CASEY BRIGGS
RESISTANCE
The Mechanic and Messenger
Posts: 30
|
Post by CASEY BRIGGS on Jan 2, 2011 1:49:16 GMT -6
Casey landed wrong on the roof of the Resistance’s Underground base. Her ankle twisted beneath her and she went down hard, the breath going out of her in a whoosh as she hit the unforgiving rooftop. Luckily, it was flat, so she was able to lie there and catch her breath, as well as catalogue the throbbing of her various wounds. That had certainly not been the smoothest run of her career, though it had been by far the most important. The blueprints she carried concealed within her sweatshirt could be the key to the Resistance’s success. And despite everything, here she was. She’d made it back; just not exactly in once piece.
The hand-off was supposed to have been smooth, though Casey had been prepared for things to go wrong, with a dozen alternate routes mapped out in her head should such-and-such go all to hell. She had received the package, the (thankfully bulletproof) tube with the blueprints sealed safely inside, and had just gotten it into her pocket when the attack had come. A score of New Order goons at least had popped up out of nowhere and opened fire. The contact had never stood a chance, and had gone down in a spray of blood. Casey’s quick reflexes had saved her; she was onto the nearest rooftop and on her way away by the time the contact’s body hit the ground, albeit with scraped hands and a bullet lodged in her calf. More goons had been on the roof, taking shots at her as she ran, but they didn’t catch her. She’d pushed on through the pain, leaping and running and leaving her pursuers far behind.
She hissed under her breath as she lay there on the roof of the base, searching for the strength to get the rest of the way inside. She didn’t know if the calf wound was still bleeding, though now she’ d twisted that very same ankle, but that wasn’t her only injury. Her hands were scraped from hurried climbing and risky maneuvers, muscles aching from the strain of the wild run, and she’d been hit once in the side and the opposite shoulder as she ran from the goons on the rooftop. She didn’t know how deep the wounds were, but she’d managed to get back despite them. Eyes closed, she grinned slightly to herself. Her old gang mates would have been damn proud of her.
Summoning up the last of her strength, she managed to push herself up and stumble to the edge of the roof, using her better arm to swing herself down through the broken window on the second floor without cutting herself on the jagged shards of glass. She hit the ground inside and fumbled in her sweatshirt for the canister, more to check that it was unharmed than anything else, and pulled it out to check on its status. Luckily, there wasn’t even a mark on it, and within she could see the blueprints still neatly rolled up, waiting to be read.
Casey looked around; she’d landed in the locker room, where everyone who lived at the Resistance base kept their things. No one was around, which wasn’t surprising, considering the time of day. Many were probably asleep already. Casey doubted Eria was one of them; the leader knew she was returning with this message soon enough, though she was running a bit later than she’d estimated, for obvious reasons. She started to move towards the door, intending to go and find Eria, but she only made it a couple of steps before her leg folded beneath her and she crumpled to the ground, letting out a soft gasp of pain.
She felt her heart race for a moment, alarmed by her weakness, but then it slowed again. No need to fret about it, she thought. She was inside the base. One way or another, the blueprints would get to Eria. But it had to be Eria, she remembered, not anybody else. She couldn’t let anybody else see it. That was what Eria had said to her. She struggled for a moment to get back up, but had no luck. Her exhausted body no longer cooperated with her brain’s demands. With a sigh, Casey subsided, relaxing against the floor. She wasn’t going to be getting up again, she thought.
She had to get Eria’s attention somehow, though, and she didn’t have the strength left to yell. Instead, she raised a shaking hand to her mouth and whistled shrilly, two long bursts that took the last of her strength to get out. Then she collapsed the rest of the way, curling into a ball around the blueprints she had run so hard to bring back, some part of her mind insisting that she do so to protect them from anybody who might want them. Eria would find them, but anybody else who found her here would likely just get the leader, to ask what to do. Maybe.
Casey sighed again. Maybe she was going to die here, she thought, watching the small puddle of blood her shoulder wound was creating creep past in front of her eyes. It would be ironic, to make it all the way here and die because everyone was asleep. But at least she had succeeded. She’d brought the blueprints back, like she promised she would. Her eyes closed slowly, soundlessly, and Casey’s breathing slowed. A calm came over her. Whatever would happen, would happen. Either Eria had heard her, or she hadn’t. Casey hoped for the former, but as long as the leader got the blueprints, the life of one Resistance member didn’t matter that much, in the end.
