The road now leads onward and I know not where [arrival]

[ceilear]

For a moment, Jamie McCrimmon had no idea how he got here. He knew where here was, certainly. Here was just outside of Iverness. They fled here. Himself, Laird MacLaren, and his two children. They fled here after there was nothing on the field of Culloden but blood and death and terror, the acrid smoke of gunpowder and the screams of the dying

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[magic_in_genius]

Shakespeare is working in the rift room because it really is a beautiful source of inspiration. Not as beautiful as Martha, but beggars can't be choosers, or something like that. He types away frantically, trying to get a section out of his head that just won't leave... and then there's a very bloody man, right through the rift.

Now, blood is a lovely source of inspiration as well, but Shakespeare's not an idiot enough to just leave a bleeding man be for a bit so he can muse over it. He pushes his laptop onto the sofa, standing up and going over to Jamie, looking very concerned.

"Good sir?" He kneels, reaching out to touch Jamie's shoulder. "Are you still with us?"

[ceilear]

It takes Jamie a moment to work out the fact that there is someone talking to him. And a few seconds more to realise yes, that is in fact English. He's working with limited faculties, here.

However, as soon as he's touched, he reacts like a wounded animal, jerking away and trying to get at the basket hilt sword that came through with him. Mercifully, it's out of reach, and he bites back a gasped oath when he moves so suddenly. Not good, not good, not good. The pain lets him know he's alive, at least. The fresh river of blood spilling down his arm, however, alerts him to the fact that he might not be for long.

"Don't! Get your hands off of me!" Jamie says sharply, his brogue blurring consonants broadly, but there's no questioning the look in his eyes: all white-ringed panic, like a horse about to bolt. "Where's the Doctor, where is he, I need him!"

[magic_in_genius]

The Doctor? Now that was a name Shakespeare hadn't expected to hear. "Do you mean a Doctor or the Doctor?" he asks. Because the man's acting quite delirious. He might have just assumed that he meant the Doctor when he meant nothing of the sort. He is kind of bleeding horridly.

"Stay still," Shakespeare says, a bit of his persuasion leaking into his voice. "Apparently blood letting is no longer considered medicine." He needed to get some pressure on the wound. He unbuttoned his shirt, ripping it up. "Let me help."

[ceilear]

It's enough to get Jamie to still, even if his good hand strays close to his sock. The dirk's still there. It's comforting. (Even if Shakespeare might not find it a comfort at all.)

"I don't...I don't know, I just...I have to find him, I..." Jamie tries to explain, and he shakes his head, as if to clear it. It doesn't help. Really, he just feels woozy. Too much adrenaline and confusion. And really, getting sent all through space and time, twice in one day, it does things to a body. "He'll fix it, he always fixes things."

It's not much of an answer, and he blinks blearily up at the man tending to him. "You're not a redcoat," he said. He has a knack for stating the obvious.

[magelet_daine]

There is, obviously, a bit of thumping as Jamie lands. And thumping coming from the Rift room usually means someone's come through.

So of course Daine, just home from work, pokes her head in. And sees blood. Which, of course, makes her run in and drop to her knees next to him.

"Don't move," she says immediately. "You're bleeding. What happened?" Her accent is vaguely reminiscent of an Irish accent, but it has elements that are foreign as foreign can be. Without even waiting for his response, she starts digging in her bag - she's very glad that she keeps some herbs and things on hand in case she gets too tired at work to use her healing. There might be newer medicines that could do better, but they're not natural, and she knows that her ways work just fine, so she'll keep using herbs and poultices, thank you very much.

She'll deal with the inevitable "where are we" once she's slowed the bleeding and decided whether he needs a doctor or not.

[ceilear]

That accent is...somewhat familiar. Less jarring than one might think. Disorientation does that to a body. And Jamie is exceptionally disoriented. But it doesn't sound English, and he isn't afraid. Jittery and overwhelmed and in agony, to be sure. But she's not English, and he is not afraid. He keeps still, as he's told, and doesn't go grabbing for his sword where it lays next to him. He just looks up at her, his eyes wildly dilated with the pain, panting softly like a fox caught in a trap.

"English," he gasps out in that full brogue. It's a question he can answer. "Caught me unawares. Shot me. Need the Doctor. Need him! He can...he...please!"

[magelet_daine]

Daine isn't entirely certain what he's talking about, but she'll just not question that right now. After all, he's in a new place, and in pain. "We'll get you a doctor soon, but I'm going to try to stop the bleeding first, all right?"

Out comes a spare shirt that she will be sad to lose, to press against the wound. "Hold that there, please," she says, and then sets about crushing up some leaves with her little mortar and pestle that will help slow the bleeding. "My name's Daine. What's yours?"

Thank the gods for 15-year-olds with clear heads and steady hands, right, Jamie? She may be more used to patching up animals, but she isn't completely incapable of doing the same with a human.

[ceilear]

"No, no...he...that's who he is, he's...he's the Doctor and...ach." It's too much to explain, and the world's swimming. So he just does what he's told, putting as much pressure on the bullet wound as he can. It's a mixed blessing that the ball didn't burst through. On the one hand, no exit wound. On the other, he still has lead rattling around in him. It is what it is.

"Me name's Jamie," he says weakly. Little details are easier. And he's very, very grateful for wee girls with steady hands and calm heads.