfullofleeches]

Is there a yandere doctor character yet?

Zachary, Mal, Apple Milk, and Sawbones

Zachary is a quack who lost his arm, leg and a good percentage of his skin in an accident as a child. He works with my slasher/film director Yan Elliot to keep his "actors" alive until the final filming where Zachary then steals their parts to apply to himself/his prosthetics. Crazy man. In one of his first fics he took the eyes of his darling's crush because they were what Darling loved most.

Mal is my plague doctor boyo and an immortal in the same vein as my other immortal Yans Devlin and Silas where his grief/pain binded his soul to his body. Mal was infected with a parasite that slowed took over his body and later took his life. He practiced medicine in hopes of curing himself and becoming a doctor when he was alive. He still wishes to heal others, but he cannot touch them directly else he risk spreading the infection. Mal is a quiet man and the sweetest of the three. His mind and body is in an endless cycle of decaying and repairing itself due to the virus that still plagues him.

Apple Milk is the overworked doctor of the milk farm crew. They help others with milking who can't do it themselves (before Darling arrives and takes over their role), but the stress of their job comes from trying to keep the humans who enter the town alive. Between Licorice Milk eating folks and everyone else's grievings towards humans whether they be because of how close the human is to their darling or their own personality reason - majority of humans don't make it out safely. It's Apple's job to keep watch until they are healed enough for Chocolate and Milk Tea or Oat to take over and pretty much gaslighting the human into submission.

Apple is one of the kindest cow hybrids and also one of the meekest. Gets flustered extremely easily and just wants to come home to their darling's lap to sleep until the end of time.

Sawbones is the "doctor" for my haunted house gang. Kidnaps guests and turns them into her nurses/experiments. Lost an eye when she was still a guess and is still puss about it. Pretty sadistic lady, but not necessarily towards her darling unless they obey

[Zachary and Mal are He/him. Apple is they/them. Sawbones is she/they]

[podcast-official]

me making my mom listen to sawbones so that she'll understand that the mcelroys are genuinely kind and funny people just in case she realizes that mbmbam, taz, and wonderful! are all full of an almost overwhelming amount of swearing and innuendo.

thanks sydnee and justin for giving me something to vibe with my mom over.

[msmc-796-official]

Correspondences from Pilot NET #5

[BEGIN CHATLOG]

Expiritus_Sancti: ...something is not right...

70KU-N4H-W4: P! are you alright? we thought we had lost you; what's going on?

Expiritus_Sancti: Everything- everything is- Shoddy? Is that you? I-I'm alive? Oh thank RA, everything's gone to hell, it's-

calibanhammer: Slow down, Phoenix. You're still semi-dissociative. Are you okay?

Expiritus_Sancti: Y-yes, I'm fine. The Albatross got me out safe, but... it's bad. Chernobog beat me there. I was too late.

calibanhammer: Backtalker is dead, then?

Expiritus_Sancti: Presumably - Commodore's entire block was already thoroughly destroyed by the time I got there. Whatever Backtalker was looking for is obliterated by now. They succeeded.

calibanhammer: That would explain the comms blackout, then. After you went off in pursuit of that signal, there was a company-wide comms blackout for CMC - everyone lost contact with everyone. Slipshod and I had to get out of our cockpits to contact Dancer and Sawbones; they were both fine, despite the damages, but by the time we were able to talk things over, Commodore had all but disappeared from the battlefield.

70KU-N4H-W4: comms are back online now, but nobody on any side can get hold of Commodore. we think she may have blacked out comms on purpose after getting the news - it ain't good, regardless. if what Backtalker was saying was true, and what got destroyed really was her last remnant of Sylvia...

Expiritus_Sancti: ...we think Commodore went off the deep end?

70KU-N4H-W4: sure fuckin' looks like it. I think the rest of her team has too, actually - do you recall Commodore talking about how she hated being called "mercenary queen"?

Expiritus_Sancti: Vaguely; why?

70KU-N4H-W4: every motherfucker in the company is using some variant of "glory to the mercenary queen" as their sign-off now, instead of the usual "till legends bleed". real fuckin' ominous. feels like a threat, and I can't be sure it ain't also aimed at us as well as Backtalker - or, rather, the conglomerate of traitorous assholes calling themselves Backtalker

calibanhammer: Some context - Slipshod managed to trace some of those ID Expunged messages back to their sources. They all come from different areas in CMC territory. Some from public access boxes, other from personal intercomms, and still others from third-party devices. "Backtalker" isn't a person, it's a movement: in short, there's been a full infiltration of CMC right under Commodore's nose, and their revenge has finally hit home.

Expiritus_Sancti: ...Christ-the-Buddha almighty. So we've been being lied to this entire time. Fuck.

