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SLA Ten Forward • View topic - Spider's Web

Spider's Web

Firefly: Monarch is a sim based in the Firefly universe. The crew serves onboard a Firefly class starship running cargo, legal or not so legal.

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Re: Spider's Web

Postby KendleRJ » Fri Mar 13, 2009 8:32 am

There seemed to be a party in the Infirmary and EVERYone was invited. It would be cramped, but with the needs of the Crew after the strain of being in Hell, literally, it seemed an uncomfortable necessity. Tarra rounded the corner with Sam propped up between Maverick and herself and found there was almost no space to be had.

A familiar shape, merely a shadow of her former self was seated outside. Kynthia was fussing with IVs which Sam had also requested as they approached. "Jandie," said Tarra, warmth and concern in her voice. "You're looking the worse for wear. Are you sure you should be vertical?"

~Tag Jandie

Tarra said, "Here, take this," as she removed the plain water flask from her thigh. She had used up her special concoction for Sam's recovery so they could make it this far. "Drink it slow."

When Tarragon and Sam arrived, Kynthia couldn't help herself. "You look like something came an cooked you some. " she exclaimed, her eyes wide at the state Sam was in.

Tarra nodded briefly and set Sam down. "I have salt in the kitchen that'll help, at least orally..." and turned to depart. "You need me for something more before I go for a run?"

~Tag Infirmary Folk
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Whimsikay » Fri Mar 13, 2009 1:27 pm

Lying on her stomach face down as she was, Ameri could barely see Jandie, but once she did, she beckoned the girl over. "Sick?" her voice was a tired whisper as she tented the skin on Jandie's arm (assuming she came over to Ameri as requested) and watched it go back to usual. It took a couple seconds, confirming that Jandie too was dehydrated.

"Er..." Jandie watched her skin fold back into place, feeling all at once viciously guilty and ridiculously embarrassed all at once.

Kynthia suddenly snorted a single sound of amusement. "As for Jandie here. She went an' ate a rat kebab. Only it weren't fresh. Been hidin' in her quarters for a while now with the upset tum. She does need to be gettin' something in the way of water though. 'Spect we'll all be needin it soon." She directed Jandie to get comfortable in one of the chairs just outside the small facility, leaving the door open.

With almost palpable relief, Jandie hurried to comply, ducking out of the way and half-collapsing, half-sinking into the nearest chair. She scrubbed the edge of the blanket over her sweaty face, even as she silently admitted that she probably shouldn't have tried to be much more help than 'Look, ma, I can stand up!'.

"Jandie," said Tarra, warmth and concern in her voice. "You're looking the worse for wear. Are you sure you should be vertical?"

"Huh?" Easily the most eloquent thing she'd managed. Jandie dropped the edge of her blanket to peer at Tarra's worried face, even as she summoned that same wry, crooked grin for the girl's benefit. "Howdy, Miss Tarra. How about I stay half-vertical for a bit, instead?"

Tarra said, "Here, take this," as she removed the plain water flask from her thigh. "Drink it slow."

Jandie didn't try to get up, though she gratefully accepted the water flask. "Slow as molasses. I'm all right, really. Just wrung out and hung dry." She tipped her tired head to the infirmary. "You tell them I don't need no water in a bag, all right? I'm just wasted enough to regret the past few days, but I ain't dying. You take care of that girl."

If her voice came out sterner, firmer, more determined than she meant, she didn't stop to ask herself why. She tipped her head back, curled her knees up under her blanket, and gave every impression of settling in to stay out of the way and within view. Guilt tucked another knife's edge into her guts with every glance passed over Ameri; it only got worse as Sam was hauled in behind her.

(( catching up on the flurry; tag anyone who needs a helping hand or anything at all! ))
"I love a hand that meets my own with a grasp that causes some sensation." [Samuel Osgood]
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Kris » Fri Mar 13, 2009 4:53 pm

Knowing something was going on, Lu was sitting up on the bridge waiting for the word to get going. Soon, she saw Maverick coming towards her and punch in a few things on her panel. "Take us there, Lu." Starting up things, she looked at the area he had told her to go, "Sir, there's nothing..."

He didn't stop as he was leaving the brigde, "Just go there," he said quickly and went off towards the kitchen. Sighing, she sat back down, because she had apparently managed to stand up, and made sure all the doors were closed before she took off. It was bumpy, like normal, but the crew was probably used to it by now.

It was nice to actually see the stars again, especially after what they had seen on that planet. Setting them to auto, she sat there and then took hold of the com, "It'll be bout half a day 'fore we get where we're goin' people. Let ya know when we're close." That's all she said, and normally she wasn't that short with people but...she had a lot on her mind.

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:Its Whats For Dinner

Postby Jake Sjet » Fri Mar 13, 2009 6:43 pm

“Xiancho.”

He stood at the main entrance, as it was, and looked out across the tormented grove of crosses towards the Monarch. 300 metres of open sandy terrain peppered by the past transgressions of the Mothers Superiors reign of biblical terror.

300 metres of heat stroke inducing, temperatures up into the three figures, and the other sun worshipers out there weren’t doing so good. And he’d gone and forgotten his factor six thousand sun cream, guaranteed to block out rays of light from the very ends of the universe.

But it was a source of light a lot closer than the leading edge of the expanding universe that had Nakali’s undivided attention, even at its close approach it was only a few billion miles away.

Trivial really.

He looked down at the folded piece of flexi in his hand, the ghostly showdown of the still active image on the folded side swimming between his fingers. He’d come so far, from such a distant point in the past it seemed, and now finally progress was being made. From here, to there, too the very end. And then one o the black, block pixel dead zones appeared just to the side of his thumb.

That was new.

He watched as next to it, like a cancer, the off white neutral pixels began to die off and turn a resolute and total black. The small biomechanical machines that made the smart paper work were sensitive to very extreme swings in temperature. In the cold the flexi’s began to freeze up and turn to brittle sheets of plastic, and in the vacuum of space they had a lovely habit of simply exploding like vile rainbow coloured stars.

And in the heat, the tiny biomechanical machines that made the gel layer inside the flexi work, boiled to death. And this flexi hadn’t even gone out side and it was beginning to suffer a very unflattering tan. That had been the cause of his out burst, the reason to his rhyme as it were.

He looked back towards the Monarch, its 300 metres distance looking more and more like 300 miles in the heat hazy that rose up from the ground like the many heads of the mythical hydra. He’d crossed that no more than a hour before, and now he felt it had been days...

And it had felt like that because he’d been cool, well reasonably cool anyway, thank to the nun’s out fit...cue light bulb, stage left.

He pushed the flexi into a pocket and began to shrug, tear, and pull himself free of the Nun get up and threw it down on the floor. This could work, this could totally work, he thought as he hurried began to roll and wrap the bundle of cloth around the precious cargo.

The folds would trap air, creating a poor mans insulation that would be all he needed to cross 300 metres of open ground get back to the ship. Piece of cake...

“Well...” he said, now standing at the cusp of shadowy dry heat and raging bright lit inferno, and stepped out “Flame on.”

Oh such poorly chosen words.

No sooner had he stepped out from under the entrance way of the convent he almost fell to his knees. A photon is born in the very heart of a star, expelled from the fusion process it spends months and sometimes days travelling up and out of the massive stellar furnaces. Riding rivers of pure an natural plasma, and spat out through the nozzles of magnetic fields that contort and foam in the coronosphere they lash ever outwards on a lonely and perilous route.

Its linear path will continue for all eternity unless it is curtailed by an object, such as a planet. The photon, loneliest voyager from the stars, slice through the atmosphere imparting the smallest amount of friction on the atoms they brush past. And then they collide with the collide with the solid object that will destroy them.

But photons cannot be destroyed, or killed, in the same mortal way as mice and men. They are transformed by this action into friction, and then into heat and visible light.

Which made every single photon bathing him in light as he staggered out into the opening ten metres of sand and dust feel like ball pin hammers tapping against his skin....red hot ball pin hammers at that. He could almost feel his skin contracting, squeezing ever tighter around him as the baleful gaze of the forever noon day sun glowered at him, its heat sucking the moister from his pores.

But he endured, hell he could imagine he’d endured worst as he buckled down, the bundle of rags held to his chest in the miniscule shade his body provided. Every foot step sent a new feeling of heated experience into his mind, from the feeling of the heating fabric of his jeans rubbing against his legs like a waffle iron mated to a pair of Levis, to the cast iron griddle sat atop his back.

And he wasn’t even going to think about looking up, which he did...

He would have groaned in frustration at the sight of the still distant Monarch, a jelly mould of a ship that
refused to stay still as the heat baked the ground beneath him. But he soldiered on.

He’d come this far, suffered through his own burning hell every 13 and a half hours, what was a little tanning by nuclear blast furnace.

“Here comes...here comes...” Nakali gasped, his foot steps beginning to weave and dance from left to right as he made it to the half way point, his eyes squinting against the glare from the reflections begin cast by the ship’s metal hide “...Here comes your 13th nervous break down...”

Some where between there and eternity he found a way to make his little trip to the Monarch even more pleasant: he grabbed onto the landing strut for support. He’d done this because his drunkards walk back to the boat had taken him ever so slightly to the left, thanks to Mother Nature for making one leg longer than the other. And what this brought him was what he hoped was his imagination: a sizzling sound.

