Somewhere Someplace

Noise, so much noise and tumult all over and around. Coughing, so much raspy and horrid coughing echoed from the many clustered tents…never mind the endless groans of pain. Indeed…so very noisy, yet not any more than it usually was.

A medical encampment…that was where she was, one belonging to the Company…though operated by another ‘organization’ or something of that sort. The ‘Society of the Wandering Green Frog’ thus it was so-called.

This ‘Green Frog Society’ was some sort of Far Western medical and relief providing organization—from her understanding, a relatively nascently formed one at that, being the only one of its kind.

What in the domain of all possible realities…‘green frogs’ had anything to do with medical practice was…utterly beyond her, of course—though, from what she had heard, it had something to do with…some Far Western fable of some wandering frog that went around regenerating limbs and from a simple kiss…something like that.

Although this ‘Wandering Frog Society’ was separate from the Company, its personnel were often brought along during the Company’s operations…specifically to provide medical treatment and relief to the Company’s own troops. Or, at least in this case, they were here to provide relief and medical aid to…the surviving population of Coastfield.

This medical encampment, indeed, was just one among so many dozens…all scattered around the outside periphery of Coastfield proper, for the still…hazardous conditions…within the city made it an unsuitable location for…any such things.

Indeed, when the United Central Trade Company had taken control, they established a myriad of aid distribution centers appertaining to food, supplies, and even medicine…in addition to establishing an array of medical and housing encampments for the endless displaced and…sick. Likewise, the Company had begun the…grueling and arduous process of cleaning, clearing, and assisting with eventually rebuilding the city.

Of course, none of this was by any means done out of the kindness of their own hearts; it was clear the Company was only here for their ever-beloved base and port, since that was all her ears ever seemed to hear from those higher up.

Nevertheless, as part of this process, the Company had established a ‘civilian native-volunteer service corps’ or something like that and had asked for the locals—of either sex—to join in order to assist in these efforts, especially from those being housed in the Company’s own provided encampments and accommodations.

Suffice it to say, the foreigner was very quick to volunteer…despite not technically being a ‘native’. Indeed, she wanted to…help in whatever way she meaningfully could; it was…the bare minimum she could do after she had so…shamefully and embarrassingly fainted in such a way, forsaking any denizen lives she could have otherwise saved…had she been simply more on top of her own basic needs.

Ugh, truly just…thinking about that utter failure was making her thirsty all so suddenly.

Regardless, as part of this ‘volunteer service’ she has been so involved in over the past month, she had been funneled around all over the place…doing anything and everything necessary in whatever given circumstances, the Company leadership in charge of this ‘volunteer service corps’ having recognized that she had…quite the broad and adaptive skillset…in spite of her apparent womanhood—something that was far more of an…issue for Far Westerners than it was for even the locals of this continent.

Though, such cultural realities did not stop the Company—or rather the officer in charge of the local volunteers—from making…pragmatic usage of her labor capabilities and that of many other volunteer ladies; the sheer circumstances at hand demanded any and all potential hands.

In fact, she had yet to even return to her apartment, let alone Coastfield, ever since the bombardment and her volunteership. Though, such an arrangement…she did not have any problems with, for she wanted to dedicate…all of that infinite time she so had…to this relief effort, even if its driving motivations at hand were perhaps…dubious.

The past few days or so, in particular, had seen her stationed here in this medical camp, which…due to the Green Frog’s own personnel being overstretched…was understaffed and in need of extra hands—extra hands which she offered a plenty…albeit she was by no means a Pink-Coat.

“Ah, þeu! Nelia, wæz þyun naim, yeh nou? [I see you that are up and about again, enjoyed your break?]” so greeted and spoke a medical specialist of sorts, a role denoted by his…white Far West medical-coat and fancy spectacles worn for largely stylistic reasons—not even practical ones…being some sort of recent ‘fashion trend’ among the Far West’s intellectuals and learned specialists, so she had been told.

The foreigner yawningly approached this medical specialist, graciously halting before him; « Yep, » she began to reply, « thanks again for the tent; it was very appreciated ».

The medical specialist…turned his head down somewhat, pausing…processing and interpreting, before glaring back at her; “[Ah, of course! Not a problem! You volunteers have been astute in your help—with you being the most relentless of them, especially for a woman]” he remarked; “[so, it is the least we can do, to provide a more…okay, well perhaps not greater…but at least better-than-a-desk, sort of place to make rest]”.

