[Carlon Wheeler entering from There ain't no more cowboys, only men with violent hearts]
The wider world beyond his family and friends had always been unfamiliar territory, but on this island it felt like he had stepped into another world. The rules had been laid out in text and gory presentation but as he drew to a stop, hands tightening around where he was supporting Alexandria's slow, pained movements, he realised that it was the knowing that was getting to him the most. Not knowing what to say or do in a social situation back home was one thing; you would be laughed at or mocked by the jocks at worst for an extended period. Here? You put a foot wrong, and you would end up like Daniel, and there was no helping anyone if you were dead.
Carlon had declared that the 'why' behind the boy's murder did not matter, and he stood by that even if it meant that he would never learn to be more careful, or know how to remain safe. He did not want to understand why they felt that killing was the only option available to them. He did not want to see the damage done; things he could not explain or understand. The rules had changed, and the people he had known – well or in passing – were changing in ways that no established social etiquette, and certainly no logic, could help him comprehend with just a surface assessment.
It only hit Carlon then that Hansel had been injured physically. His steps faltered, guilt flooding through the young man as he felt common sense battling against compassion, drawing him into himself without warning or mercy. The din of his internal indecision was only broken by distinct voices across the fields, bringing Carlon back to the reality of their situation, away from the chaos of memories, feelings and half-considered plans. The sun was setting, and the unsteady breathing beside him echoed the feeling of exhaustion that crept up to him as he stopped outside what looked like the shell of a barn.
Carlon knew that his suffering was nothing next to that of Alexandria's. She needed rest and treatment; otherwise she would have to endure more than discomfort before the end came. "Are you okay with resting in there?" he asked quietly, almost reverently. The earlier outrage and disbelief that had lent strength to his words and actions had vanished, leaving behind the awkwardness that had amplified since waking up in that house barely hours ago.
The Silver Chair
The Silver Chair
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Imehal. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
((Alex Ripley continued from There ain't no more cowboys, only men with violent hearts))
As the two walked on, Alex found her heart racing and her breath coming in quick.
The gunshot wound still blared in her ankle, still giving her grief. She could feel the warm liquid dripping out of it, and how disorientated she felt. Alex wasn't sure whether or not it was from the shock or the bloodloss.
Even despite the pain and the dizzy feeling, there wasn't just one thing that was of concern to her.
Now that she had calmed down, the image of Daniel's body-Daniel- played over and over in her head. Since they had been walking, Alex was focusing more on keeping her balance rather than grieving. But the image still stayed, no matter what she did. Not just Daniel's, either; previously Alex had somewhat suppressed the memory of Davidge being shot at. But with Daniel came Davidge.
Both of them were alike: Alex couldn't save them. Not anymore. Of course, being tied down, she couldn't save Davidge. But Daniel? If they had stuck together, if she had just looked behind her to check if he was still there, if it was the two of them against Hansel...
Daniel was one person she could never save.
Alex was normally a very talkative girl; she could talk your head off from sunrise to sunset if you allowed her to. But for once in her life, Alex was quiet. Not a word came from her mouth as she leaned against Carlon.
It was strange how he was helping her, really. Not that she was complaining, of course.
As the sun set in the distance, Alex's eyes focused on a barn. Just as she thought of it, Carlon asked if she was okay with resting in there.
Alex looked at him with exhausted eyes, and nodded.
She kind of needed to lay down.
As the two walked on, Alex found her heart racing and her breath coming in quick.
The gunshot wound still blared in her ankle, still giving her grief. She could feel the warm liquid dripping out of it, and how disorientated she felt. Alex wasn't sure whether or not it was from the shock or the bloodloss.
Even despite the pain and the dizzy feeling, there wasn't just one thing that was of concern to her.
Now that she had calmed down, the image of Daniel's body-Daniel- played over and over in her head. Since they had been walking, Alex was focusing more on keeping her balance rather than grieving. But the image still stayed, no matter what she did. Not just Daniel's, either; previously Alex had somewhat suppressed the memory of Davidge being shot at. But with Daniel came Davidge.
