❪ event ❫ hour of ruin

[natha]

HOUR OF RUIN     Sometime after midnight, after preparations have been put aside in favor of drinks and rest, a thunderous beating of wings shatters the air — the High Dragon Ysverai, once again risen. The sound echoes high off Namarak Mountain, but travels easily to both Wyver and Olympia: scream after scream rends the still night, as though a creature were dying rather than being born again. Having only had days to plan their defense against the creature, Olympia and Wyver snatch up their arms. The Royal Guard and the Knightryders can be seen on their steeds hurrying through the cities, because Ysverai doesn't remain isolated at the mountain's peak for long. There are pictures of Ysverai in abundance throughout both cities, but the creature that circles in the sky looks nothing like the majestic creature spoken of in history books. Even from far below, wounds and lacerations can be seen marring what should be smooth scales, and blood falls with every beat of the dragon's wings. The damage becomes more clear when moonlight illuminates Ysverai, revealing the rotting dragon for all to see. The sight of flesh peeling away and thick blood where it oozes from his cracked, greyish hide is as frightening as the power he possesses. REASON'S TRANSCENDENCE     Mad from the anguish of his forced revival, Ysverai will show none of his renowned wisdom or compassion, mindless and seeking to inflict his pain onto whatever emerges in his path. His very presence creates chaos: animals (Olympia | Wyver) domesticated and wild, flee from the merest hint of his approach, panicked and stampeding in wild droves. The reason is obvious: organic matter exposed too long to his presence begins to rot and decay. A field he lands in rots and lies fallow. Buildings crack and crumble, their supports pitted and corroded as though they've been left in disrepair for years. Even the ground that Ysverai walks upon is tainted; a corrosive sludge bubbles up in his massive, clawed footsteps, the ground beneath him putrefied and toxic, oozing corruption. This sludge can be tar-like, poisonous and sucking people in like quicksand; panic, and you'll only sink faster. Prolonged exposure to Ysverai takes a mental toll on anyone in his proximity as well. Effects similar to those from being near his heart — selfish desires and lowered inhibitions — will begin to fester in those around him. Every time Ysverai roars, pain will run through all those that hear him — a pain not just physical, but of true, anguished heartbreak. Those who hear Ysverai will feel (to a degree of your choosing) a sharing of his pain, the agony of flesh rotting from their bodies, blood oozing from under their skin, and a terrible, incandescent fury — and beneath that, a gut-wrenching sadness. This effect is further enhanced by any exposure to Ysverai's blood, and being drenched in greater quantities will cause one to become more in sync with the dragon. Finally, Ysverai is aggressive, attacking anyone and anything that approaches. He starts by breathing out a smog, acidic and putrefying — characters caught directly by this attack will find that medicine and healing magic of any kind hurts them for hours after exposure. The dragon will ignite the smog to breathe fire, if sparingly. IN WYVER     Ysverai's shadow falls over the near reaches of Wyver first. Upon hearing Ysverai's cry, the dragons in Wyver become completely frenzied, turning against their partners among the Knightryders without the slightest resistance. Those familiar with dragons might deduce that they're in pain, though they don't show any sign of injury. The dragons knock their riders off their backs in midair and dive at citizens, jaws wide. Any attempts to soothe them will be long fought, achieved with great difficulty, and will see them retreat into a cowering state. It's not just the airborne Knightryders taking to the defense of the city however, and people on the ground are mobilizing as well. On rooftops across the city are cannons set to fire harpoons. And if the spearheads alone aren't enough to injure the beast, they're coated with a paralyzing poison as well. Unfortunately, the soldiers stationed on the rooftops are prime targets to the frenzied dragons populating Wyver's skies, leaving the cannons open for ordinary citizens to use should they choose. Left alone too long, and cannons may fall under the control of the few remaining radicals that had opted not to flee the cities to join up with their leader Raysc, choosing instead to wait for an opportune moment to unleash their anger on the people of Wyver. These radicals will need to be dealt with before they can turn the cannons upon Wyver's