Another clever title

Morgan's recent post inspired me to dig through my NaNo shorts for things that weren't too shitty to be posted. Also I guess this is the week to talk about Brogan's lady problems.

“Oy, oy Frau Doktor, a word.” Brogan called down the hall at their newest passenger. The tall, stout German had a pinched face and a mouth drawn tight and framed with deep wrinkles. His tiny spectacles perched on his nose, making him look somehow birdlike.

“Ze title you are looking for is 'Herr',” he said sharply. “Frau is used for women only.”

“Ah, Herr Doktor,” Brogan amended, undaunted by the annoyed correction. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and fell into step beside the large man. “My apologies.” She added, which seemed to smooth things over a bit. Wilhelm straightened his tie and asked how he could be of service.

“When you got hired on, did ED-- that's the pilot-- did she offer you any kind of deal? Cooking or...”

“I am providing the ship with medical care for zhe duration of my stay, if zhat is vhat you are inquiring about.” He watched Brogan from the corner of his eye without turning his head. It reminded Brogan of a vulture.

“I guess I am. Hit it on the nose, you did,” Brogan laughed, and it sounded nervous even to him. He was not sure that he wanted to trust his secret to the stranger, but at the same time... he didn't have anyone else to tell. If ED found out, he could get in deep trouble, Alianora knew lots of stuff but she didn't seem like a medical type (she seemed like a pass out at the sight of blood type) and Percy was a no-good Englishman and Brogan was better off telling the German.

Wilhelm sighed. “Vhat is it? Some sort of rash, I presume?”

Until the doctor closed the door, Brogan had not realized that she had followed him all the way into his private quarters. Suddenly, she felt like a cornered mouse.

“I can not help you if you do not tell me vhat is wrong,” Wilhelm said, a bit testily. “I am a great doctor, but I am not a mind reader.”

“Ah, well. Alright, so here's how it goes, then. Don't have a rash. I'm not injured none. I'm healthy as a mule. ED makes sure I eat vegetables and beans and we have plenty o' meat--”

“Yes, yes,” Wilhelm interrupted with an impatient wave.

“Well, about a month back, I started... I started bleeding.”

“Bleeding you say? Pray tell, where.”

Brogan wrung his hands in front of him. She was not normally a shy girl. She was raised in a setting where the person that crowed the loudest was often the one who received a prize. She knew how to twist words into double entendre, and could make ladies and even proper gentlemen blush. She was used to being called a ragamuffin and a scoundrel, being treated as though she were plague ridden or an unfortunate, lost soul, and most of all, like she was nothing. It should have been easy to spit it out, but under that clinical gaze, she found herself frozen. “In my nethers,” she blurted at last, proud when her voice didn't waver. It had come out in such a rush that it didn't have much time to, but nonetheless. She turned away from the doctor and began to pace and speak with her hands. “Now, see, it aint like this is the first time I've pissed blood, that wouldn't concern me none because you either survive it or you don't. My problem is that I aint undergone any sort of traumas what would make me piss blood. ED aint exactly the type to whap a lad in the kidneys, you understand. And Percy, well, Percy would be the type, I bet, but she's far too slow to ever land a hit on me. Therefore... Well... I just don't know,” she watched the clouds swoop by the porthole and suddenly felt very small. That rarely happened. 

“Well, frauline, zhis is a perfectly normal occurrence,” the doctor assured her, mouth still a tight frown.

Brogan puffed his chest out indignantly. “Frown line? Who're you calling a frown line? You're the one with etches so deeply carved in your face it's like the--”

“Frauline,” Wilhelm interrupted sharply, “is a German title used for all unmarried women.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I aint no woman, buddy. Don't know what gave you that impression, but no sir, not me. I bet I've just got some kinda lover's disease from all the whores I sleep with dockside,” Brogan defended. She realized that Wilhelm had backed her into a wall and was somewhat terrified of this prospect.

“Your hips are wide-set, your chest is narrow, your face is rounded although the rest of you looks to be recovering from malnutrition, your voice has not dropped yet, nor have I heard it crack though you are obviously of age for it. All of these factors apart could be credited to unfortunate genetics and a weak bloodline, however, with the addition of your self-described symptoms and the fact that you are not dead from them, I have concluded that you are a woman, freshly blossomed into adulthood.”

Brogan was very still, very silent. She struggled to find a defense, any lie that she could throw out to contradict him or any excuse she could use to simply get away.

“I do not care that you are a woman,” Wilhelm adjusted his spectacles. “And I will not tell anyone else because I do not care to cause any unnecessary drama on a ship that I depend on to get me to my destination. I have a pamphlet for you to read that will explain this monthly phenomena of bleeding without a wound, for while I am a doctor, this is my least favorite bit of education.” He retrieved from his things, a stack of pamphlets, and began leafing through them until he found the one that he desired. He handed it off. “Come back to me with any questions or concerns and I will listen,” and he opened the door to dismiss her.

Brogan was a dozen steps away with the pamphlet hidden in her shirt and her arm pinning it to her ribs with bruising force.

“Frauline,” Wilhelm called, and she rushed back with a face contorted in annoyance. If nothing else, Alianora knew what frown-line meant. “I do not know why you hide your identity from your fellow crew, but given that they are all female, I do not believe that you should feel the need to do so.”

“Shows how much you know,” she sneered. “I aint been a girl in five years. I don't think I could make a very good show of it now.”

“Very well, Herr Brogan,” Wilhelm assented and closed the door in her face.