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over our lover's rendezvous / dual-joining - BUBONICPLAGUE - 08-11-2018
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; padding: 10px; height: auto; overflow: auto;"][div style="width: 400px; padding: 0px; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica;"]/ most of this is just rambling, only the last paragraphs really matter! summary at the end
how long had it been?
how long had it been since he had held them in his arms? felt their lips on his, fingers entwined? too long. years had passed since the day he lost them in that warehouse. gunshots bursting his eardrums, bullets slicing through the surface of his skin. he wasn't terribly injured, only skimmed by the metal, but his body ached. next to him, his husband, fighting at his side. deep down he knew; there was no way they were getting out of this alive. outnumbered, disoriented, both of them already beaten and broken. mafia fights never did turn out well.
in the midst of the firing, a cry of pain, and then a thump. they dropped to the ground, blood seeping into a puddle within moments. though he wasn't hit, he went down with them, grasping at their limbs and pressing on the wounds, trying desperately to keep them alive.
it wasn't enough.
"go," they whispered. "i won't make it. go." tears had pricked at his eyes, rolled down his cheeks. his husband, bleeding out, dying beneath him and there was nothing he could do. sightless eyes lingered on them for what seemed like forever, only snapping out of it when a bullet skimmed just over their hiding place, breaking the window above. in all his reluctance and regret, he leaned down, sobbing as they kissed for the last time, covered in glass and their own blood.
and he left them.
for every year that passed, he added another scar to his body. intentional or not; whether it be a slip of the hand, or perhaps willingly inflicted, another scar always appeared. a punishment to himself, for leaving them there alone, waiting to die either from loss of blood or a bullet in the forehead by one of the brutes that had attacked the two. five years. five years it had been without lirim, alone in his home, rotting away just about as quickly as an ageless demon could. he had found little things to keep going. a giant mastiff had knocked him over on the sidewalk one day, starving and dehydrated, and he took it in. named the beast belial for the fun of it, and though their time together was short-lived, he grew to love the dog.
meaningless tasks to keep him busy. modeling jobs despite not even knowing what he looked like, spending his time drunk and alone in bars with the occasional flirt of some teen who wanted a sugar daddy (he turned them down every time). in short, he was losing touch. he resigned his position with the mafia, and simply went to rot in his condo.
perhaps whatever god ruled over this world took pity on him.
not very much, it seemed, considering the state of lirim on some empty road by the ocean. bo was far outside the city, been walking for hours, when he stumbled upon them, sitting on the asphalt, spitting blood and drenched in it. at first, he hadn't believed it. of course not; he was blind, relying on his senses, believing this to only be one unlucky bastard until he'd heard their voice. heard them utter his name, cough up more blood, and try again.
he rushed to their side, brushed his fingers over their bloody face, confirmed it was lirim. the state of them sent him into panic. his home was hours away. they would never make it. bo curled his arms beneath their body and pulled them into his arms, flush against his body, and took a chance with walking in the same direction. he didn't know where the road went, didn't have any idea where the closest hospital was. hell, if he needed to, he'd go old style and run into the woods for herb remedies. at this point, with their wounds, that wasn't much of an option. he needed to find someone.
bo whispered comforting words to them as he walked, gripping them tighter and tighter as time went on. twenty minutes down the road, and he began yelling for help, straining his voice, trying to get someone's attention. somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered hearing about a supposedly abandoned town a while outside the city from some tourists. though he had no idea if he was going the right way, it was worth a try. even if the town really was empty, there must be tourists. he would take his chances.
another howl for help, followed by a broken sob. "hang in there," the man choked to his husband, hugging their limp body closer to his chest. "i can't lose you again."
/ tl;dr: bo found his husband nearly dead on a road outside the town and is carrying them in the general direction of san creado, yelling for help
pls don't reply until [member=1844]lirim[/member] does!! ♥
Re: over our lover's rendezvous / dual-joining - adomania - 08-11-2018
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"]Five years.
Time was nothing more than a speck to them, each year passing by scarcely slower than a minute. Thousands of years had passed by in terms of the mortal realm when they had started to exist as a sentient, physical being. Millions had passed in their intangible state. Five years was nothing, had been nothing to them for the longest of times...