70KU-N4H-W4: not only that, but I've got word now that Z has decided to sign on with CMC right in the middle of this whole mess. (wish I was kidding, but Z's case worker is literally online discussing the details as we speak.) apparently Signal wants to hire our lawyers on to deal with whatever mess that whole ordeal is gonna come with, which just reeks of desperation and bad decisions

Expiritus_Sancti: Oh, absolutely not. Kennedi, get on call with Legal immediately; tell them to deny any and all offers made by CORSAIR Mercenary Company until we give them further notice. If they ask for details, tell them that CMC is currently compromised by internal sabotage, and anyone claiming to represent the company at this time might seek to further incriminate CMC as a legal entity.

calibanhammer: Roger that, Phoenix.

Expiritus_Sancti: As for you, Slipshod - get in touch with Command. Tell them we're coming back to base. The longer we stay here, the higher risk there is of becoming graywash fodder.

70KU-N4H-W4: way ahead of you, P - Command gave us the all-clear to disembark a while ago

Expiritus_Sancti: Phenomenal. The Albatross are busy dealing with Chernobog; hopefully they'll be alright fending it off long enough for us to get out. I can ping them later and give them a status update.

70KU-N4H-W4: ...I'm gonna assume we're calling the brawl off until further notice, then?

calibanhammer: The call has been made; Legal has been notified. At this stage, the brawl is no longer relevant - the safety of CMC and ourselves comes first. Dancer and Sawbones have already been informed as much; their damages are fixable, as are ours. For now, we mount a tactical retreat back to base and prepare for the inevitable backlash from CMC for cutting off their legal lifeline.

Expiritus_Sancti: Right. Let's get out of here. We stay any longer, and the Requiem might just turn into a graveyard.

70KU-N4H-W4: with the way things look, it might as well already be one, P. that being said - you don't think we're gonna be on call if someone's gotta take down a feral Commodore, do you?

Expiritus_Sancti: I don't know. Given how much SecCom-era technology CMC utilizes, plus whatever tech Z brings to their table... this may not be a fight we have any chance of winning.

calibanhammer: Agreed. A storm brews on the horizon; best we take shelter while we still can.

Expiritus_Sancti: ...couldn't have said it better myself. C'mon, girls. Let's go home.

[END CHATLOG]

[brood-mother]

sawbones Dragon Age Fic Masterlist

A list of all my Dragon Age fanfics (circa 2014-2018) to keep you occupied 'til Oct 31st. Mostly rarepairs, mostly smutty.

Dragon Age 2

A Little Self-Love Never Hurt Nobody Anders/Anders, E, WC: 2086; "Anders revisits a memory from his wild Circle days in a dream - and gains a whole new point of view." (selfcest, dream sex, PWP) Fructovorous Fenris/Sebastian, E, WC: 1790; "Fenris is his General on the field; behind closed doors, he’s so much more." (footplay, oral, light D/s) Pillowtalk Isabela/Bethany, T, WC: 755; "While Hawke is in the Deep Roads, a heatwave hits Kirkwall." (post-coital, cuddling, mild h/c) Rooftops Isabela/Bethany, G, WC: 931; "Bethany wants to learn how to support herself and her family." (gen, flirting) Tinpot Alley Implied Carver/Cullen, T/M, WC: 2679, "Three Templars went on patrol; one came back." (gore tw)

Dragon Age: The Last Court

Rakish, Reckless Marquis of Serault/Wayward Bard, E, WC: 3436; "The Wayward Bard takes a knife in the back to protect the Marquis. The Marquis wants to know why." (first time, angry sex, mild blood/injury)

Dragon Age: Inquisition

Many Hands Lighten the Load Dorian/m!Lavellan/Blackwall, E, WC: 7429; "All of Skyhold can see the way Blackwall looks at the Inquisitor, even if the Inquisitor himself can't. Dorian comes to realise there are better ways to handle such a situation than petty jealousy." (UST, mutual pining, friends/rivals to lovers) Rectrix Iron Bull/Zevran, E, WC: 1724; "Bull and Zevran met long before the Inquisition." (bondage, caning, forced tickling) Red Sky At Night Samson/Maddox, M, WC: 4450; "The rise of the Red General began with two men and a missed headcount; or, how Samson was lost to the Chantry and found by Corypheus." (hurt no comfort, pre-DAI) Ruby Red OFC/ OFC, E, WC: 3000; "Behemoth, they called her. Towering, terrifying. Where was Jess, under all that red? A twist of metal helm to mark where her head had been, two flat eyes that glinted in the low light. She was still there, Ruby knew it. She responded to her name, or at least to Ruby’s voice. Not any voice, just hers. Only hers." (angst, body horror, red templars)

The above works are all posted on Ao3, but there are more shorter-form fics over at my currently-defunct DA writing sideblog. Comments, kudos, asks, and suggestions for future fics are all very welcome. 🖤

[clonemedickix]

Rating: M

Word count: 6K

Characters: CT 6116 Kix, OC Medics: Volte, Patch, Patcher, Voodoo, Siren, Carpal, Sawbones, Minder, Whiskey, Quarter

*more medics will be mentioned in further chapters of this miniseries*

Warnings: Snide Medical Humor

Excerpt Summary - Arrival to the 1st Annual GAR Medic Convention. The medics arrive at the hotel, get their schedule, start having a reunion of friends.

