now I'm trying to wake you up, to pull you from the liquid sky
Who: deathlessness, lucycoded, and later ysobritish
When: Sunday; 3 July; Early Evening
Where: Sector 11 Dock Warehouses then to Outer Heaven
Summary: Shinji decided to try and take out Kelly, didn't go well. Urick has been searching and retrieves him, plopping him into Outer Heaven for recovery.
Warnings: Hopefully not much in the way of violence. Multiple personality fun times. Language maybe? Nothing big.
[Pain.
Labored breathing in a chest not tight but not entirely existent.
Heart drumming frantically against a ribcage miles away, making rhythms felt more than heard.
Eyes crack open and the world drains into the funnel of a whirlpool.
The dark takes over again.
The fight hadn't gone well. Kelly had been found, spotted, stalked, cornered, all as planned, all because of the long hours that Kimihiko had put in for the information. But to think that he'd spook so badly when facing a man with not one, but six clear and completely different motives locked in the same presence. At best, Shinji had been expecting him to whip out a gun so easily.
The shots themselves are blurred together in memory; thankfully scientists generally have poor aim. The searing pain had shot first through his thigh and then his side. Getting warmer in the ways of vital areas, something that triggered an instinctual counterattack. Was it three or four shots fired, recoils that caused aching in his forearm from the sheer rush of the situation. Absently, there's the disjointed memory of his laughter, but it's mostly drowned out by the lightheaded feeling. Adrenaline, his heart racing, pumping harder in response, spilling blood onto the ground in the alleyway without heed.
And now he's here, propped against the wall inside the warehouse, fading in and out of more than just consciousness. The sirens screamed their warning some time ago (could be minutes or hours) and the almost melodic screeching of claws on glass skips around like an old record. Kelly has to have run off; he'd be dead otherwise, right? Fingers rest on his side, brushing a wad of cloth that's been shoved against the wound. A laugh. Kazuhiko must've woken up, taken care of things like he always does. A distant pressure encircling his leg above where the pain is throbbing away more weakly before tells him more definitely than his vision can at the moment that there's a tourniquet in place. Time, outside of the notable sirens, is stretched beyond comprehension. How many hours? Is it daylight or night outside? The burning and tingling returns, from extremities in, and a black ring eats away at Shinji's heavy, blurred vision. He could die here. Die, for a second time.
But he wouldn't have it any other way.]
When: Sunday; 3 July; Early Evening
Where: Sector 11 Dock Warehouses then to Outer Heaven
Summary: Shinji decided to try and take out Kelly, didn't go well. Urick has been searching and retrieves him, plopping him into Outer Heaven for recovery.
Warnings: Hopefully not much in the way of violence. Multiple personality fun times. Language maybe? Nothing big.
[Pain.
Labored breathing in a chest not tight but not entirely existent.
Heart drumming frantically against a ribcage miles away, making rhythms felt more than heard.
Eyes crack open and the world drains into the funnel of a whirlpool.
The dark takes over again.
The fight hadn't gone well. Kelly had been found, spotted, stalked, cornered, all as planned, all because of the long hours that Kimihiko had put in for the information. But to think that he'd spook so badly when facing a man with not one, but six clear and completely different motives locked in the same presence. At best, Shinji had been expecting him to whip out a gun so easily.
The shots themselves are blurred together in memory; thankfully scientists generally have poor aim. The searing pain had shot first through his thigh and then his side. Getting warmer in the ways of vital areas, something that triggered an instinctual counterattack. Was it three or four shots fired, recoils that caused aching in his forearm from the sheer rush of the situation. Absently, there's the disjointed memory of his laughter, but it's mostly drowned out by the lightheaded feeling. Adrenaline, his heart racing, pumping harder in response, spilling blood onto the ground in the alleyway without heed.
And now he's here, propped against the wall inside the warehouse, fading in and out of more than just consciousness. The sirens screamed their warning some time ago (could be minutes or hours) and the almost melodic screeching of claws on glass skips around like an old record. Kelly has to have run off; he'd be dead otherwise, right? Fingers rest on his side, brushing a wad of cloth that's been shoved against the wound. A laugh. Kazuhiko must've woken up, taken care of things like he always does. A distant pressure encircling his leg above where the pain is throbbing away more weakly before tells him more definitely than his vision can at the moment that there's a tourniquet in place. Time, outside of the notable sirens, is stretched beyond comprehension. How many hours? Is it daylight or night outside? The burning and tingling returns, from extremities in, and a black ring eats away at Shinji's heavy, blurred vision. He could die here. Die, for a second time.
But he wouldn't have it any other way.]