Business as usual continued when their fourth made herself known. Her appearance was in the form of a shoulder bumping against Blaise, obviously unintended.
"Excuse me."
[Camila Cañizares: Begin]
Out of all the familiar clothes that reminded her of home and unfamiliar supplies that reminded her of army surplus she'd taken note of the teddy bear. She'd stopped trying to count the extra eyes, it had become a waste of time. Regina, now with one slightly eye-encrusted arm threaded through a belt loop and given Camila's windbreaker as a cape, reminded Camila of old friends who she hoped had not yet become her friends in the past tense.
Tonya, even. Camila remembered she'd been planning to gift Patrice on graduation day. A child's vocabulary book, to be practical. A teddy, to be sentimental. The latter a token of Camila's time as an aunt, even if she would have moved on and stopped living in Patrice's memory.
Camila had always thought she'd be a good mother- someday. She'd someday teach her children to dance, like Ma had taught her... She'd thought about it a bit and had decided not to try to talk to Ma and the others through the cameras. There was nothing to be said that didn't need saying face-to-face.
Sometime later, that led her here. The gunshot and the bleeding had ultimately been too immediate to ignore. They hadn't seemed too quick to response. Camila from some distance had run all this way and they'd still barely done anything. That would change. Now, Camila had little to say, much to do. Her first aid kit hit the ground between herself and the gender neutral, opened, easily accessible. She evaluated the hole on the flirt's leg, and through it could briefly appraise the pier planks below.
"That's a bit bigger than ones I've worked with." Said to herself more than for anybody else there.
Sterile gloves. Antiseptic. Iodine. She ran through the old volunteers' checklist, slow, trying to remember clearly.
Starting Point for G007
[Open]
Hey, there were more people now. When did Blaise get here? Blaise was here already, right. Under the thing. The floorboards. The floorboards soaked with blood. That was his. His blood. That should go back inside. Right? Blood was supposed to stay inside, right? But it wasn't doing that. Which was bad. The skin around the hole, the actual hole, hole straight on through his leg, the skin was blood-stained but pale. His hands were pale too. Probably his face. He was sweating.
In his freshman year he'd tried to do this sick grind into a kickflip off a railing between a set of stairs at the park, but he'd slid off the rail halfway down and hit his leg on the rail and then on the edge of a stair after he'd tumbled down like ten feet. It was bad. There was bone sticking out of his leg. Not as much blood as this, but definitely blood. He'd passed out for a while and woken up in the hospital, which he was pretty sure wasn't going to happen if he passed out now, though he kind of wanted to, cause he was getting real woozy. Blaise put a bottle in his face and he drank it and coughed because it tasted like fire but at least that woke him up a little bit?
Violet looked scared. She seemed very far away. He gave her a limp thumbs up.
"Accident." S'okay, he thought of saying, but it kind of wasn't, but it wasn't her fault, anyway. There was someone else here too. Camila. Right? He was good with names. He didn't think she liked him much but she was trying to help so that was nice of her. He toyed with his rosary ring but his grip was weak. His arms were weak. His smile was weak but he kept smiling anyway.
"Thanks."
It was a lot of blood. He wondered if maybe he would die. He hoped not. It was more numb than painful but so was everything else. He thought he shouldn't close his eyes but his eyelids drooped dangerously.
He was very tired.
In his freshman year he'd tried to do this sick grind into a kickflip off a railing between a set of stairs at the park, but he'd slid off the rail halfway down and hit his leg on the rail and then on the edge of a stair after he'd tumbled down like ten feet. It was bad. There was bone sticking out of his leg. Not as much blood as this, but definitely blood. He'd passed out for a while and woken up in the hospital, which he was pretty sure wasn't going to happen if he passed out now, though he kind of wanted to, cause he was getting real woozy. Blaise put a bottle in his face and he drank it and coughed because it tasted like fire but at least that woke him up a little bit?
Violet looked scared. She seemed very far away. He gave her a limp thumbs up.
"Accident." S'okay, he thought of saying, but it kind of wasn't, but it wasn't her fault, anyway. There was someone else here too. Camila. Right? He was good with names. He didn't think she liked him much but she was trying to help so that was nice of her. He toyed with his rosary ring but his grip was weak. His arms were weak. His smile was weak but he kept smiling anyway.
"Thanks."
It was a lot of blood. He wondered if maybe he would die. He hoped not. It was more numb than painful but so was everything else. He thought he shouldn't close his eyes but his eyelids drooped dangerously.
He was very tired.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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MethodicalSlacker
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Violet, upon seeing the owner of the mystery voice and hearing their words, set to rummaging through her bag for the medical kit. She knew what they said—get his kit—but after depriving him of so much blood, she couldn't steal his stuff too. Dressing? Antiseptics? Violet had no clue exactly what form either of those things would take. As she leaned over on her knees, getting a top-down view of what was in the bag, it dawned on her that maybe she didn't know what those things usually looked like in general. If she couldn't figure it out, she'd just open the box and slide it over to Blaise and hope that they could figure it out, because what Violet needed right now was a good—
And just as she managed to find the kit in her bag, someone else appeared, materializing out of thin air like a ghost. With a startled yelp she hugged her bag back in close to her chest and fell back on her butt. They stepped in with their own supplies, and got to work in their own way. Violet was no longer needed, explicitly. She could sit back and just watch in awe, and listen, and feel terrible.
It filled her with a little bit of hope, to see a stranger reach out to another stranger like that, but not enough. Mostly because if someone tried to do that to her without asking first or knocking her out cold, she'd probably just start thrashing. The thought alone made her scoot a little bit further back from the wounded and well-meaning before her. The thought seemed silly and kind of inappropriate, but Violet wondered if maybe there was something magickal she could do to help. Even Violet knew that a few words and hand movements and visualization techniques couldn't make a bullet wound more lethal—right?—but, for his spirit's sake, maybe she could do something to mend it?
She held her tongue, however. The last thing she wanted was to invoke a spirit and make things somehow worse. Like when she accidentally called upon an Angel of destruction at the playground a few weeks ago.
...
Maybe that was why she was here, she thought, staring right into Dante's wound.