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The 1st Annual GAR Medic Convention

Chapter 1 - Arrivals

Volte sighed tiredly. He had only just returned from a mission with the Dragon Company, and it had been a wringer. Even General Lin had looked bushed as she disembarked from the Talon, headed for the Dragon Cave and much needed rest, flanked by Fives and Echo. Volte’s responsibilities for the trip weren’t complete until he got the wounded men settled in sick bay, however, and he stood at the ramp of the Talon watching the hover stretchers pass by with his brothers. He followed the last one to the Grand Army of the Republic’s medical unit near the center of the base, his helmet under one arm and his data pad in his other hand. Maker, would he be glad when he could take off this armor and unwind.

As he passed into the large hospital’s corridors, he crossed paths with other medics, doing much the same as he was, checking in their wounded, or checking on them. The Dragon Company men technically fell under the wing of the 501st Legion, so any wounded men of their group would end up alongside others of Skywalker’s large battalion. Volte headed down the hall to the appropriate med bay and breezed through the door without pausing.

There were ten Dragons needing to be checked in, and Volte made for the nearest medical technician, a human female with a data pad. She was in conversation with Kix, Captain Rex’s Torrent Company medic. As he walked up, Volte caught the tail end of their chat.

“So, Kix, you going to the convention? It starts tomorrow,” the girl asked lightly.

“Planning on it. The Captain made sure to get me leave to go from General Skywalker. I’m looking forward to it. Supposed to be a lot of good information, and lots of free drinks from the sponsors. I’m not going to pass that chance up - the Senate might turn around and never do another one after they see how much their bar tab runs,” Kix said with a little chuckle at the end.

The girl acknowledged Volte’s presence with a little chin lift. “What’s up, Volte? Got some new people for me to patch up?”

Kix greeted Volte with a raised hand to clasp, and Volte grabbed it with a smile. “I have ten guys, though I doubt they’ll require much from you but some rest and bacta patches. Had them pretty well taken care of before we got back.” He took hold of the medical tech’s data pad and signed off on the patient registration quickly.

“Yeah, your guys usually don’t hang out with me for long.” Her eyes suddenly snapped up and she stood to attention as a call went out to the general room: “Attention! General on the floor!” Kix and Volte also snapped to attention quickly, waiting for the general in question to arrive and release them.

General Lin breezed into the room, still in her armor, covered in scuffs and mud and looking as glorious as she normally did. She smiled at the two medics and nodded, smoothly telling them, “At ease.” Everyone relaxed, as she moved over to check on each of her men. Volte and Kix shared a look between them, silently acknowledging her actions as a good leader. The General always stopped by the hospital before she took her own rest; it was a policy for her to put her men before herself. She made small talk with her guys, exhorting them to rest and get better quick - she’d expect them back at training soon as they could get there. Finished seeing her Dragons, Lara stepped over to the little knot of medical professionals and nodded to Kix. “Made it back in one piece, I see, Kix?”

“Of course, General. The Captain always leads us straight. I think he’s back too - probably in the mess hall or the barracks.” Kix flashed her a little wryly cocked eyebrow, assuming that was going to be the next question from her.

Lara gave Kix a rueful grin and cut her eyes to Volte. “Thanks for getting the men settled, Volte. I’m gonna head out now, if you don’t need anything from me?”

“I think I’ve got it handled, General.” And even if he didn’t, he wasn’t going to admit it to her in front of Kix and the hospital staff.

Lara nodded and turned to leave, but Kix’s voice stopped her.

“Hey General, did you give Volte leave to attend the conference? It starts tomorrow.”

Lara stopped and looked back at Volte, confused and surprised. “Conference? What conference?”

“You didn’t even ask, Volte?,” Kix asked chidingly.

“We were on a mission - I wasn’t sure we’d be back in time.” Volte shrugged his shoulders like it wasn’t a big deal to him, anyway.

“General, the First Annual GAR Medic Conference is tomorrow, on Hosnian Prime. All the GAR medical officers are attending. Supposed to have a lot of good education, new technology coming out and such.” Kix’s voice was both solicitous and slightly pleading. He wanted Volte to attend - even with all the educational blah blah blah, there would be partying after, and the clones hardly ever got a break to unwind.