Both of them were alike: Alex couldn't save them. Not anymore. Of course, being tied down, she couldn't save Davidge. But Daniel? If they had stuck together, if she had just looked behind her to check if he was still there, if it was the two of them against Hansel...
Daniel was one person she could never save.
Alex was normally a very talkative girl; she could talk your head off from sunrise to sunset if you allowed her to. But for once in her life, Alex was quiet. Not a word came from her mouth as she leaned against Carlon.
It was strange how he was helping her, really. Not that she was complaining, of course.
As the sun set in the distance, Alex's eyes focused on a barn. Just as she thought of it, Carlon asked if she was okay with resting in there.
Alex looked at him with exhausted eyes, and nodded.
She kind of needed to lay down.
[GMing Approved]
Any physical fortitude that had sustained Carlon thus far evaporated at the sight of her agreement, his shoulders dropping as his body attempted to relax just shy of the goal at hand. Refusing to fail now that they had got so close, he took a breath then tensed his body, steeling himself for the last few feet to shelter. Here, he thought as he nudged the door so that it looked closed to an unobservant eye, she could rest. Here was a brief respite from the horrors that lurked behind the familiar faces of friends and classmates. Yet as Carlon stood there waiting for his eyesight to adjust to the limiting streams of light within the damaged structure, all he could think about was how much he did not want these moments. To breathe, to think right now would be to give embers to the fear and doubts that were constantly waiting for their moment.
The rough lines of hay bales came into view, and inspiration struck – a solution to at least one problem they had. Carlon forced himself forward those last few steps so that he could crouch; carefully sitting his companion upon one of them, hands only releasing her shoulders when he was satisfied that she was settled. He then promptly collapsed against the edge of the lowest hay bale himself, tossing his bag unceremoniously down as if it had caused all of this, feeling the tension in his muscles seep away, and dreading as a singular damning thought crept back into his consciousness, threatening to turn into processes that were as far from logical as they could get. They promised to undo him if left unchecked, and in his mental flight, he sought the refuge of surveying the state of Alexandria.
It was the first time he had really looked at her since they had left the clearing, and as he contemplatively took in her pale complexion, the shallowness of her breaths, he realised that the solution to his problems lay in hers. On the way here he had thought of nothing but getting away from Hansel – from everyone. Then shelter. Now the next step stared him back, labouredly breathing and on the point of collapse. Carlon drew himself up so that he was upright once more, unzipping his duffel bag with one hand before cracking the seal on the bottle of water, keeping the lid in his hand as he passed it up for her to drink.
Swallowing but failing to shift the lump that had formed in his throat, Carlon moved so that he was now crouched before Alexandria, inwardly dreading facing the reality of what Hansel had done. Just because she had survived the injury did not mean that the prospects she had on the island were any better for it. He turned his gaze reluctantly downwards. Though his vision was impaired by the light, he realised two things with a sinking heart. One, that Alexandria was wearing two different coloured sneakers, which he suspected was not a poor fashion choice, and secondly that he was going to have to do something about it.
First he needed light, and in a bid to achieve this Carlon reached over to lift his duffel bag and place it beside him nearest Alexandria's good leg, so not to cause her any further discomfort. After a moment's searching he withdrew a flashlight, the immediate area illuminating the instant that he flicked it on. Whilst that meant he could now see the girl's face, it also meant that she could now see the colour drain from his face as he realised the extent of the wound.
Her left shoe and sock, once white, had been stained a morbidly obvious shade of red that left Carlon in doubt as to the severity of the wound. Little wonder she was so drained having walked so far on such an injury. He nestled the flashlight awkwardly against the bag so that it angled its light directly at the current focus of attention, then his now free hands rummaged through the nearly empty bag. It had been a vain hope, but relief caught him in a rare moment of elation as he withdrew the first aid box from the bag.
It did not take long to open the kit, and only a few minutes of searching for Carlon to find everything he thought he might need to treat the injury, lying them all neatly across his own backpack in a neat little row. "Alex," he started, all too aware of the quiver that made his nervousness plain to hear, "I need to... you... it can't stay open."
