The Bitter Taste (Bulgaria)

[Miloš Jovanović]

It had been a week since Milos could last walk by himself. Hell, it had been a week since he'd last been able to sit up by himself, as much as it pained him to admit it. The first few days had been easy enough as he had mostly slept through them, but once he was awake that was when he started going stir-crazy.

Milos was a man who loved to be always on the move. He had places to be, people to deal with, and plenty of things to do. Sure he slowed down sometimes to grab a beer and a woman, but for the most part he was very active. Being confined to a bed in a makeshift hospital was something he'd always hated, but this time was much worse for a number of reasons.

One, he was a lot more injured this time around than he usually was when he got dragged in here. After he and Marko had escaped that damn opera house he'd gotten them as far as the nearest Ruthian base up top before he collapsed and passed out. Two, there were no female nurses anywhere at this god damned 'hospital'. He was bored out of his mind and had no one to catcall.

And three, he couldn't feel most of his left arm anymore. When they had escaped Milos knew his left shoulder had been fucked up and that his arm was probably broken, but it wasn't until a doctor had looked at him that the full extent of his injuries had been realized. Some nerve-whatevers had been damaged and because he had strained his arm too much he had basically ruined it.

To be honest it was that last one that bothered him the most because he knew what would have to be done to take care of it. It was something he didn't really feel like thinking about, which is why he was trying his best to keep himself as entertained and like his usual obnoxious self as possible. But because there was few sources of entertainment for him he was stuck dwelling on the inevitable. And boy, did he not look forward to having an arm chopped off.

Milos was lying in bed, for once being quiet as he was listening to the report from his superiors on the results of his and Marko's actions. As he expected he got a bunch of congratulations and condolences on his injuries. Besides the part where they both got injured, their job had gone perfectly really. The only thing that might get them in trouble was that military man, but it had been dark and he had been pushed off that balcony so he wasn't too worried. Once the report had been read the guy left and he was left to stew in his thoughts.

He hated thinking too much, so when he saw Marko in the doorway he actually was kind of just the tiniest bit glad to see him. Milos smirked and yelled across the room, "Hey jackass! Miss me?"

[Marko Iliev]

One week on and the blinding pain in Marko's leg hadn't yet subsided. At the very least, the problem was fixed and he could walk on it – with the aid of a walking stick, of course. During the attack on the opera house, the plate in his leg, put there after receiving his original injury, had moved out of place; he'd been told not to move too much by the doctor who had put it in, but that had been a civillian doctor, and he'd clearly been unaware – with good reason – of the task that Marko was eventually going to undertake.

It wasn't like he'd wanted to do what he did to make his leg worse. He hadn't had a choice; if that damn military man hadn't been in the opera house, he wouldn't have had to have shoved him off that balcony. Though, if Milos hadn't gotten himself crushed by the crumbling ceiling in the first place, he probably could have outrun the military man himself. But those were ifs and buts, and Marko knew there was no changing what had happened. They'd accomplished what they'd set out to do, and Ruthien business always came with the potential to be life-threatening. They'd gotten lucky, all things considered, though due to their injuries, Marko couldn't help but wonder if either of them would be doing field work again.

The underground was unfamiliar territory; with a few exceptions he mostly operated with and amongst the Ruthiens overground – that was where he lived and worked as a civilian, after all. Minutes passed like hours in the slums, hours passed like days, and days passed like weeks. He felt as if he hadn't seen daylight in forever. It was a precautionary thing, but scouts above ground had reported that the fuss kicked up over the attack had died down enough for Marko to be allowed back into Granor. In the meantime, an alibi had been put in place to explain his absence – a story he'd have to stick to when he entered the city again; he'd just barely escaped the bomb blasts when searching for his father, though his leg had become severely worsened in the process, and deciding that Granor's hospitals would be filled to capacity with those injured worse than himself, he had paid to travel abroard to have a doctor see to him there. It was believable enough, he supposed, though no one above ground apart from a few members of his family and his housekeeper would probably have wondered about his whereabouts.