And just as she managed to find the kit in her bag, someone else appeared, materializing out of thin air like a ghost. With a startled yelp she hugged her bag back in close to her chest and fell back on her butt. They stepped in with their own supplies, and got to work in their own way. Violet was no longer needed, explicitly. She could sit back and just watch in awe, and listen, and feel terrible.
It filled her with a little bit of hope, to see a stranger reach out to another stranger like that, but not enough. Mostly because if someone tried to do that to her without asking first or knocking her out cold, she'd probably just start thrashing. The thought alone made her scoot a little bit further back from the wounded and well-meaning before her. The thought seemed silly and kind of inappropriate, but Violet wondered if maybe there was something magickal she could do to help. Even Violet knew that a few words and hand movements and visualization techniques couldn't make a bullet wound more lethal—right?—but, for his spirit's sake, maybe she could do something to mend it?
She held her tongue, however. The last thing she wanted was to invoke a spirit and make things somehow worse. Like when she accidentally called upon an Angel of destruction at the playground a few weeks ago.
...
Maybe that was why she was here, she thought, staring right into Dante's wound.
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Emprexx Plush
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Let us put our cards on the table, shall we? Blaise was not a doctor. They were not a nurse. They possessed no relevant merit badges, and though their spirit was ceaselessly generous that did not manifest in any form of community service where first aid training had been relevant. Such skills may have come up in a health class here or there perhaps, but health class was exclusively for sycophants in search of an inflated GPA and masochists masquerading as hypochondriacs obsessed with every perceivable way they might die. Blaise was not overly attached to their academic performance and they were never going to die, so it was irrelevant. With that in mind, here was their plan:
1. Find painkillers. If none, alcohol will do. If available, mix liberally.
2. Sanitize the wound. There were pads for that, perhaps some kind of cream, maybe a bottle? If nothing else they could use more alcohol. That would likely work fine.
3. Stop the bleeding with...gauze? A lot of gauze. Simple, serviceable solutions. Pack it around the whole thing until it stopped being a problem.
4. Dress the wound with bandages, tape, and whatever else looked appropriate.
5. If in doubt, employ more whiskey. To Dante, to the wound, to themself, to Violet even if she started freaking out.
6. Congratulate everyone on a job well done and wait for this to blow over.
It was a perfectly fine course of action, one they were certain would have worked. However, they were not so proud to pretend Dante wouldn't be better off in more, shall we say, experienced hands. Those hands appeared seemingly out of the ether and were working small marvels on Dante's leg. He wasn't making too much of a fuss so she had to be doing something right. They should be at ease, and at first they were. Her comment as she set to work made them snicker. "I retract my critique, darling. You've found the one woman you can impress." They winked and offered him the bottle again. "Don't worry, I won't tell your lion if you don't."
It slipped under their skin, though. They'd taken all the effort to abandon their position, bark orders, and pluck Dante's ebbing life back from the brink as if he were a drowning puppy. Yet this Nightingale appeared not a moment too soon to snatch him from their hands. Were they jealous? No. Frustrated? Perish the thought. Suspicious? Now that seemed acceptable to all involved.
Blaise cleared their throat and cast a sidelong glance Camila's way. "Not to distract, but where were you before? Dante is grateful I'm sure, but, eh, prevention and cure and..." They drew an absent minded circle in the air. "You see my point?"
1. Find painkillers. If none, alcohol will do. If available, mix liberally.
2. Sanitize the wound. There were pads for that, perhaps some kind of cream, maybe a bottle? If nothing else they could use more alcohol. That would likely work fine.
3. Stop the bleeding with...gauze? A lot of gauze. Simple, serviceable solutions. Pack it around the whole thing until it stopped being a problem.
4. Dress the wound with bandages, tape, and whatever else looked appropriate.
5. If in doubt, employ more whiskey. To Dante, to the wound, to themself, to Violet even if she started freaking out.
6. Congratulate everyone on a job well done and wait for this to blow over.
It was a perfectly fine course of action, one they were certain would have worked. However, they were not so proud to pretend Dante wouldn't be better off in more, shall we say, experienced hands. Those hands appeared seemingly out of the ether and were working small marvels on Dante's leg. He wasn't making too much of a fuss so she had to be doing something right. They should be at ease, and at first they were. Her comment as she set to work made them snicker. "I retract my critique, darling. You've found the one woman you can impress." They winked and offered him the bottle again. "Don't worry, I won't tell your lion if you don't."
It slipped under their skin, though. They'd taken all the effort to abandon their position, bark orders, and pluck Dante's ebbing life back from the brink as if he were a drowning puppy. Yet this Nightingale appeared not a moment too soon to snatch him from their hands. Were they jealous? No. Frustrated? Perish the thought. Suspicious? Now that seemed acceptable to all involved.
Blaise cleared their throat and cast a sidelong glance Camila's way. "Not to distract, but where were you before? Dante is grateful I'm sure, but, eh, prevention and cure and..." They drew an absent minded circle in the air. "You see my point?"
What she recognized as a face mask roughly swabbed away the excess sweat from her sudden sprint. Gloves on. She grabbed the damaged leg and hoisted it up to rest the ankle on her shoulders as much as possible given the cramped space. She swiped at the wound. Blood painted her hands like thick and fresh paint and she ignored it. The genderneutral was giving him water and she did not remember if that was correct or not. Her unshaking hands stretched gauze. She pressed on both sides of the wound and watched each attempt at bandages soak until soggy. Splatters painted her shirt. The bones of her knuckles hurt with how much force she demanded of them. Gray fabric mixed red. She was holding him against herself like a child. Close to her chest so she could exert all her might at once. Slowly the flow petered.
Not much time could possibly have passed, her forehead was slick and shiny once more.
She wound all the things in her first aid kit that looked like gauze around the bulk of his calf, tight, secured by the few things she could identify as adhesive. The flesh tone of the bandage was already slowly darkening, but much slower than it had before. She idly observed her already half-empty kit.
And finally. The adrenaline wore off. She finally allowed herself to tremble. She could let herself be exhausted, for a moment.
Rare Camila felt like this. She could have screamed, maybe vomited violently, and she settled for a hissing string of very colorful Spanish, whispered as her eyes closed tight.