His voice ended on a rasp, and Carlon gave up on words in favour of action. She had to know what he needed to do, he told himself as he gripped the hem of her jeans between shaking fingers, lifting a pair of scissors from the line of materials with his free hand. The material slid under his fingertips; Carlon did not need to look to know that he had her blood on his hands. If he did not do this, then her chances of leaving this barn – let alone the island – were slim.
He cut up past her ankle on both sides to halfway up her shin, jaw clenching and movements hesitating with every sound of pain that Alexandria could not keep inaudible. You did not do this to her. You're making it better. He set aside the scissors then rediscovered his slick grip on the jeans.
There was no trace of the smile that had been omnipresent before the island as he began to lift the fabric away from the wound, systematically folding it up and over the bloody mess that was hidden beneath. The coppery smell, which had until then only heightening his nausea, threatened to disorientate him completely. Carlon swallowed against the bile that rose through his throat, took a moment and prayed for strength. A few short words entered into his mind, the beginnings of a prayer that he had uttered every day and night since he had been small.
It calmed him to focus on his faith; to centre on the belief that had been nurtured throughout his entire life. He still felt sick and especially afraid of his own cowardice as he focused on the source of Alexandria's pain but doggedly determined in spite of that. He would not kill or maim, but he possessed evidence before his own eyes that others were quite willing to do just that. If she was – if they were both - going to stand a chance, then this had to happen quickly.
Carlon knew barely anything about medicine. He had antiseptic wipes, bandages, tape, and a bottle of water all laid out beside him – the very basics to treat and clean a wound, and although he had no idea if he was doing everything right, he felt better for doing something.
His ignorance of her sobs was not because he was heartless, but because he knew it would be impossible to continue if he acknowledged for a second that his actions were causing her to suffer so badly above him. He settled the thick wet material on the relatively clean section above it, and set his sights not on the task but on the end result. Making sure to remove the blood stained sock and sneaker, Carlon noted that they were not in a particularly wearable state after their trek with a freely bleeding wound, but reckoned that getting them sodden through in addition was only going to hinder, rather than help. The second water bottle was opened with one swift motion, and he used it sparingly, combined with as gentle a touch as he could manage, to rid the injured area of grime and dried blood. It was hard to stomach at first, but watching the water clean away the blood, revealing reddened but otherwise healthy skin around the-
That was when Carlon noticed the little puddle of water forming beneath Alexandria's leg, putting aside the bottle to examine as he picked up the antiseptic wipes instead. He reached a hand around the back of her ankle, flinching visibly at the tortured cry that resulted in him pressing a mere fingertip against the exit wound of the bullet. It had gone clean through he realised, the revelation conjured feelings of disgust and relief simultaneously. That hopefully meant that the wound would heal well, but it disturbed him to think as he dabbed at the wound's edges to ensure it was clean, of the damage that had been done. They all had only days to live if a rescue did not come and Alexandria could not even walk without support, let alone defend herself; not a great start.
Carlon discarded the few used wipes onto the floor nearby and tried for a smile as he addressed Alexandria, hands stained in her blood and not even halfway done. "Just a little bit longer," he reassured her, unrolling the sterile bandage and pressing its end against the side of her ankle, then tightly winding it around enough so that there was a bulge of fabric, tucking the end under and through to secure it.
Admittedly there were probably still half a dozen things wrong with Alexandria that Carlon had not even thought to check for, at least her injury was bandaged up and clean for now. Now all that remained to be done was to let her catch her breath and move on once she felt up to it; find someplace more secure – and preferably with a comfortable bed – where they both could get some well-earned sleep. Carlon, however, refused to stop for a moment, beginning to separate the used equipment from the reusable and beginning the process of organising his bags so that he had easier access to the supplies in future.
Any physical fortitude that had sustained Carlon thus far evaporated at the sight of her agreement, his shoulders dropping as his body attempted to relax just shy of the goal at hand. Refusing to fail now that they had got so close, he took a breath then tensed his body, steeling himself for the last few feet to shelter. Here, he thought as he nudged the door so that it looked closed to an unobservant eye, she could rest. Here was a brief respite from the horrors that lurked behind the familiar faces of friends and classmates. Yet as Carlon stood there waiting for his eyesight to adjust to the limiting streams of light within the damaged structure, all he could think about was how much he did not want these moments. To breathe, to think right now would be to give embers to the fear and doubts that were constantly waiting for their moment.