[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by ERIA HATEM on Jan 3, 2011 19:58:04 GMT -6
Even if everyone else was asleep, that didn't mean she was going to be. No, Eria was in her room, dressed in her standard work-out outfit, punching and kicking the crap out of a punching bag that hung on the left right corner of her room near her bed. The ceiling fan turned slowly as she moved, her fists colliding with the hard leather of the bag. She let out small grunts as she punch the bag and switched between punching and kicking routines. Then with one last forceful punch, that sent the bag swinging backwards a bit, she let out a sigh and grabbed a white towel that laid on her bed. She dabbed at the sweat on her brow and ran the towel down her neck and over her shoulders before tossing it over her shoulder. Time for a drink.
Leaving her room she walked quietly down the hallway, her bare feet padding against the floor but being heard by only herself. It amazed her how well everyone slept despite everything that went on just outside their walls. The plague raging, people dying and the city going to hell, and yet everyone inside was sleeping soundly, as if nothing in the world was wrong. Maybe that's why they were sleeping so well though- because when they slept they could dream of the world being like it used to be.
While it was true that the world wasn't in too good of shape before the New Order came into order, things were definitely a lot better. They had freedoms and didn't have to worry about dying from some disease that their insane leader made because of his own paranoia. Sure the economy had been bad, but looking back on it she would've taken that over the current situation any day.
Shaking her head slightly her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of two very shrill whistles. She stopped and stared down the hall, wondering what on earth those were and why they had just sounded. It was too clear to be coming from outside...so something must have been going on inside. It didn't sound too far away, so she quickly jogged down the hallway, following the echoing remains of the whistle. Shortly after she came upon a sight she hadn't expected.
Lying in a small yet growing pool of blood was Casey, whom she'd seen leave not even an hour ago to go get the blueprints to the capital from an informant. And now she was lying in the locker room bleeding; what in the hell? It took her a moment to pull herself out of her thoughts and she walked over to Casey, stopping in front of her. The blood pool was growing and soon her right foot was met by it, but she didn't pay attention. "You look like hell," she said. If she remembered correctly, that was exactly the way Casey had greeted her just the other day when she'd come back to the base with a bleeding shoulder and thigh.
"Guess things didn't go as smoothly as hoped; not too surprising." She kneeled down next to her, looking at her. "You got the blueprints? Show them and then I'll take care of you."
Outfit: This and these.
[/blockquote][/blockquote] |
|
CASEY BRIGGS
RESISTANCE
The Mechanic and Messenger
Posts: 30
|
Post by CASEY BRIGGS on Jan 3, 2011 20:37:49 GMT -6
God, she hurt. Her whole body hurt, strained muscles aching and bullet wounds burning. She hadn’t noticed it as she hurtled across the rooftops, hyped up on adrenaline as she had been, but now as she lay there on the floor in a growing pool of her own blood, she was all too aware of it. She wanted it to stop, but any movement just made it hurt more. She just had to wait it out, until someone came to see who’d made the noise, or until she lost too much blood. At the moment, she didn’t much care which it was. Whichever came first would be welcome, in her mind. Any reprieve from the pain.
As it was, she was pretty out of it by the time she heard footsteps on the floor, stopping a foot or so away from her. She shifted, biting back a hiss of pain, and sluggishly realized that she ought to at least look and see who had come. It took another moment for her to open her eyes, by which time the person had already spoken in her familiar voice. Casey actually laughed slightly, recognizing the greeting as the one she’d given Eria a few days before when she’d returned from some sort of anti New Order shenanigans bleeding from two gunshot wounds. She cracked her eyes open, blinked them and squinted until they focused a little better, and looked up at Eria as the other squatted down. She barely noticed the somewhat scanty clothes Eria was wearing; it took most of her effort to concentrate on the older woman’s face.
She closed her eyes again as Eria asked if she’d gotten the blueprints, a faint smile playing across her lips. Trust Eria to keep her eye on the prize. Priorities, and all that. ”Please,” Casey snorted weakly, ”You think I’d go to all this trouble… and not get what I went for?” Her voice was quiet, but with as little concern as she usually showed for anything. She uncurled just enough to let the tube fall out, hearing it clatter to the floor as it slipped free. ”Was just keeping it safe ‘til you showed up,” she finished, her voice dropping to a somewhat slurred murmur. The longer she lay there, the more blood oozed out of her wounds, and the larger the pool on the floor grew. And the fuzzier her consciousness became. It was hard to focus, hard to keep herself awake. She wondered vaguely how much blood she’d lost.