defenders. IN OLYMPIA     In Olympia, the gryphon partners of the Royal Guard react with immediate hostility to anyone showing signs of Ysverai's influence. Their keen senses allow them to pick up the smell of Ysverai's blood and they attack anyone with so much as a drop of tainted blood on them. Those who bear lingering effects of Ysverai's mental attack and who remain in sync with the dragon after hearing Ysverai's cry are also targeted and must face the gryphons' wrath without mercy or restraint. The gryphons must be disabled, for Olympia will not look upon any injury to their prized steeds lightly. However, the gryphons also show some resistance to Ysverai's cry, which is a great boon in battle against the dragon — gryphons that have lost their riders will be available for use, able to carry two passengers at a time. The people of Olympia aren't planning to restrict their offense to pure brute force, and the mages of the city can be seen across Olympia wielding enchanted chains, using telekinesis in the hopes of restraining Ysverai and assisting in the airborne troops. But like the decaying buildings and wildlife, Ysverai is warping the magic around him, the chains faltering as they approach him, whipping back toward the city instead to cage whoever happens to be closest. It's not just the enchanted chains either, but other magic might behave erratically in his presence, as if the very essence of the spells have been corrupted. VIRTUOUS VERSE     Both cities realize they need to seek survival rather than victory against Ysverai, switching gears to carry out diversion efforts and evacuation plans. It falls to refugees to continue the offensive while the Royal Guard and the Knightryders devote their attention to ensuring the safety of the citizens as they flee. With official forces stretched thin, civilians and refugees alike will also need to step up to help herd citizens toward safety among a maze of collapsing buildings. Others will need to see to gathering resources for the evacuation, and while gathering non perishables is easy enough, it's considerably harder to wrangle livestock into cooperating amidst such chaos. Those fighting may be asked to act as bait for Ysverai. Chatter through official troops speaks of a switch in strategy: the objective now is capture the dragon's attention and draw him away from the populous cities and towards the South Outpost. Whether or not it's possible to defeat the dragon remains uncertain, but there's no question that it will be easier to battle him without worrying about civilians. THE RAGE     Luckily, the dragon is indiscriminate in his rage, and easily lured so long as a suitably infuriating target is before him. It doesn't take long to draw him to the South Outpost, but the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake is vast. Once there, the combined forces are greeted not just by Ysverai, but also by the appearance of Ysverai's master. How bravely you've all come to meet your doom! Great heroes, one and all, ha! I welcome you, bring your best. Show me the power that's protected Olympia and Wyver, all that you have to offer me, whatever pitiful excuse for valor you seek to cling to when the fear has you cowering in your beds. All will be for naught in the face of Ysverai's might! Let history witness the day the glory of war is reignited — the day that Wyver remembers its fangs once more! Come, Ysverai, last and greatest of the High Dragons! Come, and restore Wyver to its rightful place! Come, fulfill the promise as our protector that you could not in life! Raysc lifts a gleaming device as he issues his command. Red lights blink and blood, the same oozing liquid that drips from Ysverai's many wounds, runs in clear tubes through the device. Ysverai rears back as Raysc makes adjustments to a control panel — and then lunges forward, mouth agape. With a single swallow, Raysc meets his end. Raysc's attempt to control the dragon has only enraged him further, spurring Ysverai on to new heights of fury. It's become more vital than ever to face the dragon and take him down here and now. A few effective strategies are learned from research efforts and observed while defending Olympia and Wyver: goading the dragon into breathing fire will hurt him, burning him from the inside out, and attacks to his joints, eyes, wings, and exposed bone are effective. Ice is a natural repellent to dragons and can be used defensively or to weaken the dragon's hide. Healing spells will also react unnaturally to Ysverai's flesh, hastening his decay. However, while concentrated efforts will lock him down, Ysverai cannot be permanently killed in this state — his flesh constantly rots and spawns anew. Attacking him