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Post by Electric Revenge on Aug 9, 2012 1:40:26 GMT -5
*I rush to Arson's side as soon as I hear her say my name.* I'm right here, Arson. Back's a little sore, but I'm fine. *Now that we're back in the underground plane, the adrenaline is wearing off. Pain is tingling in my nerves now, especially near where I was shot. I can't help but feel pathetic at not being able to do anything with this situation. It's been a long time since I've felt like this, and I don't like it at all. But I swallow the surging anger and uncertainty inside as I hold onto Arson's hand, hoping it's giving her some kind of comfort as she lays there in pain.*
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Post by Funhouse Gear on Aug 9, 2012 18:08:30 GMT -5
((Probably overkill, but since we have newcomers to the forum I'll go ahead and say it - writing partially for Arson because she's my character))
*I step back slightly when we get the makeshift stretcher settled, and give Electric room. Arson doesn't answer her, but I know she heard and she doesn't try to pull her hand away. Jump's awake - thank god for that - but he's still in bad shape. I hope PB can manage...*
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Post by jumpstart on Aug 12, 2012 21:58:16 GMT -5
*I talk (ok, Argue) with PB for a good two minutes before he agrees to pick me up and take me over to Arson. I assure him that my temporarily burned and bloodied chest is up to the task and don't even have to go into the 'I have a duty as a doctor' speech. A shame, I really shine when I get a good passionate speech going*
*Pain rips through my lower abdomen as PB picks be up and I have to wait for the stars to clear from my eyes before I can spot my med-pack. Poison brings it over to Arson on my direction while Gear gets our approximation of clean water and dressings. After about ten minutes painful adjusting PB gets me propped up on a chair. He has to hold my upper torso to keep me from crumpling in on myself, but all in all the setup is better than I expected*
*I begin Arson's examination, pausing to rest every five minutes or so. Her eyes are glazed with pain and confused, but I am relieved when I find all her major organs and limbs intact. The wounds are very numerous, but they are all superficial...the work of a professional. I move to her throat, which is exploding into an impressive multilayered bruised comprised of all of the darker shades of the rainbow. Physically, this will be the hardest wound to recover from*
"It's Arson's mental state, however, that I am more concerned about. It's obvious she's been tortured and she barely responds to my (admittedly weak) calls. I look to the others, wondering if any of them can reach her*
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Post by Funhouse Gear on Aug 12, 2012 23:32:54 GMT -5
*I watch as Jump works, my expression blank. Our bandages are limited, the few we have left often having been washed and reused. He can only afford to cover the worst of the cuts, and although it's good to see the blood wiped away, I feel an almost physical pain when I see the sheer numbers of angry red marks. When Jump catches my eye, I set down the canteen I'd been holding, and kneel down next to Arson. Her eyes flicker to me and then away again when I put my hand on the side of her face, careful not to touch her neck.* Arson? Can you look at me, please? I need you to tell me if you can see me, and how you're feeling.
*She doesn't say anything, though I see her hand tighten on Electric's.* I know it hurts, Arson, but it's important. Please?
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Post by Arson Anthem on Aug 12, 2012 23:48:21 GMT -5
*Staring at the ceiling. There are clouds there, red clouds of rust blooming across the metal. I like them because I can get lost in them. I look for shapes, follow creeping tendrils, wonder how it got there when there's so little water to be had. I do my best to ignore the voices around me, mostly because they break my concentration but also because a few minutes ago I thought I heard Captain instead of Jump. It was just once, but I don't want a repeat.*
*Gear's voice is insistent, though, and I finally work up the nerve to look away from the rust. His face is calm but his eyes aren't, and the fear I see in them somehow dampens my own, just a little.* I see you, *I whisper, then glance over a bit farther.* And I see Jump. Throat's worst.
*The simple motion of turning my head made me a bit unsteady, and I close my eyes - just for a moment, I tell myself.* Dizzy...