With effort, she forced herself to concentrate, forced herself back awake with a supreme effort of will. Placing her palms against a floor sticky with her blood, she attempted again to push herself up, with only marginal success. She didn’t like being vulnerable in front of other people, and especially Eria. What must the other think of her, lying on the floor like a weakling? She had to prove that she was strong. She didn’t want to depend on anyone. She had to – but then her hands slipped and she fell back down again. ”Damn,” she coughed, ”Sorry. This is pathetic.” She tried again, and with a herculean effort managed to push herself up into a wobbly sitting position, head spinning at the change in orientation.
Trying to cover how much effort that had taken out of her, she gave a slight self-deprecating grin. ”There were New Order goons… waiting. At the rendezvous. Lo… lots. The contact’s… dead. Lucky I was faster. Else… heh.” She was becoming less coherent, her heart just pumping the blood out faster now that she’d exerted herself. She blinked hazy eyes at Eria and frowned. ”Blurry…” Did she need glasses or something? Her mind spun in aimless little circles, too woozy from loss of blood to manage any more coherent thought. Yet she remained upright, some part of her aware enough to keep her from keeling over again. For now.
[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by ERIA HATEM on Jan 3, 2011 20:58:42 GMT -6
Eria's eyes were locked onto that tube the moment she saw it slip from her sweatshirt. Almost as if it might vanish she grabbed it and held onto it tightly, staring at it. This was better than lottery money, better than all those things that had meant so much in their old lives but now meant nothing. Clutching the tube tightly she put it between her and the waistband of her tights, the stretchy fabric holding it in place. Once she was certain it wouldn't move she stood up at looked down at Casey.
"You did good kid. Now, let's get you some help yeah?" Bending down she took hold of Casey and lifted her up, getting a feel for her weight. She honestly wasn't that heavy to her. She looked down and noted the way one of her ankles was positioned; it was twisted which meant walking, even with support, would be painful for her. So she did only what she could think of: she brought an arm up holding Casey's leg and the other support her back, essentially carrying her bridal-style.
It was easy enough to carry her back to her own bedroom and set Casey down on the bed. Going into her small bathroom she opened up the medicine cabinet and pulled out a med-kit, the same as all the others in the base. She went back into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching down and grabbing Casey's knife off her leg. "You know the drill; same thing you had me do." She flipped the blade open and handed it to her before grabbing the pair of forceps from the kit. "I'm gonna do this quickly, no chance for rest. You're bleeding too much so I can't stop to give you a moment to get a hold of yourself. That means it's gonna be one painful scenario after the other, got it?" She looked Casey dead in the eyes to make sure she understood the pain she was about to feel.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]
|
|
CASEY BRIGGS
RESISTANCE
The Mechanic and Messenger
Posts: 30
|
Post by CASEY BRIGGS on Jan 3, 2011 21:12:19 GMT -6
Casey sucked in a breath as Eria started to lift her, chomping down on the inside of her cheek to keep from making any sound of pain, as much as she wanted to. She tried to put the ankle down that she’d twisted, assuming Eria was going to help her walk somewhere she could get patched up, but it had barely touched the floor (sending a jolt of pain through her leg) when Eria scooped her up the rest of the way, like she was weightless. She knew she didn’t weigh much, as short as she was and slightly underweight to boot, but it was like she didn’t weigh anything at all. Maybe it was the blood loss or something. It was a little weird, being cradled in someone’s arms, especially since Eria had made it pretty clear the blueprints were more important, but Casey didn’t much care at this point. She just didn’t have the energy.
She watched the ceiling aimlessly as Eria carried her off through the base, trying to make out the walls and the windows even though her eyes still refused to focus properly. She thought they would head down to the med room, or something, but they weren’t heading for the stairs, as far as she could tell. Good. She hated the basement. Too closed in; she’d have gone stir-crazy down there in minutes. Better to stay up here on the second floor, where there were windows and a bit higher ceilings. After a moment more, her muddled mind realized they were heading not towards the group bedroom, where all the bunks were, but to the small separate one where Eria slept. Casey blinked a couple times. That was probably significant somehow… but she didn’t know exactly how. She felt so tired.
