sixthiterationlogs | My tourniquet, return to me, salvation

Entry tags:

My tourniquet, return to me, salvation

WHO: Lucy Stillman
WHERE: Fountain, around the village, the Inn
WHEN: December 1, 3-4
OPEN TO: Fountain locked to Connor (Dec 1), OTA for village inn shenanigans (Dec 3-4)
WARNINGS: Lucy will be coming in with her injury. The internal damage won't be as fatal as it was canonically. Mentions of blood and swearing, I'll update for anything else that comes up throughout the threads

fountain; locked to connor
Watery tendrils of pale crimson and loosened blonde hair swam before her, hazed, as her eyes were slow to open, as if weighed down. The pain in her abdomen was like a dull pressure. Everything was so cold. It took her a moment before her eyes closed again and then reopened. The pressure had moved to her chest, her lungs protesting. There was no light, why? Where was she? Was this... As soon as she made the attempt to move, the pain shot straight through her. A watery gurgle followed, bubbles floating up in front of her face as her mouth fell open on the soundless cry. Her eyes widened then once she realized she couldn't breathe, that she was taking in water; the panic was pushing her through the agony each movement brought forth, turning her desperate.

Both hands pressed flat to the barrier in front of her to feel. It was cool to touch. The fluid within the tube halted her attempts to pound her palms against it properly. Shit. Frantically then: shitshitshitshitshit—

Suddenly, at the exact moment her body was beginning to curl in, a hand pressing to her right side, she was propelled upward, given a jarring push. She was no longer trapped in that tube. Blackness was creeping in from the sides. Lucy peered upward and saw the glint of a surface to whatever body of water she was floating in. Move. She almost had to think back on the swimming lessons she'd received as a child. Kick. One arm clawed above her head, reaching for that surface, her legs clumsily moving. Harder.

It felt like forever when her fingers finally and roughly met with the edge of something as soon as they broke the surface. She scrambled for a grip and used both hands to pull herself up, coughing violently to rid the water she'd swallowed. Hanging on for dear life, one-handed then, her other hand went back underneath to the injury that was turning the water crimson around her form. Blonde hair hung in her face, come undone from her time below, skin pale.

While she struggled to keep her grip steady and not let herself sink back down, Lucy closed her eyes and focused on the wheezy breaths she took, trembling from both the shock of the cold waters, adrenaline, and the loss of blood. "H—help—" the singular word was a like that of a faint plea, choked out with the hopes that someone would overhear her.

village things (inn); ota
With a few days of recuperation under her belt, her right side tended to since her arrival, Lucy was careful in making her way through the village to where the Inn sat. She made sure her steps and movements were slow, not wanting to disturb her healing injury. She didn't know or understand why she was here, all she could remember was the Temple, being with Shaun and Rebecca and...Desmond. Thinking about it twisted her expression into a grimace; thoughts of him were complicated, she only knew that he had been standing in front of her and she'd then felt a blade unexpectedly cut into her. Why?

Seated inside the Inn at a table off to the side, alone and dressed in teal scrubs, she kept an arm lowered to her lap while scrubbing her other hand over her face. Lucy had to resist applying pressure to the dressed wound hidden under her clothing, wincing when she shifted in her seat. She should get something to eat, still somewhat pale, it could help, however...

...who were all these people? None of them she recognized.

Lucy looked over to where the door was, thinking it might be better for her to step out for some air or better yet, return to the house she was staying at, when her eyes locked with someone.

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There was a lot to do in the village, Nida had learned that quite a bit in the little bit of time that he'd been here. One of the things, of course, was that people needed to help out. There were plenty of people who had skills you didn't have, or who needed what you could do. Granted Nida wasn't certain right now what exactly he could give. What he did know was that there was supposed to be a book in here, Rinoa mentioned it, that told you a lot about what had happened before. And that he intended to look into.

Which was why he was coming into the inn that afternoon. More than that, though, he hadn't planned.

It's training, it's habit, and maybe a measure of caution because he doesn't know much of anyone, that gets him to look around when he enters. His eyes meet those of a woman across the room.