They never expected five years to go by so painstakingly slow, each second passing like molasses as they searched and searched and searched for something they had lost the hope they would ever find. Time was nothing to them, never had been and most likely never again would be... but during those five years it had been everything. Each second was counted, each day marked down as another that they could not find Bo in. They had been in the hospital for one year, searching for the remaining four, and although their better judgement told them that Bubs was surely dead... they couldn't believe it. They wouldn't believe it.
So for years they continued, dropping their spot as one of the most feared Yakuza leaders across the nation to make way for a never ending search. They had taken on many odd jobs, their amassed fortune keeping them alive... and eventually, one day, all of their time had amounted into something worthwhile. A hint. A subtle whisper of the former mafia boss still living, existing among others almost like a cryptid, there but unseen unless he wished to be. It had been enough for them. It had been more than enough, and before they had even considered the idea that it was a trap they were on the run once more, trying to find that which they had lost.
The world was no merciful place, however. It had been a trap, no matter how much truth there was to it, and it had taken all the strength that they had to kill those who had come after them. They were not the same as they had been once, their strength all but gone due to days spent unable to take care of themselves while thinking of nothing but Bo.
But he had arrived. He had been there, had managed to find them... and this time, he could do something to save them.
If someone found them fast enough. Lirim knew the taste and smell and sensation of death; they had felt it once before, and this was nothing new to them. But they had lost the will to cry, to try and do anything more than allow themselves to be dragged along, just vaguely able to register their husband's frantic cries for help. Their eyes were already closing, the blood slowing down to a trickle not because it was clogging but because they had little of it left to spare.
They could do nothing but strain upwards, hoping that, if they were to die, that at least they could give Bo one last kiss. But the energy to do so wasn't there, and all they managed to do was lose more blood as they struggled to lean upwards.
Re: over our lover's rendezvous / dual-joining - PEREGRINE - 08-13-2018
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//could i have the specifics of the injuries?
+sorry if this is awful i'm half asleep
Pip had never cared about someone so fiercely as to punish himself for losing them, or as to painstakingly check every puddle for ripples they might have left behind. He wasn't embarrassed by the reality that he'd never so much as gone on a date with another person, because while he understood the dependence, the chemical pull of loving someone, he had spent his life working for one purpose, guided by his parents to remain on the path. Never once did he consider how they raised him as choosing his future for him; if he wanted to do something else, he would, but helping people was- for Pip, there was nothing better than that. Maybe he'd never kissed anyone, though that didn't mean he was inexperienced with the concept of devotion, because there was always that moment after a diagnosis or surgery when the loved one -or ones- waited with such profoundly desperate hope in their gazes that took Pip's breath away. He saw many shades of love enter and exit the Cookes' home clinic, from married couples of decades who'd weathered many storms already to a parent and their child standing as steadfast as they could.
He saw tears of relief and tears of grief, and the loyalty -the ability of a person to invest themselves so absolutely in another- never failed to send Pip reeling a bit. He loved helping people, because death was not isolated to the deceased, which was the reason Pip left home in the first place. It was a bit difficult to lend a hand when he waited for patients to come to the clinic, aside from the occasional house-calls when someone couldn't make it that far. Coming out here brought him into contact with more people, allowed him to help so many, even though a few were wary to trust someone as young as he was. Pip couldn't exactly find the time to prove he'd been in scrubs since he was a toddler.
Situations like these were the ones wherein they were either too worried to ask or too worried to not ask. Pip wasn't certain which way it would go, but nothing like that would keep him from offering assistance however he could, so when he heard shouting, when he saw a stranger carrying a bloodied body in his arms, he didn't hesitate. It didn't matter that they weren't officially part of San Creado- Pip himself had only been here a week or so.
The man was...very tall, but Pip didn't balk. It was a moment later for him to realize that he was also blind, and if he hadn't gone into rational mode, his heart might have ached with how much the pair treasured each other. "I can help you, sir, but you'll need to set them down for me so I can assess the damage. I can show you where." From what he could see, there was blood around the weakening stranger's mouth, which did not bode well if this did not proceed quickly. If it was a lung puncture, he could set up an air drainage system, although it was not the only potential cause; trauma to other organs could very well result in coughing up blood, and he couldn't know until he was able to have a look at them. "Around eight smaller steps to your right is the sidewalk. You can set them down there."
