The atmosphere has been tense in both cities ever since the new batch of refugees were shot down out of the sky. Natives and refugees alike will note that things are steadily growing worse and worse... until suddenly, the tension snaps. Chaos erupts on one seemingly ordinary night and will continue until early March, when it all comes to a head. The question is, as always... what will you do?
You may submit an AC-eligible thread set in either Olympia or Wyver for 1 OLYMPIA REP POINT OR 1 WYVER REP POINT respectively, HERE or HERE, so long as the thread involves your character complying with their faction of choice's goals and responsibilities.
As a note, faction compliance in this case refers to actions that benefit the faction in the long term. Meaning that while citizens might be revolting against one another temporarily, assisting their fellow people and business will be considered as faction compliance for the purposes of submitting REP. (For example, raiding the palace in Olympia would earn 1 Wyver REP, whereas helping put out the fires in the palace would earn 1 Olympia REP.)
You may write threads and prompts in both cities, but ICly, they should take place on different days.
Please also note that travel between factions is heavily scrutinized during the events of this log. If your character travels between cities, please report it here. EMBERS IN OUR BLOODLINES
CHAOS ERUPTS. The city hasn't been exactly peaceful for some time — discontented grumbles have been directed at anyone who exhibits even the slightest amount of pro-Wyver (anti-Olympian) sentiment — but now, the tensions have not simply worsened: they've outright snapped.
It wouldn't be unusual to start your day to the sound of breaking glass. Perhaps it's a neighbor's window, or if you're truly unlucky, it's your own. Regardless, it's clear that there are a number of people who decide that violence is the answer. Well-armed shops such as The Sharper are left alone, but The Silk Wyrms, The Wyvernest, and other smaller businesses aren't so lucky. Visit the tailor, and you'll find that someone has broken in and slashed many of the in-progress custom orders; at the dragon cafe, someone has set many of the miniature dragons loose in a bid to purge the city of anything tainted by Wyver's influence. Many shopkeeps are fearful that the culprits might return. They're offering good silver for anyone who will retrieve stolen goods, round up the missing dragons, or find proof of who the culprits were — and for protection in case the culprits return. Linger, and you'll be in a position to potentially stop a repeat attack when the rioters come back with torches and bricks.
Members of the Royal Guard have their hands full with the fights breaking out to attend to every instance of violence against the businesses. Shouting in the squares escalates into bloody brawls — and if you spend any time outside, you'll soon see why. There's a strange mist in the most populated parts of the city, which you may recognize as having similar effects to the waters of Flona Cove that lower one's inhibitions. It spurs those who would usually agree to disagree into shouting matches, and influences people who would normally shout into throwing punches. Members of the Guard, usually a mediating force, are joining the fray themselves.
Even you aren't immune to the mist's effects. Whether you're protecting your home or place of employment, chasing down vandals, rounding up escaped dragons from the dragon cafes, or even just observing what's going on with someone else, you're likely doing it much more aggressively than you typically would... but then, this level of aggression seems to be becoming Olympia's new normal.
SINNERS TO PLAY AS SAINTS. The theaters are miraculously untouched, but The Life and Death of Nithor the Exalted is no longer being put on. Instead, passers-by are being pulled onstage to play out other scenes from Olympia's glorious history. Those who don't want to play along don't have much of a choice; those orchestrating the scenes have people out in the crowds to bring people up by force if necessary.
The base scenario is simple enough: the noble Olympian puts the pathetic Wyvern in their place. Perhaps it's a fight scene: the Olympian comes out on top, of course, and the crowd roars for blood. Wyver weapons are only props, however, but the Olympian weapons? They're very, very real. Or perhaps it's a callback to when the Olympian people marked captured Wyverns with brands to assert their dominance — there is real fire, and real brands, on stage.
If you pass as Olympian, you may be pressed to perform. If you don't want to really hurt someone, you'd best learn how to fake it — refuse to play your part, and the crowd will very quickly turn against you. If you're too obviously not Olympian, or if they recognize you as someone who went off-script last time (and they have very good memory), you'll likely be pressed into the role of an unfortunate Wyvern. Hopefully your co-star is gentle...
Break a leg. Literally, as the case may be.
CRITICAL CONDITION. With all the chaos, it's only a matter of time before people start to seek medical attention. However, along the way to The Sanctuary, they'll be faced with an almost insurmountable barricade. It isn't immediately obvious who put it up, but it's clear that nobody will be getting through it without significant effort.
Approach, and a voice will ring out warning you to keep back. It's one of the employees at the clinic; she has a crossbow in her shaking hands, and if pressed, she'll admit that they put up the barricade to keep out rioters. She understands that there are people who need their help, but the decision was made to keep themselves and their supplies safe so that when the dust settles, they can set out en masse and help more people than they could if they were raided.