“A medic conference?” Lara smiled brightly. “Like an EMS conference on Earth! Oh for sure Volte is going.” Volte looked up, ready to protest, and Lara cut him off. “Even if I have to dig my scrubs out of my drawer to come here and take care of these men myself, you’re going. You’re not going to miss something as fun as a conference. Conferences are legit! So much fun! Consider your leave approved, Volte, and you enjoy yourself. Give me a call if you end up in the brig and I’ll come bust you out.” Lara grinned at him and turned to walk away, leaving a beaming Kix and a flustered Volte standing in her wake.

Kix smiled and smacked Volte on the shoulder. “YEAH! We can catch the same shuttle out. This is going to be so much FUN!”

Volte looked somewhat uncertain, but bowed to the inevitable. His work done in the med bay, he made his farewell to his brothers and walked back to his barracks to get cleaned up, and packed. If the General said he was going, he knew better than to refuse.

The next morning, Volte made his way to the shuttle for Hosnian Prime with Kix at his side. The Torrent Company medic was excitedly chirping away about all the sessions being offered at the conference; he was looking forward to seeing the new technology on offer. Looking sideways at Volte, Kix remembered the Dragon Company already carried some unconventional tech that no other squads had. “So where did you get some of those toys you carry, Volte?”

“The General. She brought them from her home world,” Volte answered. “Some of it is pretty simple by our standards, but work really well. Like her CAT tourniquets. And Quick Clot stuff. I’ve liked using it. Those tourniquets though - they’re crazy effective. I’m surprised we don’t have something like them. You’d think with all the smart things the Kaminoans come up with, they wouldn’t over look something so plain and simple.”

“Wonder if they’ll have tech like that at this conference?,” Kix was curious of the possibilities. He’d heard there would be a new hover stretcher to ogle, as well as some of the latest medical interior upgrades for the LA ATs, converting some to straight medical evacuation ships. They were supposed to have fully kitted out displays of the new platforms, and that was always fun to see, climb around in and dream about.

“I have no idea, Kix. I honestly gave this conference no thought because I wasn’t sure I’d make it. I vaguely remember the brochure said something about new monitors, new meds, that ship kit, some new first aid implements… Who knows what all goodies they might have.” Volte was still somewhat tired after returning from their latest mission, only to turn around and ship out for this conference… Even for a pleasure trip it sucked to get up early when he’d wanted to rest. He yawned widely as they climbed aboard the airship and found seats. It was full of other medics, all heading for the same convention.

“Hey bud, quit that! We are going to have a blast at this thing. Can’t have you acting like an old man before we even get there.” Kix nudged Volte roughly and gave him a sharp look. “We’ve got some serious partying to do - we never get to really let loose even at 79s. So you quit that yawning.”

“Okay, okay,” Volte grumbled back. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “I’m gonna take a nap for a while if you’re so determined to drag me to the bar every night. Be a social butterfly and talk to the others. Poor souls - you have a captive audience back there to listen to you blab about your magical hangover cure.”

Kix looked at Volte with a disgruntled frown, but did exactly that. Turning, he caught sight of several Corrie Guard medics - Patch, Patcher, Voodoo, Siren and Carpal were all loosely grouped in the rear of the shuttle. Kix gave his now snoring companion an eye roll and got up to move closer to the others; he knew a few of them quite well. He was only vaguely surprised that Commander Fox had given all his medics leave to come on this trip, but then the Corries had the benefit of being on Coruscant, with access to the Grand Republic Medical Center. They could just do a quick transport and have any wounded in front of the surgeons without much effort. And even the anal retentive Corries needed a night off occasionally.

“What’s up, people? Ready for this extravaganza of medical trivia, new toys and booze influenced fuckery?,” Kix said with a grin that would have done the Cheshire Cat proud. He looked up and nodded to Sawbones, who was sitting by himself a short distance away. Kix’s buddy Minder was sitting across from Sawbones, and Kix reached out, gave him a quick fist bump. He’d come back to talk to him when he was done with the Corries; Kix was a boy that loved the spotlight and could never keep still.

The group of Corrie medics all looked back at the Torrent Company man a little warily; all of the 501st had a reputation for generally being on the shady side of following rules, if not outright crazy. Kix was known to be one of the sharpest in the bunch; some said the only 501st member with a brain cell, after Captain Rex. But that was a misconception. Aside from Captain Rex, Kix had joint custody of the second single brain cell, and that only during his duty hours. The rest of his time was spent at 79’s, where he and Jesse, Hardcase, Fives and Echo stirred up enough trouble to make themselves as infamous with the Corries as their General was to the Jedi Council.