[div style="width: 507px; text-align: justify; line-height: 1.1"]+sorry if this is awful i'm half asleep
Pip had never cared about someone so fiercely as to punish himself for losing them, or as to painstakingly check every puddle for ripples they might have left behind. He wasn't embarrassed by the reality that he'd never so much as gone on a date with another person, because while he understood the dependence, the chemical pull of loving someone, he had spent his life working for one purpose, guided by his parents to remain on the path. Never once did he consider how they raised him as choosing his future for him; if he wanted to do something else, he would, but helping people was- for Pip, there was nothing better than that. Maybe he'd never kissed anyone, though that didn't mean he was inexperienced with the concept of devotion, because there was always that moment after a diagnosis or surgery when the loved one -or ones- waited with such profoundly desperate hope in their gazes that took Pip's breath away. He saw many shades of love enter and exit the Cookes' home clinic, from married couples of decades who'd weathered many storms already to a parent and their child standing as steadfast as they could.
He saw tears of relief and tears of grief, and the loyalty -the ability of a person to invest themselves so absolutely in another- never failed to send Pip reeling a bit. He loved helping people, because death was not isolated to the deceased, which was the reason Pip left home in the first place. It was a bit difficult to lend a hand when he waited for patients to come to the clinic, aside from the occasional house-calls when someone couldn't make it that far. Coming out here brought him into contact with more people, allowed him to help so many, even though a few were wary to trust someone as young as he was. Pip couldn't exactly find the time to prove he'd been in scrubs since he was a toddler.
Situations like these were the ones wherein they were either too worried to ask or too worried to not ask. Pip wasn't certain which way it would go, but nothing like that would keep him from offering assistance however he could, so when he heard shouting, when he saw a stranger carrying a bloodied body in his arms, he didn't hesitate. It didn't matter that they weren't officially part of San Creado- Pip himself had only been here a week or so.
The man was...very tall, but Pip didn't balk. It was a moment later for him to realize that he was also blind, and if he hadn't gone into rational mode, his heart might have ached with how much the pair treasured each other. "I can help you, sir, but you'll need to set them down for me so I can assess the damage. I can show you where." From what he could see, there was blood around the weakening stranger's mouth, which did not bode well if this did not proceed quickly. If it was a lung puncture, he could set up an air drainage system, although it was not the only potential cause; trauma to other organs could very well result in coughing up blood, and he couldn't know until he was able to have a look at them. "Around eight smaller steps to your right is the sidewalk. You can set them down there."
THEY HAD LIGHTS INSIDE THEIR EYES / INFORMATION / UPDATED 08/11/2018:
Re: over our lover's rendezvous / dual-joining - Rialto - 08-13-2018
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Give yourself fifty years, and already towards the latter end it felt that the hourglass was speeding up; getting impatient, starting to shake itself spontaneously, starting to blur. There were people Rialto knew that had lived for hundreds, but knowing was incomplete; one didn’t confront the frailty of their own identity until they themselves had too many things to pack into memory, a life of experience bursting at the seams, as many moments lost as were gripped, steadfast. Things you’d swear that you could never forget any detail of - things, beyond conscious awareness, constantly rewritten, revised, shaved down.
People grew old, but there had to be something that kept them a breath from omniscient, something - a tether - that spun about their ankle and seized tighter. Gradually. A preventative measure against becoming something near oblivion, and often it was a thousand memories discarded for the sake of a single episode; somehow, it was to keep them human, naive. Still fumbling around like they didn’t know any better, centuries down the line.
Rialto couldn’t recreate the detail of both legs shattered cleanly at the knee, the numb shock of it before the agony, but it felt like he could. Or maybe that was him in his immortal arrogance.
Regret, loathing - those came a little closer to burning raw.
At least, you’d think that time goes faster, the more used you are to it passing; and yet there Rialto slouched, sauntering through the town like his whole life was ground at half the tempo. His arms stretched above his head, and Rialto’s neck practically creaked when he tilted it both ways with a wince; he was walking along the line of the coast, sandals kicking up wet sand and planting meandering footprints in a line maddeningly not at all straight. He could’ve kept at it for the whole night, and it wouldn’t have been the first that he had, drinking in the cold, sharp air, but that evening aside from salt and smoke was something else vampires were quite familiar with.