If you're accompanied by someone with grievous injuries, or if you're terribly injured yourself, you may be able to convince her to let you in for a quick patch-up, but they're not giving any medicines out. If you need more supplies, you'll have to figure out another way of getting it — either by overpowering the woman on watch and raiding the clinic yourself, or distracting her so that other members of your group can sneak in and take what they need.
Making matters worse is the gigantic vulture-like creature, much larger than the birds in Murkwell Hollow... and much meaner. This beast doesn't wait for eye contact before it attacks: it swoops down out of the sky when people are gathered at the barricade, snatching up anyone it can grab in its talons, fixing on whoever's closest. However, if someone who killed a vulture is present, it pursues them with relentless determination. If not dealt with, it will attempt to eat the dead and the injured without discrimination. It can be driven off with high difficulty using weapons, magical abilities (except fire, which doesn't affect it), and the terrain to your advantage. It will retreat before it can be killed, presumably so that it can regroup and harry the next batch of people to get close to the barricade.
As it retreats it will drop feathers that can be sold to the Institute for study for 100 silver; one feather per character, please. Sales can be reported here.
PALACE BURNS. Chaos reigns for the better part of a week, and toward the end, it escalates past the point of rioting in the streets — the violence reaches Empress Simwe's palace. In the gardens where Olympians and refugees alike had lit lanterns in unity and remembrance mere weeks before, one careless (or perhaps not so careless) flame catches, spreading to the rest of the grounds and to one of the palace walls. The members of the Royal Guard, already stretched thin, are too preoccupied with trying to contain the blaze to stop anyone from pouring in through the breach.
It's an opportunity that looters and dissidents do not pass up.
Follow them in, and you'll find the elegant surroundings being torn apart. Many of the rioters are those who have it out for Simwe and are hunting for her. As she's nowhere to be found, they settle for the next best thing: setting torch to her portraits. Portraits of the late emperor, on the other hand, are left untouched. The vandals are incredibly vocal in their displeasure with Simwe's policies, and almost fanatical in their opinion that life in Olympia would be much better if Simwe had perished in her husband's place. They turn to violence when the frightened maids and other servants don't have the answers they want as they leave a trail of fire in their wake. Will you use them as a smokescreen for your own venture, or will you intervene?
Further inside, the sticky-fingered will find furnishings, clothing, jewelry — anything that isn't bolted down is fair game. In the library, the gilded titles of priceless books glitter on the shelves; in the wine cellar, Simwe's personal collection of extremely fine vintages waits to be sampled; a mirrored room furnished entirely with pillows is draped in lacy underthings; fragrant salts and bottles of perfume sit in a steam-filled bathing room; in the treasury, looters are hard at work squirrelling away silver and carrying off golden baubles. Nobody looks too closely at anyone's face unless given a reason to, but in the morning, heads will certainly roll. You could make off with your own treasure from the palace with none the wiser, or you could stop one of the looters — maybe it's even a fellow refugee — and turn them in to the guard to help restore some order to this night of chaos.
In the depths of the treasury, there is a group trying to get past a sealed door. They're an unpleasant, volatile lot, and they make a lot of noise about how if they can just get their hands on the heart of the legendary dragon, they'll be able to wipe Wyver from the map once and for all and put someone competent on the throne. After multiple failed attempts, they start offering a reward of 50 silver to anyone who makes an attempt at opening the door.
ABOUT THE DOOR: The inner treasury door is enchanted to stand up to all manner of assaults, both magical and physical. Any attempts to dispel the enchantment will fail, but characters are welcome to make attempts in exchange for cash. While minor force will be harmlessly absorbed by the shields on the door, anything of great strength will be reflected back at its point of origin — so be ready to dodge!
Whether you help the Guard put out the fire, steal from the palace, try and get past the enchanted door, or make attempts to stop the looters, your actions may have consequences later. Please report any significant actions you take here.
NOTE: Characters are welcome to steal a single minor, setting-appropriate item from the palace. Mod approval is not required. Any items of greater import in the palace are locked in a vault and inaccessible.
BLOOD ON MY HANDS LIKE THE BLOOD IN YOU
FOR GLORY. Meanwhile, in Wyver, the holiday celebrating Nithor's death may have finished, but the spirit is still high. The citizens, eagerly awaiting the results of the contest from earlier in the month, congregate at a large stadium in the East End on the morning of the 21st and encourage refugees to join them — not only will the contest winner be announced, but there will be a series of physical trials to select Wyver's best and brightest.
This yearly event is considered the true end to the holiday. They honor those who excel at the arts — whether they be standard arts or the art of combat — and with these trials, they will honor those who excel on the battlefield. King Shanrian himself speaks to kick off the festivities, holding a distinctly human skull in his hands the entire time he's in view.
 Everyone, join me in praising the winners of our citywide contest! I was, heh... quite delighted with the meat jelly dish submitted by citizens Clair and Frederick. Such creativity! Meanwhile, dear Shenya loved hearing the beautiful music provided by Diva and Tani Umenosuke. And as you all well know, his vote is my vote.