They’d all noticed Kix came in the company of Volte from Dragon Company - now there was a guy with a reputation. Known to be a steady and sharp medic, one of the best ever trained on Kamino, he’d been hand selected by the Dragon Rider, General Lara Lin, who’d kitted him out like a ARC Trooper, trained him in other worldly witchcraft and fighting skills previously unheard of in their galaxy, and given him special tools for use on their men. She’d even gone so far as to insist all of Dragon Company have first response medical skills, so technically they could all have qualified for field medic training on Kamino, but Volte was the Chief Medical Officer of the Company. The Dragons were nigh untouchable - trouble slid off of them like rain on a windscreen. No one could ever really explain how their General kept them all out of hot water after some of their escapades, but it had garnered them the image of a group of dark, mysterious renegades, strutting around the Coruscant military base like so many black and gold peacocks.

Patcher finally spoke up for his group. “Not everybody is going to the conference just to see how many panties they can drop or drinks they can keep down, Kix.”

“I came for the education too, Patcher, but hey, if panties start dropping around me, who am I to protest?” Kix grinned at the Corries mischievously, patted the back of the seat he was leaning on and turned to move to sit with Minder and Sawbones. He didn’t get far when he heard one of the Corrie group members pipe up.

“We could probably get by without going to a conference if your buddy up there would share his toys the General gives him,” Voodoo said with a little bitterness in his voice. “Heard his success rate on wounded men shot up by fifty percent after she implemented her “Stop the Bleed” policy and handed out those special tourniquets.”

“Now why would you Corries need tactical equipment like that? You don’t go anywhere that demands special toys, except maybe when you visit the dark lower levels.” Kix’s eyes narrowed a little as he moved in for the kill. “Then you’d just need some of those ‘antibiotics’ she’s always talking about using on her homeworld. Said they came about specifically to treat the koochie cooties you’re used to dealing with.” He laughed as all the men shot him dirty looks for insulting both their purpose and extracurricular activities.

“I can see this is going to be one of those trips,” Siren muttered to his neighbor Patch. “Why do all of the guys in the 501st have to be such di’kuts?”

“Because their General has a fat head and lets them think they can get away with just about everything, just like he does,” Patch grumbled back.

“At least the Dragon Company General isn’t quite as obnoxious as Skywalker, and far better to look at,” Carpal murmured.

“Or General Secura. I’d watch her all day long,” Siren said dreamily. “She’s got some nice assets, that one.”

There were grumbles of agreement to that statement, as the men settled back down into their own heads for the rest of the flight.

Kix had snugged himself into the seat beside Minder, propping his feet up on the armrest of the seat catty corner to him across the aisle, the picture of laid back relaxation. Sawbones was reading a holo fic on his data pad, quietly ignoring all other life forms on the shuttle. Kix gave him a brief glance, decided he didn’t want to be bothered, and turned to Minder. “How’s it been going at the Jedi Temple? Haven’t see you around of late.”

“Not too bad. Always lots of little boo boos to fix on the younglings as they start advancing in their physical training. And of course, the padawans with their training remotes - they always have little burns from not blocking fast enough.” The red headed medic smiled and looked over at his old batch mate. “Other than that, just sprains, strains and the odd broken ankle or wrist. Sometimes we get a truly wounded Jedi in from the field, but usually you guys are good about taking care of that before they get back to Coruscant.”

“Sounds kind of boring,” Kix said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah well, not all of us can run around dodging blaster fire anymore,” Minder said, nodding to his cane. He’d broken his leg and been hit by shrapnel at Khorm when Dooku’s assassin Asaj Ventress bombed the medical tents, and was left requiring the permanent assistance of a cane to get around. “At least they kept me working somewhere I’m of value, rather than just decommissioning me.” Minder shrugged. “I love working with the younglings anyway. Kids are always so much more fun than adults.”

Kix gave him an inquiring look, as if he didn’t believe that sentiment at all. “Kids are terrifying. The only thing I know about kids is it’s bad when they’re quiet, and they’re annoying when they’re not. You can keep allllll the kids, Minder.”

Minder laughed at his friend. “Seriously, Kix. Kids aren’t bad. They are actually pretty fun to work with once they decide to trust you, and they love stories and getting stickers for being cooperative. Give me a kid to treat any day.”

Kix grunted in reply, and pulled his data pad out. Everybody got cozy on the shuttle; they had a few hours of flight time to go, so Kix figured he would get some reading in. There was plenty of time ahead in the three day conference to catch up with people.

The shuttle arced its way down through the atmosphere of Hosnian Prime, over the white beaches towards the hotel district. The 1st Annual GAR Medic Convention was to be held in their fancy convention center, in the heart of their many high rise buildings with its own commanding view of the sea. The center had multiple restaurants and bars attached for the ease of feeding guests present for large gatherings; you never had to actually leave during your stay to get food or beverage and spirits, and could conveniently return to your hotel room whether by foot or by droid-assist. The Convention Center had made sure to bring in droid-assist reinforcements for this particular gathering of weathered clone troopers; they figured there would be plenty of men they’d have to literally scoop off the floor each night. While the convention planners had all protested the idea that the famed boys in white would act out of place, more rational souls had remained silent with raised eyebrows, then reasserted the need for more droids.