The rough lines of hay bales came into view, and inspiration struck – a solution to at least one problem they had. Carlon forced himself forward those last few steps so that he could crouch; carefully sitting his companion upon one of them, hands only releasing her shoulders when he was satisfied that she was settled. He then promptly collapsed against the edge of the lowest hay bale himself, tossing his bag unceremoniously down as if it had caused all of this, feeling the tension in his muscles seep away, and dreading as a singular damning thought crept back into his consciousness, threatening to turn into processes that were as far from logical as they could get. They promised to undo him if left unchecked, and in his mental flight, he sought the refuge of surveying the state of Alexandria.
It was the first time he had really looked at her since they had left the clearing, and as he contemplatively took in her pale complexion, the shallowness of her breaths, he realised that the solution to his problems lay in hers. On the way here he had thought of nothing but getting away from Hansel – from everyone. Then shelter. Now the next step stared him back, labouredly breathing and on the point of collapse. Carlon drew himself up so that he was upright once more, unzipping his duffel bag with one hand before cracking the seal on the bottle of water, keeping the lid in his hand as he passed it up for her to drink.
Swallowing but failing to shift the lump that had formed in his throat, Carlon moved so that he was now crouched before Alexandria, inwardly dreading facing the reality of what Hansel had done. Just because she had survived the injury did not mean that the prospects she had on the island were any better for it. He turned his gaze reluctantly downwards. Though his vision was impaired by the light, he realised two things with a sinking heart. One, that Alexandria was wearing two different coloured sneakers, which he suspected was not a poor fashion choice, and secondly that he was going to have to do something about it.
First he needed light, and in a bid to achieve this Carlon reached over to lift his duffel bag and place it beside him nearest Alexandria's good leg, so not to cause her any further discomfort. After a moment's searching he withdrew a flashlight, the immediate area illuminating the instant that he flicked it on. Whilst that meant he could now see the girl's face, it also meant that she could now see the colour drain from his face as he realised the extent of the wound.
Her left shoe and sock, once white, had been stained a morbidly obvious shade of red that left Carlon in doubt as to the severity of the wound. Little wonder she was so drained having walked so far on such an injury. He nestled the flashlight awkwardly against the bag so that it angled its light directly at the current focus of attention, then his now free hands rummaged through the nearly empty bag. It had been a vain hope, but relief caught him in a rare moment of elation as he withdrew the first aid box from the bag.
It did not take long to open the kit, and only a few minutes of searching for Carlon to find everything he thought he might need to treat the injury, lying them all neatly across his own backpack in a neat little row. "Alex," he started, all too aware of the quiver that made his nervousness plain to hear, "I need to... you... it can't stay open."
His voice ended on a rasp, and Carlon gave up on words in favour of action. She had to know what he needed to do, he told himself as he gripped the hem of her jeans between shaking fingers, lifting a pair of scissors from the line of materials with his free hand. The material slid under his fingertips; Carlon did not need to look to know that he had her blood on his hands. If he did not do this, then her chances of leaving this barn – let alone the island – were slim.
He cut up past her ankle on both sides to halfway up her shin, jaw clenching and movements hesitating with every sound of pain that Alexandria could not keep inaudible. You did not do this to her. You're making it better. He set aside the scissors then rediscovered his slick grip on the jeans.
There was no trace of the smile that had been omnipresent before the island as he began to lift the fabric away from the wound, systematically folding it up and over the bloody mess that was hidden beneath. The coppery smell, which had until then only heightening his nausea, threatened to disorientate him completely. Carlon swallowed against the bile that rose through his throat, took a moment and prayed for strength. A few short words entered into his mind, the beginnings of a prayer that he had uttered every day and night since he had been small.
It calmed him to focus on his faith; to centre on the belief that had been nurtured throughout his entire life. He still felt sick and especially afraid of his own cowardice as he focused on the source of Alexandria's pain but doggedly determined in spite of that. He would not kill or maim, but he possessed evidence before his own eyes that others were quite willing to do just that. If she was – if they were both - going to stand a chance, then this had to happen quickly.