"He..." She concluded softly, a bit weak. Her eyes fluttered open. "I don't know. Should be fine- see." The staining of the bandages was starting to stall. "That was all we can do. If it gets worse, there is little else." They had stretched the limits of her expertise. It was possibly still not enough.
Given a moment of respite she processed everything else that had mattered less. Flirt had stayed quiet. Tall one had stayed quiet. Genderneutral had been too loud. She'd had to wait until she had the time to properly answer.
"I only paid attention when I heard the gunshot. Only ran when I saw the bleeding. I had no intent to be around others for a while." Plain honesty, she wasn't given to much else.
One more thing. She peeled off one glove, idly marveled at how clean the hand under looked as contrasted to blood slowly drying to pudding. Her fingers fished, closed onto one of flirt's hands. She applied pressure to a cuticle, let go. Watched as it re-hydrated with color. She did not remember what that meant except that it meant that he was for now safe.
There were no ambulances on this island for when that stopped being the case. Say nothing of the possibility of hospitals.
Not much time could possibly have passed, her forehead was slick and shiny once more.
She wound all the things in her first aid kit that looked like gauze around the bulk of his calf, tight, secured by the few things she could identify as adhesive. The flesh tone of the bandage was already slowly darkening, but much slower than it had before. She idly observed her already half-empty kit.
And finally. The adrenaline wore off. She finally allowed herself to tremble. She could let herself be exhausted, for a moment.
Rare Camila felt like this. She could have screamed, maybe vomited violently, and she settled for a hissing string of very colorful Spanish, whispered as her eyes closed tight.
"He..." She concluded softly, a bit weak. Her eyes fluttered open. "I don't know. Should be fine- see." The staining of the bandages was starting to stall. "That was all we can do. If it gets worse, there is little else." They had stretched the limits of her expertise. It was possibly still not enough.
Given a moment of respite she processed everything else that had mattered less. Flirt had stayed quiet. Tall one had stayed quiet. Genderneutral had been too loud. She'd had to wait until she had the time to properly answer.
"I only paid attention when I heard the gunshot. Only ran when I saw the bleeding. I had no intent to be around others for a while." Plain honesty, she wasn't given to much else.
One more thing. She peeled off one glove, idly marveled at how clean the hand under looked as contrasted to blood slowly drying to pudding. Her fingers fished, closed onto one of flirt's hands. She applied pressure to a cuticle, let go. Watched as it re-hydrated with color. She did not remember what that meant except that it meant that he was for now safe.
There were no ambulances on this island for when that stopped being the case. Say nothing of the possibility of hospitals.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
Hey, his legs were up, now. He didn't really notice that happening because he couldn't really feel much in them right now which was maybe for the best considering there was a hole in one of them. He thought about trying to move his leg to see if he could but he thought maybe that was a bad idea. Definitely a bad idea. There was so much blood still and it felt hot on his skin still and hey, he was going to die, right? Like not necessarily right now. Maybe right now. But later? Kinda forgot about everything that was going on for a little while but the big gun and the gunshot and the collar around the girl's neck were like context clues or whatever.
The girl. Camila. Not Violet. Violet was there too but not close. Maybe didn't want to get too close to the blood. That made sense. It hurt a lot but it didn't hurt at all, did that make sense? Like it was numb but he could tell it was supposed to hurt, he could tell it would hurt later. Like when you were on painkillers but they weren't strong enough. Like when he broke his arm in middle school and real painkillers were expensive so he just had Advil from the drugstore. Like that.
Camila was putting something. In the hole. In his leg. There was a hole in his leg. There was a hole. In his leg. There was a hole there. A hole. It was bleeding.
He blinked, he thought, but when he opened his eyes again he was slumped backward against Blaise's shoulder, dripping with sweat.
The hole in his leg was full of something that wasn't blood.
"Cool," he said. His breathing sounded weird to his own ears, so probably it sounded that way to everyone else too. He hadn't died so that was cool. That was the rest of that sentence that didn't come out of his mouth because his mouth felt stuck to itself.
This wasn't supposed to happen, but it was an accident, so he was still right. It was still okay. They didn't want to kill each other, not really. He was starting to feel a tiny bit less numb, which was probably a good thing, but it also meant his leg was starting to hurt again. It was still okay though. At least he'd gotten shot and not Blaise. Or Violet, or Camila.
It could always be worse.
The girl. Camila. Not Violet. Violet was there too but not close. Maybe didn't want to get too close to the blood. That made sense. It hurt a lot but it didn't hurt at all, did that make sense? Like it was numb but he could tell it was supposed to hurt, he could tell it would hurt later. Like when you were on painkillers but they weren't strong enough. Like when he broke his arm in middle school and real painkillers were expensive so he just had Advil from the drugstore. Like that.
Camila was putting something. In the hole. In his leg. There was a hole in his leg. There was a hole. In his leg. There was a hole there. A hole. It was bleeding.
He blinked, he thought, but when he opened his eyes again he was slumped backward against Blaise's shoulder, dripping with sweat.
The hole in his leg was full of something that wasn't blood.
"Cool," he said. His breathing sounded weird to his own ears, so probably it sounded that way to everyone else too. He hadn't died so that was cool. That was the rest of that sentence that didn't come out of his mouth because his mouth felt stuck to itself.
This wasn't supposed to happen, but it was an accident, so he was still right. It was still okay. They didn't want to kill each other, not really. He was starting to feel a tiny bit less numb, which was probably a good thing, but it also meant his leg was starting to hurt again. It was still okay though. At least he'd gotten shot and not Blaise. Or Violet, or Camila.
It could always be worse.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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MethodicalSlacker
- Posts: 1231
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All told, Violet was at a loss for what to do, but that didn't seem to matter too too much.
She watched the movements of Camilla and Blaise's hands for several minutes as they worked on Dante's leg. She felt useless and helpless all at once. Was there much a difference between those feelings? For a bit she considered taking out some food and chewing on it just to have something to do, but a quick glance at the blood made it clear that she had really lost her appetite.
