ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴅᴛᴇᴀᴍ ᴏғ ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴇʟ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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hadriel_logs2016-02-10 10:03 am
hadrielmods) wrote in hadriel_logs2016-02-10 10:03 am
Entry tags:
- *intro log,
- amos kamiya,
- arya stark,
- bianca,
- ciri,
- clifford norman,
- emily,
- firo prochainezo,
- gansey,
- garrett hawke,
- henry percy,
- hope estheim,
- inquisitor trevelyan,
- jinbee tsukishima,
- johanna mason,
- kazuhira miller,
- kylar stern,
- lloyd irving,
- maketh tua,
- nick rivenna,
- noah czerny,
- peter rumancek,
- rey,
- thom creed,
- thom rainier,
- vaiz,
- wolf,
- z delgado
INTRO LOG: BLACK CATS & WALKING UNDER LADDERS
Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for February.
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: February 10th-13th
Warnings: Fresh meat, creepy moving shadows, terrible luck, the screams of your loved ones.
What: The intro log for February.
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: February 10th-13th
Warnings: Fresh meat, creepy moving shadows, terrible luck, the screams of your loved ones.
Welcome to Hadriel, new friends. While waking up on the ground of a broken colosseum may not be the most pleasant arrival, you can at least find comfort in the fact that there's no giant monster immediately attempting to eat you. Plenty of the people already here will tell you that they weren't quite so lucky. But - wait. Is that something moving in the shadows, or is it just your imagination?
Of course it's not just your imagination. That would be way too easy. No, arriving along with everyone this time are wraiths, vengeful spirits that enjoy darkness, shadows, and misery. On the plus side, they won't try to kill you. On the minus side, their touch chills you and saps your energy, as well as inflicting a temporary curse of awful luck. Anything that can go wrong, will, including (and especially) things that might kill you. Wraiths are subtle and sneaky, so be sure to watch your back. That shadow isn't just a shadow.
Compounding the confusion the wraiths can cause, you just might wake up to the sound of chattering voices - only to be quite alone. A small flock of jabberjays has come through the Door as well. These genetically engineered birds are capable of mimicking entire human voices and conversations - as well as screams of terror and pain. Initially only in the arena and bringing only conversations from their world, they'll soon settle throughout the city and begin to learn the voices of those living in Hadriel. Your best friend screaming bloody murder just a street over? It could be them, or it could just be one of these lovely birds. Don't let it stress you out.
Once you've escaped the colosseum, hopefully without accidentally impaling yourself on your own weapon, feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!► This log covers February 10th-13th.
► Feel free to make your own logs, as well!
► All characters now arrive with phones that have network communication.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
City
He comes across a lady with a sword and a notebook...and a lot of dried blood and dust on her.
"Hey there. Lookin' for something?" His light tenor comes out soft with his New Orleans accent: both drawled and sharp at once.
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She doesn't look up and barely seems to hear the voice.] What?
[Maketh herself doesn't have much of an accent and what she does isn't hers by right - she's copying Governor Pryce out of sheer habit, smothering her own so no one will know where she came from. It comes out vague either way. Distracted.]
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Amos tries again, wandering closer still. She looks human, and the bloodstains look regular human red, but honestly there's no telling. "Hey, you hurt? You've got blood on your clothes."
The distance he considers "cautious" is a only a few feet away, because Amos has never had a sense of personal space and tends to be more trusting than wary.
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[Apparently she does. Something should probably be done about that.]
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She's pale, which could be her natural skin-tone, or bloodloss, or shock, and Amos doesn't know which. The way she's acting could be any of the above as well... Amos tilts his head at her, a puppy-like motion. "Hey, honey, you okay?" he asks, coaxing, gentle. "Ain't hurt?" He moves a step closer, though well-aware it could be some kind of trap.
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[It's very important work. A few scratches can't distract her.]
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"Is any of that blood yours? I can take a look for you, patch you up some if you need it," he offers, though truthfully his skill as a medic is limited at best. He is no healer, and thus his first-aid is basic...if creative from all the oddball situations he's been in over his life.
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[Therefore it's fine and she needs to get back to work.]
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Well, not hurting can be good or bad, but if she's in shock... Amos steps closer still, well within grabbing range and edging on the border of polite public space. "If you've been bleeding, then we should take a look at that, honey. There's monsters here as might smell that an' come hunting ya." A change of tactics, shifting from concern for her - which doesn't seem to matter to her - and instead evaluating the dangers of the environment...of which there are many, and after the Great Monster Slaying, none of them are monsters Amos can sense coming.
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[Maybe it would be okay to sit for a minute. Maybe.]
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"I've got supplies. C'mon, let's get out of the open, so we can take care of that, alright?"
There's a shop nearby, one that has clothing and blankets in it, among other supplies. They'll be able to find her something that isn't covered in blood. Amos's smile is friendly, his manner gentle and submissive. He's not a threat, see? (He knows how to be a nonthreatening, bumbling idiot, according to Kat.) Mostly he just wants to make sure she's not about to drop dead, because that would be bad.
Dead things are just gross.
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[She's moving slow anyway, too slow to really get anything done. Part of her just wants to stop and lie down right there in the road.]