Rialto heard the cry from a long way away, and for a moment he hesitated. Longer than any good Samaritan should, because he wasn’t one, and he took a further, meandering few minutes to weigh the situation in some vain attempt at persuading himself to turn home. But then he steeled himself with one puff of breath and promptly threw himself into a sprint towards the smell of blood - subtly starting to suck in breaths more with his mouth, pushing down the instinctive thirst he didn't genuinely feel.
You know, maybe he was a good Samaritan. Would Cat be doing this? Except maybe Cat was just smarter.
The bottoms of his open shoes crunched on gravel when he rounded the corner, loud and audible, skidding to a stop as in all of three seconds he took time to compute the scene; red coated the concrete, a standing figure that looked uncomfortably large from a distance until one comprehended why. Still uncomfortably large, but for two reasons - the source of the blood was in their arms, and the blood no longer flowed as it did from fresh wounds, as well as a slimmer figure already at the scene; snap decisions happened to be encoded in Rialto's skillset of three.
"I can alleviate some of it," he said, steadier than he felt; voice, cooler than he was. "If I can make contact." Just that much at a loss, he finally showed it through the vague, sorely unneeded wiggle of fingers that he offered - visible only, at least, to the one person that wouldn't think worse of him for it.
notes alloy!! incorrect. its so goode
MMM this isn't good and i m so sorry abt it but ur lovely characters... hello
People grew old, but there had to be something that kept them a breath from omniscient, something - a tether - that spun about their ankle and seized tighter. Gradually. A preventative measure against becoming something near oblivion, and often it was a thousand memories discarded for the sake of a single episode; somehow, it was to keep them human, naive. Still fumbling around like they didn’t know any better, centuries down the line.
Rialto couldn’t recreate the detail of both legs shattered cleanly at the knee, the numb shock of it before the agony, but it felt like he could. Or maybe that was him in his immortal arrogance.
Regret, loathing - those came a little closer to burning raw.
At least, you’d think that time goes faster, the more used you are to it passing; and yet there Rialto slouched, sauntering through the town like his whole life was ground at half the tempo. His arms stretched above his head, and Rialto’s neck practically creaked when he tilted it both ways with a wince; he was walking along the line of the coast, sandals kicking up wet sand and planting meandering footprints in a line maddeningly not at all straight. He could’ve kept at it for the whole night, and it wouldn’t have been the first that he had, drinking in the cold, sharp air, but that evening aside from salt and smoke was something else vampires were quite familiar with.
Rialto heard the cry from a long way away, and for a moment he hesitated. Longer than any good Samaritan should, because he wasn’t one, and he took a further, meandering few minutes to weigh the situation in some vain attempt at persuading himself to turn home. But then he steeled himself with one puff of breath and promptly threw himself into a sprint towards the smell of blood - subtly starting to suck in breaths more with his mouth, pushing down the instinctive thirst he didn't genuinely feel.
You know, maybe he was a good Samaritan. Would Cat be doing this? Except maybe Cat was just smarter.
The bottoms of his open shoes crunched on gravel when he rounded the corner, loud and audible, skidding to a stop as in all of three seconds he took time to compute the scene; red coated the concrete, a standing figure that looked uncomfortably large from a distance until one comprehended why. Still uncomfortably large, but for two reasons - the source of the blood was in their arms, and the blood no longer flowed as it did from fresh wounds, as well as a slimmer figure already at the scene; snap decisions happened to be encoded in Rialto's skillset of three.
"I can alleviate some of it," he said, steadier than he felt; voice, cooler than he was. "If I can make contact." Just that much at a loss, he finally showed it through the vague, sorely unneeded wiggle of fingers that he offered - visible only, at least, to the one person that wouldn't think worse of him for it.
notes alloy!! incorrect. its so goode
MMM this isn't good and i m so sorry abt it but ur lovely characters... hello
© MADI
[/td][/tr][/table]Re: over our lover's rendezvous / dual-joining - adomania - 08-13-2018
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"][ heck no ur writing is always good, and as for injuries - broken left leg and ribs, one of which managed to puncture a lung, a deep gash cutting through their stomach upwards, barely avoiding severing something truly important, blunt force trauma to the head // I also wont be replying because heck,, there's not much I can write since lirim is basically unconscious lmfao im just gonna take this time to thank u all for this gorgeous writing ]
Re: over our lover's rendezvous / dual-joining - CATHERYN - 08-13-2018
Catheryn is no stranger to love. She is, after all, very old, and has experienced many things in her time on this earth. It has, however, been very long since she'd last experienced love first-hand. She does not keep track of the years, it takes far more energy that she can be bothered to expend, so all Catheryn knows is that it has been quite a while. The sting of regret, unfortunately, never really fades; love might not be foreign, but betrayal is much too familiar for comfort.