Dana had gotten hurt pretty bad a few times, when the Schmidt's were kids. She wasn't really active or anything, just accident prone. One time, she was reaching up in their cabinets for some arts and crafts supplies, and accidentally knocked over a coffee can a few shelves up that had a few pairs of scissors and an exacto knife in it. She got only nicked by the knife, which someone had for some reason decided to leave in there partly extended, but the scissors got to her face, narrowly missing her eyeball. She still had a little bit of a scar there, underneath her left eye. Violet hadn't seen the aftermath of these accidents, because her parents took a lot of care to keep her distracted from anything that might possibly upset her in that sense, but she still sometimes caught a glimpse of a few drops of blood on the ground or the grimed up band-aids in the trash bin.
None of that, of course, compared to this. This was something that Violet had done, and she was around for the consequences, too. She felt an obligation to do something to help, to apologize in some way, but she wasn't exactly sure what. As the bleeding stopped, she started to think of what her parents would do for Dana when she had come back from the doctor with some bandages or something. Dana would lay in bed in her room and they'd bring her sweets, some water, things that would make her feel better. Violet didn't have sweets, but she did have...
"Um, Dante," she said, kind of gesturing to him with an open palm, "would it be good for him, to have some food? Or water, so that he could regain some strength, y'know?"
It was a question because she didn't know whether or not that was true. If there was one thing to learn from the last few minutes, it was that Violet knew absolutely nothing about anything.
She watched the movements of Camilla and Blaise's hands for several minutes as they worked on Dante's leg. She felt useless and helpless all at once. Was there much a difference between those feelings? For a bit she considered taking out some food and chewing on it just to have something to do, but a quick glance at the blood made it clear that she had really lost her appetite.
Dana had gotten hurt pretty bad a few times, when the Schmidt's were kids. She wasn't really active or anything, just accident prone. One time, she was reaching up in their cabinets for some arts and crafts supplies, and accidentally knocked over a coffee can a few shelves up that had a few pairs of scissors and an exacto knife in it. She got only nicked by the knife, which someone had for some reason decided to leave in there partly extended, but the scissors got to her face, narrowly missing her eyeball. She still had a little bit of a scar there, underneath her left eye. Violet hadn't seen the aftermath of these accidents, because her parents took a lot of care to keep her distracted from anything that might possibly upset her in that sense, but she still sometimes caught a glimpse of a few drops of blood on the ground or the grimed up band-aids in the trash bin.
None of that, of course, compared to this. This was something that Violet had done, and she was around for the consequences, too. She felt an obligation to do something to help, to apologize in some way, but she wasn't exactly sure what. As the bleeding stopped, she started to think of what her parents would do for Dana when she had come back from the doctor with some bandages or something. Dana would lay in bed in her room and they'd bring her sweets, some water, things that would make her feel better. Violet didn't have sweets, but she did have...
"Um, Dante," she said, kind of gesturing to him with an open palm, "would it be good for him, to have some food? Or water, so that he could regain some strength, y'know?"
It was a question because she didn't know whether or not that was true. If there was one thing to learn from the last few minutes, it was that Violet knew absolutely nothing about anything.
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Emprexx Plush
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They tried to keep up a brave face for the sake of the others. As long as there was hope they could all move forward. They could pretend it didn't bother them, that they were fine, and keep the attention elsewhere. Deep down they knew the truth, though. The damage was done, completely unsalvageable. The signs were obvious, they should have been some time ago but they were too stubborn to notice. They'd committed, as they always had, and now there was a price to pay. Blaise felt uncharacteristically foolish. It was rare for something to affect them so deeply, but were they not dealing with a rare circumstance? It was difficult to recall the last time they were in a situation this dire. No number of helpful specters stepping into their sight line could rewrite the inevitable, and if everyone was as deprived of critical resources as their initial appraisal of their bags would suggest...
Blaise followed Dante's lead and collapsed to the pier. He stayed cradled in their arms, but they made no other acknowledgements. It was too dreadful. They might as well lay here and wait to die now. They were in no shape to travel, not now, and if they came across any of the number of classmates that might want to hurt them they were attached to a glaring weakness. No sense in that. They would stay here, or perhaps drag him to the shore to wait for the ocean to take them into her breast. It was a preferable fate to the alternative. There was just no dancing around it.
This outfit was an unmitigated disaster. A failure on so many levels both aesthetic and practical.
To start, it was tasteless. They knew that from inception, but they'd used different words then. "Provocative." "Challenging." "Bold." How masturbatory. "Shocking" would be more accurate and not in any positive way. It was beneath them, they might as well had Demetri scrawl slurs on sackcloth. That would be "shocking," no? Feh. It was artless depravity. It had nothing to say and borrowed none of the late Duke's powerful sense of style, their touches had only dragged it down to the base level of a National Enquirer spread. They had already invested so much effort in it though, they were too stubborn to let it go to waste. It was trash in development, yes, but if they just kept pushing through they'd find the stunning conclusion that had led them down this path to start with, it was inevitable. They always pulled it off to their own satisfaction if nothing else. They would curse their past self, but they doubted they could top present circumstances.
Which led them to the second major failure. Black did nothing for the sun bearing down on them or the sand that had gathered on every surface it touched. They shouldn't complain too much about the sand on the outside, though. The invading dunes down their open shirt and loose pants deserved so much more ire. Sweat, muck, some of Dante's blood, god only knows what else, it was all despoiling an already tragic look. They couldn't be seen like this. Dante's body covered most of them in this position. The others weren't offering anything useful and they seemed unlikely to harm him further. Negotiating from this position would avoid further embarrassment.
Blaise followed Dante's lead and collapsed to the pier. He stayed cradled in their arms, but they made no other acknowledgements. It was too dreadful. They might as well lay here and wait to die now. They were in no shape to travel, not now, and if they came across any of the number of classmates that might want to hurt them they were attached to a glaring weakness. No sense in that. They would stay here, or perhaps drag him to the shore to wait for the ocean to take them into her breast. It was a preferable fate to the alternative. There was just no dancing around it.
This outfit was an unmitigated disaster. A failure on so many levels both aesthetic and practical.