Before he returned to the upper levels of the city, though, there was one last thing he needed to do. Hobbling his way through the makeshift infirmary area, he passed by a few of his superiors, though with nothing more than a few words of greeting and a request from them to remain alert in his resurfacing. There was no sympathy for his injury, but he figured they'd given him about as much of that as he was going to get. Before long, he was on his way again.

Marko hadn't seen Milos since they'd both been dragged underground in the first place. He didn't know the extent of Milos's injuries; all he knew was he'd managed to survive them, which was of a considerable relief. But it was still a weight off his chest to see so for himself.

“Looks like your mouth still works fine, huh?” He remarked, hobbling through the open doorway and pasting a grin onto his face.

[Miloš Jovanović]

Milos just chuckled and beckoned Marko over with his right arm. "Yeah, it's good to see your ugly mug hasn't gotten any uglier." As he was slowly hobbling over to him he commented aloud, "How's the leg? You're limping even more like an old geezer than before." One might be surprised to know that beneath his smart ass comment there was some real concern there. Though for now he didn't really care about the answer, his mind still being distracted by another urgent topic.

As Marko sat down his grin faded a little, but refused to disappear. He never was one to beat about the bush so he figured he might as well just launch right into it. "So how much did the Superiors tell you?" He figured Marko would know what he meant.

[Marko Iliev]

“Says the guy with the bust nose.” He snickered, continuing to limp forwards until he reached the seat next to the bed, before lowering himself into it. “My leg could be worse, but I don’t think I’ll be walking without this again for a year, at least.” He tapped his fingers on the top of the walking stick.

When questioned about the superiors, his smirk disappeared, and was replaced by a pensive frown. “Hnh, well, they told me everything went fine, asides from the run-in with the military man. They also told me to use an alibi and stay on guard when resurfacing today. That’s about it… Why, what did they tell you?”

[Miloš Jovanović]

His answer told the Serb more than enough; they hadn't told him anything about his condition. Milos was actually a little glad, as he'd wanted to say it himself. It was something he'd have to get used to talking about anyways. Hell, in a few months he'd probably be recounting this tale with vigor in Ruthian-owned bars to applause for his heroism. And having a robotic arm would make him look pretty cool. But that was in the future and he was stuck in the present with a long journey in front of him to get to that point. He was firmly rooted in the here and now, and here Marko was and now he had to tell him the gory reality.

Milos shrug his good shoulder, "Nothing much, about the same as you. Except, I'm gonna have to be stuck down here a lot longer. Not, because of that military douchebag, in a city this big I doubt we'll run into him again. Nah... it's my arm. The docs took a look at it, and it's pretty bad. There was more nerve damage than they initially thought, which," he snorted, "I coulda fucking told them since I couldn't feel my fingers at that point."

He paused for a moment, more frustrated and emotionally disturbed than he'd ever care to let on. But it didn't take him long to recover his grit, turning back to Marko with a wry smile and blasé delivery, "A couple days later and I couldn't feel or move most of my arm. Long story short, they're planning on getting rid of it soon."

[Marko Iliev]

Marko sat still in his seat and listened to what Milos had to say with a genuine concern, though his face likely didn't show it at the time. At first he was confused as to why he had to stay down there any longer, were it nothing to do with the military man, but the answer to that was quickly revealed. He rested forwards with his weight on his walking stick, remaining silent for a few moments, even when Milos had stopped talking. Marko wasn't a doctor, but he had read enough books in his spare time (though not necessarily medical books) to know what such a procedure entailed, despite it being an obscure one. In some cases, the limb would be replaced with a prosthetic one, usually crafted out of metal. He couldn't help but wince inwardly at the thought; sure, the Ruthien doctors weren't necessarily bad compared to those above ground, and they'd dealt with his leg perfectly fine, but that wasn't what bothered him. Marko's injury wasn't nerve damage, and he'd kept his leg itself even if he did need the plate in it still. Limb removal and replacement was a different situation entirely.

