If I kissed you where it's sore, would you feel better?
Who: Marie, Volgin, YOU!
What: Visiting some jerks.
Where: PokeCenter OR Hospital (depending on who you're visiting).
When: Wednesday (the 7th) afternoon and BEYOND. Marie'll be out the 16th. Volgin will be leaving on the 9th.
Warnings: Possibly some potty language.
Marie
The timid Squirtle had gotten himself into a bit of trouble.
Just the threat of an attack had caused Marie to act without thinking. He should have known better than to use a water attack on someone that radiated electricity. But thinking hadn't really been a part of Marie's series of actions that had lead him to an uncomfortable cot in FDC's PokeCenter.
Marie was lucky. The party ball that had miraculously activated itself had ultimately saved his dumb, little life. The nurses in the PokeCenter didn't understand how he had survived. Unfortunately, Marie likely wouldn't be able to remember much of the event either, including the Heart Container that had fallen so graciously onto his head.
He had drifted into consciousness just outside the PokeCenter. Fucking yellow and green hair. Everything went dark again after that.
/
Volgin
Volgin came to.
When he did, this all felt familiar, especially the bandages and agony coiled around his chest like red ivy. For a moment, he almost was certain he was back in the 1930s, the tensions of war high on the horizon and the stench of Fascist bastards unable to honor their treaties lingering.
And...
... Panic boiled in deepest reaches of his gut, coming to the fore as a raw terror as he realized there was a hole in his head. A gap in his memory. It occurred to him that he had no idea how he ended up here. His last waking moment was with Raikov, settling down for the night, murmured sweet nothings and dirty promises whispered between them, then...
Volgin tried to scream, but a haggard cry was all that he could manage; the brutal revelation of what might have just transpired, of why he was here, cut through him deeper than any fool who fancied himself clever with a knife. No, this had happened before, a young, beautiful officer he had taken a fancy to, this had happened before when he lost himself, back when his control was still feeble, and he was dead. The stench of cooked meat, and he was dead.
He could remember the smell, but...
Hyperventilation made the pain in his ribs hurt all the more, but pain was a fleeting sensation he had long since learned to suppress and suppress again: Volgin's world was Raikov's safety. He could not stand the thought, could not live with the thought, that for some reason, whatever reason, he had been the cause for his death. His affliction, his goddamn alteration forced upon him in the name of the privilege of being a comrade, had claimed another one.
It was times like these where he was coming to another realization, that he simply was not meant to live with any semblance of normalcy. Sometimes, he was not sure if he could stand it anymore. Sometimes he could content himself with being a monster of the purest hatred, but he, an emotional animal at heart, was not sure if that was what he could be in all quarters.
His uncharacteristic cry just brought a nurse over to fuss with him. He could not bring himself to say anything else, but feign unconsciousness until she left.
What the hell happened? He still furiously racked his fragile memory for whatever clues. He could not let his weakness, his feelings, get the best of him yet.
This had the Soviet left alone soon enough, bandaged on a makeshift set up of three beds to accomodate his size. A long curtain granted him his own illusion of privacy, which he was not sure who else was on the other side of it. He remained there.
[OOC: Just add a little note on who/when you're visiting in the subject line!]
What: Visiting some jerks.
Where: PokeCenter OR Hospital (depending on who you're visiting).
When: Wednesday (the 7th) afternoon and BEYOND. Marie'll be out the 16th. Volgin will be leaving on the 9th.
Warnings: Possibly some potty language.
Marie
The timid Squirtle had gotten himself into a bit of trouble.
Just the threat of an attack had caused Marie to act without thinking. He should have known better than to use a water attack on someone that radiated electricity. But thinking hadn't really been a part of Marie's series of actions that had lead him to an uncomfortable cot in FDC's PokeCenter.
Marie was lucky. The party ball that had miraculously activated itself had ultimately saved his dumb, little life. The nurses in the PokeCenter didn't understand how he had survived. Unfortunately, Marie likely wouldn't be able to remember much of the event either, including the Heart Container that had fallen so graciously onto his head.
He had drifted into consciousness just outside the PokeCenter. Fucking yellow and green hair. Everything went dark again after that.
/
Volgin
Volgin came to.
When he did, this all felt familiar, especially the bandages and agony coiled around his chest like red ivy. For a moment, he almost was certain he was back in the 1930s, the tensions of war high on the horizon and the stench of Fascist bastards unable to honor their treaties lingering.
And...
... Panic boiled in deepest reaches of his gut, coming to the fore as a raw terror as he realized there was a hole in his head. A gap in his memory. It occurred to him that he had no idea how he ended up here. His last waking moment was with Raikov, settling down for the night, murmured sweet nothings and dirty promises whispered between them, then...
Volgin tried to scream, but a haggard cry was all that he could manage; the brutal revelation of what might have just transpired, of why he was here, cut through him deeper than any fool who fancied himself clever with a knife. No, this had happened before, a young, beautiful officer he had taken a fancy to, this had happened before when he lost himself, back when his control was still feeble, and he was dead. The stench of cooked meat, and he was dead.
He could remember the smell, but...
Hyperventilation made the pain in his ribs hurt all the more, but pain was a fleeting sensation he had long since learned to suppress and suppress again: Volgin's world was Raikov's safety. He could not stand the thought, could not live with the thought, that for some reason, whatever reason, he had been the cause for his death. His affliction, his goddamn alteration forced upon him in the name of the privilege of being a comrade, had claimed another one.
It was times like these where he was coming to another realization, that he simply was not meant to live with any semblance of normalcy. Sometimes, he was not sure if he could stand it anymore. Sometimes he could content himself with being a monster of the purest hatred, but he, an emotional animal at heart, was not sure if that was what he could be in all quarters.
His uncharacteristic cry just brought a nurse over to fuss with him. He could not bring himself to say anything else, but feign unconsciousness until she left.
What the hell happened? He still furiously racked his fragile memory for whatever clues. He could not let his weakness, his feelings, get the best of him yet.
This had the Soviet left alone soon enough, bandaged on a makeshift set up of three beds to accomodate his size. A long curtain granted him his own illusion of privacy, which he was not sure who else was on the other side of it. He remained there.
[OOC: Just add a little note on who/when you're visiting in the subject line!]