To start, it was tasteless. They knew that from inception, but they'd used different words then. "Provocative." "Challenging." "Bold." How masturbatory. "Shocking" would be more accurate and not in any positive way. It was beneath them, they might as well had Demetri scrawl slurs on sackcloth. That would be "shocking," no? Feh. It was artless depravity. It had nothing to say and borrowed none of the late Duke's powerful sense of style, their touches had only dragged it down to the base level of a National Enquirer spread. They had already invested so much effort in it though, they were too stubborn to let it go to waste. It was trash in development, yes, but if they just kept pushing through they'd find the stunning conclusion that had led them down this path to start with, it was inevitable. They always pulled it off to their own satisfaction if nothing else. They would curse their past self, but they doubted they could top present circumstances.
Which led them to the second major failure. Black did nothing for the sun bearing down on them or the sand that had gathered on every surface it touched. They shouldn't complain too much about the sand on the outside, though. The invading dunes down their open shirt and loose pants deserved so much more ire. Sweat, muck, some of Dante's blood, god only knows what else, it was all despoiling an already tragic look. They couldn't be seen like this. Dante's body covered most of them in this position. The others weren't offering anything useful and they seemed unlikely to harm him further. Negotiating from this position would avoid further embarrassment.
Everyone had a moment with their own thoughts... Camila likewise. She stayed her nerves. It was more difficult than it should have been, but the involuntary tremble lightly rocking Dante ceased.
Everyone was crowded in around this one boy and thus all packed in a little close. Camila was reminded of the spill of cutting open food cans. The packed flavor suffusing into the nostrils. She could vaguely smell everyone hovering this near her, though it was merely a hint of other humans and a lot of fresh iron. A quick appraisal confirmed that even Regina with her too many eyes was bloodied.
It was a bit overwhelming, she decided. Too many people too close, and she did not care for being this suddenly bothered by it. It reminded her somewhat of that night not too long ago she'd tried and failed to lose her virginity to Benedict. Too much skin. Too much vulnerability...
She tried to cast it from her thoughts, replacing the abstract noises of her head with her own real voice. "I think we wait until his heart beats evenly before food or drink. Otherwise we take the strength from his recovery." That made sense, and she would stick with it. But it was not something she knew for sure.
"You two, please." She commanded, but without much apparent conviction. Plain stated, in the usual tone. "Take his legs for me. Keep them in this position."
Everyone was crowded in around this one boy and thus all packed in a little close. Camila was reminded of the spill of cutting open food cans. The packed flavor suffusing into the nostrils. She could vaguely smell everyone hovering this near her, though it was merely a hint of other humans and a lot of fresh iron. A quick appraisal confirmed that even Regina with her too many eyes was bloodied.
It was a bit overwhelming, she decided. Too many people too close, and she did not care for being this suddenly bothered by it. It reminded her somewhat of that night not too long ago she'd tried and failed to lose her virginity to Benedict. Too much skin. Too much vulnerability...
She tried to cast it from her thoughts, replacing the abstract noises of her head with her own real voice. "I think we wait until his heart beats evenly before food or drink. Otherwise we take the strength from his recovery." That made sense, and she would stick with it. But it was not something she knew for sure.
"You two, please." She commanded, but without much apparent conviction. Plain stated, in the usual tone. "Take his legs for me. Keep them in this position."
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
Dante was staring at the sky.
He wasn't sure when he'd gone from sitting to laying on his back, but he was okay with it. Well, his back was mostly laying on Blaise, who also seemed okay with it, so it was all good. The sky was clear and bluer than the sky back home, somehow. He wondered if the sky reflected the sea. Or maybe there was just less pollution here, or something? It didn't seem like it really mattered, but it was kind of nice. Peaceful. There were some seagulls flying overhead, and there was a cloud that he thought looked like a dog, and he was thinking about all of this because his leg was starting to hurt. Like that time there was some dare he did at a party with a lighter and he ended up setting his shirt on fire and he had a burn on his stomach and had to go to the hospital? Like that.
He'd been to the hospital a lot now that he was thinking about it, and he should probably go to one now. He wondered if there was one on the island. Not that there'd be doctors there or anything, but just if there was one. He hadn't seen anything here except the sand and the sea and an old boat and shit, but a boat meant there had been people, and people meant... stuff. Buildings and services and whatever. He realized how hard he was gritting his teeth and how sweaty he was and how tense he felt and maybe that was better than being numb but it sure didn't feel better. He was breathing too hard. His words were lost when he exhaled.
Camila asked for help, with his legs, because she was still holding those he realized, but Violet was still far away and Blaise was... under him? Still there, yeah. Getting hard to keep track of things. Well, already was hard to keep track of things, just for different reasons. He managed to speak, slow. "Violet... doesn't. Uh, can't. Blood, maybe." Kinda coherent. "Blaise?" He didn't know.
"S'there painkillers? Or something?" The sky looked blurry. He didn't want to cry. "Or whiskey?" That helped in the old movies his dad liked.
"Or something." It kept getting worse.
He wasn't sure when he'd gone from sitting to laying on his back, but he was okay with it. Well, his back was mostly laying on Blaise, who also seemed okay with it, so it was all good. The sky was clear and bluer than the sky back home, somehow. He wondered if the sky reflected the sea. Or maybe there was just less pollution here, or something? It didn't seem like it really mattered, but it was kind of nice. Peaceful. There were some seagulls flying overhead, and there was a cloud that he thought looked like a dog, and he was thinking about all of this because his leg was starting to hurt. Like that time there was some dare he did at a party with a lighter and he ended up setting his shirt on fire and he had a burn on his stomach and had to go to the hospital? Like that.
He'd been to the hospital a lot now that he was thinking about it, and he should probably go to one now. He wondered if there was one on the island. Not that there'd be doctors there or anything, but just if there was one. He hadn't seen anything here except the sand and the sea and an old boat and shit, but a boat meant there had been people, and people meant... stuff. Buildings and services and whatever. He realized how hard he was gritting his teeth and how sweaty he was and how tense he felt and maybe that was better than being numb but it sure didn't feel better. He was breathing too hard. His words were lost when he exhaled.
Camila asked for help, with his legs, because she was still holding those he realized, but Violet was still far away and Blaise was... under him? Still there, yeah. Getting hard to keep track of things. Well, already was hard to keep track of things, just for different reasons. He managed to speak, slow. "Violet... doesn't. Uh, can't. Blood, maybe." Kinda coherent. "Blaise?" He didn't know.