Indeed, the foreigner had discovered throughout her time with the Company so far…that they seemed to be fairly…diverse in both people and language. Although, despite almost all of them being multi-lingual, most tended to speak different varieties of the language from a locality called ‘Elkland’—a ‘sovereign state’ and ‘nation’ in the Far Western continent, a ‘great power’ at that.

Interesting enough, this ‘Elklander’ language in particular…was oddly, yet still only vaguely, similar to one which she already knew rather well—her secondary dominant language, in fact. Albeit this similarity did not at all imply mutual intelligibility in communication with most, besides a select few—this medical specialist being one of them; even then, she tended to understand them far better than they could understand her…hence why she did not communicate in such a way often.

Certainly, the foreigner was beginning to see why she was so often confused for a Far Westerner—the similarities being not just in language either, as she had begun to realize.

Nevertheless, despite such socializings still being rather…exhausting for her, she has been using those like this medical specialist to…practice her socializing skills and affect display, which had…rusted quite considerably over the course of this year, to be quite frank. The exact…language such was done with, of course, did not truly matter…but being able to occasionally communicate in a language that came more naturally to her seemed to help…or at least made the entire endeavor less…uncomfortable.

The foreigner tilted her head, cogitating and calculating; « Hmm… » her breaths mumbled out; « I’m not too sure to be honest…maybe that desk was better than that…pile of…I don’t even know, shrubs? » thus she replied with a small giggle, feinting slight humorous charm…albeit perhaps the apparent sarcasm was maybe more sincere than feigned.

The medical specialist once again…paused somewhat as his ears processed; though, by this point her esoteric manner of speaking was one he had become accustomed to, being somewhat familiar with Elklander dialects that sounded…at least…vaguely familiar enough.

He quickly began to slightly chuckle; “Haha! [Rather the tongue on you as always]” he responded, humored; “[though, I do say, I still have yet to deduce precisely wherefrom that accent and dialect of yours hails… It seems, in…principle at least, to be similar to the dialects of the Southwestern Lowlands of Elkand…but yet still fairly alien—I just cannot place any fingers on it… Wherefrom did you say you hailed, again?]” he remarked before inquiring.

The foreigner tilted her head slightly, thinking; « Hmm…well, I don’t recall ever telling you where I’m from, so…you’ll have to guess, » she replied, donning a teasing affect.

The medical specialist gently nodded away; “[‘You shalt need to guess’, your words mean to imply? Then, I shall think and I shall guess…and if truth is whereto I arrive, then…well, you and your pretty voice would owe me a drink, no?]” he said in remark…implying an ask.

« Certainly. Although, I doubt that you will guess correctly, as it is a very unfair question…and a tricking one at that, » she replied rather candidly, though with a smile.

The medical specialist smirked charmingly; “[Yet that same remark gives me hints, hmm…]” he remarked before…immediately entering his mind.

He gently stroked his chin…as his eyes drifted down, astray in thoughts and cogitations.

“[Yes…there is quite the New World flavorful spice in that charming voice… Certainly, it has been more than a century since those royalist colonies divorced from the mainland, and they speak very differently now…and similarly alien even if not nearly as exact, now that I think…]” he remarked aloud as his thoughts bled out.

“[So, is that the ‘trick’ here, then?]” he finally began to say, his eyes returning their gaze to the foreigner’s stare; “[Your tongue is not speaking any dialect from Elkland proper…is it then? Rather a Royalist dialect, thus the New World must be wherefrom you hail… or that must be wherefrom your tongue had learned to speak this language]” he gave his answer.

« … » she looked at him with rather the…not to say awkward, but certainly telling…smile.

Truly…to think that she actually had…traceable similarities with that so stupidly named ‘New World’ continent. That was just so very… convenient, actually. Huh…so was that one of the reasons for why her former associate had used the New World as…her apparent place of origin? Not just because hardly anyone from these lands had ever been there? Interesting…

“[Seeing the silence, I must stand correctly, then now?]” he said with a friendly smirk.

She quickly retreated from her thoughts, attention returning to him. She smiled with an invisible and mute snicker; « Well, perhaps…but also perhaps not…after all, I am known to be very forgetful, so it is hard to remember, » she replied.

He sighed cordially; “[Ah, so that was the trick, then; I see…I see…an evasive cat you are now]” he remarked in reply, rather humored.