If she'd bothered to count, Catheryn would know that it has been about a hundred years since she'd become a vampire, a hundred years since she'd last seen her former best friend. She's not cut up about it anymore, or so she says, but vampires live forever, and grudges can be held for twice as long as that. Catheryn will never understand the pain of leaving a loved one behind, but she is very well acquainted with being left. It has been very long, but she doubts she will ever forget.
Today, the scent of blood is what draws her out of the little alcove she's resting in. Catheryn stands slowly, tucking her book into her back pocket as she stretches, pale blue eyes flickering down the road in an attempt to spot who, or what, is bleeding all over her town. A distant silhouette is easily identifiable as Rialto, but as for the other three, they seem foreign.
A quick snap of her fingers has her disappearing from her current position and reappearing behind her friend, peering over Rialto's shoulder at Bo and Lirim on the ground, before turning her attention to Pip. Hmm, fortunate that a medic would be passing through the area at this exact moment in time, Catheryn cannot say that she would do the same for the injured fellow had she been first on the scene. Medicinal knowledge is not her forte, but more than that, she sees no point in saving someone she does not even know.
Still, she refrains from voicing her thoughts on the scent of blood, and doesn't make a crude remark about how Lirim could probably feed the whole vampire population of San Creado for an entire week, if they'd just left him to die. That would be unsavory, even for her. Instead, Catheryn hovers almost protectively behind Rialto, raising a single eyebrow at his offer to take the pain, even though she does not comment on it. "Leave yourself enough time to get home before sunrise," she says, the words very obviously directed toward their intended recipient. Here's to hoping that Rialto doesn't forget he's not entirely immune to the light of day.
If she'd bothered to count, Catheryn would know that it has been about a hundred years since she'd become a vampire, a hundred years since she'd last seen her former best friend. She's not cut up about it anymore, or so she says, but vampires live forever, and grudges can be held for twice as long as that. Catheryn will never understand the pain of leaving a loved one behind, but she is very well acquainted with being left. It has been very long, but she doubts she will ever forget.
Today, the scent of blood is what draws her out of the little alcove she's resting in. Catheryn stands slowly, tucking her book into her back pocket as she stretches, pale blue eyes flickering down the road in an attempt to spot who, or what, is bleeding all over her town. A distant silhouette is easily identifiable as Rialto, but as for the other three, they seem foreign.
A quick snap of her fingers has her disappearing from her current position and reappearing behind her friend, peering over Rialto's shoulder at Bo and Lirim on the ground, before turning her attention to Pip. Hmm, fortunate that a medic would be passing through the area at this exact moment in time, Catheryn cannot say that she would do the same for the injured fellow had she been first on the scene. Medicinal knowledge is not her forte, but more than that, she sees no point in saving someone she does not even know.
Still, she refrains from voicing her thoughts on the scent of blood, and doesn't make a crude remark about how Lirim could probably feed the whole vampire population of San Creado for an entire week, if they'd just left him to die. That would be unsavory, even for her. Instead, Catheryn hovers almost protectively behind Rialto, raising a single eyebrow at his offer to take the pain, even though she does not comment on it. "Leave yourself enough time to get home before sunrise," she says, the words very obviously directed toward their intended recipient. Here's to hoping that Rialto doesn't forget he's not entirely immune to the light of day.
Re: over our lover's rendezvous / dual-joining - BUBONICPLAGUE - 08-13-2018
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; padding: 10px; height: auto; overflow: auto;"][div style="width: 400px; padding: 0px; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica;"]love, from the very beginning, had been something that did not concern bo. the demon had no interest, no wants or desires for any mortal or supernatural being that walked this earth, no intentions of falling prey to whatever creature that ever wanted to take him home. no, he was smarter than that. love wasn't real, at least for a while.
his world changed when he met lirim. blind, but a smart man, he knew well that they were one of the more powerful yakuza leaders in his time. business between them came easy. drugs, alcohol, weapons, anything of the sort passed between them, an equal share of the profits for both of their respectable groups. at first, it was all diplomatic. business as usual, nothing but the same shit they both had been up to for however long it had been. but things changed. slowly, their relationship shifted. from business, to friendship, to... more. a wedding, a private marriage, not the most romantic but it was suitable for their tastes. they were in love, no matter how much bo denied it in the beginning.
