The Bard Roleplays

Tougher than most people.

A quiet scoff passes through her lips and she shakes her head then rests back against the wall behind them.

"Have to be. Nobody's going to protect me like I need, nobody's going to fight for me like I need. Have to be there for myself," she mutters, though she's sure he heard her.

Her arm lifts for him to adjust the bandage automatically. Bex seems clueless to the fact that her actions are contradicting her words.

"A damn shame," she chuckles.

When they got back to Los Vaqueros, Bex went straight to medical to see about stitches or just proper cleaning. Just a handful of stitches near the front of the cut, the only place it was deep enough to need them. When the medic offers pain meds, she rolls her eyes and hops off the exam table.

"Pass," she tosses dismissively over her shoulder as she exits the room.

She makes it back to barracks no problem. Sleep was another issue, the wound tender and sore. Every time she rolled onto that side, a dull ache woke her just enough for her to sigh and roll back over.

In the morning, she makes her way to mess hall. Bex's eyes find Alejandro almost immediately. There's a - she squints at the insignia on his shoulder - Private at rest in front of him, nodding along to whatever Alejandro is telling him.

A huff of a laugh escapes her and she wanders up to the due. The young Private stiffens at her presence, likely recognizing her from descriptions from others, but she ignores him. She's not even sure who this one is; fresh face, most likely.

“At ease Sergeant.” His eyes flicked briefly over her, quick and subtle, but thorough enough to confirm she was standing, moving, and most importantly not bleeding through the bandage he’d wrapped the night before.

“Medical clear you already?” he asked calmly.

Then he turned slightly toward the young soldier beside him. “Private go finish your breakfast before the eggs get cold.” The kid didn’t need to be told twice. A quick nod and he moved off, leaving the space between Alejandro and Bex suddenly a little quieter.

Alejandro watched him go for half a second before his attention returned to her. The professional edge faded from his posture almost immediately. “You look like hell...” he said plainly. Yet the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth softened the words.

"Just a few stitches I was told not to pop out," she chuckles. "Minor weight limit for lifting, no workouts for a bit so I don't stretch and pop them."

Her eyes follow the Private, trying to keep a slow pace and not run away like a dog with a tail between his legs, and she gives a scoff of a laugh. Then her gaze returns to Alejandro.

"Are you really that scary, Colonel?" she mumbles, smirking and knowing the Private was likely running from them both based on stories alone. At his comment, her smirk turns into more of a half smile. "I'm good, Ale," Bex announces, quieter with the nickname addition, "just a bit sore. Don't let anybody hear you call me that, though."

"Another inch and there'd be far more panic from you," she chuckles.

Bex stiffens slightly as Alejandro's eyes lock on the tattoo. It's not like it's a true secret. It's purpose and meaning is just personal.

She nods about hanging in a bit longer and makes a point to not look at him, even when he walks away to radio Rudy. When he returns, eyes back on the ink covering her stomach, her shoulders straighten as best as she can without pulling at the cut on her side.

"Medusa," she nods, expression guarded. "Butterfly should be the next tattoo; those fuckers are wicked." It's a delfection, an attempt at a distraction from her personal protector inked into her body. Bex hesitates, considering his offer.

This is Ale. The last thing he's going to do is judge, yeah?

"There's two reasons." Her tone is even, but she's clearly doing her best to explain without getting defensive. "First is the typical Medusa tattoo meaning; assault survivor. The other is placement; it's as low as it is because I think of it as protection, in a way."

Bex doesn't specify protection from what, but part of it is obvious - protection from being attacked again. The way she explains suggests there's more to it, though.

"If you want to know more... I could explain when we're not in the midst of a mission and somewhere far more private."

Alejandro listened without interrupting, his gaze steady on her while she spoke. The teasing edge that usually lived in his expression faded slightly as the meaning behind the tattoo settled in.

Protection.

His eyes drifted briefly back to the ink beneath her ribs, the serpents, the warning written into the lines, before returning to her face. For a moment something darker crossed his expression. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a quiet flash of anger at the thought of what might have put that kind of meaning behind the ink. But he masked it just as quickly. He leaned back against the rough stone wall beside her, forearms resting loosely on his knees as he glanced toward the road where backup would eventually appear.

“Makes sense.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly as he reached out to adjust the edge of the bandage again, making sure the wrap held where he’d secured it. “You’re tougher than most people I know… Medusa.” The words came quietly, not as praise meant to impress her, just a simple observation. He settled back beside her again, gaze drifting briefly toward the distant road. “But first…” he said lightly, hand withdrawing from the bandage he’d wrapped around her side “you focus on staying in one piece.” The corner of his mouth lifted.

Tougher than most people.

A quiet scoff passes through her lips and she shakes her head then rests back against the wall behind them.

"Have to be. Nobody's going to protect me like I need, nobody's going to fight for me like I need. Have to be there for myself," she mutters, though she's sure he heard her.

Her arm lifts for him to adjust the bandage automatically. Bex seems clueless to the fact that her actions are contradicting her words.

"A damn shame," she chuckles.

When they got back to Los Vaqueros, Bex went straight to medical to see about stitches or just proper cleaning. Just a handful of stitches near the front of the cut, the only place it was deep enough to need them. When the medic offers pain meds, she rolls her eyes and hops off the exam table.

