driftfleet | 006 - action/voice; i came in like troy walking in with pizza

Entry tags:

006 - action/voice; i came in like troy walking in with pizza

Who: Clay Terran + You people
Broadcast: Yes!
Action: On the Iskaulit
When: June 7th, a bit after this

[You know, Clay hadn't been expecting a day like this. All he was doing was going to the Iskaulit to do some workouts in the gym, even bopping to a tune playing in his head.

Of course, that all comes a stop when he sees the mess before he sees anyone else. Blood trailing through the hallway, like someone had been walking with it. His stomach churns a bit, and his first instinct is to flee and get someone with medical help. Like Jennifer, or Beverly, or...

But no, he's here, and he... doesn't really realize just how bad it is yet. He returns to his shuttle first to grab the first-aid box, then heads in to see who needs his help.

And upon following the trail, well... Turns out, it's a lot worse than he thought it'd be, and that instinct from before comes back full force. He's only had some lessons, he's not prepared for this level of medical trauma, he really isn't -

And that's why he'll be calling out on the comms - not video, because there are kids on the network, but it's pretty clear by the state of his shaky voice that this is definitely an emergency.]

I-I need doctors - healers, medics -

[He takes in a deep breath - ]

I need all medical personnel to the Iskaulit right now!

((ooc: Everyone's free to branch off, tag other threads, etc! This is a general rescue/medical aid post for Winter's wrecking ball.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[hearing his name gets his eye to actually fix on her as he continues to grapple for a hold on reality through waves of agony and panic.

he's drowning in his own lungs, and she can hear it--wet and thready strains for air. she's got his wrists but his legs still kick, his heels digging mindlessly against the floor to push him up, as if he can struggle above a waterline that isn't there.

it's a very certain kind of panic. he's fighting for air with a shrinking amount of space inside, as everything that has been smashed inside him continues to bleed. he might be alive now, but that fact isn't going to last long. and he knows it.]

Stop. You have to stop or I can't-

[Fighting him is wasting precious time. She can hear his lack of air, the gurgle that means there's possibly blood in his lungs, the wheezing inhalations that tell her there's pressure trapping them. He doesn't have a lot of time.

She's about to choose the risk of knocking him out over fighting him to calmness, when she sees the movement. Her head snaps up, body ready to move, to attack and defend Coil. But it's not a danger.]

Zhas.

[It's a relief for all off a second, until she sees that he's not in the greatest shape either. Great.]

How bad are you hurt? Tell me fast and don't lie.

[the look he gives her is telling in that he doesn't seem to have comprehended a single word she's said. he squints at her in confusion, blinks hard, and turns his attention back to Coil at the sound of a particularly gruesome wheeze.

he'll just. drop down onto his knees next to them, lean forward, grab Coil's knees and bodily shove them towards the ground.

and with the way he's edging his leg over to try and pin him, he'll probably reach for an arm next. he's helping--or, at least he thinks he's helping.]

[whatever awareness he'd begun to latch onto slips away when he suddenly finds himself much more solidly pinned. he's really trapped now. there's too much fear, and he's got too little strength left to deal with it. light flickers across his palms again, gleams in his eye and blooms from his mouth like smoke, but it only lasts for a second or two before it dissipates. it's just energy trying to lash out and failing to even get that far.

all he does manage--while he's sure that he's repeating a death he'd suffered before--is one good, strong cough of fear.

but that breath gets stuck right after. something wet in his throat or his chest sticks together, and he gags on the attempt to pull air into his lungs again.

if the bleeding inside doesn't stop soon, he's going run out of the strength needed to keep struggling.]

[Sometimes, just sometimes, she wishes Zhas would just do as she asks, instead of being a big stubborn, skull faced brick. While the pinning of Coil really helps, it doesn't answer her question. But his woozy behavior is enough to hint at what's happened to him.

The moment he takes Coil's hands from her, she lays one of hers on his shoulder, muttering arcane words. Light blooms from her hand, flows into him. It's only a light heal, but it should at least let him be coherent, take away aches and pains from his fight.

With her hands free, she carefully lays them on Coil's chest, feeling his ribs lightly. She's careful to not put too much pressure, just locating where the damage has been done. She murmurs again while she does it, laying on a Charm spell, hoping it calms him down.]

Coil, Zhas and I are here. We're going to help you. You have to stay still for me, all right? I'm going to move your shirt.

[She tells him what she's doing, because she's seen what he does when surprised in this condition. She lifts his shirt up carefully, and she can see the bruising immediately, deep purple, large, getting larger. This is bad.]

Okay. I know you don't like it, but I'm going to use some healing spells on you, Coil. Your ribs are in a pretty bad way. I need to fix them.

[If she can. This is definitely more than a moderate wound. In theory, if she uses enough of those spells, it should work. So she just, starts saying the words. They sound like some kind of distant cousin to Latin. Again the light comes from her hands, pours out into his frame. And then she does it again. And again.]

[he certainly isn't about to go anywhere. some of his awareness returns to him, the drumming at the side of his skull beginning to dissolve into smaller petals of sparkling, confusing aching. he looks up and sees wisps of bad magic pouring from the mouth of his friend--and looks away, because he's starting to realize how sick he feels and that he's not sure how he got here.

he'll keep his head down, dissociate, ignore as hard as he can--all while staying a heavy object and keeping the squirming body immobile. thankfully, those are two jobs he is good at.]

