"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!)
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?"
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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."
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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."
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"Nah man, it's all good. City pays the fees and I make sure shit keeps running on time. Pretty good system."
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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."
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"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?"
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"Energy supplements? What, like... batteries?"
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"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."
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"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
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"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