"Pass," she tosses dismissively over her shoulder as she exits the room.

She makes it back to barracks no problem. Sleep was another issue, the wound tender and sore. Every time she rolled onto that side, a dull ache woke her just enough for her to sigh and roll back over.

In the morning, she makes her way to mess hall. Bex's eyes find Alejandro almost immediately. There's a - she squints at the insignia on his shoulder - Private at rest in front of him, nodding along to whatever Alejandro is telling him.

A huff of a laugh escapes her and she wanders up to the due. The young Private stiffens at her presence, likely recognizing her from descriptions from others, but she ignores him. She's not even sure who this one is; fresh face, most likely.

The firefight had ended only minutes ago, the adrenaline still hanging in the air. Alejandro guided Bex to sit against a rough stone wall outside the cleared structure.

“Sit still…” he muttered, already pulling a small field kit from the pouch on his vest. The cut along her side wasn’t deep, but it had bled enough to soak through the fabric. Alejandro cleaned the wound quickly before pressing gauze against it. “Lucky…” he murmured. “Another inch and we'd be having a very different conversation.”

He lifted the edge of her shirt just enough to wrap the bandage properly and paused. Dark ink beneath her ribs caught his attention immediately. A face framed by coiled serpents stared back at him. Alejandro’s brow lifted slightly but he didn't comment further. Finishing the bandage first and securing it snugly before leaning back on his heels.

“We weren’t supposed to get interrupted out here…” he muttered, glancing toward the road. “But we did a number on those cabrones.” A faint nod followed. “Backup should be here soon… so hang in there, ¿sí?”

He stepped away to radio Rudy. “Rudy, this is Vargas. Sending coordinates now… yeah, we’re good. Just bring the cavalry.” When he returned, he crouched beside her again. For a moment neither of them spoke. The mountain wind stirred dust along the ground as the quiet after the firefight settled around them.

His gaze drifted back to the tattoo. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Medusa, huh?”

He tilted his head slightly, studying it again before his eyes lifted to meet hers. “Interesting… and here I thought you were more the butterfly type.” He teased lightly, his tone carried no real judgment. “If it's something you’d rather keep to yourself…” he added calmly “I won’t push.” The corner of his mouth lifted just a little more.

"Another inch and there'd be far more panic from you," she chuckles.

Bex stiffens slightly as Alejandro's eyes lock on the tattoo. It's not like it's a true secret. It's purpose and meaning is just personal.

She nods about hanging in a bit longer and makes a point to not look at him, even when he walks away to radio Rudy. When he returns, eyes back on the ink covering her stomach, her shoulders straighten as best as she can without pulling at the cut on her side.

"Medusa," she nods, expression guarded. "Butterfly should be the next tattoo; those fuckers are wicked." It's a delfection, an attempt at a distraction from her personal protector inked into her body. Bex hesitates, considering his offer.

This is Ale. The last thing he's going to do is judge, yeah?

"There's two reasons." Her tone is even, but she's clearly doing her best to explain without getting defensive. "First is the typical Medusa tattoo meaning; assault survivor. The other is placement; it's as low as it is because I think of it as protection, in a way."

Bex doesn't specify protection from what, but part of it is obvious - protection from being attacked again. The way she explains suggests there's more to it, though.

"If you want to know more... I could explain when we're not in the midst of a mission and somewhere far more private."

- @sgtkgazgarrick

You know I don't do sports, Gaz. I will humor you, though.

"Te lo juro, Rudy… este tipo agarró el rifle como si fuera un control de Xbox." He paused, letting that image sink in with a sigh. "Y después preguntó dónde se conectaba el cargador. El enchufe, Rudy. El cabrón buscaba un enchufe."

On the other end, Rudy wheezed. "No jodas. ¿En serio?"

"Palabra. Me dieron ganas de darle un zape y reiniciarlo como un router."

Alejandro chuckled low in his throat, sipping his drink just as something outside the window caught his eye. His words slowed, distracted.

A figure. Moving past the far edge of the lot. Smooth gait. Confident walk. From behind, all curves and swagger and not someone he immediately recognized.

He squinted.

"Mmm..." His tone changed completely. Lower now. Curious.

"...Mío... that sweet ass... who is that?"

Rudy, completely thrown: "¿Qué? De qué hablas—"

Alejandro leaned forward slightly, peering like that extra inch might help him see more. The mystery figure turned a corner—still no face. Just that back. That walk.

"Damn. I don’t know if I wanna shake their hand or ask them to turn around slowly…"

He clicked his tongue, reaching for the phone base.

"Rudy, I’ll call you back. Something important just came up."

"¿Importante? ¿Qué—" Click.

Phone down. Drink forgotten.

An unrecognizable sight, even. The likelihood of catching Bex in this state is almost a legendary tier moment.

As far as she knows, nobody's here or awake at the moment, so she chose to pad down for coffee is comfy clothes.

While she waits for the coffee to brew, she stretches her arms above her head. Her Medusa stomach tattoo peeking out from the bottom of her t-shirt.

"Slow day today," she comments, like she's trying to convince herself to do so.

Some people use a lot of text when writing to show their muse’s mental state, some use it purely because their muse is talkative. But when things like that happen, some people stress over whether or not they should match length and it can be the reason some people have problems replying to things.

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