He yowled in pain and fell on his ass, said cheeks burning with something that wasn’t embarrassment upon the baking gravel of Leviathans surface. But it did offer him an unimpeded view of the Monarchs main thrust bucket beginning to move into its flight configuration, the heavy duty servo’s whining as it readied the Firefly for flight.

They were leaving, and leaving without him as he came to think about it. He was almost to shocked for words.

Almost.

He rolled up and onto his feet, the hand that had supported his weight on the struts blistered and aching but he staggered in the slender island o shade directly beneath the Monarchs neck truss, which was in line with the main cargo ramps airlock egress hatch. He panted, breathing in deep hot lungful of air as his own panicked gasps were joined by a new sound.

The steady, unyielding whine of a starship readying itself for its ballad of gravity deifying brilliance. He was out of time. He grabbed onto the handle of the hatch with his good hand and winced, the metal here whilst still being in shade was as hot as a skillet.

But then if he didn’t get on, and wasn’t killed by the over pressure of the Monarchs main drive working to free the ship of gravities pull, the heat would be all he would know for he knew the trip back to the Convent would be impossible.

Do or die, there is no try as the little green man said.

He pushing down with all his weight, a snarl building in this throat as the pain in his hand grew into a single white nova of brilliant nerve shredding clarity, the lock disengaged and swung inward. Fall in rather than clambering in he was quick to close the hatch, aided by the sudden forward lurch as the Monarchs tail tried to rise above her bow. The evident skill of the pilot righted that error, but not before gravity had slammed the egress hatch closed in front of him...

Leaving his crispy, well done ass, face and hands...and all his exposed skin, a lighter shade of crimson that only a lobster frh from the pot would find attractive. He slumped down, wincing as he landed softly on his back side, and gingerly unfolded his prize.

The blackened area of the flexi had grown from a smudge, to a thumb print...but no larger. He put the bundle down, smiling to himself...and promptly passed out.

TAG-Anyone in the cargo bay, thats the sign th dish is done.

Nakali 'Xiancho' Sjet
Ensign Keth Soban, Medic on the USS Legacy

Fellow Crew Injured By Keth: X


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Re: Spider's Web

Postby KendleRJ » Fri Mar 13, 2009 7:50 pm

Kynthia gave a brief nod to release Tarra to the kitchen, mentioning her Old Family Recipe for dehydration. Salt, Tarra knew there was a load of that just for Sam; water, reclaimed and filtered through the Monarch's system; and lemon. Well, that might be a little more difficult, but the zesting she had done from the lemons she had coveted from the planet would work.

"I'm on it," said Tarra and passed by Jandie on her way.

Jandie didn't try to get up, though she gratefully accepted the water flask. "Slow as molasses. I'm all right, really. Just wrung out and hung dry." She tipped her tired head to the infirmary. "You tell them I don't need no water in a bag, all right? I'm just wasted enough to regret the past few days, but I ain't dying. You take care of that girl."

"You just sit here, Jandie. Relax, feel better and I'll see you in a moment." Turning back she headed toward the kitchen, moving through the Cargo Bay and absent-mindedly smelled the distinct odour of meat cooking. 'Funny,' Tarra thought to herself. 'I don't remember leaving anything on the stove or in it before we left the ship.'

Glancing ahead she thought she saw a blinking light on the ramp controls, and as she approached them the odour of cooking increased. The red light indicated that the seal on the door had not fully closed so she turned to see what might have blocked it. Stopping, she looked down and her breath caught in her throat as she recognized that there was indeed something there. And not only something but someONE. The jacket that was spread out underneath this severely burned individual belonged to Nakali.

She moved quickly to him and leaned close, wondering whatever possessed him to not wear the very robe that she had thrown at him in the Nunnery. And then she saw something wrapped within its folds which must be much more precious to him than his own well-being. Well, then she would treat it with the respect he had given it. No need for him to be damaged needlessly for something he identified as supremely important and then have her inadvertently destroy it.

Gently re-wrapping the flimsy, she leaned forward and could discern the gentle breathing which proved that he was alive, but unconscious. There was no way that Tarra could move him far on her own, so she pulled him free of the door and spoke low and quietly to him, hoping that he could hear her.

"Nakali," she said, "You're on board the Monarch." He didn't seem to react so she punched the control on the ramp to seal it shut and ran quickly and headlong to the kitchen. She grabbed water, compresses, icebowls, salt stuffs, lemon rinds and rushed back to him as he lay on the floor, still unmoving. Wetting a compress using the cool water, she smoothed it against his blistered face gently and tried to get his temperature down.

"A little help here please!" Tarra called out, sounding a bit more desperate and upset than she meant to as she continued to apply the cool water to his face. She noticed that his hands had been burned as well, and wrapped ice cubes into other compresses, dipping them into the cool water. She pressed these into his hands and hoped for a response, but tried to keep any worry or emotions from her face.

She leaned forward and whispered in his ear gently, "You've got to be ok, Nakali..." and a singular tear gathered in her eye. "Sam's grown fond of you. She told me to tell you that you've grown on her like a brain-damaged flop-eared puppy..."

~Tag Nakali Crisp / Anyone in the corridor who might have heard
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Sam Crerar » Fri Mar 13, 2009 11:28 pm

In the infirmary, Sam watched as Kynthia fought with the IV bags. Despite how crummy she felt, she took the bags away from Kynthia. "See this stopper? You grab it, pull up. Then take the spike, keep it sterile by not touchin' nothin', stick it up in there good and hard." She explained as she did it. "An' I can start those IV's... 'Merry, can't start one on myself, but I can start one on you, and Jandie here...anyone else who needs it. When Tarra gets back, I've got a recipe for normal saline, she can actually cook it."

Then Sam heard Tarra's yell for help. She cursed and tried to stand, then sat back down again, shaking her head. Someone else would have to help. "SOL!" Sam yelled, "Go 'elp Tarra!" Hopefully Maverick would hear that as 'Saul' as well, thus killing two birds with one stone. "Prolly the zhoushide did somethin'..." She muttered, then took a deep breath, her head spinning slightly. "Alright, Merry, you first?"
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Quamie » Sat Mar 14, 2009 7:13 am

Kynthia closed her eyes for a moment.

"That was nearly two months ago. Maybe more. You've been gone a while. Tell me how to put this together for you." she said, gently.

Ameri closed her eyes, then tried to think.

"As for Jandie here. She went an' ate a rat kebab. Only it weren't fresh. Been hidin' in her quarters for a while now with the upset tum. She does need to be gettin' something in the way of water though. 'Spect we'll all be needin it soon." She directed Jandie to get comfortable in one of the chairs just outside the small facility, leaving the door open. Sam and Tarra's voices could be heard as they approached the infirmary.

When Tarragon and Sam arrived, she couldn't help herself. "You look like something came an cooked you some. " she exclaimed, her eyes wide at the state Sam was in.

Ameri tried to explain the way to mix up an IV, but she could tell by the growing confusion on Kynthia's face that she wasn't making sense. What she didn't realize was that she was using all the wrong words.

In the infirmary, Sam watched as Kynthia fought with the IV bags. Despite how crummy she felt, she took the bags away from Kynthia. "See this stopper? You grab it, pull up. Then take the spike, keep it sterile by not touchin' nothin', stick it up in there good and hard." She explained as she did it. "An' I can start those IV's... 'Merry, can't start one on myself, but I can start one on you, and Jandie here...anyone else who needs it. When Tarra gets back, I've got a recipe for normal saline, she can actually cook it."

Ameri gave a relieved sigh as Sam took over.

Then Sam heard Tarra's yell for help. She cursed and tried to stand, then sat back down again, shaking her head. Someone else would have to help. "SOL!" Sam yelled, "Go 'elp Tarra!" Hopefully Maverick would hear that as 'Saul' as well, thus killing two birds with one stone. "Prolly the zhoushide did somethin'..." She muttered, then took a deep breath, her head spinning slightly. "Alright, Merry, you first?"

The medic didn't answer. When they checked, they saw her eyes closed, face relaxed as if in sleep. She was unconscious.
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Sam Crerar » Sat Mar 14, 2009 7:32 pm

Sam swore when she saw Ameri was unconscious. She couldn't tell if that was from exhaustion, heat, dehydration, starvation, or any or all of the above. She quickly checked pulse rate and respirations, then looked for a vein to stick. Grabbing a pressure band and a 20 gauge, she felt around before putting the band on Merry's arm and cleaning the area on her forearm. Her hands were surprisingly steady as Sam slid the needle into the vein. Flashback. Sam sighed in relief, then attached the primed tubing.

Then a pen and paper, kilos times ten, times ten. "Fourty-fourty fifty mililiters, over twenty four hours, that's xioancho, that's a hundred-eighty-four and half, divided by hours is three, and..." She grabbed the tubing bag, "Ten drops, ten times three, thirty drops, divided by sixty is point five, that's one every two seconds... Wait, bolus, gorram it, bolus for rehydration is..." She closed her eyes, then cursed, then opened them again, "Twenty, twenty mils per kilo, so, that's eight-ninety mils..." She grabbed a bag, 1000 ml, close enough. She unclamped it wide open to rehydrate as fast as possible.

"Kynthia, when this runs out, switch out a new bag, and let the drip chamber fill one drog every two seconds." She wrote it down on a piece of paper. "I may very well be asleep by then."