"Afternoon," he waved as he closed the door behind him. Better not to let too much cold in.

If she hadn't chosen one of the seats closest to the wall, Lucy would've looked behind her to see who they were speaking to. Or perhaps he'd been speaking out to everyone currently occupying the Inn. "Good afternoon," she responded after a moment, nodding to him, her voice still a little hoarse from how she'd arrived.

She was grateful that he'd been quick to close the door, feeling a shiver pass down her spine. Absently she rubbed at her arm, at the goosebumps.

Well, she was the one to meet his gaze, was it really that hard to believe he'd greet her? Perhaps she was looking at him strange because she noticed he was new to this place. After all, people seemed kind enough, welcomed him readily. Even the one whose house had been reduced to little more than embers. For a moment Nida considered the room, decided there was no one else who would be particularly offended if he went and talked to the woman, then crossed through the room to her spot.

"Sorry about the cold. No way around that. Pretty much killing me too."

Lucy had been looking for a way out and he'd come in to block it. Part of her had hoped that he wouldn't cross the room to her table. Ah, but there he was and she was lifting her eyes, a smile forced despite the tiredness she was feeling. "Definitely no way around it. The last place I'd been, it had been a little cold. Though, nothing like this."

A gesture to one of the empty seats. "Sit? I've been here for ten minutes by myself and was ready to leave," she admitted, "but now that I have company... Sorry, I'm a little new, here. I'm Lucy."

"I was in a desert in the heat of spring until a few days ago," Nida admitted. This was a bit more than jarring.

The chair offered he perched lightly on it. Given a previous run in with the ice mice that had been running around the village, Nida had made his mind up not to settle too much. He wanted to be able to move if one decided to make for his toes again. He was a bit attached to them, and didn't want them frozen. Clearly he too was a cautious sort of guy, or at least he was right at the moment.

"Nida," he offered his name along with his hand. "If you've got somewhere to be, don't let me hold you back."

Hawke was packing the last of her things up. It was odd, picking a house when her room was fine, but she was starting to like her space. She didn't have much to pack, so it was the arrows that were the last to go. She had quite an impressive stockpile going since it's what she was doing with her hands most days, when she wasn't scouting or hunting. Her bow was at the house though, so really she was just coming out of the inn with a big sling of crudely but expertly cut arrows swung precariously over her shoulder.

She was used to seeing people she didn't know at the inn; that's where everyone ended up eventually. Sharp eyes were in the midst of giving the woman a quick look over when Lucy looked over and caught her gaze. Hawke's smile was immediate, far warmer and inviting than the dark gaze had just been. But she was a trained mercenary. It's always best to get a good look at someone before taking the next step.

"Hello there!" Her accent sounded British to people from Earth, but it was a particular dialect from home instead. For whatever reason these things seemed to carry over. Hawke checked to see what was available today in the kitchen; ah, they still had plenty of meat from the last hunt, but she would have to go out again at some point. "Welcome to the neighborhood. I'm guessing welcome, since I know most people here, outside of a few straggler." Hawke made it her business to know people. And where they lived. It was mostly well meant.

"I'm Hawke, with an e at the end, resident hunter."

"Italy, Rome. Not so much a desert. It was more underground, at the time." Still jarring, nonetheless, she could agree with that.

Lucy reached to take his hand, flinching briefly at the discomfort the movement caused. She gave a squeeze and slowly eased back. "Nice to meet you. And no, I've really nowhere else to be. I'm still trying to figure this place out. Mostly I'm trying to figure out why they don't serve any alcohol."

Italy, Rome. Clearly that meant something. More than that, if this woman had been spoken with like he had, she assumed that the location meant something to him, that it was just ubiquitous. Or maybe a lot of the people here came from the same world and so it should mean something. Not to him, though. But that could be for later. It's a nice sounding name for a city, Italy.

"To serve alcohol they would have had to make alcohol," Nida pointed out. "Wouldn't grapes for wine be better used for jellies? And potatoes for frying and stuff like that than for vodka?"

Poor kid didn't even know there was a difference between wine grapes and jelly grapes.