Carlon knew barely anything about medicine. He had antiseptic wipes, bandages, tape, and a bottle of water all laid out beside him – the very basics to treat and clean a wound, and although he had no idea if he was doing everything right, he felt better for doing something.
His ignorance of her sobs was not because he was heartless, but because he knew it would be impossible to continue if he acknowledged for a second that his actions were causing her to suffer so badly above him. He settled the thick wet material on the relatively clean section above it, and set his sights not on the task but on the end result. Making sure to remove the blood stained sock and sneaker, Carlon noted that they were not in a particularly wearable state after their trek with a freely bleeding wound, but reckoned that getting them sodden through in addition was only going to hinder, rather than help. The second water bottle was opened with one swift motion, and he used it sparingly, combined with as gentle a touch as he could manage, to rid the injured area of grime and dried blood. It was hard to stomach at first, but watching the water clean away the blood, revealing reddened but otherwise healthy skin around the-
That was when Carlon noticed the little puddle of water forming beneath Alexandria's leg, putting aside the bottle to examine as he picked up the antiseptic wipes instead. He reached a hand around the back of her ankle, flinching visibly at the tortured cry that resulted in him pressing a mere fingertip against the exit wound of the bullet. It had gone clean through he realised, the revelation conjured feelings of disgust and relief simultaneously. That hopefully meant that the wound would heal well, but it disturbed him to think as he dabbed at the wound's edges to ensure it was clean, of the damage that had been done. They all had only days to live if a rescue did not come and Alexandria could not even walk without support, let alone defend herself; not a great start.
Carlon discarded the few used wipes onto the floor nearby and tried for a smile as he addressed Alexandria, hands stained in her blood and not even halfway done. "Just a little bit longer," he reassured her, unrolling the sterile bandage and pressing its end against the side of her ankle, then tightly winding it around enough so that there was a bulge of fabric, tucking the end under and through to secure it.
Admittedly there were probably still half a dozen things wrong with Alexandria that Carlon had not even thought to check for, at least her injury was bandaged up and clean for now. Now all that remained to be done was to let her catch her breath and move on once she felt up to it; find someplace more secure – and preferably with a comfortable bed – where they both could get some well-earned sleep. Carlon, however, refused to stop for a moment, beginning to separate the used equipment from the reusable and beginning the process of organising his bags so that he had easier access to the supplies in future.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Imehal. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Pain.
That was what Alex knew right now.
She had no idea how much it had hurt until Carlon had started doing first aid. When they were walking, it hurt, certainly, but not like this when someone was actually touching it. It would sound a little melodramatic, but she never knew so much pain. As she waited for him to finish, she couldn't help but flinch a few times.
Flinching?
No, not just flinching.
Screaming.
She wanted it to stop soon. The pain was unbearable, as if her leg was threatening to break.
It only got worse when she looked down and saw for herself what her leg looked like. Everything below her ankle seemed to have been dyed red. Her shoe, her pantleg, her sock, everything.
So instead, as she sat she looked up, focusing on the ceiling a bit. It was dark, with a few cracks up. Alex, through the pain, noticed that there was a shining black hook, a few cobwebs, and a few holes.
Her eyes flicked above them as her vision slightly darkened, then went clear again. She was close to passing out from the pain, that she knew. She was dimly aware of her own cries, her own screams to for the pain to stop.
But it didn't.
As he said he was almost done, Alex continued staring up, watching nothing in particular. The sky was growing dark, and she was scared. When she first woke up, she thought she would live, as well as a good portion of her classmates. It wasn't just the pain she was scared of. It was an experience she didn't even focus on during the briefing.
But she was also scared of death. Of course, it was something she had been scared of to begin with, like everyone else. But this was the first time she wondered if she was going to die soon. If it wasn't the injury, it was something else.
She felt Carlon wrap up her leg, and once he was done Alex was dimly aware of him placing his things back in his bag. She looked at him, the draining bottle in her hands, the pain still resonating, her face still as pale as ever.
Only three words came out.
"Is... is it over?"
Maybe it was.
That was what Alex knew right now.