Now I speak to you on a more serious note: I encourage all of you to join the legacy of those who helped bring down the mad and oppressive Nithor. I ask you all to join the trials. Show the world that we are a people of honor. For we do not seek glory, but fairness, liberty, and truth. Citizens, do you have what it takes to represent your home?
Signing up is simple. Interested parties are to submit their name at the registration desk, and by high noon, the festivities will kick off in full.
First up is a tournament — to thin the numbers down and ensure that only the best of the best make it to the end, participants are matched to a fight until one side is incapacitated. The air is thick with excitement, and bouts continue all day and through the night. Vendors have set up temporary stalls to sell food, toiletries, pillows, and blankets for those who don't wish to miss even a moment of the action.
If you're participating, you will take part in three fights before the finalists are determined; if you are not, you will be free to watch from the audience or, if you're acquainted with people who are fighting, to go behind the scenes to assist them by bringing them water or medicine between matches or even just give them moral support. Either way, you'll notice a slight shift in the air as time goes by.
Midway through the preliminary matches, the atmosphere changes from enthusiastic to outright bloodthirsty. Observers who were content to see a knock out will call for blood. People will start to clamor for the losers to lose their lives, and audience members will find themselves itching for a fight. One wrong look and the fighting might not just be constrained to the ring.
Make it through to the finals, and your trial will be more focused on teamwork: after all, the assassins who took down Nithor had to work together to get their job done. Finalists are paired off to face a variety of beasts, some from Wyver, some from Olympia, and some from other, far-flung parts of the isles. There is no set number of winners — anyone who performs well will be honored with a prize of silver at the end — but the beasts are ferocious, and it will take coordination and exceptional skill to make it out unscathed.
Either way, it's sure to be a spectacle.
HEARTY DIETS. The city's atmosphere does not become peaceful with the conclusion of the trials. Wherever you turn, the people around you seem to be more combative than usual - and in this city, that can be quite the feat.
To mark the end of another successful set of trials, the shamans of the Altar of Volkkra make dragon's blood, which they partake in for one of their rituals, more widely available to the public. Most drink it straight, although there are some who take it mixed in with other drinks. Either way, the effects are the same:
Drinking dragon's blood will feel like drinking liquid fire. It will burn the entirety of its way down and leave you with a presence in your chest that you will carry with you for three days before wearing off. It is a warmth that seems to imbue you with the strength and confidence of the dead dragon. The adrenaline will minimize any great pains, and you will have the sense that the path you choose is right.
Unfortunately, there is a downside. The dragon blood will keep you restless until the effects wear off. Confidence will turn into mindless arrogance. If you and your companion both drink the blood, you will butt heads because you will believe the other is wrong. Additionally, you may experience the need to hoard. The shamans say it is a trial you must endure to learn not to overindulge, but to someone who has never drank before, the feeling will be overwhelming.
Dragon's blood isn't the only variety to partake in. This time of year, the blood of a variety of monsters can be found to drink; it's said that consuming a creature's blood will imbue you with that creature's power. Whether this is true or not remains to be seen — some insist it's a rumor, while others swear its veracity — but fueled by the confidence the dragon's blood has drawn out of them, the natives are very insistent that you try it out, and some may even challenge you to a blood-drinking contest.
There are some who say that they've managed to procure the blood of Olympians, and that ingesting it will sap the strength of the Olympian people and bestow it upon Wyver instead. Some Wyvern natives aren't willing to allow the blood of their most hated enemies past their lips and would instead use Olympian blood to paint out scenes of their destruction, either on the walls like the murals or on charms from the Altar of Volkkra, as it is said to have the same effect. If you're offered some of this "paint," it's probably better to accept. After all, refusal would be very un-Wyvernlike, and you wouldn't want to be marked as the next target for someone hoping to procure Olympian blood, would you?
FANNING FLAMES. Since the trials, natives have lit bonfires throughout the city as a way of showing support for their favorite contenders; the belief is that as long as the flames continue to be fed, the contender will continue to fight well. Even now that the trials are over, the flames burn bright. These contenders are Wyver's hope of victory over Olympia, after all; isn't it better to keep the fires ablaze until they've brought the Olympians to their knees?
But it isn't just wood that they're using for kindling. This time they want a more personal offering. Many of the natives will shed their own blood to throw into the fire, and still more roam the streets in search of people to feed to the flames. You might find yourself one of their targets if you've been too noticeably traveling between the cities on a regular basis, or if you've made the mistake of donning the Olympian colors of white and gold even in a subtle way. Perhaps you come off as a loyal citizen of Wyver, and they've tapped you to assist them with feeding a person to the flames — If you refuse, you might face scrutiny yourself.