Eria put her on the bed when they got to the bedroom. Casey did her best to stay upright, knowing it would be hard to Eria to hold her up and dig bullets out of her at the same time (since it was obvious at this point that she was going to do it herself, not call Isaiah to do it).The room spun around her, her pulse thumping faintly in her ears. She was burning with pain, but cold at the same time. Probably not a good sign. Was that something she should care about? It was hard to remember. She shook her head slightly, trying to clear it. She had to stay conscious.
She took the knife as Eria handed it to her, looking at it for a moment before glancing back up to meet the other’s grey eyes. This was gonna hurt like all hell. Not that it didn’t already, but getting the bullets out was gonna be even worse. She set the blade between her teeth and bit down hard, fisting her hands in the blankets in preparation for what was to come. Then, still meeting Eria’s eyes, she nodded once silently. She was as ready as she was ever gonna be, and they didn’t have any more time to waste.
[/size] |
|
|
|
Post by ERIA HATEM on Jan 3, 2011 21:26:52 GMT -6
Even if Casey hadn't responded, Eria had still planned on going ahead with taking the bullets out. She might have been a cruel bitch but she wasn't one to let an ally bleed to death, and certainly not on her own bed. Taking the forceps she went for her shoulder first, the one that was bleeding most. She wasn't as skilled at taking bullets out as Isaiah or Casey even, but she was good enough. She'd done it on herself plenty of times. Digging the forceps into the bullet hole it took her a while, too long a while for her liking, to finally grasp hold of the bullet.
It was wedged between two parts of muscle and it took a good pull to get it out. Once it was out she let it drop onto the carpet floor, making a dull thud. She reached into the med kit and pulled out the alcohol, pouring some into the bullet hole to flush out the rest of the blood. As soon as it was clear she wrapped the bandages around her, doing her best to be as careful as possible not to nudge Casey or anything; she knew that every small movement would hurt like hell.
Once that wound was finished with she moved down to her calf and gripped her leg lightly as she reached the forceps in and pulled the bullet out; this one was slightly easier but only because there wasn't much of anywhere for the bullet to go. Repeating the process of flushing out the blood and bandaging she moved to the one in her side; she'd wanted to save this one for last since it was the most tricky.
There was no telling how deep this one was; all she knew for sure was that it was still inside her since there was no exit wound coming out of her back. Letting out a small sigh she readhed the forceps into her body once more and dug around as gently as she could. It took her a minute or two but she finally found the bullet. She smirked in triumph and gently pulled it out and finished up with the alcohol and bandadges. With a slight sigh she wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, the only nonbloody part of her hands, and put the forceps down on the nightstand table.
"Well, that didn't go as bad as I thought it would," she said as she took some bandaids from the kit and put them over the various scrapes Casey had acquired. "There, that's all I can do. You can sleep here for now until I can get Doc up to hook you up to some blood transfusion or something; should take me too long to get his ass up here." She said all this while she was packing the med kit up and wiping her bloodied hands on the towel that she'd used before after her workout. Her tone made it seem as though everything were normal and Casey wasn't lying on her bed, nearly dead from blood loss.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]
|
|
CASEY BRIGGS
RESISTANCE
The Mechanic and Messenger
Posts: 30
|
Post by CASEY BRIGGS on Jan 3, 2011 21:45:08 GMT -6
It hurt more than Casey could possibly ever describe, the feel of the forceps digging roughly into the skin of her shoulders. Her teeth ground on the blade, air hissing out between her teeth. Her breathing was labored, but she somehow managed to keep from making a sound, even as Eria gave the bullet a good hard yank to get it out. Casey’s hands twisted in the fabric of the bedsheets, and she could faintly feel seams popping in the patterning. Not that she cared, but it was a slight distraction from the haze of agony that clouded her mind, the throbbing of her wounds, the sting of the alcohol in her shoulder wound. At some point she must have removed her shirt and pants; maybe as she was waiting for Eria to come back from the bathroom. Hard to tell, with her mind so clouded and woozy.