here is to protect civilians, keeping him busy to avoid mass destruction elsewhere. Therefore, the battle is one of attrition, a matter of a race against time. You must destroy his flesh faster than it is able to regenerate to have any hope of victory. Finally, when Ysverai is weakening, little more than bones with a few last vestiges of rotten meat hanging from a skeleton, the pathetic remnants of the last High Dragon takes to the skies. His wings are barely intact enough to carry him, yet desperation lifts him, higher and higher, until he lets out one great, earth-shaking roar. A roar that carries across the battlefield, sending all who hear it to their knees. A roar that shatters the swords in soldiers' hands, that rends apart the very air itself — Ysverai's last act, a great curse upon El Nysa, to bring down the sky. AND THE WORLD STOOD STILL     The terror of Ysverai's destruction hangs overhead — a tear in the sky, darkness pouring through, tendrils reaching down towards El Nysa to swallow up the planet in the dragon's final act of revenge. And yet nothing moves. A halo of brilliant light surrounds the rift in the sky, holding the grasping, hungry tendrils in check. And on the planet, not a creature moves. Not a blade of grass stirs. You're not able to even draw a breath. No matter where you are, not even the heart in your chest is beating. Everything has stopped — time has come to a standstill. In a wash of light, an aurora of transport, you find yourself delivered to Thesa Station. Darma stands before you, her expression solemn, perhaps even grim, though that may just be a trick of the station's harsh lighting. She explains what has happened in short order: planetside, time has been completely frozen. We have seen the birth and end of worlds. The rise and fall of civilizations infinite times over. We have seen all threads of possibilities that could have lead to this very moment... Or should have. Perhaps you might doubt our sincerity when we say this comes as a surprise to us, as well... Special technology has been used to blind us. To this day, we only know of one region capable of creating and utilizing such technology... you will find this technology in a city known as Nadril. We understand that you have created a life down in Wyver and Olympia, but now we must ask that you put that life on pause. We ask you to travel to Nadril and find the original Refugee, and with him, answers. As you will discover, he does not wish to speak to us. It is no matter. By now it is too late to keep the Nysan public unaware of our existence. We commend the efforts of those who wish to protect their comrades on the battlefield below, but a creature like poor Ysverai, twisted and warped, given unnatural life with terrible magic and technology, does not simply go down with manpower. Please, leave Ysverai to us. Time on the planet will remain stopped while we determine how to deal with the dragon. For now, rest and recover your strength. We have returned, and soon, there will be new refugees awakening. Perhaps you might like to prepare yourselves to greet them? I'm sorry that I can't answer more questions, but for now, all our attention must turn to finding a way to stop what Ysverai has wrought. A bank of monitors behind Darma displays the battlefield below: Ysverai's frozen, looming figure and the breach in the sky, and the Natha's halo, holding the destruction back. Though time passes normally on Thesa Station, El Nysa remains frozen, and all Refugees are unable to return to the planet until Ysverai's menace is dealt with. Luckily, with the Natha's return, full functionality has also returned to the station. The lights and environmentals are back to full power, access to all areas has been restored, the cafeteria is serving its normal offerings, and there's no evidence of any glitching or malfunctions. Doubtless, the period of rest is much needed after the hard-fought battle. For now, with time on El Nysa at a standstill, there's little else to be done but enjoy the reprieve aboard Thesa Station. FINAL OOC NOTE     Characters that reach an AC length action thread in this event will receive 2 rep for all factions, including Natha. Note that while these are split up for ease of processing, players may submit for all three. OLYMPIA | WYVER | NATHA Players can expect this event to run three days ICly before everyone is teleported to Thesa Station! From thereon, all characters will be grounded at the Station until the Test Drive Meme later this month. QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs ● bestiary taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp ● quest bulletin calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