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Amos catches the little wince, the ways her lips tighten. Oh, well, arm or ribs or internal...? He doesn't know and he's really not that good of a medic to treat anything worse than a sprain or a small bleed. He beckons here along and ducks into the shop, checking it out: no-one here, excellent, and he leads her behind a row of shelving for an attempt at more privacy. He doesn't care about the general public seeing him naked, but women tend to be a little more appreciative of privacy.
"Here, now, let's see what's hurt, okay?" He swings his backpack off his shoulders, and sits down on the floor, rummaging through the nondescript black bag. Ah, there's his makeshift med-kit....
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Later, though. When she can think straight.
Maketh lets the notebook fall from her hand. Easier than trying to bend down. When that's done she goes about undoing her belt and uniform jacket, one button at a time. Normally she'd think of appearances if not modesty, but that part of her brain is offline. She's tired, she needs to get her ribs looked at, it needs to happen quickly.
She strips off her coat and uniform blouse without a word, standing at attention. There's a collage of dark bruises all the way across her chest, and her skin feels hot to the touch. She can see shrapnel sticking out of her skin in the patches she couldn't quite reach with her hands.
There's not that much blood, really.]
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Ouch shrapnel. Amos cringes. "Holy Archangel Michael, be with us in this hour," he mutters under his breath, rapidly, and pulls out a few more things for bandaging before he starts examining her cuts and scrapes and bruising. "Can you take a deep breath? Or do your ribs hurt too bad?" he asks, and adds, "Gonna touch ya."
His fingers trace the bruising and the curve of her ribs very gently, feeling for immediate deformities, before he moves in to the shrapnel. She's pale but she's not turning blue or gasping for breath, so she's breathing just fine. The question is, are her ribs broken or bruised? Because broken and moving around might end up with a punctured lung or heart or major blood vessel. Bruised or cracked...painful, but completely survivable with even his minimum of care. As long as none of this shrapnel has gone too deep....
All he has for washing things is a bottle of water and a clean bit of gauze, so that's what he uses, warning her as he goes to touch her skin again.
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[A lot. When she first woke up she'd been afraid that she'd undo her jacket and find her ribs jutting out. She hadn't. But there hadn't been anything she could fix on her own, so she'd gone on ignoring it. Work always comes first. She has to be a good soldier, has to be useful, or else something bad will happen.
Maketh blinks at the man. She doesn't know his name. She ought to know his name.] Am I dying?
[She doesn't sound particularly concerned about it one way or another. It would be an inconvenience, she's sure.]
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Amos pulls out the last piece of shrapnel and searches for any others he can't immediately see, fingers ghosting carefully along her skin. "I don't think so, but there's better healers'n me here. You should go see 'em, ma'am."
He's seen the clinic, even if he's never been in there himself.
Her nonchalant question doesn't bother him. He's gotten a little blase about how he'll die himself: violent lives often have violent ends, he knows.
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Healers.
[That's an odd way to put it.]
Where?
[She'll go. Eventually.]
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Amos rattles off directions, based on landmarks, as he tapes a few gauze swatches down, covering the deepest and worst of the shrapnel wounds. When he's finished, he leans back and rinses his hands with the bottled water, before offering up what's left in it to Maketh.
"Here, you've lost blood. You should drink some."
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She blinks at Amos, then takes the water.] Thank you. Sir.
[She coughs a little as she drinks. Her throat feels bone dry, and it hurts to swallow.]
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Amos rocks back on his heels and starts gathering up the unused supplies and the trash. "You're welcome, honey. An' be careful. Monsters don't usually come into the city, but with new monsters trying to get out, well. An' some of these buildings ain't steady. They're more habitable 'long that way, near where I told you the clinic is."
He won't force her to go anywhere, but he can give her good advice and try to keep her out of trouble. He's leery of trying to actually handle her: he's been attacked too many times by stunned or dazed teammates to try while neither of them are in mortal danger.
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[She will. Even under these circumstances. Maketh is very good with details. But she needs to move now, or that bone deep exhaustion will sink in and that will be the end of it. There's a part of Maketh that's afraid she'll die in her sleep if she stops to close her eyes.
That's not helpful at all. She won't be doing that.
She picks up her coat slowly, pulling it on one arm at a time. It's in tatters, will need to be replaced in due haste. But it's hers for now, and she has work to do.]
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"Some of the houses an' apartments ain't occupied, if you need a place to rest," Amos tells her, standing up and shouldering his pack again. "An' if you're hungry, I've got some food I could share."
Luring people with food is second nature to Amos, bred into him by his Southern raising. Food answers almost all problems.
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[She needs to gather allies here. Amos has proven himself useful, and kind. Maketh could probably use some kindness here.]
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He weaves his way out of the shop, but not before picking up not-bloodstained clothes that look like they might fit Maketh. She might want them in a bit.
"Over this way" is the spiraling tower closest to Hope's temple, and Amos has nabbed the first-floor apartment for himself. Why bother with stairs? It's a three-bedroom apartment, too big for just him, though sometimes Kamina stays. Most of the time the other man is out and about, though, which makes him a less than disruptive roommate.