She felt the forceps in her leg and bit back a groan, eyes closing tightly and shoulders hunching, despite the throb that it sent through her freshly-bandaged wound. The whole ordeal seemed to go on forever, with the one in the side taking an eternity in and of itself. Her world, her awareness narrowed to the feeling of the cold metal forceps inside her, probing around, searching for the bullet she could feel lodged in her muscles. Her body trembled, overworked muscles threatening to give out, but she kept herself upright through sheer force of will until Eria finally, finally found the bullet and pulled it out.
Once that last wound was bandaged and some of the scrapes on her hands were patched up, Casey finally let herself fall to the side, not even caring about the blood on the sheets. She spat out the knife and almost groaned, but swallowed it at the last second, leaving a sour taste in her mouth. She didn’t know how to deal with the pain other than silence, so that was what she did, grinding her teeth for a moment. Then she opened one eye to look at Eria. It wasn’t any easier to focus. She was just so tired. She had no more energy left to spare. ”Yeah… “ she mumbled, barely audible. ”Sleep… s’good.” Her eye closed again.
Now that the wounds had settled to a dull throbbing, all she felt was cold. Cold and tired. Involuntarily, she shivered and curled in on herself, as she had when she was ‘protecting’ the tube containing the blueprints on the floor of the locker room. But this time she was just protecting herself from the cold, or trying to. Not very successfully. Her hand inched toward the pillow slightly, as if to find the top of the sheet and cover herself with it, but only made it an inch or two before stopping. So tired…
[/size] |
|
ISAIAH HARBINGER
RESISTANCE
The Doctor.
And it tears my flesh from the bone, how we turn a dream to stone.
Posts: 5
|
Post by ISAIAH HARBINGER on Jan 4, 2011 16:45:03 GMT -6
It was rather late in the evening, and the Resistance's Base was silent. Most of them were curled up in their beds two floors above, dreaming of God only knew what. Well, except Isaiah, of course. It was near one AM, and the white haired doc. was sitting in his office, smoking up a storm. The long, white stick was in between his lips, begging to be dragged to release the ugly-smelling smoke combined with carbon monoxide, and many other ingredients that made it toxic and potentially life-threatening to most people. He sighed, staring at the cancer stick between his right hand index and pointer finger. He was supposed to be a doctor. Helping and saving lives. Making a difference. But how could he help and save people, when he would probably die in ten or twenty years of lung or throat cancer? He was a hypocrite. A bloody hypocrite. Even if no one else in the Resistance knew he smoked. (with the exception of Eria, who knew everything about everyone in her organization.) Hell, he even showered twice a day, and smoked only at night so no one would know.
Isaiah put the cigarette back to his lips, and folded his arms across his chest, and put his bare feet on his favourited swivel chair, which he had basically stolen from the Staples before Dresdin closed it down for, "inspiring education". Stolen or not, he still loved it. He turned around and looked at his desk. When he had been at that Staples, Isaiah had also managed to swipe a laptop. It hadn't been as easy as the chair had been, but it was totally worth it. Even with the internet being down, (Dresdin had actually managed to shut down the internet) he could still type up Medical Papers and records on all of his patients and such, which would eventually be moved to the giant metallic filing cabinet next to his desk. The white haired doctor edged his cigarette to the corner of his mouth, as he brought up one of his many encrypted files. (only to ensure his records and patient's file to be safe from potential hackers and whatnot.) Isaiah then began to pick up where he left off a couple of hours ago, listing and thoroughly describing the symptoms of this particular patients case. It had been a simple case of the flu, but he still figured he should have it on record. He knew he wouldn't be around forever. And perhaps someone in the future could use these files to help people? Bah. Who knew what anyone would do anymore. Did people still help one another? Isaiah frowned, and dragged his almost-gone cigarette. Who bloody knew anything anymore.