and he would not lose his husband again.
a person approaching, a young man by the sound of his voice. most of his words came blurred to the man's ears, but he understood enough. eight steps to his right. bo turned quickly and moved, head dipping down when he felt weak breaths on his cheek. "be still, love," he whispered, kneeling as he set foot on the sidewalk, laying his husband gently upon the ground. he moved back; not terribly far, but enough to let the boy take a look at them. he twined his fingers gently with theirs, a comforting gesture, despite them being unconscious, fading in and out of a sleep he hoped would not last.
sightless eyes flickered up to where the next arrival stood. his brows furrowed lightly at the offer. alleviate the pain? he wasn't totally against it, but he also wasn't enthusiastic about strangers touching lirim under guise of taking their pain. though he supposed it wouldn't do any more damage to them. "if you think it will help." bo rumbled. the last person, a woman, he paid no mind to. only sneered slightly at her words; it was obvious by the way they reeked that they were vampires, but she didn't seem to care enough to hide it from him. perhaps it was obvious that he was a demon, another "creature of the night."
bo rubbed his thumb over lirim's knuckles idly, jaw clenching. he could only hope that he was fast enough bringing them here. perhaps he'd simply walk into the ocean if they died here. after killing every one of the people standing around him, of course.
Re: over our lover's rendezvous / dual-joining - PEREGRINE - 08-13-2018
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//asdfjs youre both too nice
+ hey no your writing is also great listen to ado
Pip would never experience the passage of time or the earning of love across a very long lifespan. He was, by all accounts, painfully human, and in comparison to many of the people out there -they'd had a few at the clinic, desperate enough that keeping their secret was less important than living- however long he lived would be a blink of an eye, any of his capabilities unremarkable. It was- humbling, almost, although Pip was aware even before knowing of the types of people there were that life was incredibly fragile, especially when it belonged to a race known for reckless decisions and harebrained ideas. And conflict. It was best not to forget that part, and despite how some assumed him to be vapidly naïve, he was fully aware of the things people could do to each other. This stranger wouldn't be the first beneath his hands relying on medical attention to wounds inflicted by another party.
Pip was caught between a weariness of it and taking the reality of it in stride. The important part was that he managed, and that he hadn't lost very many patients thus far. More than he would have liked to, but he didn't know if anyone had ever finished a career with zero patients lost on the table.
He would do his best to keep that number from changing today, and at least he would have a bit of help, although he was admittedly wary about the prospect, if only because he didn't want him pushing his abilities too far and taking too much. "If you're certain. Just- be careful. I'd rather not have two patients right now." That wasn't to say he couldn't handle it, as the clinic had only been Pip and his parents, but he preferred to devote his energy to the severely injured stranger. Because of that near single-minded focus, he didn't pay much mind to the woman's comment aimed at the assistant, instead following as the very tall man lowered his partner down on the sidewalk. The man wasn't far from their side, holding their hand, and Pip took a deep breath, aware of how much would be lost if he didn't succeed.
Failure wasn't an option. He wouldn't allow it.
Pip knelt beside them, pulling a small pillow from his satchel and gently situating it beneath their head. Signs of head trauma were clear, and it was very possible they had a concussion; any worse brain damage and they would probably be dead already. Pip snapped on plastic gloves and set about cutting away clothing from the wound on their chest, where he could see, beyond the cut, their ribs were slightly misshapen, with prominent bruising. Likely a puncture. Pip wished he could work in absolutes, know with a hundred percent certainty, but without equipment- he would do what he could. The most important thing was getting them to breathe. It wasn't a simple pneumothorax, not at the moment. "Tension pneumothorax," he muttered to himself, withdrawing the proper needle. He wasn't thrilled to proceed with a needle thoracostomy, but in an emergency, the risks would have to be taken, so, estimating the air build-up, he inserted the needle until the syringe filled with air, decompressing that area of the lung. "I've decompressed the lung of the excess air, so they should be able to breathe fully now. I'll have to monitor for build-up."
