Date: May 16, 2010
Mark is off by himself and Poco decides to tell a bit of truth and shows there is a bit of a brain in that skull of his.
He can hear the higher pitched notes of women's voices in the distance, along with the soft crack of a fire that is preparing for the fact coming night, but he doesn't join them. In fact, for the past few days Mark Scotts has pretty much avoided them all. Not for spite or dislike… simply for guilt.
His father often told him that his foolish hobby was going to cause problems some day. That Mark's need to go to ridiculous lengths to find the truth would get some one hurt. Boy… had he been right. He know first hand thanks to the burning pain at his shoulder.
In fact, Mark is gently easing his shirt off his shoulders, not something he isn't overly comfortable about… he might not have a dough boy body, but he isn't exactly ripped…. especially at the age of forty.
A hiss of pain escapes him as the crusty shoulder of his shirt pulls away from his stitches. Once the shirt is off the explorer angles a look at the red swollen flesh. “Just great.” He grouses softly.
“You know, Senior… It is not exactly wise to be off on your own like this. I know I'm not a very smart man… but this… this I know.” Mark looks up to find their guide standing not too far away, giving a sage nod to his own advice, as if he's truly wise. A small black and white head of his chihuahua pokes out of the top of the shoulder bag. Dark eyes drop to Mark's shoulder and those brows lift, disappearing into that mess of hair. “Though I see why.”
“Shouldn't you be off… I dunno… guiding something?” Mark states flatly as he paws through the medical kit in front of him, frown on his lips.
“Well… can I be honest?” Poco either ignores Mark's hint to go away, or just doesn't get it, either way he moves to sit near his boss, leaning his boney frame against the tree to watch. “I am not much of a guide, Senior Scotts.” The explorer sends him a 'No shit.' look, which has Poco's hands coming up. “I mean… I am a guide, but only for the resort really. I get off familiar land… and I am no better off then you all.”
Peroxide and gauze is pulled out of the case and Mark goes about trying to disinfect the wound. There is a grimace of pain as he pressed the soaked pad to his shoulder, though it turns into another hiss of pain. “Well… good to know that your no use.”
The look Poco gives his boss is true hurt. “That cuts deep. I can be of use.” He protests, shoulders pulling back in pride.
“Ouch… You are a cranky gringo. Here…” Poco pulls his bag around, digging around the dog for something. He produces Mark's glasses. “Found them not far where I fell.”
Mark glances at them for a long moment, before setting down the gauze on his leg to take them. Except for some scratched on the lenses they seemed to have survived. “Ah… thanks. Poco.”
“Your Welcome. You should be getting back there. They will worry about you, if you sit out here and keep moping.” Poco points out.
“I'm not mo—”
“Yeah, senior… you are.” For a idiot and goof ball, the guide isn't completely clueless. “You feel responsible. Don't… fate has a reason for putting us here.” Poco places a hand on the ground and pushes to his feet. “Just have to figure out what she wants us to do, so that we can go home.”
Mark after slipping the glasses back on, goes back to the torture of cleaning his wound. Poco's words make him stop and angle a look at the thin man. “Anyone ever tell you you're weird?”
“Many many times.” Poco sound forlorn about it. The messy mop of curls glances towards the camp. “You do know how to surround yourself with beauty. How about that Jo? Eh? I think she fancies me.”
That gets a huff of laughter from Mark. Head shaking slowly. “You keep on dreaming there, Poco.” Another grimace as he pulls the pad away from the injury, noting the pale red and green… Oh joy… infected. “Go get some rest, we start out extremely early in the morning… I want to see if we can reach that place on the map by late afternoon. Let the girls know too?”