leanonstuff | PSL post for daughterless

[Joel glances over at Norman and doesn't say: Afraid that I'm gonna change my mind and ditch you at the first sign of trouble? If he were in the other man's shoes, that's what he'd be thinking. He can't lie and say that it hadn't been on his mind (he's crazy and this is crazy and they're both going to get shot down like dogs), but...

Well, he's still here. And they're not dead yet. He shifts the strap of his shotgun from left to right, redistributing the weight of it along his shoulders, and soldiers on.]

This place is a shithole all right. [As a general rule, Joel doesn't ask about other people's histories (it's none of his goddamn business, and asking invites questions about himself), but it's been a long and grueling trudge south and they've got nothing better to do than dodge NCR patrols for the next few hours. And he's... well, curious ain't quite the right word for it. But he does wonder a little what it's like out west, where the NCR had full control.] How long you been out here?

[Norman usually likes to give people the benefit of the doubt, but after everything that's happened, he's putting a wary foot forward. Especially since the bottles are in Joel's pack and not his own. He might've insisted on carrying them himself, but there's actually something strategic about doing it this way. While the Legion might not be too well-informed about what happened seeing as they killed the guys at the gas station, the NCR are plenty aware. So even if he was to be killed or captured, at least Joel could still keep the bottles safe. Norman at least trusts that he won't go giving them to the Legion now.]

Yeah, it sure is. [Desert, plenty of mutated creatures running free, hostile entities everywhere... you don't see wildness like that in California. Where the NCR has the strongest hold, those kinds of threats have long since been squashed.]

Only about a year. They sent me out here once things started to get really serious with the Fiends.

[And thanks to his help, they'd managed to take out some of the leaders. Unfortunately, they seem to grow back like the heads of a hydra.]

What about you? Or were you born out here?

[He wonders idly how many other spies the NCR has got prowling these parts. It makes him uneasy-- he'll have to tighten up his operation when all this craziness dies down and he gets back to business.

Came out west with a caravan some years back. Been here since.

[And that's all he'll say about it. Better if he can keep the discussion focused on Norman.] Takin' care of the Fiends, huh? Do I got you to thank for all that ruckus back last winter?

[He keeps his ear to the ground, like all smugglers, but it didn't take any information brokering to see that something had been up. Some kind of territorial spat with the NCR, he'd thought, but then the Fiends had gone on a rampage, killing folks left, right and center before suddenly fading away. Things had been quieter since, but Joel never does trust that sort of peace to last.

Speaking of which, it is really too goddamn quiet right now. With a sharp inhale, he stops short, listening, trying to make out something beyond the crunch of sand under their shoes. The crunch of sand under someone else's shoes, trying to move stealthily--!]

[There actually aren't as many as one would think. Spying on the Legion is pretty much impossible because of how they structure themselves and deal with their recruits. As for spying on other groups, not too many people are as dedicated as Norman is when it comes to learning how to blend in with them and gather information. His lockpicking ability is also unusual within the NCR.]

Oh, huh.

[He's planning on asking more questions, but Joel's diverts his attention. It doesn't really register that he might purposefully be trying to keep the topic off himself.]

I was part of it, yeah. Risky job, but they were getting out of control. ...More out of control than usual.

[Norman likes to think he's a pretty perceptive guy, but Joel apparently has him beat, because he's confused at first why the other man suddenly stopped. He shoots him a curious look, before hearing the quiet sounds as well.

And then a moment later, the sound of gunfire suddenly erupts from behind.]

Oh fuck! [He runs for cover behind a nearby boulder while readying his rifle hurriedly. There's a sharp pain in one of his arms as he does so, but it hasn't yet really registered that he'd been shot there.]

[Despite being the one to notice their attackers, Joel's slower to react and get the hell out of the way. A bullet clips his ribs, and a second-- he hisses as pain blooms in his leg and the knee buckles before he can hobble away.]

Fuck!

[He lets himself fall, using the momentum to roll onto his back, drawing his gun to fire back. At the very least, he wouldn't be going down without a fight.