Chaos is on the rise. It's a bastardization of celebration that has long since gotten out of hand, although few seem inclined to try and contain it. Those who do are mainly shouted down or silenced by other means, and if you're looking to assist them in quelling the unrest, you'll have to be subtle lest you wind up facing the citizens' ire.
Luckily, there is something to provide a distraction: a gigantic vulture-like creature, much larger than the birds from Murkwell Hollow, has come to hunt . When it descends, it makes to grab anyone with its talons, with one exception — if anyone who killed a vulture in Murkwell is nearby, it will ignore the others and focus its attempts on tearing them apart with a relentless, single-minded determination. If not driven off, the dead and the injured will become its next meal, and it has no qualms about diving into the flames to snatch up bodies, as it's unharmed by fire. It can be driven off with high difficulty using weapons, magical abilities (other than fire), and the terrain to your advantage, but will retreat before it can be killed so that it can regroup and make another attempt at snatching up bodies later.
As it retreats it will drop feathers that can be sold to the Altar of Volkkra for experimentation for 100 silver; one feather per character, please. Sales can be reported here.
BEASTLY EXHIBITS.The shamans of Volkkra, perhaps under the influence of dragon's blood, have their own way of dealing with the unrest. Throughout the week, those protesting the chaos start to vanish, and either from rumors or direct observation it will soon become obvious why: they're being brought to the main Altar of Volkkra, all the way up on Namarak Summit. If you have been attempting to calm people down, you might just find yourselves taken; otherwise, you can tail the shamans to the summit to find what's going on for yourself.
Those taken to the main altar are blindfolded and thrust into the labyrinthine halls without a flame to guide their way. Shamans guard the entrances and exits; inside, all light but that of the Eternal Flame have been extinguished. Other shamans, who take part in the rumored experiments, roam the halls with wicked-looking knives in search of new test subjects. If they come across you, you'll need to either fight or run.
It is possible to escape this, either by overpowering them or by using your wits. It's even possible to find your way to the entrance and fight your way past the shamans guarding it — but the when the first person sets foot out of the halls, the shamans call for backup. Menacing shrieks and roars sound from inside the mazelike halls, and strange, mishmashed creatures emerge from the darkness.
They're angry, and they're willing to lash out at both refugee and shaman alike.
ABOUT THE MONSTERS: They are amalgamations of people and creatures from all over the isles, and each one is different. One might have the head of a Duldrum, the torso and arms of a man, and the lower half of a Glowing Snake; another might look like a Wispurr with a second head of an Unlucky Cat grafted onto it, and the abilities to match. The shamans seem to have been mixing and matching the features and abilities of both named and unnamed creatures as they see fit, and they've whipped them up into a frenzy — these chimeras crave blood, and will not stop until their targets are dead, or they are.
They can be killed with medium difficulty using your own weapons, supplies from the Altar, and any abilities you might possess; survive, and the shamans will let you go with 200 silver as compensation, having decided that you've proven your worth and that your strength may be an asset to Wyver in the future. If your character successfully kills a chimera, please report it here.
An AC-eligible thread in which your character complies with their faction's goals for 1 REP POINT FOR EITHER OLYMPIA OR WYVER may be submitted from this log. SUBMIT THE THREAD FOR OLYMPIA OR WYVER HERE OR HERE RESPECTIVELY BY MARCH 14th 11:59 PM EST.
We will no longer be providing overflow posts. In an event where the post hits CAPTCHA, players are advised to move threads to an overflow post on their character journals or create their own catch-all post. These threads remain eligible for AC, AC Rewards, and REP.
1 SILVER = 1 US DOLLAR.
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He shouts too. Something, maybe words, maybe not. Mostly something desperate while his body jerks violently but his reaction is just so hilarious to his captors that they don't even consider giving him another blow for daring to struggle. They're already cackling, laughing and mocking his words again. His eyes are so wide, and almost instantly he feels the pinprick of tears, but they don't ever fall because he can't even bear to blink. His gaze is stuck on the blood that starts to seep onto the ground, looking black in the darkness, sickly and oozing, and he thinks dazedly that at least it's black since Misa likes that colour so much.
He's never looked at a dead person, and he doesn't want to look but he can't help the urge that forces him to look at her face, and he nearly screams again when he sees her eyes open instead of peacefully closed.
Except—and the realization takes the breath right out of him—they're open because she's alive.
It makes him dumb, looking at the man on top of her in confusion, and noticing only then just how still he is. He doesn't- it doesn't even occur to him that Misa had killed him. His thought processes have already devolved to something considerably more basic: survive, escape, worry about the details later. So he takes stock. It feels as though hours have passed while he's knelt there, but it couldn't have been more than a minute, and the men beside him are still laughing, the crowd to excited to care (and those that disagreed, they'd already left lest they be next).