"S'there painkillers? Or something?" The sky looked blurry. He didn't want to cry. "Or whiskey?" That helped in the old movies his dad liked.
"Or something." It kept getting worse.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
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MethodicalSlacker
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Okay, so, there wasn't anything she could do. They'd have to wait on the food and water until his heart got to working right, and that was the only idea that she had. Dante said all that she wanted to say, about not being able to touch him and help with that, but she figured she might well offer more of an explanation, even if she wasn't sure exactly how much to say. To be still so awkward about it, after all this time, made her feel small.
"Yeah," she mumbled, "Blood."
...it was easier this way, y'know?
He was looking for painkillers, but Blaise had the whiskey. He needed support, but there were two able bodied people right there. He'd need food eventually, but not right now, and the same went for water, and if he couldn't gather the strength to feed himself then she wouldn't be able to do the feeding for him. The only thing Violet could do to ease his pain would be to finish him off; the ease with which that thought came to her mind sending another shiver down her spine. What else did wounded people want? What else could she not give?
So, that was that. She might as well just pack up, apologize, leave a bottle of water and some bread for later, and get out of town. Yeah, that was the best thing. She was just in the way, and the most she could contribute was not being there. Somewhere else, she could be more helpful, to someone else or even to herself, finding a center on this wildly turning Earth. She needed to do a banishing ritual. That would help cleanse her of her initial panic and guilt, she thought, but she'd need to find some place else to do it. Somewhere deep in the woods. She had her robe, too; nothing would be lost, no magickal energy given over to the surrounding atmosphere. She'd be the perfect conduit, and she could visualize how it would feel, too—out here, in the middle of nowhere, nobody else's energy to interfere. In her mind, she was already there.
[Violet Schmidt...
...is feeling conflicted!]
She still hadn't done enough. Even if it felt like she couldn't do anything, she needed to try! Dante's injury was her fault, even if it was an accident, and she knew that the only right thing to do right now would be to stick around and help out in any way she could until she got express communication that she was being useless. Violet knew she listened to the kind of music that was enjoyed mostly by people who spent all day feeling sorry for themselves, but she wasn't like that, and she wouldn't let herself get to that point, no matter what!
"Um," Violet blurted out, "I really want to help. Is there anything I can do, without touching him?
"...or, stuff that I can leave here, as, um...
"penance?"
"Yeah," she mumbled, "Blood."
...it was easier this way, y'know?
He was looking for painkillers, but Blaise had the whiskey. He needed support, but there were two able bodied people right there. He'd need food eventually, but not right now, and the same went for water, and if he couldn't gather the strength to feed himself then she wouldn't be able to do the feeding for him. The only thing Violet could do to ease his pain would be to finish him off; the ease with which that thought came to her mind sending another shiver down her spine. What else did wounded people want? What else could she not give?
So, that was that. She might as well just pack up, apologize, leave a bottle of water and some bread for later, and get out of town. Yeah, that was the best thing. She was just in the way, and the most she could contribute was not being there. Somewhere else, she could be more helpful, to someone else or even to herself, finding a center on this wildly turning Earth. She needed to do a banishing ritual. That would help cleanse her of her initial panic and guilt, she thought, but she'd need to find some place else to do it. Somewhere deep in the woods. She had her robe, too; nothing would be lost, no magickal energy given over to the surrounding atmosphere. She'd be the perfect conduit, and she could visualize how it would feel, too—out here, in the middle of nowhere, nobody else's energy to interfere. In her mind, she was already there.
[Violet Schmidt...
...is feeling conflicted!]
She still hadn't done enough. Even if it felt like she couldn't do anything, she needed to try! Dante's injury was her fault, even if it was an accident, and she knew that the only right thing to do right now would be to stick around and help out in any way she could until she got express communication that she was being useless. Violet knew she listened to the kind of music that was enjoyed mostly by people who spent all day feeling sorry for themselves, but she wasn't like that, and she wouldn't let herself get to that point, no matter what!
"Um," Violet blurted out, "I really want to help. Is there anything I can do, without touching him?
"...or, stuff that I can leave here, as, um...
"penance?"
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Emprexx Plush
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There was a simple question one had to ask: how valuable was Dante's leg, really?
Now now, consider it rationally. He's not going to be walking anywhere like that any time soon. Even being able to attempt such an ill advised maneuver would probably bring him a great deal of pain. Dante was not known for...anything particularly useful in this situation, but especially for his decision-making under pressure. How easy yet how deadly a thing would it be for him to forget himself in the heat of the moment and wind up immobilized in pain? His life and the life of others could be forfeit. Supposing he quite literally had no leg to stand on, though...
The obvious objections were noted, but there was more to consider. Infection was also worth thinking about, no? It was not so immediate a concern, but it could kill him just as easily. That was why certain brutish procedures were created, was it not? It might not be, but in the moment they were sure it was, and that was all that mattered. It would be best for Dante, and for everyone involved, if they prepped him for amputation immediately. He would suffer, yes, but there was whiskey for that, and ultimately he would be thankful.
They were just about to broach this argument when it occurred to them that amputation would still likely require them to get out from underneath him. It was no longer worth the effort. They pouted sullenly but said nothing as they rose to get into position. Camila's instructions were unclear but they might as well put their best into it for his sake. As they looked over their outfit one more time though, they winced. This would not do. "Un moment." Their fingers went to work unbuttoning the vest and shrugging it off to the pier. Without pause they began to undo their shirt as well, revealing the white cotton binder on underneath. If they were going to be playing nursemaid for an hour or more, they were going to be fucking comfortable.
Despite their preoccupation Violet's offer did not fall on deaf ears. "If you are feeling that guilty you could lay down your arms. If not, you have others to maim elsewhere, no?" By the time they finished speaking their dress shirt had made landfall as well.
Now now, consider it rationally. He's not going to be walking anywhere like that any time soon. Even being able to attempt such an ill advised maneuver would probably bring him a great deal of pain. Dante was not known for...anything particularly useful in this situation, but especially for his decision-making under pressure. How easy yet how deadly a thing would it be for him to forget himself in the heat of the moment and wind up immobilized in pain? His life and the life of others could be forfeit. Supposing he quite literally had no leg to stand on, though...