She grabbed another 20 gauge and turned to Jandie, "It's your turn, but if you really don't want it, then you get to stick me... 'cause Ky's shakin' a bit too much. Dun worry, even dehydrated, I shouldn't be an evil stick like 'Merry..." Sam said, sitting down next to Jandie. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tried to quell the growing nausea again. "We may run out of saline before this is over... I need to get it made. Where the hell is that girl anyways?"
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Jake Sjet » Sun Mar 15, 2009 6:49 pm

A rasping sound came from parched, cracked lips that sounded as painful as it evidently was. Nakali’s face twisted in a grotesque grimace as the very act of laughing became an act of sadomasochism.

“Sc...” he rasped “Score one for...the sympathy vote...”

He drew in a haggard breath, his fingers beginning to ball into tight fists as the gloves upon his fingers creaked with the strain. Every inch of his body hurt a deep seated bodily ache unlike the sharp and purely intense nightmares of his attacks. This was what happened when the body decided to give you a long term issue to deal with, not a flickering light bulb of a thing.

His eyes were the next to open, but everything looked so bright and out of focus. He closed his eyes again, determined to not open them until the world’s aspect ratio had been readjusted from ‘trippy widescreen’ to something he could hack in his current state.

Blindly he stretched out a gloved mace like fist and beat it down softly on the bundle of the nun’s get up, the corner of a still active flexi poking out of the folds.

“Do...do not dry clean.” He snarled “Keep safe...”

TAG-Tarra

Nakali Xiancho Sjet
Ensign Keth Soban, Medic on the USS Legacy

Fellow Crew Injured By Keth: X


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Re: Spider's Web

Postby KendleRJ » Sun Mar 15, 2009 7:33 pm

“Sc...” he rasped “Score one for...the sympathy vote...”

Tarra's breath caught in her throat and the tear that had seated itself in her eye gathered friends and ran down her cheek. That horrid sound coming from him was supposed to be laughter. A strange sensation seized her and she swallowed the emotions down deep inside. Her voice remained clear and she said, "Oh," voice low and subdued, "You're awake."

She struggled to keep the compresses moving, gently stroking coolness across his features and saw his eyes open slightly. They didn't look like they were focussing well at all, and she trembled only slightly as her hands continued to work.

Blindly he stretched out a gloved mace like fist and beat it down softly on the bundle of the nun’s get up, the corner of a still active flexi poking out of the folds.

“Do...do not dry clean.” He snarled “Keep safe...”


"Stop moving," Tarra said, struggling to keep her voice level. "I've already taken care of your..." she searched for the right word as she bit her lip. "Cargo." She didn't want to sit here watching his face boil, his hands singeing beneath the gloves and continue to smell his cooking flesh now turning her stomach in its proximity. "You concentrate on your recovery," and she turned to look briefly for the assistance she asked for, and then turned back to continue, "And I'll keep your stuff safe."

She leaned in, making sure he was breathing slowly and deeply, unconscious again. And said, "Bianselong, you had best not make me space anything of yours," a small sob escaped her lips as she slowed her breathing and then continued, "Or I'll kill you myself."

A hand rested gently on Tarra’s shoulder as she looked up to see Maverick, looking at the burnt Nakali, being tended to. “You called?”

Her face tipped up to look at him, eyes empty and remote and she nodded. “Yes, Nakali needs to be taken to the Infirmary.” She began gathering up the items she had obtained from the kitchen. “Can you manage him? I’ve got these things to take there as well.” She was a Chef, asking a colleague about soufflé, or eggs being beaten properly, not someone who cared about anyone on this boat…

He nodded and Tarra got out of his way, watching the Captain scoop his arm up under the frame of Nakali, and she walked behind them, carrying Nakali’s robe and prize, and all manner of assistance from the kitchen proper. With them 3 steps ahead of her, Tarra allowed one emotion to escape from her pent up store. Her eyes watered and her face was pained as tears formed and fell in response to his plight. But before they had reached the Infirmary, eyes were clear, tears were gone and all manner of emotions that might have remained were tucked neatly away. She was now the picture of professionalism.

They rounded the corner into the Infirmary, and Sam, despite her own plight, was there working on Ameri and trying to fight Jandie to give her an IV as well. Tarra watched her face as Maverick brought Nakali in and stood by with compresses, ice, cool water and Kynthia’s home remedy. She laid out all that she brought and waited for the next item she would need to run for. “Sorry it took so long,” Serena’s voice came through the haze. “Nakali…” And she stopped. His physical appearance should be enough to explain.

~Tag Infirmary Folk and any around there
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Sam Crerar » Mon Mar 16, 2009 4:44 pm

JP by Sam and Jandie

Jandie's eyes went wide, then narrowed quickly as she calculated her own well being versus the rest of the chaos around her. She was shaking her head before her brain finished. "No, no," she said, even as she freed herself from the blanket. "Nothing plain ol' water won't cure for me. C'mon, let's get you--" What. Stabbed? Hooked in? Bled? Hell. "--uh, hydrated." She didn't stand, but scooted forward; a quiet excuse to let the chair take her weight and keep her legs from going watery at the prospect of jimmying anything into anyone's veins. "Tarra'll like me better if I don't let you keel over," she joked, because it was easier to do than quibble over it.

Sam grunted, "Alright, if you don't want an IV line, just stick me, 'cause I need some fluids in me or I'm going to be in a bad shape. Just, bevel up, 10 degrees, aim for a big vein and when you see blood, you've hit it."

"Right, no problem. Just..." Jandie looked at the needle, then at Sam's arm. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed back the bile rising in the back of her throat. This was very different than watching Tarra pull out stitches. "Ten degrees," she repeated, opening her eyes again. She took the woman's arm in one hand, the needle in the other, and then peered for a vein. "Okay, sit still." She set the needle against her skin and took a deep breath.

Sam took a deep breath, this was going to hurt. Pain seemed to intensify more when you knew it was coming. "Just slow and steady, hold tension against the vein so it doesn't roll..." And knowing a nervous novice was doing the sticking only made it worse, but there was no one else for it.

So she did her best. And as her best was about as good as a monkey banging on a typewriter, it was probably going to hurt. She held the vein under her thumb, inserted the needle, and promptly went green with the first feel of flesh parting beneath a sharp point. The world pressed in on all sides of her vision, but Jandie gritted her teeth and slid it farther, wiggling it slightly when it seemed to catch. Or maybe her muscles failed to follow through on her brain power. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she muttered, "come on." Blood began to well slightly around the point.

Sam clenched her jaw, "Okay, pull out slightly, see the blood coming through the catheter? Push the little pink thing around the needle in while pulling the needle out." She said, "Then push the white button and attach tubing to the cath needle..."

Struggling not to let her hands shake as bad as her knees were knocking, Jandie clenched her teeth around her bottom lip and focused hard on obeying every direction. Pink thing in, needle out. White button, tubing-- "Hellfire," she hissed suddenly, and jimmied the tube back into place. "Sorry, sorry, okay!"

Sam cringed, then helped Jandie attach the tubing using her other hand. "Not horrible for a first try..."

"Nah," Jandie breathed out, trying to smile around the wash of green that was quickly fading to at least a semi-normal yellow. "Piece of Tarra's cake." She put tape over the whole contraption on Sam's arm. "And if I never have to do that again--" She paused, blinking at Sam with an expression that she hoped didn't look as pained as she felt. "Well, I guess I better be a quick learner, anyway."

"Hopefully next time, 'Merry'll be awake. I can stick just about anyone, just, I can't stick myself."

Thank the Black for that one. Relief quickly overshadowed anything else Jandie had rattling about her skull as she sat back and retrieved Tarra's water flask from her lap. "I guess all's well and all that. You going to be okay?" A beat, and then, "Is everyone goin' to be okay?"

"Should, I think..." Sam took the tubing for the saline and opened it wide open to let the fluid flow into her. "We survived hell, so now it's just surviving after hell." The room temperature fluid felt cool inside of Sam's arm, but it felt good. "Thank you, Miss Jandie."

"Sure," Jandie said slowly, collapsing back on the chair. Only to sit up again as Tarra, the captain, and what looked like enough roast meat for the next fortnight entered the infirmary. The smell -- oh, the smell -- hi ther nose, and she flinched. "Uh... I guess you sit there, and I'll help Tarra." She got to her feet, windmilled just enough to lose the blanket, and calle dout, "Tarra, you need a set of hands anywhere?"

Sam saw the burnt body of Nakali and swore loudly, looking at the burns, and that he was unconsciousness. "Oh of all things. Tarra! Go make saline, teaspoon of salt per cup of water, I'll need lots. Jandie, I need blankets, soaked in cool water if you could."

With Sam's directions coming from behind her, Jandie turned and headed for the last place she saw blankets -- tucked into a cabinet, as she recalled. She slipped around the bodies taking up air in the infirmary and began opening cabinets at random until she found a couple rolls. "Water? Where does this ship have that much water?" And then it hit her. The kitchen stores. And then it hit her again: didn't they need to drink that to survive? "Sam?" There was such a question to her voice that it'd be hard to misconstrue. She held the blankets up with confusion clear in her expression. "We landin' for water anytime soon?"