Nothing here was as it should have been.

No matter how much time he spent exploring the area surrounding the south village, he just couldn't get a handle on any of it. None of the plants looked familiar, and none of the animals he had accidentally run into were as they should be. Perhaps it was a side effect of being suddenly transported to the other side of the country - a country which wasn't even as he remembered it. While most of him was delighted that the fledging little colonies he had fought to free had expanded so much, the rest of him wondered at the cost that had come along with the spread. How many of the native tribes had been displaced? How far west had they been forced? Was there even any 'west' left for them to move to?

It was so easy to become lost and wrapped up in these thoughts, to let them consume him as he moved around the small park near the fountain proper, searching for a piece of wood that would be suited for forming a bow. There was nothing but smaller twigs surrounding the edges - but he carefully collected those that were straight enough with the intent of making them into arrows. He had just begun to move deeper into the clumps of trees and away from the arrival point when he heard the sound of water moving, splashing against the stone in a now familiar way. Movements stilling, he simply listened for a moment, thinking perhaps he had been wrong, that perhaps it was an animal for something similar.

Only to hear a faint, thin voice call out for help.

Pile of carefully collected sticks forgotten on the ground, he moved towards the sound, ran the short distance between where he had heard it and the source. Only to find her, laying in water that was quickly turning a deep crimson, one hand barely clinging to the edge while another went to the wound that was currently leaking all of that blood.

"Hold on." Quickly spoken words of warning as he reached into the water, carefully placing his hands beneath her arms, around her ribs and began to haul her upwards. Water soaked through the thin scrubs she wore and tried to weigh her down, but he lifted her easily as if she was little more than a feather. Climbing and fighting since an early age had granted him strength, muscles flexing as he got her onto her feet, only leaving her to balance on them for the briefest of moments before one arm went beneath her upper back and the other beneath the bend of her knees, lifting her into his arms, attempting to be mindful of the injury that was now more than apparent on her abdomen.

There were benches nearby, and while they were less than ideal or comfortable, they were his current goal. It would at the very least allow him to access her current state, to see if it were something he might be able to take care of himself or if she would need to be taken to the hospital.

"Trying," she managed to answer through grit teeth. She'd been on the last thread of strength by the time someone had thankfully heard and answered her, ready to let herself slip under. The grip the man had was strong but gentle, it still jarred her injury and Lucy barely caught the sharp, broken moan in time, biting it back. She barely heard the cascade of water slipping off of her as she was pulled out of the fountain and her feet met the ground.

Thank god he was quick, whoever he was, lifting her up, or else she would've dropped like a dead weight and crumpled. Unconsciousness was threatening to come and go. An attempt to ground herself to the present and to him was made as her hand reached to weakly twist in the front of what he wore, her breathing ragged, until they reached the benches.

"It's bad, isn't it." It had to be, and that was why Lucy hadn't formed the words in a question. From feeling it, she knew. An Assassin's blade would go in smooth, clean. There wouldn't be a jagged edge to the torn skin. She just didn't know how deep the cut was.

All she knew was that when she glanced down and saw the watery blood seeping between her fingers when she applied pressure, teal scrubs stained a red-brown, it wasn't good.

"Ah, thanks...? I'm guessing it's that obvious." A British sounding accent, interesting. It reminded Lucy of Shaun, and that left a small pang in her chest for the British historian. Where were they, she had to wonder. Were they all okay? Was he okay?

Lucy tilted her head. "Hawke with an 'e' at the end. That's different. I'm Lucy. You're a hunter here?" She should've guessed, what with the sling of arrows at the woman's shoulder.

"There's a different process involved between using grapes for wine and jellies. Though, I'm more of a strawberry jam kind of girl." She gave a small dismissive wave then. "Sorry, I had a bit of rough time getting in. I'm still trying to make sense of everything. Does this place have some kind of a menu?"

Lucy wasn't sure what standing and walking would feel like after she'd been seated for all this time. Did she ask someone for one? She probably shouldn't have left the house she'd been resting at, should've stayed inside.