[either the Charm does its job, or he's rapidly running out of strength to fight. maybe both.

whatever the reason, his struggling weakens the panicked gasping pares down to something much more rapid and shallow. his body is doing what it can with the little it has, and shock is beginning to set in. his skin has lost what little color it had.

bones and muscle and blood--it's a mess in there. but each little hit of repairing magic fills tiny, important gaps. there is so much to fix, but she's steadily patching all the leaks.

it's questionable how aware Coil is, especially as he starts to sink... but, at some point, his flailing turns to reaching, even if his arms are being held.]

[She keeps repeating spells, and after about the fifth time casting her moderate heal, she's feeling it. Too much magic too fast. It's like sprinting up a hill. Her brow begins to bead with sweat, but she doesn't stop.]

Stay awake, Coil. Look at me, look at Zhas.

[The problem with trying to talk to Coil, is that if she's doing that, she's not casting. And she needs to be casting. She can feel things shifting ever so slightly under her hands, under his skin. What she's doing is working, but she needs to keep going.]

Zhas, I'm sorry I need you to talk to him if you can. Keep him conscious. I need to speak the incantation.

[She knows he's not in a great way either, but she needs help with this, and Zhas is all she's got. Whether he does as she ask, she goes back to casting the heals, ignoring the slowly encroaching fatigue.]

[hearing his name (a couple of times) gets him to lift his head again. he really, viscerally does not want to pay attention to what's in front of him... but hey, maybe his years of following orders from red-headed women has left something of an automatic follow-response in his programming.

so his narrow focus swings over Coil, and he starts taking in the noise, the fear, and his attempts to reach at someone.

which he answers by easing up on his grip, moving his hands to the boy's shoulders as non-obstructively as he can. Coil can grab onto his coat if he wants, or his arms or his hands.]

Hey. [which maybe comes out a little sharper than he'd meant--but that's the kind of noise that gets a panicking animal's attention anyway. the rest of his words are in the same monotone as always, deceptively calm.] You're not going to die. It's okay.

[great pep talk, right? but for someone not very vocally inclined (and still a little concussed)... he really is trying his best, here.]

[to be fair, that effort is just about on par with what Coil can absorb at the moment. anything more complicated or less familiar would just pass right by him.

but he follows the voice, latches onto Zhas' sleeves, and tries to focus around the tight fire in his chest. his small, scrambling breaths are leaving him lightheaded and seeing stars at the edges of his vision, but he's trying. he's fighting to stay present because doesn't want to die anymore.]

[Coil is not dying. Period. So everyone needs to just put that nonsense out of their minds. Syeira will not allow that to happen. She's failed far too many people. He's not going to be added to her list.

So she pushes through the onset of strain like it's not happening. Her back starts to ache, her neck needs to crack. Her throat is dry, and her arms feel heavy. But she still casts and casts. The bruising under her hands recedes noticeably by now, and she can feel the bones shifting back where rib bones are supposed to go. And by this point she's panting for breath, as if she's run a mile at full sprint, and she's sweating enough that her hairline has gone damp. And still she has no intention of stopping. She'll go until her body gives out. It's a small price to pay really.]

[latching is good. fear is a sign of life, and all that.

Zhas has no affinity (nor mental capacity, honestly) for magic of any kind, but he's always sworn that his Clearsight nature gives him some... extra sense around the stuff. he knows when it's around, he knows when it's about to try to kill him. once, another time he was badly concussed, he picked up the nearest object and smashed in the face of a vampire with what happened to be the blunt end of his rifle--all because he'd felt something dangerous was there when the rest of him could barely see or think.

here's another one of those times. he's not doing so great at processing, but he reaches over and gives Syeira a shove in the shoulder without really looking at her.]

Stop.

[because her energy is draining and he can't carry two bodies home.]

[She's extremely focused on what she's doing, determined to keep Coil among the living. So when Zhas shoves her, it throws her off her words, rocks her sideways a little. But only for a half a second.

The other half of that second has her snatching Zhas' wrist and giving him a fierce look. One he hasn't likely ever seen on her face. She's growing tired, yes, but her will is strong enough to keep her going farther than she should push herself.]

My life isn't in danger. His is, so I'll stop when there's nothing left in me, and not before. Now get back to work.

[Because she is, dropping his wrist harshly and putting the hand back over Coil's ribs where it needs to be. And she's right back to casting again.]

[if he was not sick and tired and confused right now, he probably would have kicked her. as it is, he takes his arm back with something akin to a glare, ducks his head down, and mutters something that's probably not very nice.

it's just not in English, or Common, or any other language that translates automatically around here. at least he goes back to trying to keep Coil still, doing what he's told in the end.]

[Well maybe it's a blessing in disguise that he's less than at his peak, because kicking her would probably cause more problems than it would fix. In particular, it would waste what little energy she has left. So it's a good thing he doesn't pick the fight.

The words she's speaking change though. No more intelligible than before, but definitely different. She's switched to casting her lighter heal spell, because she's almost tapped out, and she can squeeze a few more of those ought of herself than one more of the moderate version.

She gets to about five when she's officially hit the wall of her abilities. Her vision has sparkles dancing in front of it, and every part of here feels too heavy, full of lactic acid as if she's just done a full body work out. Face red from exertion, she sort of slumps off her knees onto her butt. Wiped out.]

He still...needs a healer...

[ But that scary bruising on his chest is significantly reduced. The bones are back in place, but still in need of mending. He's not going to die now, but he's still going to feel like he's been used as a blacksmith's anvil.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

006 - action/voice; i came in like troy walking in with pizza

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject