"Hawkeye" Pierce (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
notinflictthem) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ph_logs2023-11-10 06:36 pm
notinflictthem) wrote in ph_logs2023-11-10 06:36 pm
The bathroom tiles were cool against my hand
CHARACTERS: Hawkeye and you! Yes, you!
DATE: November
LOCATION: Hawkeye’s Clinic
SITUATION: Settling in, making waves, shaking hands, making friends
WARNINGS: Blanket warning that war and injury may come up
Hawkeye wakes up to sunlight instead of Radar yelling for helicopters. He has his coffee unhurried, plans out his day. No Frank to yell at him for not shaving, but no Trap to chew the fat with, either. Nobody to complain with about breakfast. It’s too quiet. If he doesn’t see a human person in the next hour, he’s going to start gnawing his own limbs off.
So from about 8am-6pm, the clinic is staffed. The sign out the front reads ‘Hawkeye’s Clinic, happy hour 6-7pm’, and underneath that, more recently, a smaller sign reads ‘100% satisfaction rate; just ask the survivors!’
Inside, Hawkeye is either cleaning, running his tabletop still for alcohol to disinfect with (or drink), or organising his small array of client notes.
If you actually visit during the signposted happy hour, the table in the middle of the clinic has a tablecloth draped over it, and Hawkeye stands there polishing the couple of glasses he owns. Someone should get him some decent barware. There’s a couple of stools, and he grins as you enter. He’s playing bartender. Indulge him?
After happy hour, the ‘bar’ gets packed up and the clinic gets scrubbed down. If you’ve got a standing invitation for cards, a date, or just want to check in on him off-hours, this is the time to do it. Find him out on his front doorstep with his nose in a book, leaning out the window with a martini in hand and watching the street, or doing something upstairs, the sound of a pleasant baritone muddling through something jazzy.
(Hit me!)
DATE: November
LOCATION: Hawkeye’s Clinic
SITUATION: Settling in, making waves, shaking hands, making friends
WARNINGS: Blanket warning that war and injury may come up
Press my corpse against the wall
Hawkeye wakes up to sunlight instead of Radar yelling for helicopters. He has his coffee unhurried, plans out his day. No Frank to yell at him for not shaving, but no Trap to chew the fat with, either. Nobody to complain with about breakfast. It’s too quiet. If he doesn’t see a human person in the next hour, he’s going to start gnawing his own limbs off.
So from about 8am-6pm, the clinic is staffed. The sign out the front reads ‘Hawkeye’s Clinic, happy hour 6-7pm’, and underneath that, more recently, a smaller sign reads ‘100% satisfaction rate; just ask the survivors!’
Inside, Hawkeye is either cleaning, running his tabletop still for alcohol to disinfect with (or drink), or organising his small array of client notes.
I told the band to leave without me
If you actually visit during the signposted happy hour, the table in the middle of the clinic has a tablecloth draped over it, and Hawkeye stands there polishing the couple of glasses he owns. Someone should get him some decent barware. There’s a couple of stools, and he grins as you enter. He’s playing bartender. Indulge him?
I'll get the next flight
After happy hour, the ‘bar’ gets packed up and the clinic gets scrubbed down. If you’ve got a standing invitation for cards, a date, or just want to check in on him off-hours, this is the time to do it. Find him out on his front doorstep with his nose in a book, leaning out the window with a martini in hand and watching the street, or doing something upstairs, the sound of a pleasant baritone muddling through something jazzy.
And if I make it to the mornin' (wildcard)
(Hit me!)
Press my corpse...
1) He has a supply delivery. Equipment, ingredients, and documentation copied from the other office so that even if they don't all like associating, they do at least all have the same information on the people in the town that they would be taking care of
and 2) Sam had been pointed in Dr Pierce's direction as someone that might not rankle as much as some at the larger clinic. He still hasn't actually made the appointment that he'd assured in a wishy-washy sort of way that he'd make, because someone decided he needed a physical (he understands why but it doesn't mean he has to like it).
If there's a bell, it will be dinged. If there's not, he'll knock, and preemptively explain that he's got mail.
There is, of course, a baby strapped to his chest. This is nothing new. Half the village has taken note of Lou by now, he's sure.
no subject
"Is this the mail? It's not mine but I'll take it," he coos, stooping down a little to smile at the kid directly.
"Sorry, had to make the joke," he stands back up, "whatcha got for me Mr Mailman?"
no subject
When he stands back up straight, Sam reaches back to unsling his too-large pack and ease it onto the floor, first pulling out a bound folder of copied over documents and handing them straight over, then picking a few cases to stack on the counter.
"Supplies, doc. Don't worry, I'm not gonna make you sign anything."
no subject
Hawkeye helps where he can, taking the folder (with a quick peek into it) and one of the cases. He's helpful without being unobtrusive; he might hate the army, but damnit if it doesn't teach you how to work efficiently with others.
"Thanks a bunch, I think I left my pen back in my pants that are still in Korea. Seriously- really decent of you, thanks for this. You're...?" nope, can't even make a guess, nobody warned him about the amazing human camel.
no subject
Usually Sam doesn't have anyone actively helping him do this. He has to stop himself waving Hawkeye off; just because he's not accustomed to it doesn't mean that it isn't nice. Considering that this was probably what people did anyway when he'd dropped things through their delivery terminals anyway, the only thing that's actually any different is that it's happening right in front of him.
"Korea? Lemme guess, ex-army?" Only reason he could think for someone to be out there when for all intents and purposes the guy looks and sounds like someone he would have expected to see back in DC. "Uh. Sam. Sam Porter." Notable lack of handshake as he gets the last of it in order.
no subject
Once everything's sorted, he answers-
"More and more ex by the day, thank goodness. Nice to meet you Sam," it's fine, handshakes aren't necessary, manners are kind of the first thing out the window back at the mash unit, anyway.
"Who's the kid?"
no subject
As soon as it looks like everything is well in hand, Sam straightens up to cinch his pack snug to his body once more, and makes sure that the sling is secure after the jostling. "'s Lou. Watch out, she's a little spitfire."
no subject
He sticks his tongue out at the kid mischievously, then turns his attention back to Sam-
"I owe you anything for this? I can't remember when postage started being paid in advance, don't know if it's happened here yet."
no subject
"Nah man, it's all good. City pays the fees and I make sure shit keeps running on time. Pretty good system."
no subject
Hawkeye taps beside the still on the countertop, "can I tempt you with a belt before you get to your next job? It's nice to have a visitor who isn't bleeding."
no subject
"What's your poison?" He can't tell by smell, and his pallet isn't exactly acclimated to anything but caffeine and dark beer. On that thought, he eyes the still again, then Hawkeye. "Actually, another question for you doc. You know anything about energy supplements?"
no subject
"Energy supplements? What, like... batteries?"
no subject
"Energy drink. Think like coffee but tastes better, lasts longer, and has more to it in general. Kinda tastes like soda?" He doesn't know when energy drinks were invented but surely it can't be a bad idea to propose to a doctor for production, right?
no subject
"Haven't heard of it. But we could probably give it a shot- we'd need to extract caffeine somehow, and I don't know about you but I haven't looked at organic chemistry since college. We might need to ask our lovely pharmacist about it."
no subject
"I know there's people working on trying to grow it here. Maybe if they figures it out, we can work with 'em on that. There's this kid too, real sciencey type, always hear 'im muttering about growin' stuff." He barely understood the majority of what the Torgal kid had told him when he was asking a pile of questions about the economy of the island, the supplies, and his plans for getting deliveries out to the farms only to learn that Sam actually lived pretty damn close to them, at least for the moment. There had been a moment when Sam had sort of tuned out while listening to the poor guy. The way he'd reacted, that kind of thing seemed to happen a lot.
Another swallow of his chin, and Sam shakes his head. "Can't do more than this but maybe I'll hit you up later. Already riskin' some kinda citation drinkin' on the job."
no subject
"Well hey, keep me in the loop if any of you manage to work it out. Can't complain about having something to drink, but your uh- your energy drinks sound nicer than the chicory stuff I've been having."
It might be an alternative, but it's not a good one.
"Happy hour's on the door. Would be nice to have you- and whoever your boss is, I didn't see or hear anything," and he zips his mouth shut.
no subject
no subject
"Back home we had requisition officers and all to sort this out. Going to be weird having to run all of my own inventory."
Yes that was technically sometimes his duty but. Hawkeye didn't do it. Not often. What were they going to do, draft him again?
no subject