His first shot rings into the empty air, but there's a cry of pain the second time he pulls the trigger and he focuses on the dark shape taking shelter behind some scrubby brush, trying to land another hit. At the same time, he tries to scoot away, grunting with pain at his injured leg and hoping against hope that they wouldn't be too badly outnumbered. Norman looks to have made it to cover, but he's a sitting duck out here.]

[Norman catches a glimpse of one of the attackers before firing off a few shots in his direction. From what he can see, they're Vipers... which either means they'd seen Joel and decided to attack, or maybe the NCR had paid some off to keep an eye out for them. It's just a guess, but at this point, he can't really trust the NCR won't stoop to any low.]

Oh shit... [He seems to have taken one of them out, or at least injured them, but a glance shows that Joel is hurt and out in the open. No, this isn't how it's gonna end! He won't allow it!

Forcing himself to ignore the now searing pain in is bicep, Norman darts behind another rock, making enough noise to catch the attention of their final pursuer. Several bullets hit the dust behind him, barely missing as he makes for cover. The attacker has a clear advantage over him now... showing his head would be basically asking for death.]

[Ignoring the sharp twinge of his ribs, Joel scrabbles for his pack for his last smoke bomb. From the sound of bullets over his head, Norman had drawn their fire and he's damn grateful for that fact as he tries to set the bomb, fumbles the pin, and detonates it practically right next to him.

Immediately he covers his mouth, closing his eyes so that the first rush of bitter smoke doesn't get into his lungs. On the plus side, the white fog keeps him hidden as he begins to drag himself back to some cover, hoping that the continuing sounds of gunfire would be enough to mask the crunch of dry dirt beneath his body. The smoke also hampers his vision, and he gropes around like a blind man before his hand falls upon something rough and flat, at head level. It'll do. He pulls himself to his feet.... or foot, more like, hobbling behind what turns out to be a large boulder, and takes the opportunity to reload, listening hard all the while for sounds of further movement. He doesn't know where Norman has got to, and doesn't fancy shooting the other man on accident. They should come up with a signal or something... shit.

The smoke is gone by now, but he doesn't know where Norman or the other shooter's got to. Cautiously, he peers over the edge of the boulder, ready to duck back down at the first hint of trouble.]

[Norman's back is pressed firmly up against his cover, even as the attacker taunts him and shoots a few more rounds to try and scare him out. This isn't good; he needs to think of something fast. But then he hears the man pause, followed by a curse as he seems to be turning his attention somewhere else. That does prompt Norman to cautiously peek around his cover, only to see some smoke in the air. Joel must've set off one of his bombs.

The Viper might not be distracted for long, so Norman takes the opportunity to aim and fire several times, hoping for a lucky hit. And... bullseye. A shot to the chest and stomach cripple the man, which gives him the chance to rise from cover and end the man's life with a quick bullet between his eyes.

With the last attacker gone, Norman takes a few moments to catch his breath, his heart pounding and arm throbbing with pain. He secures his rifle to his back and then grabs at his bleeding wound while looking for Joel. A hint of smoke is still lingering from where the bomb went off, so he heads in that direction. Hopefully the guy wasn't too badly injured.]

[The initial spurt of adrenaline is dying down, and he can feel the blood trickling down his ribs, pooling in the leg of his pants, warm and tacky. His right leg burns, the ache bone-deep, and his vision going gray with pain every time he tries to put weight on it. The thought that he's going to have a hell of a time getting away from an attacker races through his mind, but he shunts the pain aside to focus on the sound of someone else heading his way. The footsteps sound familiar, but that doesn't stop him from pulling a gun on the approaching figure, fighting the instinct to pull the trigger as soon Norman comes into view.

The gun is shaking in Joel's hand before he lets his arm drop, leaning hard against the boulder. Even so, he's all business.]

Heard you nab that last one. Any others out here?

[He raises the hand of his uninjured arm in a half-assed 'don't shoot' gesture, because the other one isn't cooperating too well. Fortunately Joel figures out it's him quick enough, as he wouldn't be too happy to deal with another bullet in him. But looking over the other man, he can tell he got it easy in comparison.]