A sharp intake and JJ moves. He doesn't think about it, too panicked still to formulate a plan and lose precious time. Instead, he just moves their grip on him had grown slack while they rejoiced that there's no resistance when he surges forward, body tackling the man off of Misa from his crouched position. He's got her again, no longer separated by the unforgiving hands of this useless mob of men.
The first thing he does? (The men shout and gasp in surprise when he lunges, and realization can dawn in seconds so:) He grabs the knife right from Misa's arm—probably should've left it there, help stem the bleeding but he's not thinking—and when the men reach for them again, alarm rising in both parties, he swings the blade out, taking hold of Misa's arm and staggering them both up in the same movement.
The blade catches against something, and there's a shout that JJ doesn't register over the pounding in his own ears. Maybe he should say something heroic, ask her if she can walk or if she needs to be carried, but instead all he manages to utter is: ]
Run.
[ And if she can't—then she has no chance, because the grip he has on her injured arm is tight, and he's almost as crazy as the men that tried to kill her as he turns tail and bolts as fast as he can. ]
no subject
Most of the people spectating are in a state of confusion as the event unfolds in front of them, many crying out in anguish for their slain Olympian - only a few even attempt to stagger after the pair, too bewildered and panicked by (failed) attempts to try and save the man Misa had killed. In their sprint, she lets herself look back one last time, just for the pure satisfaction of seeing that man's lifespan at nothing...and the two men beside him? They would soon join him the first moment she got by herself - that thought alone is motivation to survive, her drive to continue passing judgment on the wicked like she is meant to do. Like Light would want her to.
The adrenaline rush from narrowly escaping death (again) is enough to distract her from the other's tight grip on her arm, but once they start the initial approach to what she assumes is JJ's house, slowing from sprint to a slight jog, the consequences of having her heart rate up so much - which really only served to worsen the bleeding from her arm - are suddenly very real. It was easy to keep her feet moving while they were in motion and while adrenaline largely numbed the pain, but with the slowing of their pace, it's becoming more and more like JJ has to drag her along just to keep her upright.
No matter how long she has been here, how war-torn this place is, she's still a regular person who has never sustained an injury like this, so it should come as no surprise that if he looks back, her head is hung low out of faintness, voice coming out choked up - half because she doesn't think she's ever been this out of breath, and half because now that they're not in the immediate face of danger, the pain combined with the panic catches up and she can finally have her emotional melt down. ]
My arm.... I can't feel my hand...
[ If she wasn't holding on so tightly to the dagger in her right hand, she'd be clutching her bicep in some sort of attempt to slow the bleeding, but instead, she just scrubs at her eyes because she really is beginning to cry in earnest - and not in the somewhat comical, over-dramatic way that she did when she didn't get her way, but in the very real, hiccup-y, gross way that only being stabbed can produce.
It's ironic that her level of dramatics are finally situationally appropriate, but honestly? She doesn't know what else to do than cry and complain because there's nothing she can really expect him to do to fix this, neither of them are doctors, and that's enough to have her panic. Anything else she tries to say to him is distorted by her crying, but it doesn't seem like she will stop or calm down until she either passes out or gets the concern she thinks she rightfully deserves. ]
no subject
Had JJ really changed so much that he was okay to let someone die?
He's so lost in his own thoughts that he forgets to look after Misa until his apartment is in view.
And she's crying. JJ has seen her afraid before, when they'd bee running away from that dragon, and there have been moments of unease, but to see her cry disarms him almost completely. Like an idiot, it's only then he realizes just how hurt she is, how scared she must've been, and how she'd been fighting through it all to secure their capture; the burden is just too much.
There's a pinprick at his eyes again but he doesn't shed any tears. Instead, he steps forward to take her face in his hands, thumbs wiping gently at her tears as he presses his forehead against hers. ]
I know. But it's going to be okay, all right? [ She's crying too much for his words to have any effect instantly, and his thumb swipes over her cheek again. ] Just listen to me: it's going to be okay.
[ Without thinking, he steals a brush of his lips against hers, a peck of a kiss; comforting, and neither romantic nor sexual. Still out of line, but the action doesn't even register to him as his attention refocuses and he steps away, putting his fingers around the wrist of her injured up and lifting it up higher. ]
Keep your arm above your heart. And [ JJ doesn't have any medical training, but he's had his own blood drawn a couple of times that he can make a guess as to what he should do ] I need your hair ties.
[ This isn't really the time to make a fuss about Misa's iconic hairstyle, and he takes the hair ties out as gently as he can before easing them up her arm, doing his best not to touch the wound. Or even really look at it, since he's not sure that it wouldn't freeze him in his tracks. He's found focus now, brought on by the sheer need that Misa has for someone to help her, and he can't risk losing that.