She had no idea how much it had hurt until Carlon had started doing first aid. When they were walking, it hurt, certainly, but not like this when someone was actually touching it. It would sound a little melodramatic, but she never knew so much pain. As she waited for him to finish, she couldn't help but flinch a few times.
Flinching?
No, not just flinching.
Screaming.
She wanted it to stop soon. The pain was unbearable, as if her leg was threatening to break.
It only got worse when she looked down and saw for herself what her leg looked like. Everything below her ankle seemed to have been dyed red. Her shoe, her pantleg, her sock, everything.
So instead, as she sat she looked up, focusing on the ceiling a bit. It was dark, with a few cracks up. Alex, through the pain, noticed that there was a shining black hook, a few cobwebs, and a few holes.
Her eyes flicked above them as her vision slightly darkened, then went clear again. She was close to passing out from the pain, that she knew. She was dimly aware of her own cries, her own screams to for the pain to stop.
But it didn't.
As he said he was almost done, Alex continued staring up, watching nothing in particular. The sky was growing dark, and she was scared. When she first woke up, she thought she would live, as well as a good portion of her classmates. It wasn't just the pain she was scared of. It was an experience she didn't even focus on during the briefing.
But she was also scared of death. Of course, it was something she had been scared of to begin with, like everyone else. But this was the first time she wondered if she was going to die soon. If it wasn't the injury, it was something else.
She felt Carlon wrap up her leg, and once he was done Alex was dimly aware of him placing his things back in his bag. She looked at him, the draining bottle in her hands, the pain still resonating, her face still as pale as ever.
Only three words came out.
"Is... is it over?"
Maybe it was.
The words were too loud in the silence, though the volume had been barely above a whisper. Carlon made no immediate reply, instead making a token effort to organise his bag into a semblance of order; all medical supplies, save a sheet of painkillers, were all repacked into the box, and the food and water were tucked inside his backpack, which he quickly shrugged back onto his shoulders. He had felt something hard and metallic in his blind foray into the duffel bag, but pushed aside any surfacing curiosity and zipped it closed. It was his weapon, that much Carlon could surmise, but he refused to even think about it beyond the fact that it was there in his bag.
Then the three little words that Alexandria had uttered came to the forefront, demanding acknowledgement. She meant the wound, and comforting words formed on his lips immediately, held at bay by logical denial. 'Yes, it's all bandaged up.' But it was not over. Tomorrow she would have to walk on that leg, and without the benefit of adrenaline rushing through her system making her ignorant to the worst of the pain. Tomorrow, she would have to get by on painkillers and her own strength alone. He would support her, and the idea of making her a crutch from the wood around the barn crossed his mind briefly, but ultimately she had only begun the healing process.
So that was not over, and to make matters worse, the words had opened avenues of thought and logical, troublesome, internal debates that he had just managed to keep locked down. Carlon swallowed the bile that rose immediately, feeling nauseous as he popped a few aspirin out of the packet he had left out, passing them up to Alexandria.
"Something to take the edge off the pain," Carlon explained quietly, needlessly, so desperate to not have to give an answer to the question that would keep him from sleeping tonight. It was kindness that had him wanting to tell her that everything was going to be alright, but it would do neither of them any good. Instead, he looked to logic where faith lacked answers. If the screams had not attracted anyone by now, chances are they would be safe here. With Alexandria needing to rest, Carlon found himself settling on a solution that solved her problems, even if it did not solve his.
"I think we should stay here for the night." It was more a gentle suggestion than an instruction. In just a few minutes he had gone from focused first aider to barely holding himself together, nearly undone by the thought of how much all this was very much not over. Carlon barely looked at her now, glancing about for long pieces of wood or long discarded tools that he could create a make-shift crutch for her from. It would be better than nothing and he cared little for being idle, especially when he knew he would be denied rest. "And tomorrow, if you want, we can stay together."
Then the three little words that Alexandria had uttered came to the forefront, demanding acknowledgement. She meant the wound, and comforting words formed on his lips immediately, held at bay by logical denial. 'Yes, it's all bandaged up.' But it was not over. Tomorrow she would have to walk on that leg, and without the benefit of adrenaline rushing through her system making her ignorant to the worst of the pain. Tomorrow, she would have to get by on painkillers and her own strength alone. He would support her, and the idea of making her a crutch from the wood around the barn crossed his mind briefly, but ultimately she had only begun the healing process.