[willrevile]

[ Jim makes a move with his free hand to try and slow her descent, somehow, but his reflexes are lagging too much to do any good. Hrmph. ]

Pride, me? [ The humor would sell better if he didn't sound and look like he's been run over by a bus or seven. ] I've decided to let you have your way with me, Doc.

[ Jim holds out his left hand. ] Pinkie's broken, ring and middle probably fractured, if not also broken. Tweaked my wrist real bad. Don't think you'll be able to do anything about my fried lungs. Busted ribs, including 'that one rib', but it's been reknitted so many times with reinforced synthbone it'll probably heal on its own by tomorrow. I am one giant crispy hematoma and I don't want to think about what's gotten into my right boot.

[ He's got blood seepage from both ears, but those are just popped eardrums - from shockwaves, not sound - and he can hear, so. It's all good. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

Just what I've always wanted. [A battered and bloodied space captain to play doctor with. It's like Christmas. But she appreciates his compliance. She's dealt with enough heroes to know how stubborn they can be, even with bits falling off.

She listens to him, lightly brushing fingers over his injured hand and wrist to confirm, then sets it down on his lap. She gives him a curious look, eyebrow lifting at that bit about synthbone--she'll ask later.]

You're remarkably chipper for it. Never a good sign, that attitude in combination to these injuries. Means you're not that unused to it. [Like the rib comment didn't alert her to that. She grabs his head to give those ears a quick look (as well as she can without proper tools and lighting), but since he's chattering on fine and can hear her over the noises of people around them, she's not fussed.]

Shall we check out this right boot, then?

[willrevile]

I just know my limits, [ he grunts, shifting into a position that suggests he's going to try to stand up in a minute. ] And I know the benefit of needing to get a head start on healing without the tech I'm used to. This job's not over.

[ Jim can take a lot more, but Jim's used to being able to bounce back thanks to benefits of the Federation's ample medical science. Here, probably not. He was lucky enough to get the red carpet treatment in Wyver after the kidnappings, and magic healed his shoulder, but he's worse off, presently. ]

Uh, not here. If my foot's been liquefied I'd rather be in sickbay.

[nineteenfortyfive]

Liquefied?!

[It's exclaimed loud enough that a few heads probably turn in their direction. Whoops.]

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, I can't tell if you're joking.

[With a grunt of her own, and a re-positioning of her skirts, she indicates that she'll help him up.]

Let's not waste any time. Come on, Captain.

[willrevile]

[ Jim winces at her shout worse than he has over any of his injuries. Oh, boy. ]

I'm sure it's fine.

[ Yeah like it's fine is gonna fly, those are the code words that send every medical practitioner from zero to My Hair Is On Fire You're Getting Sedatives. But she doesn't look like she's suddenly obtained a bunch of hyposprays, so Jim should be (relatively) safe.

Oof. Jim puts his weight solidly on the foot he's sure hasn't been turned into pure meat jelly by evil dragon acid, and hauls himself up, allowing Claire to give him a hand. It's probably not fine, but also probably not as bad as he flippantly remarked, given he can walk. Though there's some questionable, black-red matter of some kind coming from the sole of his boot as they make their way. ]

Ysverai's presence was causing matter to rot - softest first, plants and things, but it started eating away at leather armor in close proximity. My boots were treated, I think, but they must have missed a spot.

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Those are not words Claire likes to hear, and she gives him a look that says as much before helping him to his feet. Hopefully two, and not one one foot and foot soup. She imagines he'd probably be screaming if that were the case, so maybe it's not that bad.

Still.

She's not going to draw attention to anything she sees on the floor, though her face does, somehow, go a shade more pale than it was before. Claire steers him by means of an arm around him so he doesn't need to put his full weight on the mystery foot, and people are quick enough to move out of the way.]

Maybe don't get so close to the dragon, next time.

[willrevile]

[ Foot soup would be bad. Jim sincerely hopes it's not, though at least with the Natha back, maybe he could just ask for a replacement. Internal bleak laugh. It doesn't hurt quite as bad as he imagines it would if it were that bad, though. He knows what total cellular breakdown feels like. ]

The dragon was about the size of the entire South Outpost, [ he says as they make their way into whatever appropriate room exists. Probably near the resurrection tubes or however that goes. Cheery. ] We'd be two miles away from it, and it'd turn in a split-second and be right on top of us.

[ A nightmare. Jim's never seen anything like it, not in all his travels. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

I saw.

[She has a feeling that even if the dragon were smaller and easily avoidable, he's the type to jump into the fray if people are in danger. Somehow, she finds these types no matter what time or world she's in. A blessing and a curse, really.

