And We're Going Down [Active, Open]

[machitobaye]

Characters: Machi Tobaye, Anna Marshall.
Setting: Just outside the grand room.
Time: Sunset 007
Summary: Machi's bug comes out. It hurts!
Warnings: Gore, some language, graphic descriptions of pain and something tunnelling through someone's body. Holes in abdominal walls, etc.

Comments

[magicmelodic]

Anna nodded at the questioning, relieved to see that Machi was coherent enough, aware enough to recognize her and speak, even if only a little. She shook her head again, insistent. He was not okay, and he definitely needed treatment. She put him down on the floor and ignored being clung to as best she could, opening the disinfectant she found, and wetting a cotton pad with it to try and clean the wound as quickly as she could. She might not have known much about first aid, but she did know that not cleaning wounds meant infections, and that was bad business. And she did know some about bandaging, if only from the phantasms doing it to her throat, and imitating that process on herself to keep the stitches clean and healing alright.....

She hardly even noticed the foul language as she worked, or the protests--she just had to keep him safe and make sure he was okay.... She reached for the ointment, wondering whether or not she should use it, deciding that it probably wouldn't hurt even if it wasn't necessary, and squeezing some out to apply to his wound.

[machitobaye]

"Ah!" Machi protested her ministrations immediately, or at least as soon as he understood what she was doing--letting go, he struggled to block her access to the hole with his blood-coated rotting hands, trying to push her away from the wound. He could not, however, sit up, and the sudden movements caused such intense agony that he fell back, still fighting against her in a haze of pain and fear. It wasn't a conscious decision on his part so much as an instinctive one, fueled by panic, maddening disorientation and a mental confusion so thick it was almost tangible, choking his head and sinus cavity. "No... no, I'm okay! Please! I'm sorry! He had no sense of direction, just an overwhelming sense of shock and pain--his harsh, irregular breathing and rapid, shallow pulse grew worse, his level of comprehension and sense dropping with the constant blood, which had soaked through his visible clothing and begun to pool on the floor. The ragged, uneven edges of the hole were thick with it, viscous and deep red, the torn flesh exposing an injury large enough to show what might have been organs within, though they too were coated with blood. He was rambling, losing coherence as he spoke. He was thirsty, his throat hurt, he couldn't feel anything but pain, blood, the hole... he couldn't see except in a straight line. "I.... ...sorry. I'm sorry. I'm okay. Please. Lamiroir--" He stopped, gasping for air, his eyes desperate and glazed. The rest of what he had to say was weak, lost in the battle for strength and air. "...help me...