It was then, when he heard someone near the stairs. How, unusual.. Pushing his swivel chair away from his desk, he peered in his room, (moving across the hard plastic floor via swivel chair), and looked at his giant alarm clock on his nightstand. The green digits blared the numbers "1:15 AM". Dragging he and his chair back across the room, he hoisted himself up to the large bulletproof glass that looked into the operating/patient's room(s). No one. But yet, he heard sounds of footsteps coming down the hallway which lead from the stairs to his Infirmary. Rolling back to his desk, Isaiah quickly extinguished his cigarette, clearing away the smoke and dumping the ashes and cigarette butts in the trash, and putting his ash tray back in his desk, exchanging it for his bowie knife. Turning off the lamp next to his desk, the white haired doctor took a spot between the giant window and the door. (which was closed) Whoever was coming, he really hoped it was Eria with good news for a change. As it seemed whenever she came down to see him, either she had a hole somewhere in her, or someone else did. Never for small talk anymore. Though he supposed she was too busy for that. Whoever it was, Isaiah was quiet. You couldn't trust people. Not even the people who you treat, or work side-by-side with. Everyone was a threat. He frowned, running his fingers through his hair. God. He had become seriously paranoid.
outfit: wearing just these.
|
|
|
|
Post by ERIA HATEM on Jan 5, 2011 16:38:26 GMT -6
|
|
ISAIAH HARBINGER
RESISTANCE
The Doctor.
And it tears my flesh from the bone, how we turn a dream to stone.
Posts: 5
|
Post by ISAIAH HARBINGER on Jan 10, 2011 18:32:50 GMT -6
Isaiah could hear the footsteps become louder and louder as they got closer. Holding the knife in his hands, he guessed that the person was barefoot, as he could the slapping of the feet hitting the concrete floor. The white haired doctor frowned, as they approached. Whoever it was, was probably just one of the other members with a cold or some sort of pain wanting some medication so they could go back to bed. As Isaiah moved away from the wall, and covered the knife back up, he grabbed his white lab coat which had been hanging on the back of the door, and slid the knife in one of the pockets. Walking back over to the place he had been to before, he leaned back against the wall where he had been before, his hands in his labcoat. He decided against turning the lights on. If whomever it was was in actual trouble, he could turn them back on and whatnot. Resting his head against the wall, Isaiah noticed the footsteps had stopped. they're outside the door. he quickly concluded. Then, he heard the obviously-tired voice that he'd have to be dumb not to instantly recognize. Eria Hatem. His leader, and makeshift boss.
"Oye, it's me. Get your ass out here and come back to my room. We have a problem." Isaiah frowned. Of course. What else would it be other than bad news? Rushing to get his bag filled with medical supplies, he yelled to her. "Justa minute..!" Grabbing the bag, which was sitting on top of his filing cabinet, the white haired doctor opened and then shut and locked the door behind him. He didn't want anyone stealing his stuff while he was gone. They might be asleep, but again, you just never knew. Some of the people Eria had recruited seemed rather...... Shady, to him. He knew for a fact one of them was a former druggie. Another an recovering alcoholic. Not that he was to judge, because if it weren't for the smokes, he'd probably be an alcoholic too. With the medical bag in his hand, and with his stethoscope around his neck (a force of habit, really), he looked at Eria and started to head upstairs. "What kind of wound is it? Have you done anything to it? How severe of a condition is the patient in now?" He said rather quickly. He was rather used to asking questions like this at a speedy rate, as most of the time when these questions were needed to be asked, someone was in cardiac arrest or something. "And who is it? Is it Casey?" he added. He didn't know the young blonde that well, but he knew that she was a valuable member to the Resistance, and it would be much harder for them to get anything done without her. |
|
|
|
Post by ERIA HATEM on Jan 11, 2011 20:28:39 GMT -6
|
|
CASEY BRIGGS
RESISTANCE
The Mechanic and Messenger
Posts: 30
|
Post by CASEY BRIGGS on Jan 12, 2011 19:34:23 GMT -6
Casey lost track of time as she lay there curled on Eria’s bed. There was a faint sort of humming in her ears, a fuzziness to her thoughts as they twirled aimlessly in little circles. She was so very tired. She wanted to sleep more than anything. And yet, some part of her, a part she couldn’t quite pin down, insisted that she fight against it. That she stay awake, no matter that that was absolutely the last thing she wanted to do. Sleep beckoned to her, promising that she wouldn’t hurt so much if she’d just let herself fall into it… but she didn’t. She clenched her fingers around the bedspread; her grip was weak, but to her it was enough. She focused on the feeling of her hand on the sheets, holding onto that with all of her mental strength. And for the moment, it worked. She stayed in that place, halfway between sleeping and waking.
