Spren of Kindness
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That hasn't happened in fifteen years, so he's pretty sure she means until he's mostly a functional person again. "Stop calling me that." Definitely a reflex at this point. -
"I'm sorry." The panic of earlier is fading, and now he's just... tired. "Are you feeling better?" That's awkward. And insensitive.
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"Ah." There's a difference. His leg throbs again, and so does the base of his skull. Out of habit, he reaches up to rub at the sore point, before stopping himself. His hands are filthy, and he doesn't want to wash his hair.
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"You seem like it wasn't as bad for you." There was an air a lot of them got as the war went on. An exhausted, but still dangerous quickness. Ayia doesn't have that. He sits down carefully, letting his leg do what it will.
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"Only one. It was long." What's classified, what isn't... His leg is going to give out at some point. "I was a kind of special forces soldier."
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"Silent mission. No medic." They'd stopped those after Mica died. It was too expensive. Even if it was just having Jaya on an earpiece, it was better than nothing because someone was telling him how to help, and he wasn't trapped just holding his friend's hand, unable to do anything.
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"Someone I knew died with a similar wound. It..." Mica smiling through bloodied teeth, empty eyes, fingers slack. Free... "I remembered it a bit, just now." He's still remembering.
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"A lot of things," he says stiffly. The snow is red and his leg hurts and he can't stop thinking about Mica and Siberia and they really don't have time for this. Ayia just lost (is still losing?) a lot of blood, and it's freezing cold out. Does that mean hypothermia risk? "You just almost died, I'm somewhat stressed," he settles on.
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Martin closes his eyes, breathes in, exhales. "Probably not. But I can deal with that later. Now. How do we get you back to camp?"
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"It's a gut wound," he says disbelievingly, shifting his weight to his not probably fractured leg. "And I am not a trained doctor. We need to get you back to camp."
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"Shouldn't you be worried about your gut wound?" He hasn't deflected this poorly since... Montreal? Must have been.
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"I'm pretty sure nothing's broken." Fractures don't count as breaks. Jaya always got mad when they generalized what an injury was. She needed specifics.
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"Yes." His leg is protesting, and it's hard to keep his face from showing it, but he has practice. "Don't worry about me."
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"I'm just going to - " Martin sits back on his heels, thinks very hard about himself for two seconds. "Going to - ah," His heart is going to fast, he notes. "Go over to that boulder there," he points. "And collect myself. I think Enter has it under control." As under control as this can be. He gets to his feet and tries not to limp.
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"Are you not dying anymore?" Martin asks nervously.
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"Let's hope it's the second one." Breathe, Martin reminds himself. You're no good unconscious.
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Guys, I made a meme! Whaddya think? (Apologies for the size)
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Future Overlord Worship
Spren of Kindness replied to Doomstick's topic in Forum Games & Random Stuff
I'm busy panic drawing, so I'll do that in a few minutes. Or now. Drawing armor is hard. This is RP characters because again, panic drawing, brain no work. *The group is getting into the car* Fadran: I’m driving. Ayia, out of view: Shotgun! Kindness, turning to face Ayia: Aww! But you had it on the way here- Everyone except Ayia: WOAH- Ayia, holding a shotgun: No! I found a shotgun! And I want the front seat! *Pumps gun* -
"Really?" That's nice.
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"Please don't," Martin says, his voice spiraling up somewhere into the hysterical range.
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"I think so." Yeah. Like when Jaya found him after Mica. When he and Reese stayed up together after Tanya. "Don't die." He doesn't know what he'll do if he loses someone else.
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"I beg to differ." He's fine. He is. No you aren't. Shut up. "Just hang on." Someone's got to come. Someone.
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"I don't - I - " he's seen people die. It's not. It's never been. It's always too soon. And it's happening again. "Stop it." His voice catches. Keep it together. "Don't move. You'll make it worse."
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"That's how a jacket should be." "I..." He turns to the side, slams his fist into the snow. "I don't know anything about this," he says. "If you think it'll work, if you think it'll keep her alive long enough to get help, do it." He shouldn't be saying that, Jaya would kill him.
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"Gonna tie this in place if I can." Fold over. He's getting blood everywhere. Oh well. Jackets can be cleaned. "Here we go." He carefully guides the jacket through the snow beneath Ayia, settling the most fabric over the wound, then ties the sleeves together. "That might help a bit." "I wouldn't risk it." He would. He probably would.