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Post by petroleumblaster on Aug 13, 2012 0:09:19 GMT -5
*I sigh a bit as Arson says something and moves a bit. Jump automatically begins checking her eyes, looking for head trauma. My relief is twofold. Not only is Arson alright for now, it means Jumps can rest again soon. I can feel his bandages soaking through and he's having to rest after shorter intervals. It doesn't take a twin to figure out his current state*
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Post by Arson Anthem on Aug 18, 2012 9:49:32 GMT -5
(time jump! Writing partially for PB and J, with permission)
*As the days pass, I come back to myself. The pain's still bad - no matter what position I'm in, I'm putting pressure on one set of cuts or another, and every time I bend my arms or legs or whatnot I tear scabs open again. The discomfort of my neck is more constant, which makes it easier to ignore. As long as it's all physical, though, I can deal with it. I've had laser shots, road burn, a broken arm... I'm used to it. The mental bits - those parts I can't face, so I don't. That's all there is to it.*
*Jump gets better too, slowly but surely. It helps that Captain used methods on me that are easily treated, so I can take care of myself by the second day, once I've started catching up on my blood supply. I still get dizzy easily, but it's manageable. PB's even starting to relax, which is a good sign; by the end of the week he's helping Jump walk around the inside of the plane. We're pretty much out of med supplies, but at least we're not in danger of losing our medic.*
*Now, of course, as food and water start to run low, we're all putting off asking the next question: what now? Jump's still not fit to travel, not for another week at least. I haven't seen Max in days, but I'd bet he's itching to split with the group. And where would we go?*
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Post by Max Griffiths on Sept 14, 2012 22:46:12 GMT -5
*I sit on an overturned oil barrel, on the opposite side of the airport. The minutes tick by. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. The shadows move imperceptibly across the dry ground. Then, movement - the barest shifting, one earth tone against another - but it's enough for me. My gun's already in my hand, so it's an easy thing to adjust my aim and pull the trigger. Less than two minutes later I've found a new perch in the shade several hundred yards away, the lizard I'd just fried joining the two others I've caught so far today. I'll keep one for myself and leave the others by the buried plane for the killjoys, like I've been doing for a while now.*
*Red's disappointed in my seclusion, I know. I've seen her a few times, but mostly she stays with the others, and I have no desire to do the same. I contemplate leaving, while I watch the desert for prey. Just walking away. I can keep myself alive out there better than most. Defense isn't an issue. But I stay where I am, because I know Red would want me to. I stay where I am, and I watch the desert.*
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Post by redhavoc on Sept 15, 2012 0:15:42 GMT -5
*I stay close to Arson, but not too close, letting the killjoys heal her as best they can. I spend the week strengthening my body and cleaning all the weapons I can get a hold of. It's automatic and calming, exactly what I need. Max stays outside for the most part. We periodically sit in our own comfortable silence. For us, the silence is as familiar as a house you grew up in or an old friend. I know Max and I have more to talk about, but not yet*
*As Arson start to move more I stay on the periphery. She's distraught, vacant, and not really the same person. Neither is Gear, for that matter, as he takes care of her. He seems more serious, strained*
*Electric, on the other hand, seems to have an amazing amount of energy. She even spars with me a bit in the middle of the week and that's when I decide I like her*.
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Post by Arson Anthem on Sept 15, 2012 0:31:02 GMT -5
*I'm sitting in the doorway of the tunnel down into the base on the 8th day back, doing nothing in particular. Everything's quiet, and when I see Red appear around a nearby corner I wave at her, glad for the company. I've gotten good at not thinking - a sort of meditation, I guess - but conversation wouldn't be amiss. Gear's gone for the afternoon, off scouting for supplies or anything worth warning us about. Weather, patrols, that sort of thing.* Anything interesting going on? *I call over, staying seated where I am.*
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Post by redhavoc on Sept 15, 2012 0:39:58 GMT -5
*I start when I realize Arson is talking at me. I shrug and go to sit by Arson, pulling out my polished and oiled blaster to show her, as it is kind of the highlight of my week. As soon as I sit I think of something and hold up a finger. I bound to my little sleeping area and back, enjoying the feeling of movement again after being so sick and weak for so long*
*I come back with my prize and hold out Arson's jacket, grinning a little. I even managed to get out most of the blood*
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Post by Electric Revenge on Sept 15, 2012 0:46:24 GMT -5
*The next days are slow, low-key. With Arson healing from her wounds, there's no point in trying to find a new safe house. Supplies are running low, and we are in no shape to even think about finding goods.
*I tend to fall in a regular routine during times like these. Yoga stretches that Neon taught me are the first thing I do at sunrise, which for the most part is helping out the sore nerves in my back after getting shot (as well as keep me limber). Then it's usually sparring, with either myself, or with Red a few days later. She's a pretty talented fighter, but I guess that's comes with any ex-Drac. I do wish she would talk though, but I guess that's a part of her history I'll probably never know, unless she wants to tell me eventually.
*Otherwise, most of the rest of the day I seem like I'm the one trying to cheer up our downtrodden group. I guess I'm good at that. I seem to always have a story to tell of my last group's adventures and misfortunes, or have someone listen to a piece of music that I have in my lackluster collection. It's starting to wear on me though. I keep finding myself eyeing my radio, thinking about calling the big brother to help. Even if he could, he and the guys are days away, and that's if everything would work perfectly. I don't know. I'm old enough to be on my own. That's why I set off alone in the first place. But I don't know if things are going to get worse, and I'd rather warn him before it's too late.*
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Post by Arson Anthem on Sept 15, 2012 0:46:53 GMT -5
*I smile at the pride with which she holds out the gun, and turn it over in my hands as she runs off again. I've missed her silent enthusiasm lately. My smile slips when she brings back the jacket, though, and the canvas feels cold when I take it from her. I touch one of the faint stains, and for one too-long second I can't pull my finger away. But the moment passes, and I thank her for it and set the jacket aside.* I guess we're even now, huh? I found you your clothes at the theater, and you rescued my jacket for me.
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Post by redhavoc on Sept 15, 2012 0:57:16 GMT -5
*I shrug again, a bit dismayed that Arson doesn't seem happier to receive her jacket. Maybe I'm nervous to be around someone whom I usually depend on to lead me, but now seems so lost. I sit again, but I can't stay still, I just look from the jacket to Arson. Finally, I get up again and find my journal and a pen*
//You've changed// *I write* //You can't let one event change you. I- I want Strong-Arson back. Tell me what to do//
*I hand her the book, not sure what I even meant*
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Post by Arson Anthem on Sept 15, 2012 1:06:58 GMT -5
*I shake my head, more in denial of her words than in a refusal to answer them.* I'm fine, I promise. Just tired, is all. *Her expression doesn't change, though, and I rub the back of my head, my eyes drawn back to the page. She wants 'strong Arson' back, she says... but I /am/ strong, aren't I? Maybe not so much lately, but... I force a smile, and ruffle Red's hair.* You worry too much. I'm okay.
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