"I dunno, think a day or half or somethin'" Sam yelled as she cut the clothes off of Nakali. She hoped he had extras. Then she looked for a good vein to stick, one in the leg, probably, where it wasn't as burned.

Jandie nodded, quickly, and hurried past everyone to go soak the blankets in water.

Sam looked up at Kynthia, "Ky, if we could get somewhere to put him, and I need gause to cover his burns..." She turned to look at Maverick, "Go get Sol, tell him I need him to make a tub out of a cargo container...I don't care how, just has to be big enough to fit a grown man..."
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby KendleRJ » Mon Mar 16, 2009 6:15 pm

Sam saw the burnt body of Nakali and swore loudly, looking at the burns, and that he was unconscious. "Oh of all things. Tarra! Go make saline, teaspoon of salt per cup of water, I'll need lots. Jandie, I need blankets, soaked in cool water if you could."

Tarra nodded, acknowledging Sam's request and left Nakali behind her, in capable hands. She didn't look back, stayed strong and true as she ran quickly to the Kitchen, tucking the flimsy, still wrapped in the robe and held it like a precious treasure before her.

'Saline,' she thought and pulled out the whole necessary recipe of water and salt. It was a fortunate thing indeed that Sam had mentioned she liked the stuff on everything before they landed on Beaumont. Two ingredients... she felt her breath starting to race a little, building to something like a break in her armour so instead of relinquishing control, she pulled out things for dinner as well as for the saline.

She measured things out, and took some of the reclamated water as well as fresh. She put on the pot and filled it almost to brimming, prepping to boil the impurities out of the water in order to increase their usable supply. And since she was making saline anyway, a few added tears wouldn't be noticed.

~Tag Jandie / Kitchen people
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Whimsikay » Mon Mar 16, 2009 6:27 pm

Jandie hurried to the kitchen, blankets in hand, a fierce scowl in place as she willed her body to push past the exhaustion that still dogged her every step. It wasn't anything worse than what the crew had been through. Well, for that, it was probably a great deal better!

She, after all, didn't have burns and her insides fried up like one of Tarra's breakfasts.

She lumbered her way through the door, paused when she saw Tarra, and managed to rearrange her features into something approximating a pained smile. "Hey," she offered. "Got any spare water to throw these into for--uh." She faltered. Who was he? She could have stuck her foot right into it and say she didn't recognize the man on the table in the Infirmary, but that'd be cruel: his own mother probably wouldn't recognize him, lobster red and hurting.

She closed her mouth, opened it again, and then frowned. "Miss Tarra?" She stepped forward, blankets tucked up under one arm. "You okay?"

Even as she asked, she mentally ran over the list of details she'd managed to collect: the Webber girl was saved, half the crew injured. She hadn't seen Lu's husband, or Ryder--Oh, no, Ryder. Chris. Were they gone? Did they get killed? Captured?

Was it her fault?

Desperate to keep the guilt from her face, she cleared her throat and said hastily, worriedly, "Anything I can get you while I'm here? Can I run anything back? Do you need anything at all? More water? Salt?"

(( tag: Tarra, kitcheneers ))
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby KendleRJ » Mon Mar 16, 2009 7:07 pm

"Hey," Jandie offered. "Got any spare water to throw these into for--uh." She faltered. Who was he? She could have stuck her foot right into it and say she didn't recognize the man on the table in the Infirmary, but that'd be cruel: his own mother probably wouldn't recognize him, lobster red and hurting.

"Nakali," Serena said, subdued and quiet. She turned her face away and tucked the flimsy and its protective surrounding beneath the counter, safe and secure.

She closed her mouth, opened it again, and then frowned. "Miss Tarra?" She stepped forward, blankets tucked up under one arm. "You okay?"

Tarra pulled herself together and nodded. Looking up from her task she gestured to the reserve water supplies and showed Jandie how to retrieve it. "If you're dipping the blankets, you're going to need a bowl." She picked up the largest one she had. "Why don't you run them one at a time?"

Desperate to keep the guilt from her face, she cleared her throat and said hastily, worriedly, "Anything I can get you while I'm here? Can I run anything back? Do you need anything at all? More water? Salt?"

Taking a deep breath she truly looked at Jandie and her wrung out appearance. "Here," she said, handing Jandie the spoon and salt. "One teaspoon per cup... measure it out in the clean stuff. Water is boiling and once it's done, it'll be ready too." Picking up a blanket and soaking it through, she retrieved it and placed it in the bowl.

"I'll do the running, YOU do the saline." Putting word to deed, Tarra curved the heavy-ish bowl under her arm and headed for the Infirmary.

~Tag Jandie & Kitchen folk / Infirmary Folk (when she gets there)

**OOC - edited to include Jandie's last comment - sorry Whimsikay**
Last edited by KendleRJ on Tue Mar 17, 2009 2:58 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Dream Sequence

Postby Jake Sjet » Mon Mar 16, 2009 7:20 pm

Nakali awoke slowly, the sort of gentle awakening associated with a deep and bountiful supply of sleep. His eyes opened in the same manner, the light inside medical set to a gentle and well meaning ‘night time’ as far as the ship’s clocks were concerned. No one was about, only the gentle hum of the medical bays electronics and the gentle sighing of the air handling equipment altered him to the beating mechanical heart of the ship.

It was so peaceful, so quiet.

He got up slowly, looking at himself. He was dressed in casual slacks, a sweater from Osiris U covering his chest in its obsidian and gold lettering glory proclaiming ‘Go Sphinx’s’. He looked around, peeking out of the bays enclosed side windows: the lounge was empty, the same soft lighting draping everything in a dull laziness that couldn’t quite rouse itself to full darkness.

He slid his legs off the side of the reclined chair/table/bed arrangement, and immediately found the rubber coated deck plates beneath his feet to be inconsistent with his memory: he did not recall the deck of a Firefly, at least to the best of his knowledge, having an upward slope to them. Leaning against the bed he pushed up and grabbed onto the rim of the door way out into the lounge, his forward progress soon turning into an accent due to a 50 degree angle in the deck heading up towards the nose of the Monarch.

Was that emotionally wounded pilot, Lu was it, messing with the internal gravity for kicks and giggles?

In either case upon getting to the doorway of the infirmary he heard a loud, protesting groan coming from the cargo bay. Looking to the stairs leading to the large open space, a harsh snow white sliver of light slanted through the partly opened door. But no sooner had the noise began, it ended with a resounding thud of tormented hinges, and silence soon reigned over a kingdom of metal and subdued mood lighting.

Never a candle and a single rose when you needed it.

Getting from the infirmary and into the cargo bay turned into something of a fun experience with this new slanted world of his offering him choices he had a hard time putting down. The deck plating offered ideal traction in normal level gravity, but this new slant on the normal was turning it into an upward struggle in a hurry. He clambered up the stairs, fingerings sliding into the grating of the deck as long lost memories of rock climbing came back to him.

Only this time no safety rope, climbing gear, or the attractive bottle blonde climbing instructor showing him the ropes or leading by example. Or leading from the rear, depending on your perspective, but we digress.

With his feet secured and planted on the lower steps of this small flight of stairs up to the cargo bay door, he wormed his fingers into the small opening and pulled them apart with a grunt. The sliver of silvery light expanded into a slab, slapping his face with an oddly familiar dry warmth. His hands still braced against the door, he hooked his legs up and into the cargo bay, pulling himself through before he fell back through.

Definitely might have bruised more than his pride with that one.

He looked up to find the main cargo ramp was lowered, its metal tongue lolling out as though the ship had tired and was panting in rest. But this was no time to be wishing for rest, so Nakali chased away those thoughts and soldiered on with the same determination and spider like grasp towards the lighted opening of the Monarch.

He noticed that all the cargo containers, bar the ones secured to the deck by heavy ratcheted canvases had fallen back against the rear of the bay. Some of them spilling open and scattering their contents where ever the fates would have them. He had a moment to wonder why someone would have boxes and boxes of googly headed dolls, but by that thought he’d already reached the open maw of the cargo bay.

And a sudden explanation of the warmth he felt, as the first few lapping waves of a sea of sand began to blow onto the cargo ramp on an imp like breeze.

Strewn out before him in bits, pieces and chunks, was the remains of the Monarchs neck and cockpit. The cockpit was sheared off apart from the few wires and tubing that connected the severed head from the rest of the craft, harsh scorch marks littering its nose from pin point laser fire. The canopy windows, caved in and filling with sand, were clearly visible in front of him, glared at him like the empty eyes of a bleached skull. It was like someone had taken the Monarch in hand, and twisted its head off like a champagne cork.

The remains of a engine, burnt and blackened by the birthing of its violent wreckage could be seen in the distance crowning a tidal wave of dunes. He scanned the horizon with his eyes, seeing only rolling dunes of golden sand and a bleached ivory sky to compliment them. At least it was a dry heat. He placed his hands on his hips, and pursed his lips for a moment.

“Huh.” He said after a moment “Interesting.”
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Tavey » Mon Mar 16, 2009 9:16 pm

Kynthia listened to Sam's idea. She frowned, thinking through the available containers on the ship. "There's that one from Violet a while back. Didn't that get shoved into the back cargo hold? should be long enough for him."

She nodded with the memory of securing it into a webbing net that was clipped into the logistics that lined the holds. "yeah.. Grab Sol an' start getting it ready. It's that big grey one. Waterproof. You remember it Maverick?"