The Coruscant shuttle disgorged its passengers on the landing pad of the Hosnian Prime Mariton. It was one of the finer hotels on the planet, and had graciously waived many fees to attract this business from the Republic. There were many compensations to be had behind closed doors, if they were able to impress the many sponsors at this gathering. Just a couple of the big name weapon manufacturers alone could keep the hotel in business for many years. There always existed the give and take behind the scenes, when large companies did things for ‘charity’ or tax breaks, hoping to polish their public image while still making a hot credit in the hand.

Volte woke when the shuttle locked its landing gear and touched down on the hotel pad. Through bleary brown eyes, he took in the scene outside the ship’s doors, seeing flashy neon lights and busy sky traffic. It wasn’t much different from Coruscant, and for a short second he was confused enough to wonder if they’d even left. Kix disabused him of that notion quickly, as he walked by and smacked him on the shoulder roughly.

“Rise and shine pretty boy; we’ve arrived. You missed some truly stimulating conversations about medical advancement,” Kix said with a serious face.

“Did I?,” Volte said a little wearily.

“No. But you sleeping definitely made the flight boring for me,” Kix said firmly. “Now, let’s get our room assignment and hit the bar! Maybe there will be some hot chicks there to talk to, tell them all about being a GAR medic.”

“That’s fine Kix, but you better get your own room if you plan on bringing anybody back with you for the night. I’m not getting trapped again like that time on Canto Bight, when you came home with two Twi’leks and tried to foist one on me.” Volte gave Kix a scathing, scandalized look and shook his head. “Get your jollies off in a dark corner or other. In fact, if you decide you DO need a room, tell them to put it on my General’s tab. She’d cover it, I’m sure.”

Kix laughed a bit. She might just at that - she had offered to get them out of the brig if they ended up in one. She seemed to have no illusions whatsoever about what happened at one of these conferences. Kix wondered if there was a story attached to that, and whether it could be wheedled out of her at 79s some night.

The two medics followed a line of others to the front desk of the hotel and received their room assignment, then turned and strolled over to the lift for their floor. The lobby had been chock full of clone troopers, every one of them a field medic or associated with advanced emergency care. Sawbones and another clone named Whiskey climbed aboard the lift with Kix and Volte, both men in the Wolfpack. Sawbones typically enjoyed Kix’s enthusiasm, and Whiskey was a relaxed, quiet trooper, already having ascended to administration. He nodded to Volte and Kix, leaning back against the wall as the lift climbed into the sky.

“We should have a good view of the beaches from these floors,” Volte said lightly.

“Right, all the better to entice the ladies back to our rooms,” Kix said with a slight leer in his voice. The three other clones rolled their eyes. None were averse to a pretty date, but none of them were quite the famed man whore that Kix was, with his flashy scalp tattoos and bravado. Volte silently stared at the ceiling, wondering if he paid someone to get Kix laid the first night, would he calm down for the rest? Or perhaps he could just sedate him and tie him to the bed while the rest of them went to class, with a sock for a gag….

The men finally reached the fiftieth floor and filed out of the lift to head for their rooms. Funnily enough, they were adjoining. Sawbones and Whiskey looked at each other silently as they realized they’d share a door with their rambunctious 501st counterpart. Their thoughts unintentionally ran in the same vein as Volte’s, as they mentally ran back over the items they had packed for the trip. Sadly, rope, gags and extra tranquilizers hadn’t made it into their bags. Maybe they could get him plastered enough he’d just pass out. Three minds feverishly worked over the question of how to get actual sleep and time for reflection with Kix in the mix. Sawbones had noticed Volte looked particularly haggard already, as they pushed their door open to Kix jovially singing and dancing across the floor to claim his bed, “Shawty had them apple bottoms jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club lookin at her…” The Dragon Company medic sighed, ironically thanking his leader for introducing Kix to Earthen rap music. This party would have been right up her alley.

After getting their packs stowed, the two medics wandered back to the lobby to make plans for their dinner. Volte felt a bit better after his nap on the ride out, and he had to admit it was impressive, seeing all the clone medics milling around on the hotel’s ground floor. There were so many squad, company and battalion patches he just about couldn’t name them all. He saw the insignia for Shadow Squad, 327th Star Corps, the Mist Squad, a guy possibly from Republic intelligence, the wave patch of the Tsunami Squad, the fire bird of Phoenix Squad, Violet Company, the 218th, the 387th, and the Phoenix Company. There were many more, of course, but those were readily recognizable. A few of the faces he also knew, as did Kix evidently, who was loudly hailing the clones he made out in the crowd. It was a pleasing family reunion, so many brothers, all with interests and jobs in common.