Others have already began to trickle into the area, given Claire's not the only person with medical experience on the station, but she's still not keen on exposing everyone else to whatever sight is in Jim's boot. So, after a moment of consideration, she guides them towards what she hopes is an empty examination room.

Bingo.

Besides, he needs to strip out of that armor he's in, and there's probably a gown or something like that in there. Also, no free shows.]

Okay. [There's a bit of a hop to get onto the cushioned table, but she's sure he can manage.] Sit on the edge. No objections to me getting you out of this?

[She asks, already looking for a way to free him.]

[willrevile]

[ No verbal answer to that question, but Jim, despite the pain and exhaustion, takes the opportunity to smile widely at her with a telltale sparkle of Oh No, You're Also That Guy, Aren't You, in his eyes. That are still visible, nearly neon blue ringed in bruises and blood.

Anyway, the lack of commentary hopefully files that away as a joke to lighten the mood, and Jim grunts something that sounds more like genuine pain than a sassy response as he gets onto the table. ]

I'll need scissors, we can both take a crack at it, [ he says. There's no way he's pulling his shirt off over his head with his ribs in this state.

Jim's businesslike about cutting the decayed straps of long-melted armor and his jacket off, ratty shirt splitting like the skin of ripe fruit. Beneath it he's as expected, even the mole on his boob gone invisible beneath contusions. But it could still have been a whole lot worse; at the very least, he knows what he's doing in violent situations. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Claire rolls her eyes. He was easy to look at until he turned into a stubbed toe. There's a half-smile there, though. At least his sense of humor isn't hemorrhaging. He gets a pair of scissors before she begins to unearth him. Decades have experience have made her bedside manner quite good. She doesn't make a sound at what she sees, but she's glad some of the pressure is off her.]

Once things settle down I'll find a healer for you. The magical kind.

[She imagines the ones she knows are exhausted, if not tending to others or themselves right now. She can tide Jim over until the time is right.]

[willrevile]

[ He's told her his best friend's a doctor - Jim's a good patient when he wants to be, he knows his paces, he knows his field medic basics (and his space goop formulas). He only plays at being a shit about it when he's in a truly horrible mood, or when he's trying to get attention out of Bones; neither applicable, at the moment. ]

I'll keep, [ he assures her. And it sounds like he means because he's got the fortitude to deal with it, not another 'it's fine'. He knows it's not fine.

Exhale. Alright. His ribs aren't poking out so there's nothing to do but let them breathe, and he's not gushing blood anywhere. That leaves getting his questionable foot soup boot off. Jim looks at her, and there's no playful flirtation this time. ] I figure this is gonna suck.

[nineteenfortyfive]

I know. You're made of tough stuff.

[She's seen bigger, stronger looking men take less and crumple to the floor. He's able to joke, to stand and walk, and sit upright. It's admirable.]

I don't know if you want to sit upright or recline. It's going to suck either way, yes.

[But at least he can choose how he wants it to suck.]

[willrevile]

[ We'll see what he's like in a minute without Starfleet grade painkillers. Speaking of, he should probably have something before they give this a go, but oh well. Maybe she'll jab him with something from the supplies in here, maybe not. Jim thinks, somewhat perversely, that he remembers missing his scars; some of the bigger ones he'd collected in his years as a neglected, abused child had faded upon resurrection, more smaller ones vanishing entirely. Most Federation citizens don't have scars, not even from acne, medical science wiping out most adolescent plagues. ]

Huhhh. [ What a choice. Jim ends up deciding to scoot back so he's laying down, just in case he passes out. Which seems distinctly possible. His left hand is still pretty munched, but he works with his elbow and his right hand well enough, shimmying carefully.

For a while he stays sat up, helping her with one hand getting pieces of the offending boot cut away, until they get to a certain angle and his face goes abruptly very pale, and he has to move to steady himself. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Smart boy. Claire helps him where she can, perhaps all the more glad he's not a slab of muscle like some of the people here, and when it's time for her to take over she grabs his (good) wrist.]

Back. And don't look. [It's going to be gross, she can tell. Claire actually hasn't been up here much in her near-year of access, and so if there's anything to be jabbed, she's not sure where it is.

Maybe for the better. If he can feel his foot, his toes, it might be a good sign.

And if he passes out while she carefully begins to peel away the rest of the boot? Probably for the best.]

cw gross i guess

[willrevile]

[ Jim breathes out and obeys, leaning back carefully in increments as to not tress his ribs. He can still move his foot and his toes, so he knows he's got bones working just fine in there, but holy fuck the nerve pain is something else when it gets it a certain way. There's every possibility the remnants of his boot are the only thing keeping this together, but it's really got to come off.

The blood and rotten matter inside the top of his boot and covering his ankle looks worse than it is; the damage began in the sole of his shoe, so it's a fun dig downward. Burns, mostly, toxin eating away at his skin, oozing out the beginnings of an infection that shouldn't really exist yet, but, hey, giant zombie dragon with decay powers.

Jim doesn't look, but he can feel the oozing, and he can smell it. He forces himself to breathe slowly, stare at the ceiling. No more banter. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[Again, thank God for decades of experience. It's not the worst thing she's seen--the war will forever leave sights and smells burned into her memory--but it's pretty bad. Fascinating, in a terrible way, and Claire holds his leg as she examines the damage once he's free of the boot.

Just not too close with her face, there. The smell is worse right up in the carnage. It's like every instance of trench foot she's seen all at once.]

Well...

[He might hear something drip onto the table.]

You do have all six toes.

[Funny???]

[willrevile]

Outstanding, [ he forces himself to croak out, though any further quip is lost in a weak exhale of nothing. It's great he hasn't had anything to eat in a couple days, because otherwise he'd be upchucking from the pain alone. As it is his stomach just clenches violently and Jim silently hates everything.

One the bottom of his foot is the worst, a black spot of erosion, lines creeping in and outward eating away at all manner of tissue, tainting veins, seeping something yellow. His middle toe has seen better days, along with most of his toenails; the skin that hasn't been burned or eaten up is in turns too pale and too purple. More of an eldritch wound than anything traditional. ]

Hey, I'm--

[ Uhwah? He's in shock, is what he is, staring at his right hand held above his face, seeing double and feeling like he can hear into the next room. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[For a moment, she has a vivid memory of sitting in a room with other hostages. Everything hurt. Her clothes hurt. She could feel every thread in the fabric digging into her skin that molded like wet tissue to whatever she was wearing. She had taken off her boots, then, and her skin and toenails had come off inside her socks. That's not this, but there's a scent that's familiar (the scent of skin melting away?), but she's snapped out of her memory when he speaks again.]

Probably about to pass out. [Small mercies?] Stay still, Jim.

[He probably doesn't want to move that foot after Claire gently sets it down. Then, she's not so gently going through drawers and cabinets, finding an alarming amount of various supplies with directions on them. Useful, but she's never been a fan of just anyone playing with tools.

(Ask her about the blood drive when she first arrived, sometime.)

Then again, there's a lot she doesn't recognize.

She glances back at him over her shoulder as she reaches up to pull down some bottles that look particularly useful. Some things are universal.]

Just a moment.

[willrevile]

[ It's excruciating. Unique, too. Jim's vision blurs and flares, the room swims, spins. He lays back fully again with a thump, and he grips his opposite shoulder with his good hand to keep himself from moving further despite feeling like he's about to fly off and into zero gravity without his own say-so. ]

Tell Spock,

[ Huh? ]

That is the worst supply room.

[ Jim has no idea where he is. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[He's not totally off. Claire imagines if she wasn't from the 60s she might have a slightly easier go at this, but hey, that's why there are instructions. She finds a pen with the words sedative in the description, and that's good enough. Better spare the man before he says anything ridiculous enough that she'll repeat it to him.]

You've done well, Captain. Time to rest up. [And it's a quick jab to the neck, as per the handy diagram. She'll have to smuggle some of these down, assuming they're ever allowed back to their respective cities.

