07-27-2019, 07:39 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]Selby had not been there at the... incident, but word traveled around quickly. His first instinct had been to refuse to come, as the disrespect for the dead Beck had displayed made his skin crawl with disgust. The medic had quickly suppressed that instinct though. Crow had already punished Beck by trapping him in his home, and it was not his place to stack things on top of that. It was also morally wrong to withhold care as a punishment, whether or not Beck strictly needed it. On top of that, Selby had promised to come, and a man is only as good as his word.
So, Selby had packed his medical bag with anything and everything he thought might help, natural and artificial alike. Thread, sterile needles, and plastic tubing sat next to neat bundles of herbs. The bag, once packed, was not heavy but was awkward to carry. It would be a pain to lug it across the woods and a bit into the swamp, but without a better option, Selby had to do it. It couldn’t be that bad.
Beck’s home, which was well off the worn paths, was harder to get to than Selby had initially thought. He had gotten lost twice, and he had thought he knew the territory pretty well. The terrain was rough as well, and the medic had dropped his bag more times than he could count. Still, a promise is a promise.
When he arrived at Beck’s door, something felt a little off. It wasn’t the pentagram that his father had meticulously painted onto the ground. He traced the edge of it gently with one paw, examining the work. Turning his head back to Beck’s home, he discovered what had initially caught his attention. There was a sharp, unpleasant odor hidden just under the heavy stench of the swamp. He knocked twice, firm and clear. "Beck? It’s Selby. I promised I would come over and see if I could help you, remember?" He waited a moment, then let himself in.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed when he saw the scene. The acrid odor became instantly more pungent, and Selby became urgent. He rushed over, took the bottle of bleach, and quickly read the label. Selby took a flashlight from his bag and forced Beck’s mouth open, quickly looking at his throat. He pulled away as soon as he could, wincing in sympathy at the chemical burns, then tried to speedily consider what to do. Should I give him something to make him throw up? Would that help, or would it burn him more? I don’t want him to aspirate... He decided against making the ghost throw up, instead going back into his bag and retrieving a bottle of water.
"Beck, I need you to drink this for me. It’s water, it should help," he said urgently, opening the bottle and setting it next to Beck. He didn’t want to have to force Beck to drink, in case he accidentally waterboarded him. Selby struggled to conceive of a reason that Beck would do this to himself, especially if he knew that he might be discovered.
So, Selby had packed his medical bag with anything and everything he thought might help, natural and artificial alike. Thread, sterile needles, and plastic tubing sat next to neat bundles of herbs. The bag, once packed, was not heavy but was awkward to carry. It would be a pain to lug it across the woods and a bit into the swamp, but without a better option, Selby had to do it. It couldn’t be that bad.
Beck’s home, which was well off the worn paths, was harder to get to than Selby had initially thought. He had gotten lost twice, and he had thought he knew the territory pretty well. The terrain was rough as well, and the medic had dropped his bag more times than he could count. Still, a promise is a promise.
When he arrived at Beck’s door, something felt a little off. It wasn’t the pentagram that his father had meticulously painted onto the ground. He traced the edge of it gently with one paw, examining the work. Turning his head back to Beck’s home, he discovered what had initially caught his attention. There was a sharp, unpleasant odor hidden just under the heavy stench of the swamp. He knocked twice, firm and clear. "Beck? It’s Selby. I promised I would come over and see if I could help you, remember?" He waited a moment, then let himself in.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed when he saw the scene. The acrid odor became instantly more pungent, and Selby became urgent. He rushed over, took the bottle of bleach, and quickly read the label. Selby took a flashlight from his bag and forced Beck’s mouth open, quickly looking at his throat. He pulled away as soon as he could, wincing in sympathy at the chemical burns, then tried to speedily consider what to do. Should I give him something to make him throw up? Would that help, or would it burn him more? I don’t want him to aspirate... He decided against making the ghost throw up, instead going back into his bag and retrieving a bottle of water.
"Beck, I need you to drink this for me. It’s water, it should help," he said urgently, opening the bottle and setting it next to Beck. He didn’t want to have to force Beck to drink, in case he accidentally waterboarded him. Selby struggled to conceive of a reason that Beck would do this to himself, especially if he knew that he might be discovered.