Volte had brought along the booklet detailing the many classes on offer each day, as well as the displays from the vendors and sponsors. The pamphlet even promised there would be free giveaways of items at each booth, and Volte dreamily wondered what kind of goodies he was going to come away with. Kix eagerly read over his shoulder and pondered aloud about what classes he wanted to attend.

“Look at that V! ‘Advanced Airway Management for Facial Trauma: What To Do When Holes Are Present That Shouldn’t Be’! I bet that’s a great class! And ‘Rapid Sedation: How to Restrain Your Patient in Five Seconds Without Using Conduit Tape’. I need to try that on Hardcase!” Kix laughed gleefully, reading further down the list and exclaiming aloud which ones sounded the most interesting.

Sawbones and Minder happened by with Whiskey in tow. “Anything good on the schedule?,” Sawbones grumbled out in his deep, gravely voice.

Minder had his own copy of the roster and was perusing it with Whiskey. “I might go to this one - “How to Approach a Youngling: They’re Not Armed Bombs.” Minder chuckled. “If people only knew…Kids are best hidden secret in the medical field.” All four of his brothers looked at him like he was somewhat crazy, then went back to the brochure.

“Preventing Infections, as Easy as Wash Your Kriffing Hands,” Volte laughed softly. “Who got to name these classes? Sounds like something my General would come up with.”

Sawbones suddenly gave a low barking laugh. “Communicable Diseases: How To Avoid Them While Sitting in a Small Enclosed Space With Others.” The old medic shook his head with a smile, “I agree, whoever got to come up with these titles is a jewel. We need to find out and treat them to a round or two.”

“Weird Things Radiology Techs Have Found in a Rectum and Why Bacta Doesn’t Belong There Either,” Whiskey read, his eyebrows raised as high as they could go. “At least they have a sense of humor. Maybe this thing won’t be boring.”

“Well, everything starts tomorrow at 0800, so we might as well find some dinner and find something to do until bedtime,” Sawbones drawled out.

Kix looked like he was about to speak up, but Volte quickly cut him off. “And no that doesn’t mean shopping for a date.”

The group of men moved off in search of food, still walking and talking about the classes on offer. By the time they sat down, each men had a rough idea of which classes they would work to attend, if they couldn’t make it to all of them. There were five per day, starting at 0800 and each lasting an hour and a half. Volte felt they each had good information to learn, and he wanted to make it to them all, if Kix would allow it.

The official class list read thus:

Primeday:

0800 - Advanced Airway Management for Facial Trauma: What To Do When Holes Are Present That Shouldn’t Be

1000 - Rapid Sedation: How to Restrain Your Patient in Fives Seconds Without the Use of Conduit Tape

1300 - How to Approach Younglings: They’re Not Armed Bombs

1500 - Preventing Infections: As Easy As Wash Your Kriffing Hands

1700 - Communicable Diseases: How to Avoid Them While Sitting in a Small Enclosed Space with Others

Centaxday:

0800 - Urine Business: Keep the Flow Alive or Your Patient Won’t Be

1000 - Long Bone Trauma: If That Limb is A-Floppin, The Ship Better Not Be Rockin!

1300 - An Ode to Burns: My Skin is on Fire, It Hurts. How to Rapidly Treat Burn Trauma and Pain

1500 - Hypovolemic Shock: That Red Stuff Was Supposed to Stay on the Inside

1700 - Weird Things Radiology Techs Have Found in a Rectum and Why Bacta Doesn’t Belong There Either

Taungsday -

0800 - Everything You Never Wanted to Know About Pregnant Females ( Otherwise Known As How to Catch a Flying Greased Puffer Pig at the least Opportune Moment)

1000 - When Everything Goes to Mustafar in a Camtono: How to Remain Calm During the Worst Crises

1300 - Splinters: How to Deal with Your Vod When They’re Being a Big Baby

1500 - Medics Outrank Everyone - A Motto To Live By

1700 - Take the Jedi Path - Let it Go: How to Handle Grief and Loss in the Ranks

The small knot of clones ended up wandering into one of the sports bar type restaurants of the large hotel. The place was packed by their brethren, all either at tables, in booths or are the bar. It was a raucous scene, and Kix’s face lit up with joy at the prospect of swapping stories and drinks with al the men present. He angled his way to the bar to make his first order, dragging Volte with him while Sawbones found them somewhere to sit. It wasn’t usually hard for the gritty old medic to get his way with others - his entire persona was intimidating, if his gruff, deadpan words didn’t make them hop and run. He was able to secure them a large booth near the center of the restaurant, where they could commune with everyone easily and hear the chatter.

Volte and Kix made it to the table not long after, bearing everyone’s first round of drinks, followed by an ARC medic named Quarter, and Voodoo. They were both in the Coruscant Guard and knew the group at the table fairly well. The men all traded greetings and fist bumps, settling back into the cushions as they took in the scene.