“This arm?” He asked, easing his weight off the walking stick and taking the hand belonging to the arm that looked considerably more limp than the other in one of his own. It even felt as limp as it looked. “It's completely paralysed? There's really nothing they can do but remove it?” Well, the answer to that was pretty certain; if there was a way of curing it, then Milos would have said so already.

[Miloš Jovanović]

Hearing his questions Milos could only snort. His hat was off to Captain Obvious, leader of the Dumb Questions Brigade. "Nope, can't feel or do a damn thing with it. It's completely useless at this point. There's only one thing to do at this point." Milos frowned, not bothering to tell him to let go of his hand.

He sighed loudly, dispelling some of his tension with it as he relaxed into his propped-up pillow. "No point in moping about it! I'll be getting a replacement soon at least, though this whole process is gonna cost me some months before I can get back to work. I'll be stuck down here most of that time though hopefully I'll be getting out of this shit-hole sooner than that." Milos hated hospitals - they smelled like death. And there were no nurses to help take his mind off things either. This hospital got a solid thumbs-down in his book if only for that.

Turning his head to see Marko better he gave another wry grin. "At least I'll look badass after this. Show the ladies my new 'equipment'." He waggled his eyebrow and then burst out laughing at his own joke. Abruptly he stopped as he felt a jolt of pain come from his ribs. Milos just settled for a grin. "Heh... I'll miss this arm though. Did me a lot of good work all these years."

[Marko Iliev]

“Nice to see you're looking on the bright side of things.” He rolled his eyes a bit. “But, why would it take that long, anyway? I doubt a limb replacement would take longer than a month, recovery included.” He was just making an assumption there, but a 'few months', loosely as the term was used, was a long time to be cooped up in a hospital – particularly a makeshift one like that.

Leaning back again, he let go of his hand, and returned his weight forwards onto the walking stick, as before. “Eh... Is there anything I can do for you, anyway?” Marko figured there'd be something or other Milos would want from the surface or otherwise, even if it was some form of business that needed taking care of. But even if there wasn't, the least he could do was put the offer forwards anyway.

[Miloš Jovanović]

To be sure Milos was no prosthetic limb expert, but he knew what he'd been told. He rolled his eyes at his ignorance, despite previously having known nothing about the subject, and explained to Marko what the deal would be. "It'll take a few months because first they gotta make the fucking thing so that it's the right size. And then they have to attach it to my arms by the nerves which from what I hear hurts like a bitch. And finally, I gotta get used to working with the damn thing and let my body get adjusted to it. I'd like to see you try getting used to a brand new arm within a week. At best I'd say this'll take at least two months. But I won't be in this shithole the whole time. Once the rest of my injuries are better and my arm's been," he grimaced, "removed, then I'll be free to. I'll just have to come back for the procedures."

Upon hearing his offer, Milos, having already had a lot of time to think about it, replied, "Well, besides tracking down the bastard that did this to me so I can make us even, could you keep an eye on things? I can take care of that military devil once I'm recovered, but until then I want you to be on the look out for everything topside. I can keep an eye on what's going on down here easy." He winked with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood, mostly for his own benefit. "There is one other thing," he lowered his voice, looking around as he paused dramatically, "...can you sneak me some rakija? You'd think in one of our hospitals they'd be better, but they're just as stingy as every other damn doctor! Considering what I'm going through I think I deserve one drink."

[Marko Iliev]

Marko took a moment to think about everything Milos had just said. In doing this, he was probably silent for longer than he'd wanted to be. Drumming his fingers pensively against the top of the walking stick, he replied, “So... What is it exactly you want me to keep an eye on?” He took another short pause, before snorting. “If it's the military man, then I'd probably have to do some digging around to actually find out who the guy was in the first place. I didn't exactly get a good look at his face, and I somehow doubt they'll be spreading his name around...” He cocked an eyebrow, mostly just in response to his own words. “For the exact reason you want him for, I'd guess.” He grinned then, all of a sudden. “But rakija? Yeah, I think I can do that.”