The humming grew louder, interspersed by a weird sort of clunking noise, which after a moment Casey realized was footsteps. Footsteps and voices. A man and a woman, both of whom sounded terribly familiar, but who she couldn’t quite place with her mind so foggy. She didn’t have the strength to move, though the hum of voices grew closer. She couldn’t make out words, just could tell who was talking. Even that took a while, drifting through her consciousness in no particular hurry.
She protested as she was suddenly moved—or tried to, anyway, though all that actually came out was a grunt and an unintelligible mumble. She was tilted more towards an upright position, strong arms supporting her since her muscles weren’t exactly cooperating. It hurt, sending sharp pains through the wounds that had until then just been filling her with a dull sort of throbbing. Her head lolled against the supporting arm; she didn’t have the strength to support her own body weight, even enough to sit up on her own. But the pain cleared her mind a little, and she was able to realize that the arms supporting her belonged to Eria, as did the female voice. The other was Isaiah, she’d bet. Eria had said something about getting him to help her… hadn’t she?
She didn’t realize Eria had been speaking until the murmur of her voice abruptly cut off. Casey still couldn’t tell exactly what she’d said. It just sounded sort of like… bees. Yeah, like a swarm of sleepy bees. Buzz buzz, Casey thought inanely. With a Herculean effort, she forced one eye open, then the other, blinking both blearily until she could at least make out where Isaiah was standing. ”Hey… Doc…” she slurred, the words coming out as a faint mumble, but at least somewhat intelligible. ”Damned’f ‘m not glad… t’see ya.” Speaking took more effort than she’d like, but the fact that she was a bit more lucid now was good. Probably. Or maybe she was pushing herself too much and killing herself faster. Hard to say, exactly. Casey’s eyes closed again, slumping against Eria. ”M’tired…” she mumbled. Too tired to care that she needed help, though that would probably bother her more later.
[/size] |
|
ISAIAH HARBINGER
RESISTANCE
The Doctor.
And it tears my flesh from the bone, how we turn a dream to stone.
Posts: 5
|
Post by ISAIAH HARBINGER on Jan 12, 2011 20:35:16 GMT -6
They were at the base of the stairs, which lead to the bedrooms before Isaiah got the answers to his questions. "She came in with a twisted ankle, scraped hands and gunshot wounds. I removed the bullets and bandaged the wounds as best I could, but she's still bleeding. When I left her she'd fallen asleep on my bed." The white haired doctor nodded. "How many gunshot wounds?" he asked. He wanted to be positive that Eria had gotten all of them out, as it could be deadly if they had hit something important. After he asked his last question, and there was no reply, Isaiah took that silence as a yes, as he probably wouldn't be rushing up three flights of stairs for any old regular member. Casey was an important member of the Resistance. She was the only person who knew how to fix anything in this goddamned place, as everything was at least twenty years old, at best. Not to mention she was the only person who could get anything away from the New Order quick enough to get some sort of theft or hijacking in order.
Pushing past him, Isaiah watched as his leader pushed past him to open the door for him. Eria had always been a faster runner than he. But then again, she was much; smaller than he was. In height and weight. He, over six foot and her standing at about five foot five. Not that impressive. Heading through the open door, he gently closed it, not wanting to wake anyone. Turning back to the two woman, he set his medical bag down on a chair next to the bed, and allowed Eria to prop Casey up. She looked at him. "You do all you can to keep her alive, you got that Isaiah? We need her; she's invaluable to our operations and if she dies in your care I swear I'll make your life hell." Isaiah frowned. His life was already hell. No family, no real friends left. The only people he could count as friends around here were Eria and the assassin, Ophelia. But even then, he had a feeling that if it became between his life and the possible chance at even just pissing off The Tyrant, they'd leave him for dead on the side of the road. How depressing.