The older man nodded slowly. "I do." he said simply. "Far back left corner. Good thought." He left the infirmary, yelling for Sol as he did. Together they would get the thing ready.

TAG - Sol

Kynthia checked on Ameri briefly. "Welcome home Mei Mei. Sure pick some nice places to get picked up from." she said quietly. The concern etched deeply on her face underscoring the depth of her relief and worry. The two mixed into something that needed to move.

Nearly half an hour passed until Maverick and Sol announced that they had the tub strapped to the centre of the hold, ready for Nakali. A long, tense half hour. During which, Kynthia sat beside Ameri and simply waited. She sorted some simple things for the others, but time was the most important thing they needed, in order to rehydrate.

That triggered other thoughts. About burns and pain. And how to relieve them. She remembered some kind of squishy substance used for keeping the roughness of blankets and such away from burns. But did not know where or how she had seen such a thing. Her mind wandered along that particular path, trying to think about what it might be.

Then flicked her eyes open. "Sam. Do we got any of that gel stuff?" she asked. "The stuff kept around in case any mechanic with a bad habit of hitting his engine with a pipe might have? Can we use that for Nakali instead of blankets and stuff?"

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Re: Spider's Web

Postby KendleRJ » Tue Mar 17, 2009 3:41 am

30 minutes... well that was plenty enough time for Tarra to have run those blankets between the Infirmary and the Kitchen at least 10 times as required. Time enough to have the water boil and the extra saline prepared and ready to go to help those dehydrated and in need.

Time enough for Tarra's mind to be taken off of any emotional consideration or implication of what was going on around her, and to ensure that Jandie was back outside the Infirmary, and time enough indeed to watch Sam slowly unravel under the continued stress and physical strain. The final blanket went around her shoulders as Tarra finally felt enough courage to look at Nakali tucked in amidst all of those sopping blankets, steam having stopped curling from his skin, and a fine layer of flaking dermis ready to come off.

His face was slack and his eyes were moving rapidly beneath his lids; and Tarra couldn't stand any more. Looking at the diminishing saline solution, she took another bag that Jandie had filled and swapped it out. She had seen Sam do that at least 4 times in her journeys back and forth and did so under her watchful eye. Sol and Saul were working on the bathtub, and she would need to have it filled as well... more reclamated water she considered and thought to mention it to them until she realized that it was probably what was taking the extra time.

Standing. Stopping. Thinking. "At the most inopportune moment." Tarra turned to Sam, mouth open and ready to ask about the next thing to do when her eyes went wide with the knowledge that she was about to be overwhelmed. "Food," Tarra croaked out and left the Infirmary, running headlong for the kitchen to begin the simple fare for everyone there. Not much required, fresh fruits that were defrosting, vegetables, broth and protein. And biscuits, or flatbread... something for everyone.

Through a veil of tears that were simply not going to stop, she shed each drop of water that she had drunk since they returned, and she slowly prepared the meal with great care and deliberation. She needed to stay away from them, needed to get this done and needed to ensure the safety of the flimsy that had been worth more to him than staying alive. She silently cursed him; cursed her tasks to be completed in the event of his... she used the back of her sleeve to wipe her face. With everything laid before her and the saucepans bubbling on the stove, Tarra reached to do something else, but could find nothing. Sliding behind the counter she rested her head on her knees as she curled up and said, "Hao yundao, bianselong..." and cleared her head of anything more.

~Tag anyone in the Kitchen

**OOC - This is Tarra's stuff she's doing while waiting... please feel free to interject, interpose and interrupt...
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Sam Crerar » Tue Mar 17, 2009 4:30 am

Thirty minutes. Sam had been on the verge of dropping thirty minutes earlier when Nakali was brought into the infirmary. An IV started in his thigh, wet blankets thrown onto him, fluids. Sam had set up all of this, focused on the idea of keeping him alive. Why? She wasn't entirely certain. He wasn't crew, he wasn't exactly even her friend, he was a pest and a stowaway... Still, she couldn't just let him die. Maybe she wanted to save him so that she could kill him after this.

Blanket after blanket. Sam wiped the sweat from her eyes as she checked to make sure Sjet wasn't shivering. She didn't really pay attention to anyone else except for when Tarra slapped a wet blanket over her shoulders. The cool wet blanket felt good against her scorching skin, a relief that she needed. Maybe she could make it until he was stable anyway.

Eternity passed before Sol came in to say the tub was ready for Sjet. That was great. They had to get him in there to cool him down. Without hurting his burns. Mmm, a dunk in the tub would feel good, she wanted to swim too. Although she didn't feel particularly good. And also didn't think she'd fit with Sjet in there, and then there was, well, the idea of being in a tub with a naked Sjet. That wouldn't be kosher. Not that she was Jewish or anything. Where was she? Oh, yes, Jewish, wait... Sam sat down, resting her head in her hands for a second as she tried to clear her mind.

"Sam. Do we got any of that gel stuff?" Sam's head jerked up, awake again. Had she missed anything? Aside from sudden questions about gel stuff? "The stuff kept around in case any mechanic with a bad habit of hitting his engine with a pipe might have? Can we use that for Nakali instead of blankets and stuff?"

"Uh...Um...I dunno, it'd be in the infirmary pantries... I'm not the medic or the mechanic..." She groaned and leaned her head back, closing her eyes again. She was so tired and didn't want to have to deal with these questions. "I think he should be fine how he is..."
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Quamie » Tue Mar 17, 2009 3:09 pm

"Sam. Do we got any of that gel stuff?" Sam's head jerked up, awake again. Had she missed anything? Aside from sudden questions about gel stuff? "The stuff kept around in case any mechanic with a bad habit of hitting his engine with a pipe might have? Can we use that for Nakali instead of blankets and stuff?"

"Uh...Um...I dunno, it'd be in the infirmary pantries... I'm not the medic or the mechanic..." She groaned and leaned her head back, closing her eyes again. She was so tired and didn't want to have to deal with these questions. "I think he should be fine how he is..."

Ameri responded to this by pointing at a drawer. "Burn creams should be there," she told them. She had awakened to the stench of cooked human, and had been trying not to gag. The IV was helping; already she could focus a little better.

"Gauze is in the corner drawer there- I had big bags of it. Mav let me stock the infirmary. He'll need nu-skin. That drawer there, with the burn creams. There isn't a lot, or wasn't. Not enough for a whole person. But his torso needs to be saved first, and he needs to be kept free of infection. Wash your hands, scrub them, before touching him. Everything needs to be sterile."

It was good to be able to focus on something other than her recent experience, even though the reminder was always there in form of the pain in her back.
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Jake Sjet » Tue Mar 17, 2009 8:11 pm

Nakali had walked around the burnt and battered Monarch twice now, his footsteps little more than conical depressions in the silky dunes of sand building against the hull. The light brown of her ceramic heat shields were blackened now, as though the entire ship had been torn to pieces and spit roasted for some demons delight.

Though his opinion was leaning closer to boiled over char grilled, as sweat began to seep from every pore on his body. He pulled the sweater off, trying it around his waist and exposing his chest and abs. He wasn’t a fitness nut, the sort that would do a trillion sit ups and then measure their six pack with an electron microscope.

He liked food.
He liked beer.

He liked women, lots of women...and they liked him, at least he was sure they did. Perhaps in the sweating humidity of the desert that wasn’t the case, but if it wasn’t the case what was the point of lugging the emotional baggage.

“When you get off this sand ball...” he growled and looked up at the glaring light of a distant sun “Its diet time again.”

He snarled suddenly, his hand reaching down to aggressively itch at a sore spot just flaring up against his tight. He was grateful no one was there to watch, but the itching felt so damn good and distracted him from his sweltering dilemma.

The bloated rear of the Firefly, the aft that gave it its namesake silhouette, had also torn off and was scattered out along the way it had come in beautiful glistening funeral pyres of blackened metal. Which meant that even if he did find the parabolic dish of the main communications array, he couldn’t power it.

He, was screwed, righty tight and truly.

With a loud sigh he feel back onto the sand, arms out stretched and looked up into the pale white sky.

“I’m going to die...” he admitted to the world around him, the itch in his thigh burning brighter as he slapped at it “...Hope your getting a laugh out of this your sadistic jerk. This is what I get for taking a dime from the collection plate?”
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Jake Sjet » Wed Mar 18, 2009 6:52 pm

Tarragon Hunter took a deep breath. She felt the deck push uncomfortably into the bones in her butt to indicate that she had sat long enough. Leaning forward, she grabbed the folded fabric with its contents and headed for Nakali’s bunk. There was no use in having everything strewn about if she needed to dispose of his stuff.

And on a better note, he might need to wear some clothes if he intended on being in mixed company any time soon. She had noticed that Sam had cut them off him and were dumped in a pile beside the Infirmary bed before they had moved him to the tub.

Striding through the corridors and carefully avoiding the more populated areas, she kept her focus and made it to the Passenger Area. Opening his door, she saw that the take off had caused some of his things to tip out of his duffel on the floor, so Tarra leaned over to push them back inside the bag.

Her efforts to clean up the mess seemed only to aid in the duffel’s regurgitation of its contents. The more she put in, the more seemed to come out it. The largest items that seemed to have come tumbling from the bag’s open draw string were two smooth plastic cases with small clasps on their fronts. One of the cases, it just so happened, had opened up on its way out, littering its own contents onto the deck.

Those contents turned out to be three small clear plastic cylinders filled with a clear fluid in which floated brightly coloured dots...or upon closer inspection contact lenses of differing colours. One of them was even a solid milky white colour all over without a gap in its pigmentation for a pupil to gaze out of.

Tarra looked a little surprised at the accidental spillage and, to stop anything from escaping slid the door closed behind her. Her small missions where Nakali was concerned seemed to always end up being SO much more involved than initially planned. It was a good thing that food and kitchen were settled before she headed here.

Realizing that there was much more involved with this individual she had let aboard the ship, she sat down on the deck to retrieve everything and sat to inspect things further. Who the hell had she been duped by and what the hell was his story? He had to have had MANY personas and found herself wondering if his eyes now were his own or yet another facet of his ever-evolving caricature.

She pushed her hand into the duffel, half-expecting a comical mouse trap to close itself around her probing fingers and curled them around another item inside.

Her hand came into contact with something solid and upon tactile exploration of its surface turned out to be a book. It was an actual leather bound book, with a number of elastic bands wrapped around it with an old fashion stylus attached to one of the bands. It looked well loved, cared for and often used with many dog eared pages and other pieces of paper crammed into its folds.

One of these photos fell out, floating down to the deck with a back and forth slowness bestowed upon the flat and air catch surface. Its subject, on the other hand, was very familiar to Tarra. It was a picture of Ameri.

Tarra held the picture of Ameri in her hand and placed it gently on the bunk beside her. She felt like she was somehow intruding, but her curiosity was piqued now and there was no telling if she would ever have the opportunity for this again. She blinked once, held her breath, and began unpeeling the elastic bands from their tenuous hold on the book. Did she really need to know? But she had to move forward, find out what he was hiding. He would never tell her, and she would never ask, expecting a lie…
More pictures and folds of paper began to fall out now as Tara’s unbinding of the book continued. They were mostly lists, names, places and addresses, the way someone might write a note when taking a call. It was only upon opening the book, or journal as it turned out to be, that anything resembling knowledge was bestowed upon her.

The last entry was data a week previous, a day before his arrival on the Monarch.

‘It would seem he wasn’t lying when he told me about the ship. A wandering Firefly class vessel called the Monarch, odd name for a ship but then again I’m hardly one to talk. If Ameri was ever on this ship, or still is I may finally have my answers. Where she came from, who took her there...

In either case, I feel I’m coming closer to an end point now. The dreams are becoming more vivid, encroaching into my waking hours like some vicious cancer devouring me from the inside. I’m losing a little more ground each day, a little more of my self...brings up an interesting idea of the nature of ‘self’. But I am still determined to find Ameri; she’ll lead me to where I need to go. I know it.’

Her mouth was open, shocked and surprised by this turn of events and his reference to the Monarch, his dreams and Ameri. She took a deep breath and realized that she was merely a means to an end, and he would have gotten aboard by any method he deemed necessary.

An intelligent gleam twinkled in her eye and she slowly placed the papers together as closely resembling the mess as how she found them and went searching for more information about these dreams he’d been having.

She carefully placed the journal beside Ameri's picture and peeked her head into the bag. There was more in there, but near the bottom. Folding down the sides, she pushed in further and tried to reach for another item which hopefully could give her more insight.

At the bottom of the bag were another one of the egg shell cases the contact lenses had been in, but this was smaller and had odd regular bumps along its top surface. Upon opening it its contents revealed a smorgasbord pills, patches and finger nail sized skin poppers used in the core for the delivery of drugs through the skin. It looked harmless enough, but then again narcotics and pharmacology had come a long way.

Big bang little buck. It did explain how he had a bottle of high end medical pain killers on him, the same ones he’d given her for her head ache: he had a pharmacy in a box in his duffle bag.

Next item out of the bottom of the bag, in the compartment of folded cloth that resembled a seam to probing fingers, was an unusual item: a money clip. Within the metal band were reams of notes of unknown origin, all them marked with strange moving designs and denominations of 3’s, 7’s and 21’s.

“Free World Torus Polity Banking Guild” fluttered along the edge of each of the notes, followed by a long code that could have been a serial number if it didn’t keep changing with each crawling second.

Drugs of all shapes and varieties. Either the man was a pusher or a user of massive proportions. It didn’t explain the dreams, but perhaps they caused an inordinate amount of pain? She couldn’t suss it all out as she let the containers slip through her fingers with a rattle.

And the money? What the hell WAS it? Had she truly been away from the Core that long? And where would he have gotten all of that cash? The name of the Guild seemed familiar, but more from hearsay than actual fact. How had someone been able to not only get involved with a mysterious Guild but have that much cash on him?

Damn, there HAD to be more. This obscured more of the enigmatic picture that she had of him rather than clarifying it. Xiancho was right. She pulled the folded fabric to her, pulling out the flimsy and realized that there was something else inside with it. It must have been that box she had seen him slip in there earlier before they went down to the surface. There must be a connection in there somewhere and she patted the duffel, looking for anything hidden or secreted away that she might have missed. Perhaps an extra set of clothes for the poor sot? Or even something to give her an idea of who he truly was?

Serena closed her eyes for a moment and forgave herself there on the floor of his bunk. Someone who had this much of a background in lies and deceit would have easily danced all over any one of them. It just so happened to have been her. Opening her green eyes again, they were clear and determined. She was on a mini mission of her own and poured through the rest of it unmindful of where it ended up.

The metallic box he’d slipped into the folds of the nun get up still felt warm to the touch in her hands. Obviously its silvery finish had soaked up the heat far better than its owner. Its surface was etched with a stylised oriental dragon, its long serpentine body resplendent with engraved scales and claws polished to a mirror finish. Maybe it was her handling of it, or plain old bad luck that caused her fingers to find the latch on the flat side of the box.

It let out soft click and jumped in her hands.

It moved apart, breaking along seamless lines in its art work, expanding for a second. A hilt came down into the flat of her palm as it continued to whir. Intricate clockwork gears and springs could be seen shining out of the interior of the weapons casing as two barrels protruded from the business end. Yet the design somehow worked better now, as the dragons jaw was open and roaring a challenge to the world that had born it.

A challenge answered as both barrels let out a soft sneeze of compressed spring loaded energy, followed by two similar spaced ‘dinks’ from the wall opposite. The metal partition of the bulk head was a thick and sturdy structural member designed to support the stresses of space travel. So when two small dents made by the clear crystalline shards that still protruded from the wall could be seen, the stopping power of the weapon was well known.

Serena sat back slightly, head tipped forward in a surprised manner and realized that there was MUCH more than met the eye to Nakali Sjet. This little trinket in his possession could have done some major damage had he had a mind to do so. And easily killed more than one of them. It was a pretty thing, well thought out and compact. She half-envied that he had one and tried to close it without discharging it again; and she looked in horror at the evidence of her investigation had left on the wall. There was no way of explaining that without telling him. And she resolved to do just that, but later on when he was up and about in his very own nothingness.

How could a man have that much cashy money and NOT have an extra set of clothes about? There was no way he could fit into any of her stuff, although she did buy some on Beaumont and it had been a bit larger, but if any of her clothes actually fit him, she would probably kill herself.

She gingerly handled the box, looking for markings, a maker’s stamp, anything that might indicate its origin. It took a great deal of imagination to conceive of it, a great deal of skill to create it and a great deal of money to possess it.

Concentrating on the duffel, she fished out any such pieces she thought she felt through the fabric. There was something, some piece missing, but she felt a strange sense of urgency and began rushing.

Again a small stamp on the base proclaimed its maker had been the Free World Torus Polity, the letters divided into two groups above and below a stylised car tyre it appeared. Again that name popped up, but was quickly forgotten as her hand came into contact with a small hand held computer.

Upon pulling it out, it two bore the mark of the FWTP, same logo and same artistic bent on technology. It was a large cylindrical device engrained with a small keypad along one facing of the cylinder with a pull out tab set against one side. Pulling at the tab brought out a thin, translucent display screen as long as the cylinder if many twice that long, which promptly began to fill with light once it was fully extended in her hands.

A test image appeared emblazed with the BlueSun logo before it vanished to display a touch sensitive desktop. It was a cluttered thing, with more of the same artistic stylings seen in the gun and the machines cylindrical core. Along one side of the screen vine like data flies twisted and reorganised themselves, file names appearing and vanishing in time with a faint pulsing of the screen’s power. Put there was one vine of data separated from the others, fenced off by two pearlescent bar holding it in place on the screen.

’34.A. SerentiyVal.wav’

She held her breath, eyes glistening as she felt the import of this discovery and slowly chose the data stream. She waited for the image to either resolve itself into her choice or request a password. Since she figured he was usually the only one who ever handled this device before now, she hoped it would just play.

The stream expanded suddenly to will the screen in pale blue light, the familiar Play/Pause and other functions appearing as translucent icons along the edge of the recording. The pale blue suddenly changed, apart from at the top of the screen where it remained bordered along the bottom by a pale dusty brown with odd little sprigs of dried green here and there.

It was a recording, a moving recording by the slow back and forth and side to side shakes denoted the recording device was moving. Sound came from it to in crystal clear waves of Dolby goodness, as the crunch of gravel beneath feet and laboured hard breathing whispered to her.

"Well..” came an out of breath Nakali in a whisper from the roll out computer “Day twenty of my little trip here to Serenity valley thank you very much Associated Free Press...didn’t warn me about the sand ticks did ya, or the land mines...no not even the raving loon’s in the Browncoats who’d take a shot at me for my story...”

His hand came into view and contorted to show the camera, and the AFP who had funded his trip, his true appreciation with a ‘formal’ salute.

“Been tracking an Alliance convoy that left the main camp a few nights back. They do not seem to be making good time because even I’m keeping track and I only had Juju the horse for company. Shouldn’t have left in the middle of the night without fanfare, not when an insomniac with a camera’s lurking about...” he pointed up the rise he was climbing “Should be just over that ridge there so...no more colour commentary from the space reporter...”

A reporter??? The damn man was a REPORTER? How in all that was holy could she have been such a horse’s ass as to let someone like that on a boat full of secrets? Well, he was hot on the trail of one and already knew her name. But how would what she knew of Ameri, which was blessed little, actually tie into Serenity Valley?

Looking back at the screen, she was suddenly placed alongside him in his travels, breathing almost speeding with his as they approached the ridge and she held her breath, hoping to keep the prying eyes she imagined around them from spotting her. Hera, a legend, and this man had been there. And almost crouching behind the man holding the camera, she slowly rose her head in time with the camera angle to peep over the edge of the ridge and what was revealed to her.

The ridge over looked a small box canyon, really little more than a collection of hills that had nestled together for safety from geographies harsh tectonic plans. And within the canyon was the convoy, a large flat bed multi wheeled Alliance Military transport crawler and two smaller ground effect support vehicles with copula mounted repeater cannons. The two attack craft were parked to either side of the canyons entrance, with the larger crawler parked behind them.

That was what she could see...

“Xiancho...” Nakali breathed from the time capsule of the camera “Xiancho...”
...along with the bodies splayed around the demonic parking lot. Most of the bodies were in the purples and blues of Federal soldiers, rifles close by their gloved hands but useless against whatever attackers had fallen on them. Here and there amongst the fallen warriors were people in bright silver space suits, the sorts doctors wore when performing surgery where 100% guarantees were needed on bio containment and infection.

Nakali stood, slowly making his way down the cusp of the ridge and into the box canyon, the camera’s eye glancing two and fro from the ground attack vehicles, their rear access hatches open with bodies thrown across their entrances as their pilots had tried to flee back into their relative safety. He slowly approached one of the bodies, one of the silver suited figures, and reached down to flip him over from where he’d fallen face down.

“Don’t touch him!” Serena’s voice cut through the quiet in his bunk, sinking feeling as she knew he had done just that and so much more. She found herself wishing she had been with him on that ridge to stop his arm, to warn him and realized that he must, when he watched this memory of his own folly play through on the screen or in his own head, feel the self-same thing.

She closed her eyes and slowly opened them again as she felt the prickling begin. Damn, she thought, what the hell did this man get himself into? She pressed her fingers into the bridge of her nose to slow the gathering; she needed her eyes clear to see this through to the end.

The body rolled easily enough, rigor having set to settle in to its new home. The man beneath the suits clear plastic visor was middle aged, average hair, average eyes, average. His death had not been. Blood had streamed from every pore, his eyes, his tongueless mouth a testament to the shear violence visited upon him. The camera backed away suddenly in shock, enough to catch the open neck seal of the suit and the fact the man’s hands were without gloves, neatly folded and attached to the belt of the bio suit.

The view point spun around suddenly, catching sight of other bodies in the scene around the massive crawler truck. They’d all died the same way, their bodies seeming to have contorted and twisted in disgusting and impossible fashions. All of it seeming to radiate out from the back of the crawler, and its single large cargo container magnetically attacked to the large flat bed.

A cargo container that moaned, in a small...fragile, scared little voice a single word snatched at by the wind.
“Help me...” a long pause followed as Nakali’s breathing halted from the speakers
“....Please....Help me...”

“Oh, no.” Serena’s voice caught in her throat and knew at that moment that the man who had smiled at them with oranges and pain poppers, had pointed her knife at her and had almost died on the surface of Leviathan had made an error of life-changing proportions on the surface of Hera.

The devastation wrought around the container that he approached did not bode well and she was almost heartsick with it, felt a lurching in her chest that twisted a knife that seemed so much longer than the one he had taken from her. He was there, where she sat now, staring into the face of death all around the crate and all he could see and hear was the pleading voice within it and felt an unquestioning need to listen. And help.

Serenity Valley. 10 Years ago almost.

Serena had no idea what was to happen in the next few moments, but in her gut, she knew it had made all of the difference in the 'Verse; had made him into the man in the Cargo Bay, the man who had hidden himself under layers of lies, and within a cocoon of dogged determination. And her knowledge of him almost focussed into a tight beam. It was intimate, this sharing of hers and she felt that she had somehow violated a trust he had left her with.

She watched, open-mouthed and helplessly as the past which became his future played out before her in a steady, unwavering and immutable stream. If he had really wanted to play the sympathy card, he could have easily ripped them asunder with this revelation as the tears that slowly fell threatened to obscure her vision. But watch she must. She owed it to her zhouside.

The camera showed now a wonderfully detailed view of the rear machinery of the crawler as, with effort, Nakali clambered up and onto the back of the large machine. Its thick armoured tyres baked in Hera’s obnoxious brown dust, looking as though the planet were trying to consume the truck and swallow it whole.

To bury whatever was hidden within its cargo bay. Again the pitifully weak voice called out, seeking any sort of human warmth or feeling to offset the suffering that could have created such a voice.

“Hey!” Nakali called out, setting the camera down now so that it looked up along the bed of the truck, and into the cargo pod where an air lock style door had been ripped from its plastic sheeting, exposing the interior, “Hey. It’s okay. I’m coming to help.”

A boot came into view, and with each step the boot receded and grew a leg, and soon a person emerged, dressed in similarly dusty military flacks and a navy blue bullet proof vest. Duct taped to the back in big white letters was the word PRESS. He looked the same. Well as much the same as someone could be when seeing them from the back, walking slowly towards the open cargo pod.

“I’m coming to help you.” He said loudly, slipping into the pod where dim illumination began to obscure him...but his words still carried. “Oh my god...”

Serena closed her eyes, letting the tears gently flow down her face. He walked towards the cruel twist of his fate that lay curled up and seemingly vulnerable in a crate, surrounded by death in the middle of a devastating battle. Her knowledge of the battle’s outcome was limited to her father’s own raving praise for his Alliance troops that had crushed the Independents beneath the boot of democracy. How ironic, but General JJ never seemed to understand that part.

Whoever lay within the obscured pod, pleading for assistance, called to someone who was younger, open and willing to help where he could. And she knew, with increasing clarity as she watched him fall headlong into his own stupidity, that she was a reflection of him. That had it been SHE who was standing in his stead, there would have been no other choice for her, either. And understood their connection…

The blurred image of Nakali in the large cargo pod turned torture chamber could be seen now leaning down, hands outs stretched for something inside.

“It’ll be okay, you’ll be okay...” he assured in a voice that did not sound so sure, little whimpers of pain coming from the voice of pleading innocence. And then he must have reached in to grab and pull the thing free, something that by the sound of its voice was no longer human after its nightmare ordeal.

While Browncoats fell like rain amidst the thunderous roar of bullets, she watched Nakali Sjet’s own fall from any sort of normal existence. It was almost visible, sitting between the outstretched fingers she saw before her from his POV. She almost felt her own fingers brush the sleeve of his jacket, uselessly clutching at it to halt the motion of his arm towards the helpless child before them.

He didn’t have any gloves on, or any of the protection given to the doctors and soldiers who’d been guarding the convoy. His flesh was a meagre defense and, a wailing ‘no’ was of no aid as bare fingers took hold of bare tormented skin. On the screen he seemed to recoil suddenly as though he’d grabbed a live wire, before slowly looking down at his palms. Suddenly, with a low moan riding from either himself or the soul within the box he began to wipe his hands on his pants furiously, his own panicked moaning rising sharply.

He stumbled sideways, his feet catching on the lip of the cargo pod turned science lab. His hands on his shoulder, his hands now clutched around his head as his moan turned into a harsh, pained scream. He twitched, shuddering as though in the grip of a seizure. And still he screamed in full view of the camera, his face scrunched up in a most glorious visage of pain.
Blood flowed from his eyes, unseeing as he kept them clamped shut.

The force of the cries burst forth from the unfeeling images in front of her, physically pounding her with their strength and the depth from whence they originated. It hurt her eyes, her ears and her soul as she reached out to the writhing form on the screen, dancing a stilted and cruelly choreographed waltz of anguish. Her mind tried to wrap itself around what was happening to him, and she realized with increasing understanding, that this was not a singular occurrence.

She leaned back and ran her fingers again through the meds in his duffel, suddenly understanding that this unbelievably impossible agony was repetitive and must be regular. And increasingly hard to control; impinging on his waking hours beyond the, what was it? She quickly went back to his journal and re-read his notes. “Encroaching like a cancer…”

That when the Shepherd had called for assistance, that every missed meal in the past few days since he had arrived, that every time… She swallowed and tried to comprehend what this truly meant, and all she could understand was that unless this stopped, and soon, that the Nakali Sjet that she saw on the screen before his choice, would be lost forever within the walls of his own torture.
Her eyes were open, her heart was sore with this and she understood only too well what would happen if they did not help him. He would perish, mentally in a raving lunacy that would ravage his soul as surely as she felt hers would be if she did not.

She waited for the screen to finish its assault on her senses...

Everything grew very still for a long time, Nakali seeming to twitch sporadically in time with some unheard melody, but he didn’t make an intelligent sound. His was the noise made by a broken toy, some horrendously complex part deep within having broken.
The sort of things that could not be fixed.

The time stamp in the corner, one a decade out of date, began to spin forward ever faster as the computers brain search for action on the feed. Hours past, nearly 12 of them before the machine decided to still the recording and play on. An odd crunching noise filled the tiny speakers, followed with each new crunch by a low ticking noise like a watch.
A black rubber tipped gloved finger suddenly fell in front of the camera’s lens, throwing the world asunder as the hand plucked the camera off the deck. Who ever had taken the camera obviously had no love for the paparazzi, and tossed it.

The pause button blinked rapidly, as with a good angle from up above the new entry into the fray became clear: Nakali’s plight was being aided by what looked like three clockwork people. As large as a man, if a little rounded here and there, they could be liken to the suits of armour worn by Alliance front line armoured divisions only lacking in the sleek armour and deadly paraphernalia they brought with them. These looked like works of art, things people spent a life time creating with intricate designs of dragons and serpent winding around arms and shoulder pads.

Even the Samurai styled mask of burnished silver had an oddly statuesque tone to them, apart from the glowing azure eyes. In fact she’d seen the same level of craftsmanship implemented in two other items in Nakali’s bag: the gun, and the computer.

Form over function.

And with that the data stream folded back into its vine like a flower at duck, eager to sleep away the night and arise with the dawn. No more secrets to tell just yet, just more questions.

A ragged breath escaped Serena’s lips, one that came from deep within her. The puzzle of HIS life was laid out in piles around her; the answer somewhere and she picked up the flimsy. This last piece HAD to be part of it all. If HE had been sitting here with this problem, he would have understood it almost immediately. If she had only taken him up on those damn ‘dancing lessons’ he might have given her more of an indication, more insight.

She felt somehow that he had meant for her to find this, to help him with his search for completion along a road full of milestones. She closed her eyes and remembered the scene, remembered the times where he was missing and remembered… his watch. The alarm. The sudden pain by the Infirmary. And the pills. How long had they been on the surface?

A quick mental calculation, usually meant for timing foodstuffs, cooking times to coordinate deftly to assure serving times to coincide, she estimated about 13 hours, give or take a half hour between… attacks. As long as he was unconscious, he might be safe from the full force of the anguish she had seen, but to be on the safe side, she should at least check in. And let them know about his lack of clothing, so they could at least make some sort of arrangements once they removed him from the tub.

She picked up a tube of pain poppers, stuffed his belongings back into his duffel and snugged the tie tightly to its neck.

Tarra left the flimsy out but protected, and carried the robe back with her to the Cargo Bay. He might be sorry about the dress, but at least he would be convered in case he woke up before they found him something more permanent to wear.

She was in a quandry of what next step to take, but for now, she concentrated on making sure he was comfortable, and that his secret was safe for the moment.

But it was a heavy burden to bear, and he had been bearing it alone for almost 10 years. She shook her head free of this and thought, if she had to tell someone, who the hell could she trust?

Even as the door closed on the passenger compartment, a soft musical tone began to be imparted on the still air of the cabin. It was the soft pining and plucking if tiny pins against tiny small musical strips of brass, the sound a music box would make. But what a mournful melody was carried on its simplistic, child like manner. Words coming unbidden to the room, unspoken but somehow remembered by the tinkling music box hidden within the second make up box, a shadow of their keepers mind imprinted on them by proximity.

Masquerade...paper face on parade...Masquerade...hide your face, so the world may never find you...

And then all was silence.

A Jp by Jake and Tarra.

Tarra-Tarra
Jake Sjet-Walls, cieling, lights, bed, duffle, duffles contents, the roll top computer, the gun, the recording, those annoying dot motes that get caught in a bright light, dust (we really need top spring lcean the ship people) and so on.
Ensign Keth Soban, Medic on the USS Legacy

Fellow Crew Injured By Keth: X


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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Tavey » Thu Mar 19, 2009 11:36 am

Not too far from them, a small almost unobtrusive object spun in place. The satellite watched all craft who came close, scanned and cross referenced them. Then sent a data stream to the small planet nearby. In a tiny room,tucked away in an underground vault attached to a simple house, a bank of whirring computers collected the data.

Deep within, it picked up and sorted out the image of The Monarch. Checking it against the allowed list of ships. Any ship not matching, would be challenged. That was how the protocol had been set up many years before. Samuel Armstrong, while cruel and cold, also deeply loved the young woman he had warped. In his own way, he wanted her to have somewhere she could be safe. He had hand picked all of the villager families and the few other elite that had been allowed to settle on the planet.

The computer matched the name of the ship, bringing up the Captain's name and an image that was one big refit ago.

Nothing matched. The ship had been listed on the allowed list, under Saul Armstrong as Captain. The image was about 10 feet shorter than the ship that was flying towards them.

It dug deeper into the cortex. And found more information. The ship had recently changed hands from Armstrong to Kynthia Talland.

The challenge was sent as a precaution.

The small screen set into the wall of the bridge flickered.

"Incoming Firefly transport, identify yourself. Incoming Firefly transport, Identify yourself."

TAG Lu
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby KendleRJ » Thu Mar 19, 2009 1:06 pm

Tarra rushed into the Cargo Bay, slipping down the steps in order to reach Sam, who was napping, and Nakali, who was still immersed in the cooling bath in almost the centre of the Bay. If there were others present, Tarra didn't take much notice, having been exposed to something so unbelievable that she still felt a little shocked by its revelation.

Before rousing Sam, she took a brief moment to truly look at the man lying there, face red and swollen, but smooth and without worry. And silent. When she had asked for 2 minutes, she certainly did NOT think of this long as she considered her suggestion and his tenuous hold on this mortal coil. She closed her eyes to stop this vision, but it was replaced by another, just seen, stilted movement in her mind’s eye of a puppet whose strings were in the midst of being cut. “And where’s your puppeteer now, bianselong?” she asked him gently.

The clouded over crystal on the watch on his arm beeped 3 times and then stopped. Curious, she looked at it and noticed the self-same symbol upon this piece of technology as well.

In her hand, the poppers rolled and the robe slid down her arm; enough additional sound to rouse the resting Sam. Tarra checked on his IV line, turned to Sam and said, “Just thought I’d check in on him and my Mei Dade.” She smiled, a self-possessed and genuine one, and realized that it had felt like a good long while since she let one of those out without using it as a ploy or to press an advantage. Is that what she had used to attract a man on the boat; so as she could stay without worry or concern?

Curling her arm around Sam’s shoulder and noticing the dryness of the blanket and its warmth rather than coolness, Tarra took it off her and dipped it in the water. Her concentration was focused on not disrupting the line attached to Nakali’s thigh, or the strategically placed fabric strewn over him to give him at least some sense of decency as he lay there healing in the water. She threw the blanket over Sam’s shoulder and patted it so that she could feel the chill, hopefully soothing and calming in the face of what had come before.

Tarra waited for a moment, watching his face for any sign of distress or discomfort. She was not going to have him drown if there was any way of stopping it. “How is he?” she asked over her shoulder, ready to rest a hand in the water under his neck in case he began struggling. She knew that if he had experienced anything as violent as she had seen on the recording, she would be soaked clean through. “Is there any way he can feel anything?”

~Tag Sam / Any in the Cargo Bay (please break up or interject)
USS Legacy
Ensign Navkiran Khangura - Engineering
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby Sam Crerar » Thu Mar 19, 2009 1:20 pm

Sam looked over to Tarra with bloodshot eyes. She was half awake, if actually that awake. "He's in the waiting stage. His temp is down, but he's badly burned, and he's still dehydrated. Can't rehydrate him any faster..." She said quietly, "But no, I don't think he feels anything. Can't tell for certain."
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Re: Spider's Web

Postby KendleRJ » Thu Mar 19, 2009 1:28 pm

Tarra looked at Sam, worse for wear and pushed to the limits of human endurance. Obviously going above the call of duty for him. She looked back at Nakali, face still smooth, and hoping against all hope that Sam was right about him not feeling anything. The pain poppers she held in her hand would probably do nothing for him and she set them in her pocket, placing the robe he had worn off to one side, hung on a piece of strut inside the Bay.

She checked on the IV bags that they had lined up there, ready for anything, quick swapping for either Sam or Nakali and Tarra sat down beside her. "I HATE waiting," she said, voice sharp and a little too punctuated, then sighed. "You need anything, Sam? There's some food in the kitchen that I prepped for everyone. Light and hopefully something to hit the right spot." There was a small twist inside of her and tears sprang to sit in the corners of her eyes, but they would not fall. Tarra was determined that it would not happen.

~Tag Cargo Bay
USS Legacy
Ensign Navkiran Khangura - Engineering
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