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 Posted: Sun Nov 15, 2015 10:30 am
Takes place directly after Is it Better to be Feared?.The only comparable amount of immense pain in Scholomance's life occurred when he spent days detoxing inside of a hospital. He had to do so under medical supervision because of the life-threatening nature of purging oneself from heroin - and he hadn't since experienced anything close.
But now, moments after leaving the general, Scholomance felt pain so thoroughly that his consciousness threatened to collapse under the weight of it. Ever breath felt as though it escaped through lacerations, concrete rashes, and deep bruising. He knew more blood of his own than he'd ever seen, and he paled tremendously when he looked at it. But he had to move, even if his legs felt too taxed to bear his weight any longer. He pressed ahead out of obligation.
The burning red star of Macy's taunted him from a football field's distance. gaining so much distance demanded more strength of him than he had, but he knew that lingering yielded worse outcomes. If he could reach their appointed meeting site, then he might receive sorely needed medical assistance. He pressed on because the fear ebbed. And as it did, he knew that shock must be setting in. He shook, though he didn't feel cold, and neither did the night air. He knew this was a sign that death watched from the corners.
He thought of Labyrinthite, then, and his garish cloak. His garish smile.
11:50, the LED sign said, when he reached the top of the building. Doing so left him pinned to the Tarmac roof for a full three minutes, unable to scream under the tyrannical pain. His breath came in rasps. He felt, more than once, his vision and hearing wander a distance before leashing back to him. When Scholomance finally drew himself to his feet, he had to pick the flecks of dislodged Tarmac out of his cheek. He didn't care enough to expend the effort.
He hoped Ashanite wasn't late.
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Posted: Fri Nov 20, 2015 8:56 pm
Fortunately for Scholomance, Ashanite was not late. The Captain was, instead, early, but only by five minutes or so - and he smelled blood before he stepped onto the rooftop where Scholomance's letter had asked him to be. A letter from any Knight was a point of interest, but one from Scholomance, who had given him such an interesting and curious time on his Wonder, was absolutely worth responding to.
He was glad he had, Without a second thought, he drew out Hvergelmir's stardust ribbon - because although he had taken a moment to hope that he wasn't smelling blood belonging to the Squire he was supposed to meet, actually seeing Scholomance told him it definitely was. He had been saving it for a personal emergency, but this absolutely qualified as a good enough reason to expend its power.
"Bloody hell, Scholomance," he breathed, reaching a hand out carefully to sit on the Squire's shoulder (avoiding his new rib-bone accouterments) to steady him. "Where are you bleeding from?" Tend to that first with the ribbon, then deal with whatever else might be wrong. He wasn't sure how much Hvergelmir's ribbon would heal, but it would at least be a start. "Just gesture, if you can't speak." Because that was a possibility.
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Posted: Tue Nov 24, 2015 9:37 am
Scholomance had wished terribly, in the past hour, for the cane that he wielded as a squire. Yet he remembered the splintered half that Labyrinthite sheared easily, and knew that he could not rely on that comfort. Scholomance would not support him now - and it never had. Thinking so, he laughed bitterly. It sounded breathless, gaunt with want.
The squire still breathed through his mouth in shuddering fragments when Ashanite found him. He waited expectantly for the captain to close the distance. And he did so - and Scholomance felt the newly-forming surge of terror rooted in that manner of energy - and the squire reached out desperately to grasp Ashanite's shoulder in return. He leaned as much of his weight as he could muster upon the man. His hand felt as cold as his namesake; already his pants showed a ruddy red down the left side, soaked entirely to the ankle. He wondered, then, how many pints he lost. How many fluid ounces of blood now spattered the streets. If, perhaps, Ashanite followed the trail and hoped for an easy last victim.
He doubted it, for as much as Ashanite spoke of his days as a knight.
"My leg," he started breathlessly. "He cut it. Labyrinthite. General. I can't feel it." Each phrase was managed between staccato breaths to recover hemorrhaging oxygen. Still he felt like he scrambled for air. "My shoulder might be broken. It popped..." He drew a hissing breath through teeth. "When he struck it."
A baleful glance was cast toward the rainbow ribbon. He knew not what it did, but he surmised that a tourniquet made of it amounted to a bandaid for a gunshot wound. "I need a hospital. Take me. Please."
He never thought he'd utter those last three words outside of the bedroom and in such a dire tone.
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Posted: Tue Nov 24, 2015 11:12 pm
As soon as he was given an answer, Ashanite let go of Scholomance's shoulder - but only so he had two hands with which to tie on the ribbon. He focused, to activate the magic, and then tied it around the bleeding wound. "It will help, some," he said. This was exactly the sort of emergency he had been saving it for - he doubted Scholomance would receive the same benefits from consuming a starseed that an officer did. There was no other option, if he wanted to stem the bleeding now. This wasn't like Mont Blonc, whose greatest danger had been in what Xenotime was doing to his starseed - Scholomance was bleeding out.