It's not much, but at least he can fashion a tourniquet out of her hair ties for now. ]
Okay, just keep your arm up. We just need to get into my apartment and then... And then you can rest.
no subject
It doesn't help that everyone that's ever bothered to stick around and save her life has confessed to being in love with her, so the press of his lips that she doesn't see coming only worsens that internal dilemma that she was already having half an hour ago - not that she even really leans into or out of it, only reacting belatedly 3 or 4 seconds after the fact. ]
What are you doing? Kissing me all of the sudden...
[ If she just wasn't crying so hard already, maybe she would've gone on a longer tirade about blahblah Light, but she also can't deny that she wanted and somewhat needed that kind of attention - in the whiny way of I'm hurt, so pay attention to me and comfort me. There's a middle ground in the way she suffices for knocking him lightly on the chest (y'know, with the good hand), scolding but weirdly affectionate and grateful all the same. Should she be worried about the strange sense of déjà vu that she's having? Maybe, but she doesn't have time to dwell on it, so... the moment just passes, glazed over by her kind of comedic berating and huge sniffles.
At least she spent time being momentarily concerned about that rather than getting in his way while he eased the bands around her arm - well, it's not like she could get in the way much when everything below the wound is pretty limp at this point, but still. She makes a genuine effort to lift her arm up, making a face with the pain and eventually electing to just, rest her wrist high at the other's shoulder, not caring if the mix of fresh and dry blood there would get on him. It's way too hard to hold it up on her own, and if she has to assign him to Temporary Armrest Duty, then she'll do it if it means she'll get to lay down sooner.
She doesn't say anything else as they come up to the doorway, following mindlessly and rubbing at her eyes periodically with the back of her functional hand, little sobs catching on her breath now and then. If she seems more calmed down over time it's only because she's so lightheaded and she's been leaning more and more of her weight on him the longer it took to get inside. ]
There's no one else in here, is there...?
[ Her voice comes out small and shaky. No matter how close to passing out she feels, she still seems a little skittish about letting down her guard even in his own home, hand gripping at the blade at her side much too tightly. You never know, so she's hesitant to move forward due to being still keyed up on What If Someone Else Is Hiding In Here And Tries To Kill Us. ]
no subject
With her arm resting on his shoulder, he brings his arm around her back so that he can support her more easily, his hand rubbing between her shoulders. He's still operating mostly on instinct, trying not to panic when he feels her blood warm against his shoulder, steadily seeping through the fabric of his clothes to stain across his skin. He has no idea how much blood loss is fatal, nor does he even know what signs to look out for, and it's not like he has access to WebMD on this planet.
She might actually die.
The thought brings a hiccup of panic to the thoughts that he'd so forcefully manage to calm down, so he takes a moment to exhale shakily. ]
It's just me. Misa— [ He urges her forward. ] You're bleeding. I'm just going to take you to the kitchen so I can patch up the wound.
[ He's got clean kitchen towels that he'll wrap around her arm. Except—he really has no idea what he's doing. Should he apply antibiotic cream? Rubbing alcohol? He's not sure he can handle the look of pain on her face that would follow him pouring alcohol on her wound. Nor does he particularly want to rub cream into the wound while it's still open... The thought of it is enough to freeze him in place.
He sighs, stepping toward the kitchen to get that kitchen down. First step: stop the bleeding. ]
It'll be fine, Misa. I used to patch up my kid siblings all the time. [ i.e. he used to apply bandaids or give them tissues when they had nosebleeds ] It's nothing I can't handle. You just tell me if you're going to pass out, okay?
[ He'd hit his head on the ice once, and he knows that going to sleep can be an issue with concussions but—stab wounds? He's really out of his depth. ]
no subject
It's only now that she can ease herself into a chair once he ushers her into the kitchen that she can take stock of herself...how gross the rusty shine of dry blood on the front of her dress is, how swollen her eyes must be. She's not quite as smart as JJ who avoided looking right at the wound because as soon as she sits down she can't help but stare, face paling even more. ]
But aren't you supposed to get stitches for something like this...? You obviously don't know how to do that.
[ She's highly doubtful that JJ's kid siblings were getting into knife fights in the suburbs of Canada, no matter how confident he seems in his nursing skills. Not that she really has the choice of picking someone else to dress the wound, but she's having a hard time trusting his abilities even with the add-on of it's nothing I can't handle.
Misa has been in the face of death a number of times, but she has to say that this time has to be the most panic inducing of all; in those times before she had never actually been physically hurt to this extent, she'd always been able to luck out somehow... would this time be different? Is this the death she was always meant to have?
She had wanted to say how am I supposed to know when I'm going to pass out all defiantly before that thought crossed her mind but, she just doesn't, setting down her heavy blade with a soft clink against the kitchen counter while he goes about getting whatever materials it is that he has to. She doesn't want to see them, whatever they are. Knowing what is coming would only freak her out more. She'd rather just close her eyes and hold her head up with her newly free hand, try not to think about how inevitably painful this process is going to be.