All he did was nod, and went back to focusing on just Casey. His patient. The only person who mattered right now. But, where to start? The white haired doctor took in a deep breath, and began to bark orders. "Eria, get my keys from my pocket and go downstairs. I need vikodin, an IV, and lots packets of blood. Make sure it's AB negative." He knew for sure that was Casey's blood type. Then again, he had medical files on all of the members of the Resistance on his laptop. They were pretty generic and useless files to even the doctors and evil scientists of the New Order. All they contained really, were blood types and food allergies. Isaiah looked down at Casey, and began to check the wounds. Eria had gotten all of them out, that was for sure. She had even covered them and cleaned them already, which was good. He then went to inspect the twisted ankle. He sighed, and said to Casey. "I'm sorry if this hurts. Just examining it." Isaiah could tell that the swelling was bad. He really wished Eria had called him up earlier, or brought Casey down to his infirmary as soon as she saw her. It sure would've made things a lot easier. For everyone. Looking over his shoulder, the white haired doctor gnashed his teeth. Where was Eria with the stuff he needed?
|
|
|
|
Post by ERIA HATEM on Jan 12, 2011 20:57:26 GMT -6
Eria didn't normally take kindly to being told what to do, especially by men. She hated feeling subservient to men, but this was an emergency. Without so much as a word she reached into his pocket, grabbing the keys, and slipped out from beind Casey and ran as quickly as she could to the stairwell, taking them two or three at a time. She was doing pretty good until the fourth step towards the bottom where she slipped and fell the rest of the way. The wind was knocked from her as she hit the cold stone floor, and she felt pain spread through her body. She pushed the pain to the back of her mind and pushed herself up, hurrying down to his office.
As soon as the door was unlocked she made a mad dash for the things Isaiah had listed off; she grabbed the blood packets from their storage units and once those were in arm she grabbed the bottle of vikodin and the IV that he'd said was needed. She took a quick look around to make sure she had everything; part of her wondered if this blood was going to be enough. Her arms were practically overflowing with the packets so she tried to comfort herself with the thought that it was more than enough. Hopefully she turned out to be right about that.
Hurrying back up the stairs, once again taking them two or three at a time, Eria managed to keep herself from falling and ran back to her bedroom. She dumped the items on the bed in front of Isaiah, taking her place back behind Casey. "Alright, work your magic doc."
[/blockquote][/blockquote]
|
|
CASEY BRIGGS
RESISTANCE
The Mechanic and Messenger
Posts: 30
|
Post by CASEY BRIGGS on Jan 14, 2011 10:03:05 GMT -6
Casey wobbled as Eria (who had been supporting her weight) suddenly left, possibly in response to whatever Isaiah had buzzed said to her the second before. He sounded urgent… and Casey wasn’t so far gone that she couldn’t figure out why. She knew she was hurt, and bad; she’d had to detour to keep the blood trail from leading the New Order right to their hideout, for Pete’s sake. Losing that much blood was definitely not a good thing. And the fact that she couldn’t focus on anything for more than a couple of seconds probably was an even worse sign. And though she was glad she wasn’t hurting as much as she had been when she first got there, she was aware that probably wasn’t a good sign, either. The throbbing was fading from her consciousness, slowly but surely. Probably not a good thing.
She stared blankly at Isaiah as he said something to her, his tone apologetic, then her eyes flickered down to her ankle as he started to examine it. She’d almost forgotten about that… the bad landing on the roof. She was vaguely surprised to see that the joint had swelled up considerably. Must’ve been a worse twist than she thought. She slowly became aware of a renewed throbbing from the injury as Isaiah looked it over, his mouth set in a worried-looking frown. Was it that bad? She’d sprained her ankle so many times before… probably not that big of a deal compared to the rest of the wounds, but since it was the only one that hadn’t been dealt with, Isaiah seemed to focus on it for the time being.
Some people might have been embarrassed or shy, sitting there on the bed in nothing but bandages and her underwear, but Casey was a street kid. She was far too practical to care about that sort of thing. Plus, she was by no means ashamed of her body; she hid it with baggy clothing sometimes, but that was just to avoid people who might try to take advantage of her due to her small size. She was pretty, and she was aware of it. She just didn’t feel the need to flaunt it, or rely on feminine charms or some such bullshit to get what she needed. She didn’t want the advantages or disadvantages of being a girl to help or hinder her; she’d do what she needed to do on her own power.
She blinked and looked at Eria as the older woman came back into the room, clutching medical supplies in her arms. So that was why she’d left. She watched as the leader dumped the supplies on the bed by Isaiah and moved around behind her. With a slight sigh, Casey let herself lean on Eria a little, just to keep from keeling over entirely. She spotted an IV needle in the stuff Eria had brought and moved her arm so Isaiah would be able to get to it, holding it out in front of her unsteadily. Blood transfusions were good. She needed more of that, right?
[/size] |
|