Though, « Well…enough of that, so: where am I needed? » she inquired, quickly…changing the subject and point.

“Agh! [Of course, I apologize, I did not mean to…ahem—well right to point then: there is a fairly old man with ashen lung symptoms who had been brought in by his concerned others; he has been waiting to be received…and, as we are still short of several necessary others, he has been waiting longer than needed; so, you can start with him first… It is all standard cedures really, so you know what to do. Afterwards, the surgeons could use an extra hand, always, so you can—” he was explaining and instructing.

However: “Dokterh!” so abruptly called out a medical assistant of sorts, visibly concerned. He immediately paused and shifted his attention.

“Problem. Betten kom” the assistant said in frank hurry…the urgency evident in both voice and eyes.

-|-

A child in bed. Fading. Barely there. Breathing. Such raspy and withering breathing. Fading. Coughing. Such horrific and horrid coughing. Damaged lungs trying to clear the unclearable. Convulsing with each bleeding cough. Riddled with toxic ash. A throat ravaged. Fading.

Yet all the foreigner could do…was stand there and watch…as the medical specialist did his evaluation and duties. There was nothing she could do with her present equipment—or lack thereof, actually. Quite frankly, there was nothing any of them could do either, besides making the pass…easier, calmer, and more comforting.

There was no solution or ‘cure’ to this…rampant ‘ashen lung syndrome’—as the Far Westerners had begun to call it—which has been developing among many of the survivors and residents of that battered city.

The medical specialist sighed a sigh that spoke more than words, standing up from the chair next to the child’s bedding. He leaned into the assistant’s ear; “Neen, zie hab neht lunge mirh” he whispered in a rather different tongue, “gah end wartende muderh tellen…end zie hierh brengen”.

The assistant nodded rather the…telling nod…before withdrawing.

The medical specialist then turned his eyes to the foreigner standing near; “[Well then, I must depart and fetch the necessary…papers… you did not have to follow and in fact, you were not supposed to, but since you are here…do watch and comfort, would you now?]” he instructed…in rather asking tone.

The foreigner simply acknowledged with a soft nod as he departed from the tent. She approached that very same chair next to the bed and…sat in place, her mask-obscured eyes…watching the child, gently stroking their hand—a procedure she was told to do as a form of comfort, nothing more. At the very least, the cough had subsided.

The child’s withering eyes…turned to the sitting foreigner, staring…and seeing such a strange alien wearing rather the pretty masquerade. “Can you…tell me…a…story?” the child’s weakened and raspy voice asked.

The foreigner stared…tilting her head somewhat, slightly caught off guard; “A…a story?” she repeated…somewhat confused.

“…yes…story…you…look…like…you’ve been…to…lots of…places…so…you have…lots of…stories…rightly?” the child replied with weakening breaths.

« … » The foreigner delayed in her reply, having not any…real means to even reply.

She had…no ‘stories’ to be told at all…besides ever-fading memories and recounts of happenings and things…many things…most of which she preferred to not…really recount, and none of which would even be…helpful to this…denizen child.

“I give…sorry, for…I am not sure if I can do…such properly” the foreigner replied…frankly.

The child stared at her…before their eyes simply began to wilder, drifting up and looking at the tent’s ceiling above, simply replying such a faint and mellow: “…oh…alrightly…then…”

Oh, but, you could always just take collected information and memories…

And simply narrativize that as if they were some sort of grand story and fable

Perhaps even exaggerate a few details here and there

For more added flavor and dramatic effect

However, the foreigner continued to…think and cogitate…before something suddenly popped into her head.

“Hmm…wait” she abruptly said; “I think that I could tell this…‘story’; it may not be an interesting one…but it is something that I was…uhm…told about…a very…long time ago, but it is…hmm…it is about these…very-very ancient peoples who…a very-very long time ago, once went around and…for…many reasons…created or…conjured…all of these…whole entire places—like this place—but, with other and different peoples, and they would…” thus she began to narrate, recounting less of a story and more…well, objective information—slightly…tweaked, of course.

Yet…before she could even begin her narration properly…her voice suddenly froze, as her focus redirected itself to the child…noticing immediately. « Ôh…vido…ita nêjam nîl énterest tébi dunc…magnas apoloģias tébi…agho » so remarked her voice aloud; oh…never mind…then…

The medical specialist finally returned, relevant papers in hand. Yet the foreigner simply turned, bluntly nodding no…well before he even asked.