Strawberry jam? Nida shivered at the thought and scratched at his arms. "I'll pass. I'm allergic to strawberries. More of a blackberry guy myself. And you don't have to apologize. I haven't made sense of much myself yet."

Menu? Well, Nida was a bit shocked she didn't know.

"This isn't a restaurant, Lucy. There's a kitchen. People work together to cook there. Apparently there is rationing going on, makes sense given the time of year. Anyway they make meals for certain times of the day and you can eat then. But if you need something now we might be able to find something in the kitchen. There might be some soup left from lunch."

There was a lot she was going to have to learn about here, but Nida was in the same hole as she was here, only maybe an inch shallower. A hole of not knowing things. Damn.

Coming in from a trip scouting for the zalpacas she and Ty want, Ashley is desperate for a bowl of whatever is hot and a long break of sitting doing nothing. Which will likely result in scarfing down her food and getting distracted by others and finding herself doing something else exciting and needed.

Pausing at the door to warm a bit, even the jeans and boots she wore with a black and white zebra print Slanket turned "motorcycle" jacket hadn't done enough to keep her warm. Tugging off her leather gloves, someone she hasn't seen before catches her eyes. Someone that doesn't look all around great. Best that Ashley knew, most were getting better from that weird illness that went around, but maybe it's coming back?

It's not a reassuring thought, and she crosses to where the woman is seated, offering a bit of a smile. "Hey, you doing okay?" She glances around for one of the doctors she met during the illness. Where is Ty when she needs him? "I can find a medical professional if you need help."

Her words were a statement, not a question as if she was already sure of exactly how grievous the injury actually was. That hand twisted into the front of black scrubs, now soaked through to the skin with a mixture of icy water and thick, quickly flowing blood. If it wasn't for their dark color they would likely be completely ruined after this, instead of simply being in need of a good launder and some attention.

Keeping each movement as gentle as possible while still moving with the quickness and urgency the situation called for was difficult, but he lowered her onto the nearest bench with as much care as he could muster, easing her down flat as he sank onto his knees.

Lifting the shirt of her scrubs was done largely without thinking, although he was mindful to only lift them so far, exposing only her abdomen to his sight. She had been entirely correct - the wound was indeed bad, deep and oozing blood. But the lines were clean instead of jagged and torn, and when his fingers moved against it he could feel that it was more of a gash than an actual stabbing wound.

Still, he could not help but wonder how she had come by it. But that was a question that could wait.

"It is deep and will need to be stitched." That, at least, he knew how to do.

Laying straightened out on the cold bench only added to her agony. She wanted nothing more than to curl into a fetal position and keep a steady pressure going until sweet, sweet unconsciousness took her again. The man with her was being so careful, largely aware of the differences in size between them both. That was great, but Lucy wanted this over and done with.

Once the teal scrubs were lifted and her midriff exposed her stomach dipped and shook with each breath to fought to get under control, teeth chattering, everything soaked in water and blood. It was a mistake to try and look down, a pained moan caught low in her chest at the sight. She was going to be sick, she could feel it, acid at the back of her throat. It wasn’t helping either in the slightest, his fingers feeling out the cut.

“O—oh. Perfect. Just what I wanted to hear.” The bite behind the commentary wasn’t exactly lacking, her irritation trickling through. A hint of fear of what this could mean. Could she trust him? “So, you just walk around with a sewing kit? You actually know how to thread a needle?”

Edited 2018-12-05 00:12 (UTC)

"It's obvious when you've been here a bit, yeah. Plus I'm irritatingly friendly, as you can already tell, so I know most people on sight." Hawke didn't bother being anyone other than herself. Any time she promised to tone down the friendliness or chattering was a flat out lie. She walked over to where Lucy was and set the arrows down to the side, the movement practiced. She took a seat across from her, dark gaze warm.

"Yep, we all need to eat, especially with winter coming. I take people out and train them regularly, can't always be sure how long you'll be here. Some people have been for years, some people only for a few months." The way she talked was very matter of fact, and for all her words they weren't strung together too quickly to follow. "I'm relatively new myself and hoping this'll be a long term plan for me, but I suppose we'll see." Hawke tapped her fingers on the top of the table. "You have any questions?"