And he would remember the name Labyrinthite. Scholomance had displayed no signs of ever being a threat - quite the opposite, really - and so anyone who would attack him this brutally was someone to be deeply concerned about. Would he turn on a reluctant Captain as quickly as a reluctant Squire? That was not a likelihood that Ashanite wanted to test.
"Hold on," he said, because Scholomance was right - he absolutely did need a hospital, and there was no more that Asha's limited knowledge of field medicine could do. He was not even going to attempt to set a broken shoulder, and trying to bandage the injury would be a waste of time. He slid an arm around the Knight's waist, and focused, carrying them to the same hospital where he had deposited Mont Blonc.
Then, he had teleported a few blocks away and carried Mont Blonc the rest of the way. This time, he didn't bother. He was feet fromt he entrance, tucked out of the way of the lights so hopefully no one noticed two people suddenly appearing out of nowhere.
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Posted: Mon Nov 30, 2015 3:29 am
In both instances where Scholomance was privy to teleportation, he felt no great effects beyond the dizziness and jarring nature of it. However, with so little blood remaining in his system and a host of wounds taxing him, the immediate shift in surrounding to a location entirely different than before left him crippled. His mind struggled to comprehend the immediacy of it all, to make sense of it, and in the process Scholomance lost grasp of so many senses that he collapsed against Ashanite temporarily.
At least he was not out for long - seconds later he roused back to reality, and understood his current location as facing the double doors of the emergency room. Most within busied themselves with their loved ones, or their rounds for the day, or other tasks they took on to avoid interacting with the pained strangers that littered the room. Scholomance kept his biting grip on Ashanite's shoulder to keep himself steady, even as quick exsanguination left his fingertips numb and tingling.
"Will you help me inside?" Scholomance asked the question breathlessly; he was quickly becoming aware that he needed to ration breath, and spending it on polite turns of phrase seemed a terrible idea in the moment. "I just... Need to get... To a chair."
Not counting all the walk-in paperwork.
I wonder if this counts as a walk-in when he dragged me in, Scholomance wondered bitterly.
The knight continued to huff through his last response. "You don't have to stay. It's better... If you didn't."Noir Songbird one more post from you and i'll fin this?
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2015 12:54 am
Ashanite kept his grip around Scholomance's waist, and was glad, sort of, that he only fainted - a repeat of Mont Blonc getting sick was an unpleasant possibility. It was a little strange, to see how teleportation affected people still Order-side - he had never experienced it when he was a Knight, and as an officer, it was tiring, but certainly not disorienting the way it seemed to be to Mont Blonc and Scholomance.
Something to contemplate when he didn't have a man bleeding to death in his arms.
"Of course," Ashanite said - and rather than let Scholomance hobble in or burn another teleport, he scooped the Squire up, minding the bones on his shoulders. "This is faster," he said, in a tone that wouldn't brook disagreement - not that he particularly expected the Squire to disagree, in the state he was in.
Only in a crowded emergency room could the two of them possibly be inconspicuous - but no one seemed to be paying any particular attention, which was good, he supposed. So he carried Scholomance to a chair and set him in it.
"I can't. You're going to have to power down - and please take this in only the best way possible, but I have absolutely no desire to know your nonmagical identity." Because that kind of knowledge was dangerous. "Send me a letter, or I'll fret over whether you made it or not." Part serious request, part brief attempt at humor.
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2015 5:54 am
Scholomance winced painfully and loosed a strained grunt when Ashanite hoisted him; even his simple grasp shifted enough flesh to renew the vitriolic, nauseating agony that stemmed from his injuries. Fingernails dug into Ashanite's shoulder by response, and there they stayed while the captain walked him the remaining thirty feet to the nearest chair. Others around the emergency room mostly cared for their own and paid the pair little heed, but a very palpable paranoia settled on Scholomance nonetheless. He did not relish this ********, ********, <********>," he cursed under his breath. The mantra helped little with the pain, but it tided him over until Ashanite very carefully retired him to a chair. Isaiah grimaced terribly beneath the mask; the hurt stood evident in his eyes. Gloved hands pressed to the injuries for an ineffectual stymie while blood ran freely down the chair and onto the floor. Some of the nurses started to take notice.
"Thanks." One of the nurses, a curly redhead with broad shoulders and vast expanses of freckles, started his way. "I mean it. I'd be dead by dawn without your help." Such words merited no sarcasm.
The nurse paused in front of him and Scholomance issued a wink to his retreating comrade when asked for a letter. The nurse started into a series of questions about the wound, a short examination, and Scholomance assumed she thought death would strike imminently. Surgery, it seemed, was going to happen in minutes - and Scholomance's mental preparations for it were optional. The knight nodded along to some of the questions asked, now sounding more and more like radio noise. By the time he could tear his attention away, he noticed that Ashanite had already left.
A letter, he reminded himself. Send him a letter.
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