Of course, that was only part of the procedure. Shifted from a tension pneumothorax to a simple, he had to use insert a catheter. It would further drain the air, and allow the lung to inflate, so unless there were sudden complications, that was an injury temporarily treated. From there, Pip addressed the gash, retrieving a jar from his bag of cayenne pepper. Not a conventional solution, but it would effectively encourage clotting, and he sprinkled it over the wound, glancing at their face briefly for any changes in consciousness. Biting his cheek, he turned back, finishing the application; when the wound stopped bleeding, he could clean it with saline and stitch it, though until then, he turned to the other injuries. His experienced eye was drawn to their leg, and again, he cut away cloth to evaluate. "Nothing's broken the skin outward." The sight of a bone protrusion wouldn't have caught him off guard, but he was glad that wasn't the case. "I can't say for certain yet, but the leg is likely broken."
[div style="width: 507px; text-align: justify; line-height: 1.1"]+ hey no your writing is also great listen to ado
Pip would never experience the passage of time or the earning of love across a very long lifespan. He was, by all accounts, painfully human, and in comparison to many of the people out there -they'd had a few at the clinic, desperate enough that keeping their secret was less important than living- however long he lived would be a blink of an eye, any of his capabilities unremarkable. It was- humbling, almost, although Pip was aware even before knowing of the types of people there were that life was incredibly fragile, especially when it belonged to a race known for reckless decisions and harebrained ideas. And conflict. It was best not to forget that part, and despite how some assumed him to be vapidly naïve, he was fully aware of the things people could do to each other. This stranger wouldn't be the first beneath his hands relying on medical attention to wounds inflicted by another party.
Pip was caught between a weariness of it and taking the reality of it in stride. The important part was that he managed, and that he hadn't lost very many patients thus far. More than he would have liked to, but he didn't know if anyone had ever finished a career with zero patients lost on the table.
He would do his best to keep that number from changing today, and at least he would have a bit of help, although he was admittedly wary about the prospect, if only because he didn't want him pushing his abilities too far and taking too much. "If you're certain. Just- be careful. I'd rather not have two patients right now." That wasn't to say he couldn't handle it, as the clinic had only been Pip and his parents, but he preferred to devote his energy to the severely injured stranger. Because of that near single-minded focus, he didn't pay much mind to the woman's comment aimed at the assistant, instead following as the very tall man lowered his partner down on the sidewalk. The man wasn't far from their side, holding their hand, and Pip took a deep breath, aware of how much would be lost if he didn't succeed.
Failure wasn't an option. He wouldn't allow it.
Pip knelt beside them, pulling a small pillow from his satchel and gently situating it beneath their head. Signs of head trauma were clear, and it was very possible they had a concussion; any worse brain damage and they would probably be dead already. Pip snapped on plastic gloves and set about cutting away clothing from the wound on their chest, where he could see, beyond the cut, their ribs were slightly misshapen, with prominent bruising. Likely a puncture. Pip wished he could work in absolutes, know with a hundred percent certainty, but without equipment- he would do what he could. The most important thing was getting them to breathe. It wasn't a simple pneumothorax, not at the moment. "Tension pneumothorax," he muttered to himself, withdrawing the proper needle. He wasn't thrilled to proceed with a needle thoracostomy, but in an emergency, the risks would have to be taken, so, estimating the air build-up, he inserted the needle until the syringe filled with air, decompressing that area of the lung. "I've decompressed the lung of the excess air, so they should be able to breathe fully now. I'll have to monitor for build-up."
Of course, that was only part of the procedure. Shifted from a tension pneumothorax to a simple, he had to use insert a catheter. It would further drain the air, and allow the lung to inflate, so unless there were sudden complications, that was an injury temporarily treated. From there, Pip addressed the gash, retrieving a jar from his bag of cayenne pepper. Not a conventional solution, but it would effectively encourage clotting, and he sprinkled it over the wound, glancing at their face briefly for any changes in consciousness. Biting his cheek, he turned back, finishing the application; when the wound stopped bleeding, he could clean it with saline and stitch it, though until then, he turned to the other injuries. His experienced eye was drawn to their leg, and again, he cut away cloth to evaluate. "Nothing's broken the skin outward." The sight of a bone protrusion wouldn't have caught him off guard, but he was glad that wasn't the case. "I can't say for certain yet, but the leg is likely broken."
THEY HAD LIGHTS INSIDE THEIR EYES / INFORMATION / UPDATED 08/11/2018: