If I kiss you where it's sore...
WHO: Penelo {danceofrapture}, Larsa {solidor_heir} BATTRAP {darkknightfall}, Dr. Wilson {sanctioning}
WHAT: Treating the fallen little Emperor-in-waiting
WHERE: House Bunansa
WHEN: Late 127/Early 128
It had been two hours since the boy was carried into the house and left in her care. She had laid him on his back in the tub and stripped him of his now-shredded and bloody finery,and cleansed the wounds the best she could. Her mind was a blur of hazy red and flashbacks of the war in Rabanastre, of all of the bodies that were given to her to tend, eventually just draped on the family doorstep. She brushed the horrifying memories aside to focus on the task at hand.
As her hands mechanically tore lengths of gauze and tied bandages tight to stem the bleeding, Penelo cooed loving encouragements to the boy. She peppered his hair with kisses and kissed what tears she could reach. Little half-remembered lullabies and affirmations as she washed what blood away she could, especially from his little face. His skin was cold as she wrapped him in a large, thick towel and gathered his body in her arms. She bore him to his bed and settled his head on a pillow draped with another towel.
When he began to choke on his own blood, she offered him a basin, and rolled him on his side so that he could spit the red liquid out of his mouth. It rolled down his chin and stained his face, but Penelo wiped him clean. A syringe of pain medication leftover from the bombings found its way into Penelo's hand, though she doesn't remember how. The needle slid into Larsa's arm without so much as a wince from the boy. The plunger sank.
She could feel him shake all over, but she couldn't tell if that was his crying, or his body going into deep shock. She sat beside him and cradled him against her, whispering tender thoughts and little prayers over him. There was nothing more she could do; she had done everything to her medical knowledge, and Larsa simply could not be moved to receive help elsewhere. Penelo had never felt so useless. All she could offer now was comfort and warmth.
Another quilt draped around his form. His tears had slowed, and his weary, glazed, bloodshot eyes were drifting to a close and his dry lips parting. If he slipped away now, she knew he wouldn't ever wake up. She shook him lightly. No, stay awake, she ordered the heir to the Solidor throne, Stay just a little longer.
They spoke of home, of the Phon coast, and the little Mandragora that inhabited it. He nestled close to her, breathing labored. They spoke of their families, and how much they missed them.
In desperation, she scribbled in her journal behind the curve of Larsa's back on the bed. She could not watch another person she loved die. But if Larsa was to go, she wanted him to feel safe and well-looked after. Larsa had become so cold and quiet and fought to stay awake. He would be lucky if he made it through the night, with all of his bloodloss.
But then, the doctor's response. And the man that Penelo recognized as Clark, one of Larsa's friends. They knew medicine; more advanced things than what she knew.
There was help. There was hope.
Penelo drew a fast map, and tugged Larsa closer. She would stay with him. She would keep him awake. She would keep him safe.
"Help's coming," She said in a hush in his ear, "You'll be alright. Help's coming."
WHAT: Treating the fallen little Emperor-in-waiting
WHERE: House Bunansa
WHEN: Late 127/Early 128
It had been two hours since the boy was carried into the house and left in her care. She had laid him on his back in the tub and stripped him of his now-shredded and bloody finery,and cleansed the wounds the best she could. Her mind was a blur of hazy red and flashbacks of the war in Rabanastre, of all of the bodies that were given to her to tend, eventually just draped on the family doorstep. She brushed the horrifying memories aside to focus on the task at hand.
As her hands mechanically tore lengths of gauze and tied bandages tight to stem the bleeding, Penelo cooed loving encouragements to the boy. She peppered his hair with kisses and kissed what tears she could reach. Little half-remembered lullabies and affirmations as she washed what blood away she could, especially from his little face. His skin was cold as she wrapped him in a large, thick towel and gathered his body in her arms. She bore him to his bed and settled his head on a pillow draped with another towel.
When he began to choke on his own blood, she offered him a basin, and rolled him on his side so that he could spit the red liquid out of his mouth. It rolled down his chin and stained his face, but Penelo wiped him clean. A syringe of pain medication leftover from the bombings found its way into Penelo's hand, though she doesn't remember how. The needle slid into Larsa's arm without so much as a wince from the boy. The plunger sank.
She could feel him shake all over, but she couldn't tell if that was his crying, or his body going into deep shock. She sat beside him and cradled him against her, whispering tender thoughts and little prayers over him. There was nothing more she could do; she had done everything to her medical knowledge, and Larsa simply could not be moved to receive help elsewhere. Penelo had never felt so useless. All she could offer now was comfort and warmth.
Another quilt draped around his form. His tears had slowed, and his weary, glazed, bloodshot eyes were drifting to a close and his dry lips parting. If he slipped away now, she knew he wouldn't ever wake up. She shook him lightly. No, stay awake, she ordered the heir to the Solidor throne, Stay just a little longer.
They spoke of home, of the Phon coast, and the little Mandragora that inhabited it. He nestled close to her, breathing labored. They spoke of their families, and how much they missed them.
In desperation, she scribbled in her journal behind the curve of Larsa's back on the bed. She could not watch another person she loved die. But if Larsa was to go, she wanted him to feel safe and well-looked after. Larsa had become so cold and quiet and fought to stay awake. He would be lucky if he made it through the night, with all of his bloodloss.
But then, the doctor's response. And the man that Penelo recognized as Clark, one of Larsa's friends. They knew medicine; more advanced things than what she knew.
There was help. There was hope.
Penelo drew a fast map, and tugged Larsa closer. She would stay with him. She would keep him awake. She would keep him safe.
"Help's coming," She said in a hush in his ear, "You'll be alright. Help's coming."