At least she obediently keeps her arm up while waiting for him to return, the limb feeling both cold at the tips of her fingers and searing hot at the source of the wound. ]
Just do something, okay... I don't want to die...
[ And he's the only one she can count on to prevent that, for the moment. ]
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He needs help, but it seems like he's going to be doing this on his own. ]
It's going to be fine. [ He keeps saying that, even though he knows she doesn't believe it, but he's obviously too distracted to worry that she might just snap at him eventually.
With a pair of scissors, some elastic bands, and clean kitchen towels in hand, he stands in front of her again. As much as he'd been avoiding it, he's forced to look at the condition of her arm now: unnaturally puckered skin, and the blood seeming black where the wound is deepest. Just the sight of it makes him lightheaded, and for a second it almost feels like he can't bring himself to move. He just can't. He can't do it—he doesn't get into knife fights on the streets, and this kind of thing doesn't have any place in his life.
But even with those thoughts running through his head, he offers some kind of warning as he carefully takes her injured arm, so cold under his fingers so that he can snip away the ruined fabric, tossing it in the sink once he's done. He doesn't say anything as he slightest wets one of the towels and holds it over the wound, hesitating. ]
I'm sorry. Just close your eyes and try to think about something else.
[ Go to your happy place, if possible. But unable to delay it any longer, he does his best to be gentle as he swipes along the wound to clean up the dried blood and sweat. It doesn't take long thankfully, probably because JJ has no idea how thorough he needs to be, but he relents quickly enough. It's not as though the worst is behind them however, when he takes another towel. This time he needs to apply enough pressure and try to tie it tight enough to stem the bleeding.
He really doesn't want to see more blood ooze out as he does so, but it's the last thing he'll have to do. Once she's settled somewhere and getting some rest, and even if she doesn't want to see anyone else, he'll call Cam for help. He carries a dagger around all the time, he probably knows how to stitch up a wound. ]
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It works, kind of, for the first few moments that he cleans the wound, distracting herself by thinking of how she had endured through weeks of being unable to move, sometimes being forced to go without water or sleep. Nothing could be worse than that, right? Back then she had been able to persevere by clinging to the hope that she would see Light again at the end of it all.
But...he's not here. And he wouldn't be any time soon.
She can't help the reflex of trying to jerk away when the towel catches on the wound a certain way, the stinging pain and her own convoluted thoughts breaking her focus and having her burst into new tears. Being a celebrity meant controlling your reactions and expressions all the time in public, but in private, she can't hold back her pained expression and the way her breath catches on every inhale, how she strains with the effort to keep her arm still.
There's a lurching feeling of dread when she sees just how red the rag is when he pulls it away to replace it. For a moment, she thinks that she might just faint, and her head comes to rest on the counter half because she absolutely needs to and half because she wants to hide the no-doubt ugly expression she is making. She can see that the other is hesitating when she looks out of the the little pillow she's made for herself out of her good arm, which really only provokes her upset attitude even more: ]
Ahhh, hurry up!! [ Did he think being on the brink of passing out would make her less pushy??? well ] I'm going to faint soon, so just get it over with...
[ When she meets his eyes for one moment they're equal parts pleading and pushy, at least before she goes back to hiding her face in the crook of her elbow - not that hiding her face does anything to muffle the sound of her nonstop sniffling. But if he needed to be pushed to do - whatever it is he's supposed to do - then she is glad to give him that unkind shove, mostly because she is the kind of person who wants to get everything done at once, hates suffering for longer than she has to. Maybe it's selfish to put so much burden on him, but she's not really considering his feelings when her main focus is trying not to die, and while she definitely sees herself as the victim in this situation. ]
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But it can't, so he does his best.
The blood almost immediately seeps through the towel as he wraps it around her arm, tight and firm, trying not to squirm when he thinks about the wound underneath, and the way her skin probably doesn't fit neatly together anymore, but isn't given a choice as he wraps the towel around. Then another, all the while doing his best not to just pass out from the sight and from his overactive imagination. It's almost comical how thick he's bandaged the wound, but his expression doesn't show the slightest hint of amusement as he ties the towel in place.
Then, he stops. Because that's it. That's his limit. He doesn't know what else to do and there are no other skills he has available to help. This is as far as he can go and he has no idea if that's enough, and it's terrifying. Should he call for help? Go out to the Sanctuary and get medical supplies? ]
Remember to keep your arm up.
[ He's just repeating himself because he's out of advice. He'd hold her hand but he's got blood on his and there's blood on hers. ]
I'm finished. You can lie down on my bed, okay?
[ But well, the blood is probably dry now anyway, and what's a little more mess consider their current state, so he reaches out to rest a hand on her head as comfort. ]
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And at least he kind of gets it.