That was a travesty, being allergic to strawberries.

"I think I'll have to keep you around for a little while longer, Nida, you sound like you know this place better than I ever could." Her smile was tired but pleasant. She took no offense to being told how things went.

"Woah," Nida cut in, raising his hands in front of him as if to ward off the statement. No, that is not exactly right. I've been around for two days. Nowhere near aware of things yet. He's learning. Just does research quickly.

"There's... well, the place pretty much outlines itself. People are willing to tell you things. They're friendly here."

Lucy, you are exceptionally, extremely lucky that he is not the type to simply leave you here broken and bleeding and actually appreciates that level of sass you're currently giving off. Most impressive. Ten out of ten stars.

"Do you have a better idea?" Leave it to Connor to sass right back in a situation such as this.

But that did not change the fact that she was still bleeding at a rather rapid pace and he was currently without much at all to try and stop it. Placing his hand against the wound, he pressed against it with as much pressure as possible, hoping to staunch off the bleeding and provide a moment of relief from the pain she must be feeling.

"I have done such things before. It will be alright."

"I'll do my research, don't worry. I always do." She paused, glancing across to where the kitchen was, and then was looking back over to him. "Do you think you could...do me a favor? I need a little help..."

She should be striving for twelve out of ten stars. She'll need to work on that.

"Sorry, I can't quite think up a better idea when I'm seconds away from dumping a bunch of fountain water in your lap." No, seriously, she was going to be real sick if he didn't stop playing with her injury.

Oh great, he was pressing down on it now and she was letting a broken sob escape, the tendons in her neck straining against the skin as she grit her teeth hard and tipped her head back on the bench, face scrunched in pain. Fuck. Fuck, no really, that hurt. A lot.

"Less—less talking. More sew—sewing."

Sorry he's trying to do this properly and not some hack job that would leave the wound infected and in need of further care. Next time he'll just stick some duct tape on it and call it good.

"If you must be sick, then it is best to do it on the ground." Seriously, Lucy, it's bad enough that he already has your blood all over him already. He does not need your vomit as well.

Thankfully she had arrived with the same pack as he had, and he moved away from her quickly to retrieve it, returning only a few moments later, already digging through the contents in an attempt to find something that might work as a bandage. A set of flannels, overhauls, underwear. Finally near the bottom he recovered a set of socks, quickly tugging them out, folding one in half and pressing into the wound. Taking her hand, he placed it over the makeshift dressing, before shoving everything back into the bag, slinging it over his shoulder before pushing himself upwards to stand.

"You must keep pressure on the wound. We will need to go to the house where I am staying." And then, without further delay, he placed once arm beneath her legs, the other around her back and lifted, just as quickly and easily as before, turning in the direction he intended to go.

“Didn’t realize I had your permiss—” Aaannnnnnd there it was, fountain water splattering against the ground, her body twisting slightly as her stomach heaved more than once. Lucy coughed through the rest of it, spit, and dropped an arm over her eyes on a pathetic little moan. She still felt unsteady, nauseous, her insides knotted and rocking like a dock over waves. Good thing he wasn’t there to get any back-splash.

Distantly she heard his returning footsteps, heavy as they were quick. She barely peeked up at him, and it was as he got the sock folded and packed into the wound, that her cry broke through the air and carried. Pained sobs of breath followed, her hand guided by his to press to the sock half soaked in blood. The bench left her back. Again she was being lifted. She barely heard a word he was saying, his voice distant, muffled sounding.

“I can’t...” Words faded out. What was he saying? What was she trying to say? It didn’t matter. Unconsciousness came swift and sure, taking her under, and blissfully so leaving her like a dead weight in his arms.

When she looked, his eyes followed. Which meant he was already standing before she even got to the word favor. "Soup work? I can get you a bowl. Don't know what sort of hot drinks they might have, but at the very least I can get you water."

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My tourniquet, return to me, salvation

Village Inn | Dec 3rd

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Inn

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Fountain;

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The Inn

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