The obvious objections were noted, but there was more to consider. Infection was also worth thinking about, no? It was not so immediate a concern, but it could kill him just as easily. That was why certain brutish procedures were created, was it not? It might not be, but in the moment they were sure it was, and that was all that mattered. It would be best for Dante, and for everyone involved, if they prepped him for amputation immediately. He would suffer, yes, but there was whiskey for that, and ultimately he would be thankful.
They were just about to broach this argument when it occurred to them that amputation would still likely require them to get out from underneath him. It was no longer worth the effort. They pouted sullenly but said nothing as they rose to get into position. Camila's instructions were unclear but they might as well put their best into it for his sake. As they looked over their outfit one more time though, they winced. This would not do. "Un moment." Their fingers went to work unbuttoning the vest and shrugging it off to the pier. Without pause they began to undo their shirt as well, revealing the white cotton binder on underneath. If they were going to be playing nursemaid for an hour or more, they were going to be fucking comfortable.
Despite their preoccupation Violet's offer did not fall on deaf ears. "If you are feeling that guilty you could lay down your arms. If not, you have others to maim elsewhere, no?" By the time they finished speaking their dress shirt had made landfall as well.
A phobia of blood was understandable. Camila's only hard proof that she lacked one was slowly congealing heaviness into her shirt.
"I'd say no to whiskey. I don't believe it will agree with a stressed system." Said with confidence when she wasn't sure. Camila supposed if there was ever a time in her life for her to start feeling impostor syndrome... well. She doubted it would rear it's potentially ugly head.
The tall one had asked for penance- God could have granted her that. If she chose to believe. Besides that Camila understood the question to be petty. If the tall one wanted to make a show of pitying herself, she'd decide it on her own. If the genderneutral wanted to sway the decision, they'd decide that on their own. Camila had no place in that discussion. If she had a place in it she didn't particularly want it. She felt no impostor syndrome there- she knew she did not feel comfortable. And that was the end of such uncomfortable thoughts.
Thus, she stayed silent. She had a job much simpler to do, much more neatly done. She traded places with the genderneutral, who had removed that undergarment that restrained their more feminine aspects and put their shirt back on. Camila's had come off. The stickiness on the skin beneath was not just sweat- the blood had in some places run through the fabric. Runny red now slicked down her bare collarbone, her chest. She briefly turned her back to the others and dangled her legs off the pier.
She found the bag closest that wasn't her own, as it was only fair it not be her supplies exclusively that were exhausted. Generic ibuprofen in foil. She popped two pills from their packaging and offered them to the flirt, with water.
It reminded her of the rare sick day on the farm. Camila had never been too comfortable being bed-ridden and fed by Ma. The flirt seemed to her almost lazy for his lack of resistance. But she supposed she'd never been so indisposed as to have a hole in her leg.
"I'd say no to whiskey. I don't believe it will agree with a stressed system." Said with confidence when she wasn't sure. Camila supposed if there was ever a time in her life for her to start feeling impostor syndrome... well. She doubted it would rear it's potentially ugly head.
The tall one had asked for penance- God could have granted her that. If she chose to believe. Besides that Camila understood the question to be petty. If the tall one wanted to make a show of pitying herself, she'd decide it on her own. If the genderneutral wanted to sway the decision, they'd decide that on their own. Camila had no place in that discussion. If she had a place in it she didn't particularly want it. She felt no impostor syndrome there- she knew she did not feel comfortable. And that was the end of such uncomfortable thoughts.
Thus, she stayed silent. She had a job much simpler to do, much more neatly done. She traded places with the genderneutral, who had removed that undergarment that restrained their more feminine aspects and put their shirt back on. Camila's had come off. The stickiness on the skin beneath was not just sweat- the blood had in some places run through the fabric. Runny red now slicked down her bare collarbone, her chest. She briefly turned her back to the others and dangled her legs off the pier.
She found the bag closest that wasn't her own, as it was only fair it not be her supplies exclusively that were exhausted. Generic ibuprofen in foil. She popped two pills from their packaging and offered them to the flirt, with water.
It reminded her of the rare sick day on the farm. Camila had never been too comfortable being bed-ridden and fed by Ma. The flirt seemed to her almost lazy for his lack of resistance. But she supposed she'd never been so indisposed as to have a hole in her leg.
V8 Vibes:
V7 Vibes:
Violet really was a nice girl. Dante was glad he was right about that, at least. He tried to give her a reassuring smile though that was kinda hard considering how hard he was gritting his teeth at the moment. He probably looked more pained than reassuring, but there was something to be said for making an effort and all that, right? Hopefully she got the message, anyway. She looked like she wanted to run away and he couldn't really blame her. There was a lot of blood. Which was his, and kind of wasn't his anymore, since it wasn't in his body, which he thought probably meant it didn't really have an owner. His vision was getting a little floaty again. Pain instead of blood loss this time, maybe. He tried to unstick his jaw.
"S'okay." He kept looking at her but his eyes were unfocused. "No penance. You... good." His throat felt sticky. He was glad when Camila gave him water. And pills. He recognized the pills, ibuprofin, generic, the same kind his parents kept a big bottle of at home. He remembered his broken arm again. It would help, a little. But not much.
Shame about the whiskey.
"Thanks," he murmured, to no one in particular. To all of them. They were all helping, sort of. Blaise was up, he noticed suddenly, which meant he was laying flat on his back on the planks, he hadn't realized. He couldn't feel them. His hoodie was too thick. He probably shouldn't be wearing it but taking it off was an amount of effort he couldn't manage right now. No wonder he was so sweaty. He tried to control his breathing but it was still shaky. Besides, he needed the hoodie, right? It was cold.
He wondered how he was going to leave this spot. How, or if.
He wondered if his eyes would open again if he closed them. They fluttered closed, anyway.
"S'okay." He kept looking at her but his eyes were unfocused. "No penance. You... good." His throat felt sticky. He was glad when Camila gave him water. And pills. He recognized the pills, ibuprofin, generic, the same kind his parents kept a big bottle of at home. He remembered his broken arm again. It would help, a little. But not much.
Shame about the whiskey.