Once she's sure Jim is out for the count, she begins to work. First, the foot. It's vile. She imagines if he were in the 18th century, any surgeon would just take the whole thing off. There's a lot of scraping, trying to get rid of that rot--and truth be told, if there wasn't the reassurance of magical healers on the station, she might be in a bit of a panic now. It's awful. And to think, all because of that dragon...

It's a surprise she hasn't yet heard of any refugee deaths.

Once she does what she can to make sure that foot doesn't kill him before Anders or Terra or someone else can be caught, it's the rest of him that needs cleaning up and examining. She cleans the blood from his face, checks for signs of internal bleeding because the ghost of Angus haunts her even here, and splints his fingers so he doesn't have to remind himself to mind them.

By the time he comes to, he's had his foot wrapped and a blanket draped over him. Really, it'a all just to keep him comfortable as possible. Claire's at the sink, scrubbing her hands. She's been there for some time.

She's a doctor. She's seen some nasty things. Pieces of rotting foot on her hands is up there.]

[willrevile]

[ He's nearly on his way out before she gets him (Bones would be proud), but the sedative helps immensely, mainly with keeping him under and suppressing his brain's terrible habit of waking back up too soon. Hopefully there's some analgesic in there as well, so that when he does wake up, it won't be screaming.

Jim feels fuzzy and in a similar amount of pain when he awakens, which is pretty good. He comes to slowly, blinking intermittently, not moving or saying anything for a bit. Placing himself, going over the series of events that led him to it.

Jesus fuck. ]

Morning.

[ Where am I. What year is it. Has anyone else from my world woken up. Are you still Claire Fraser.

Nah, ]

Do I still have a foot?

[ He hasn't looked yet. ]

[nineteenfortyfive]

[She likes him enough that she doesn't want him miserable.

So, she's pleased when he wakes, turning as she wipes her hands on a towel.]

Good morning. [What time is it, anyway? That's what throws her off most about being at the station. It's difficult for her to guess the time of day or night. Not a lot of time could have passed between being brought here and now, though. Or maybe it has?

Does it matter?]

It's not a pretty foot, but it's there.

[Claire steps over to him, lifting the blanket so he can see the foot-shaped ball of bandaging.]

How are you feeling, Jim?

[willrevile]

[ Oh. Good. Relief mingled with the numbness of medication and the effort to ignore pain is still relief, and Jim gingerly moves the wrapped appendage - which hurts even more, but is at least re-assuring. He can feel what he assumes is the telltale flexible-stiffness of the liquid stitches he'd given her, which is also somewhat re-assuring. ]

As expected, probably, [ is dry. Glimpses of the carnage being washed away, mentally comparing the tidy wrapped foot versus the memory of what it was - his faith in her abilities has paid off. Well fucking done, Doc. ]

Remind me to write you a field commission when I'm lucid. We both know I wouldn't have gotten through that without help.

[ He looks up at her. ]

Thank you, Claire.

[nineteenfortyfive]

[As much as she wanted to use her new toy, she didn't think she'd be using it on him. It's almost like he knew. An unhappy coincidence, but he's better off because of his gift to her.]

You're welcome. I won't tell you what you were muttering about someone named... Spock, I think. [Just one thing, but she can't help but tease. It distracts her from the memory of almost dry heaving while working on his foot.] My daughter had a pediatrician named Mr. Spock, but I sincerely doubt it's the same person.

[Even without knowing any details, that would be weird. Claire pulls over a stool so she can sit beside him, both for company and for observation. She's forever worried about Sansa and Theon, but she's not willing to leave Jim just yet.]

[willrevile]

[ Someone else might have the thought that, if he'd just died, the Natha might have conveniently revived him intact - but it's so morbid, and Jim's so particular, it doesn't occur to him. He'd rather have it like this. (Or, you know, no injury. No injury would be cool, but that's not the day he's had.) ]

Oh. [ He makes a face. ] Nice to know I start complaining about paperwork. My first officer, Commander Spock, is a scientist from the planet Vulcan. Don't remember him having any pediatrician credentials, but you never know, I guess.

[ No saucy mumblings; NimoySpock's the only one he's held hands with, you're welcome. ]

So, how soon can I go sky diving?