Quarter raised his chin a bit at Volte after taking a swig of his fizzy drink, launching into a question. “Got any good stories from the front these days, Volte? We hear all kinds of rumors about you Dragons and that General of yours, but nobody knows how much of it is bantha poodoo or real.”

Volte laughed a little ruefully before replying. “You know, people like to make up crap about us, like we are some top secret mystery brigade, but I think you’d be surprised how boring we are in reality.”

“How can it be boring when you work with a karking dragon?,” Voodoo exclaimed. “That alone is worth talking about! Has that thing eaten anyone yet?”

“Nope. He’s not just some mindless animal - he’s as smart as you or me. I did see him step on a few Seppys during a battle though. They were quite a bit flatter in places they shouldn’t have been when he moved off. And if he goes to burn something - straight to ash. Nothing left. Hottest fires you can imagine.” Volte shook his head in wonder, remembering some of the things he’d seen. “But what about you guys? Surely you have plenty of good dirt on all the political types, working here in the veritable beating heart of the galaxy.”

Voodoo laughed. “Oh there’s always dirt. Thank the Force for those implants the Kaminoans fitted us with, because otherwise half of the command staff would have the gift that keeps on giving and about ten children stowed away here and there. Not much to do, guarding Coruscant, and when those pretty girls hit you up it’s hard to refuse.” He gave Volte a little salute with the neck of his fizz bottle. There were general chuckles all around; none of the men were blushing virgins and all knew boredom and stress led to the men finding ‘other’ entertainment. “I’ve heard rumors there’s going to be a clone dating service start up on the super hush and hush. Evidently Commander Fox knows the business owner … incredibly well…,” he said with a bit of a wink.

Minder choked on his drink. “A dating service for clones? Seems like a big risk to take - we never know if we’re coming back from any deployment, and if they got caught they’d probably get shipped back to Kamino for reconditioning.” Volte nodded with his eyebrows up at the news. He was no stranger to clones hiding relationships; Dragon Company and Torrent Company had more than one high up military secret relationship they were protecting.

“Hey why shouldn’t we have relationships if we want them?,” Kix demanded rather angrily. “We are people too. We have just as many needs as some nat born!” He saw Quarter nodding with him, though Whiskey and Sawbones both wore rather resigned, skeptical expressions.

Voodoo shrugged. “Imagine if all the clones got a steady girl and had kids, though. We’d probably over populate the galaxy in less than a year. Of course, that’s if we managed to get around the sterility implants. I’ve heard rumors that a few clones have gotten some girls knocked up, but I’ve never seen it in real life. Could be a fairy tale.”

The table fell silent for a short moment as each man wondered about their rights, or lack thereof, and all took a quick slug of their drinks to wash away the bitter taste of resignation. Their musing was shortly interrupted by the arrival of Carpal, who was working his way toward the exit. He didn’t prefer loud crowds with the ringing in his ears at baseline, a parting gift from Asaj Ventress at Khorm. He nodded to the group as he walked by with a small bucket of drinks for himself; he preferred sitting in quiet places where he could read. Carpal was an older clone, his graying beard lending him a look of wizened knowledge that others deferred to.

Sawbones raised his bottle to acknowledge the medic, grunting out, “Heading back to your room, Carpal?”

The grizzled clone nodded. “You know I don’t do these loud gatherings. I’ve got my stash now and a good book I brought with me. You know where to find me if you need me,” he said, his voice a little louder than others to compensate for the inner ear issues. “I’ll see you boys in class tomorrow. Behave, children,” he said as he ambled on past them to the door.

To Kix's utter dismay, the rest of the evening passed with no pretty women appearing at the bar; only a steady stream of clones came and went. Their little group threw in the towel somewhat early, as Volte wanted to get some rest and Sawbones had used up all of his stored up reserves on dealing with people; the man was never the most outgoing of medics, and his patience for foolishness was nonexistent. The men headed back to their rooms, cleaned up and hit the sheets; all were unconscious as soon as their heads hit the pillows.

Credits:

Kix - CT 6116 Medic of Torrent Company, 501st Legion

Volte - CT 2403 Dragon Company CMO, property of CloneMedicKix

Patch - Coruscant Guard Medic, property of Sunshinedaydream

Patcher - CT 1110 Coruscant Guard CMO, property of Stargazingbunny

Voodoo - CT 0127 Coruscant Guard medic, property of Sev-on-Kamino

Siren - CT 6161 Coruscant Guard Medic, property of 523rd Rebel

Carpal - CC 6666 Coruscant Guard medic, property of Mythical Illustrator

Sawbones - CT 2697 Wolfpack CMO, 104th Battalion, property of Wizardofrozz

Minder - CT 6334-2 Jedi Medical Company, property of Mythical Illustrator

Whiskey - CC 6891 CMO 104th Battalion, property of Banks's-rat

Quarter - ARC 2525 Republic Intelligence medic, property of Hetalianskywalker

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