So that was not over, and to make matters worse, the words had opened avenues of thought and logical, troublesome, internal debates that he had just managed to keep locked down. Carlon swallowed the bile that rose immediately, feeling nauseous as he popped a few aspirin out of the packet he had left out, passing them up to Alexandria.
"Something to take the edge off the pain," Carlon explained quietly, needlessly, so desperate to not have to give an answer to the question that would keep him from sleeping tonight. It was kindness that had him wanting to tell her that everything was going to be alright, but it would do neither of them any good. Instead, he looked to logic where faith lacked answers. If the screams had not attracted anyone by now, chances are they would be safe here. With Alexandria needing to rest, Carlon found himself settling on a solution that solved her problems, even if it did not solve his.
"I think we should stay here for the night." It was more a gentle suggestion than an instruction. In just a few minutes he had gone from focused first aider to barely holding himself together, nearly undone by the thought of how much all this was very much not over. Carlon barely looked at her now, glancing about for long pieces of wood or long discarded tools that he could create a make-shift crutch for her from. It would be better than nothing and he cared little for being idle, especially when he knew he would be denied rest. "And tomorrow, if you want, we can stay together."
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Imehal. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
((Getting us out of here because DZ's are terrible))
Carlon continued to put everything inside his bag, but he seemed to remain quiet. It was as if he didn't want to respond. Well, it wasn't over entirely. She still had to walk on that leg and she couldn't continue relying on Carlon forever.
Yes, even with the fear lingering in her mind, she still felt like she was capable of finding a way out. It was better for her to focus on her goal, now that she thought of it, than the setbacks. After all, this was just one setback, getting her leg injured.
But... she couldn't help but think of Daniel. Daniel didn't deserve any of that. It was one setback that was hard to ignore.
Carlon passed her a pill bottle, saying it was to take off the pain. Painkillers? Of course.
"Thank you", she said, her voice coming out hoarse.
It wasn't just for the pill bottle, of course. There was a lot to thank him for.
Alex slowly removed the cap off the bottle, and dispensed two pills into her waiting hand. After swallowing them both, Alex winced. It was a bit hard, even with the remaining water.
Spend the night here? Alex feebly nodded, her tired eyes still able to show agreement.
"Yes..."
Her head continued to nod. And they should stay together. It was kind of ideal at this point. She pursed her lips.
"Yes", she repeated.
She still wanted to find a way out. But first came rest. Alex could find a walking stick or something tomorrow. They could find a way to get something like that. There was still a way.
((Alex Ripley and Carlon Wheeler continued elsewhere))
Carlon continued to put everything inside his bag, but he seemed to remain quiet. It was as if he didn't want to respond. Well, it wasn't over entirely. She still had to walk on that leg and she couldn't continue relying on Carlon forever.
Yes, even with the fear lingering in her mind, she still felt like she was capable of finding a way out. It was better for her to focus on her goal, now that she thought of it, than the setbacks. After all, this was just one setback, getting her leg injured.
But... she couldn't help but think of Daniel. Daniel didn't deserve any of that. It was one setback that was hard to ignore.
Carlon passed her a pill bottle, saying it was to take off the pain. Painkillers? Of course.
"Thank you", she said, her voice coming out hoarse.
It wasn't just for the pill bottle, of course. There was a lot to thank him for.
Alex slowly removed the cap off the bottle, and dispensed two pills into her waiting hand. After swallowing them both, Alex winced. It was a bit hard, even with the remaining water.
Spend the night here? Alex feebly nodded, her tired eyes still able to show agreement.
"Yes..."
Her head continued to nod. And they should stay together. It was kind of ideal at this point. She pursed her lips.
"Yes", she repeated.
She still wanted to find a way out. But first came rest. Alex could find a walking stick or something tomorrow. They could find a way to get something like that. There was still a way.
((Alex Ripley and Carlon Wheeler continued elsewhere))