"Thanks," he murmured, to no one in particular. To all of them. They were all helping, sort of. Blaise was up, he noticed suddenly, which meant he was laying flat on his back on the planks, he hadn't realized. He couldn't feel them. His hoodie was too thick. He probably shouldn't be wearing it but taking it off was an amount of effort he couldn't manage right now. No wonder he was so sweaty. He tried to control his breathing but it was still shaky. Besides, he needed the hoodie, right? It was cold.
He wondered how he was going to leave this spot. How, or if.
He wondered if his eyes would open again if he closed them. They fluttered closed, anyway.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
[B03 - Lorenzo Tavares Continued From Meddling Heart]
Lorenzo stuck to the tree line after his scuffle with Emil and Emmett. He didn’t want to get himself too lost among the eerily similar looking trees, and wanted to find somewhere he could recuperate himself for a while. He wasn’t injured or anything, besides a sore spot where Emmett had imbedded his shoulder, but he still felt like a bit of rest would do him some good. Lorenzo did his best to wipe as much of the annoying grains of sand from his body as he could, but every now and then he’d feel a slight crunch, and he found himself getting annoyed all over again. He didn’t plan on wasting any of his water, so maybe if he could find another source he could somewhat wash the sand away. He spotted what looked like a lighthouse in the distance, and figured he may as well head in that direction. Tall building like that usually meant some form of civilization, right?
The maul was heavy, and he’d relegated it to the sheath he found in his bag. It was pretty nice, and it even had an attachment for his belt. He took a moment to hook it on, and went on his way, the long wooden handle bouncing against his leg lightly with every step. He kept his shirt off for now. The heat was pretty uncomfortable. Lorenzo had never really been a hot-weather type of guy, much preferring the cold winter months. Of course, the temperature was the absolute least of his worries right now.
His mind was still reeling after everything that happened on the beach. He’d almost killed someone. Like for real. Sure, he’d accepted the fact that he would have to, and yeah maybe he threw himself headfirst into a situation that may demand it, but… he didn’t expect himself to hesitate like that. His hesitation is what let those two idiots get the jump on him, and he swore if they ended up in his line of sight again, he’d correct that mistake.
Lorenzo was a bad person. That was a fact. Bad people had no reason to hesitate when it came to killing. Not here.
Right?
As he got closer to the lighthouse, he approached what looked like an old rundown pier. He sighed a bit in annoyance. It didn’t look like there were any other buildings around, after all. He may have been better off heading towards the village marked on the map. The sound of voices, however, sparked his interest a bit. He reached down and put his hand on the clasp for the maul’s sheath.
Just in case he had to whip it out right away.
Upon closer inspection he found a small group of his classmates. Four of them if he counted right. One he recognized immediately. Blaise. A friendly face, and one he didn’t expect. Unfortunate. He didn’t want to hurt Blaise. Now he had to change his approach. Another boy on the ground. Dante? Sounded right. And then two girls. One next to Dante. One of the various Camilas. Those and Lucas’, the school was crawling with them. And some tall goth looking chick. Violet? He was pretty sure they’d been in the same crowds once or twice. As he came closer, it seemed that Dante was injured pretty badly. That means someone had to be the one to injure him, right? Looked like he’d been shot. That meant there was a gun around here.
Lorenzo wanted that gun.
He’d have to find out where it went.
“Yo!” He called out to the group, smirking his trademark smirk with the hand not holding onto the maul in the air as greeting.
“Fuck happened here? You guys alright?”
Lorenzo stuck to the tree line after his scuffle with Emil and Emmett. He didn’t want to get himself too lost among the eerily similar looking trees, and wanted to find somewhere he could recuperate himself for a while. He wasn’t injured or anything, besides a sore spot where Emmett had imbedded his shoulder, but he still felt like a bit of rest would do him some good. Lorenzo did his best to wipe as much of the annoying grains of sand from his body as he could, but every now and then he’d feel a slight crunch, and he found himself getting annoyed all over again. He didn’t plan on wasting any of his water, so maybe if he could find another source he could somewhat wash the sand away. He spotted what looked like a lighthouse in the distance, and figured he may as well head in that direction. Tall building like that usually meant some form of civilization, right?
The maul was heavy, and he’d relegated it to the sheath he found in his bag. It was pretty nice, and it even had an attachment for his belt. He took a moment to hook it on, and went on his way, the long wooden handle bouncing against his leg lightly with every step. He kept his shirt off for now. The heat was pretty uncomfortable. Lorenzo had never really been a hot-weather type of guy, much preferring the cold winter months. Of course, the temperature was the absolute least of his worries right now.
His mind was still reeling after everything that happened on the beach. He’d almost killed someone. Like for real. Sure, he’d accepted the fact that he would have to, and yeah maybe he threw himself headfirst into a situation that may demand it, but… he didn’t expect himself to hesitate like that. His hesitation is what let those two idiots get the jump on him, and he swore if they ended up in his line of sight again, he’d correct that mistake.
Lorenzo was a bad person. That was a fact. Bad people had no reason to hesitate when it came to killing. Not here.
Right?
As he got closer to the lighthouse, he approached what looked like an old rundown pier. He sighed a bit in annoyance. It didn’t look like there were any other buildings around, after all. He may have been better off heading towards the village marked on the map. The sound of voices, however, sparked his interest a bit. He reached down and put his hand on the clasp for the maul’s sheath.
Just in case he had to whip it out right away.
Upon closer inspection he found a small group of his classmates. Four of them if he counted right. One he recognized immediately. Blaise. A friendly face, and one he didn’t expect. Unfortunate. He didn’t want to hurt Blaise. Now he had to change his approach. Another boy on the ground. Dante? Sounded right. And then two girls. One next to Dante. One of the various Camilas. Those and Lucas’, the school was crawling with them. And some tall goth looking chick. Violet? He was pretty sure they’d been in the same crowds once or twice. As he came closer, it seemed that Dante was injured pretty badly. That means someone had to be the one to injure him, right? Looked like he’d been shot. That meant there was a gun around here.
Lorenzo wanted that gun.
He’d have to find out where it went.
“Yo!” He called out to the group, smirking his trademark smirk with the hand not holding onto the maul in the air as greeting.
“Fuck happened here? You guys alright?”