She barely moves when she feels his hand on her head, does nothing to acknowledge that she'd even heard what he said for a good five seconds - she's just so, so incredibly tired. All she has to do now is lay down, so the remaining effort she has left to keep trying to stay conscious is quickly dwindling. ]
Okay... [ She manages eventually, still trying to gather the strength to lift her head up. With his hand in her hair, gentle and warm and definitely nothing like the others that had pulled at it earlier, she almost wants to just fall asleep right there - but that would be bad, he'd probably think she died, or something equally dramatic.
So, she sits up, sliding out of her chair and leaving her blade there in favor of holding onto him for support while she gets up, still wobbling a little as her feet meet the ground. ]
Let's hurry. [ Her voice is barely above a mumble, but it's loud enough in an empty room with just the two of them like this. ] I'm tired, and cold...
[ Which is not the only reason she's staying so close to his side, her arm making it's way around his waist both so she'll be able to walk without falling over, and also because she wants to chase that warmth for as long as she can stay awake, wants to feel cared about for a few more moments just in case these are her final ones. And, she really is cold. ]
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Okay. I'll get you under the blankets and you'll be a toasty burrito.
[ He smiles, because he wants to believe that the worst of it is over. They're not in danger in the apartment, and he'd bandaged the wound enough that the bleeding should stop, but he doesn't know. He doesn't know how much blood loss is lethal, or if she might get infected, or maybe she'll lose her arm because there's too much damage. (His imagination is getting away from him.)
None of that is anything that he really can know at the moment, so he stays positive as he carries her to his room, one knee pushing onto his bed for balance as he eases her down, shifting the blankets so he they're not stuck underneath her. Once that's done, he moves back so that he can slide off her shoes and socks, setting them aside before hesitating.
She's almost asleep, but... ]
Do you want me to lend you some clothes?
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So she just dozes, between consciousness and unconsciousness, even while he takes her shoes off (where did she hide her Note piece today? she can't remember, hopefully it wouldn't fall out of her stocking or something, not that he'd think anything weird of a little piece of paper). ]
What? [ Her eyes are closed, and her voice is full of confusion. It takes her a few moments to fully process what he's asking - her head is swimming, and finally being able to lay down is about the only positive feeling she's had in the last hour. ] Right now...? Oh, I guess I'm getting blood on your stuff...
[ It's not like she necessarily wants to be ruining his bed sheets, but in the moment, the idea of jostling her arm more and trying to slip out of this dress sounds about as appealing as eating nails. ]
I want to change, but... how would I even get out of this... [ The unforgiving tight nature of almost everything she wore, as well as the bulk of bandaging on her arm would complicate that. ] And, you know, I really am serious about being tired, JJ...
[ You know, in case her slow, mumbling cadence wasn't enough to make that obvious. ]
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I'm not worried about you getting blood on my things.
[ Which is a bit of character development for him. Normally the idea would spook him, and he'd at least be a little unsettled though he wouldn't blame her for it. But right now, he could care less. There's enough of her blood on his own hands that he's just desensitized to it. It's fine, his hands can be washed, as well as his sheets and clothes. If she wants to sleep, then she's welcome to it.
After everything, he can't deny her that. ]
Just get some sleep, we'll worry about it tomorrow.
[ He should probably shower as well, to wash the blood and sweat away, and he will. First however, he pulls the covers over her, walking around the bed so that he can climb on the other side. He's still not confident enough to leave, still scared that he'll come back and she'll be gone, lying completely still under his covers like the body they'd left behind in the streets.
It's very chaste. He stays on top of the covers, his hands folded over his stomach as he stares up at the ceiling. ]
It's going to be fine.
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While she's getting all tucked in, she's immaturely trying to blow some of the fringe out of her face since it's too much work to move it with her hands... It's only when he settles in next to her that she tries to rearrange herself to get more comfortable than just laying flat on her back - huddling just a bit closer and lying on her side. It's about as cozy as she can be for having a gash in her arm, but she looks calmer at least, glad to finally settle down. ]
Make sure I wake up, okay...? And make sure no one else sees me like this.
[ She's only half-joking - she really would hate for anyone to see how disheveled and somewhat pathetic she looked right now. It's okay if it's JJ, but that's because...they're friends? In a way that was different than her connections to people on Earth. Waking up here on this planet with all it's shenanigans had that effect on her relationships. It was easy to cut people off and throw them away on Earth for her goals, but imagining behaving like that now... she could anticipate a feeling of pain, however small and budding.
As vain as they both are, she has the feeling that he doesn't care about the state she's in, which is weird, but strangely reassuring... she doesn't feel like she has to worry so much if its only him. ]
But really...you should probably try to rest for a little while too...
[ See? She can afford concern for others. Just after she's had her fair share of Injured Spotlight. Truthfully she doesn't even know how bad his injuries are since she's focused on herself, but she'll still say this to him for the brownie points of it all. With her arms tucked in like this she can't give him a reassuring pat or anything, but with her head turned toward him he would be able to feel the steady puffs of her breath near his shoulder, slowing even more as she drifted off. ]