Yeah... I mean, no. I killed the last guy, and there's no one else out there that I can see.

[But who knows when more Vipers might show up? They are in their territory, after all. Better get somewhere safe to deal with these wounds... there's a building nearby, so maybe if they block the door, they'd be okay for awhile.]

You don't look too good. [A bullet to the leg is going to make this way more complicated. At least it doesn't look like he got hit with anything fatal.]

I got hit in the arm, but I still have a good one left to help support you. Think that'll be okay?

[About to refuse, Joel pushes himself back to both feet and sways slightly, sweat beading over his face as a low hiss of pain escapes his teeth. He's pale with blood loss, breathing hard, and god fucking damnit--]

Well, it don't look like we got much choice here.

[Awkwardly, he puts one arm over the other man's shoulders. They're not too far off in height, so it doesn't pull on anything, but he can feel the tremble in his shoulders as he pulls all his weight off the wall, leaning heavily on Norman.]

[Norman's tempted to jab them both with some Med-X and Stims, but he doesn't wanna risk going loopy while trying to get them somewhere safe. And if Joel passed out, he doesn't think he'd be able to support his weight all on his own.]

Let's go to that building across the street. Survey the damage there.

[His good arm wraps around Joel's waist as the man leans against him, doing his best to keep him steady. He lets his other arm hang uselessly at his side, though he can feel blood dripping down to his fingers and a sharp aching pain whenever the arm is jostled. What a fucking mess.]

You think you're gonna make it?

[What the hell kind of question is that? Even injured as he is, Joel looks over to give Norman a look from under furrowed brows. His voice is a low growl, jaw tight.]

I ain't gonna keel over from a scratch like this.

[He's survived worse before. A tourniquet, a few shots of stim, a Med-ex, and a couple stitches and he'll be good as new. Really.

The building seems to loom in the distance-- too far away, and getting further with every second, and Joel hisses as they stumble over uneven ground, glancing at the bloodstain spreading over the other man's arm. Norman's injured too. Great. Just great. He puts more effort into his steps, gritting his teeth every time he puts weight on the injured leg, and trying to focus on taking one step at a time all the way to the entrance of the building.

There's a pause, Joel glances up, and then suddenly the door is right before them. Moving as if in a dream, he reaches out to grab the handle, shoving it in.]

A 'scratch.' Right.

[He'd roll his eyes, but this is pretty damn serious regardless of Joel's bravado. He's patient with him, walking slowly despite the urge to hurry them forward and away from any further danger. If another enemy were to appear now, they're be fucked. That concern, coupled with the need to support the more seriously injured party here, gives Norman better incentive to handle his own pain and help them make it to the building.]

Okay... alright. We're gonna be fine.

[He's trying to convince himself as well as Joel. Norman knows he's losing a lot of blood judging by how much is soaking his shirt and dripping down his arm. Must've hit some sort of artery. Gotta keep focused.

He kicks the door shut behind them, takes a cursory survey of the area for any enemies, then helps Joel behind the front desk of what must've been some sort of pre-war office building. After he's settled down, Norman finds a tire iron and sticks it through the door handles in hopes of keeping it shut if anyone else decides to stop by for a visit.

When he returns behind the desk, it's to slide down on the floor next to Joel and rummage around his pack with one hand looking for his chems. They won't solve the problem, but they should help with the pain enough for them to focus on fixing the problem themselves.]

Got some Med-X... stims. [He drops a few on the ground between them, before jabbing his arm with a Med-X. Not only does it help relieve some of the pain, but it helps stave off any withdrawal symptoms he might have faced if he'd gone too long without it.]

Edited 2013-12-16 15:20 (UTC)

[Joel sits back with a groan as Norman helps him down. He grabs a Med-X when it's offered, peeling bloodied cloth away from his leg and jabbing for the first vein he sees. Blessed numbness spreads through his leg as he sucks in a low breath, taking off the worst of the pain and leaving a dull throbbing ache in its wake. He could get used to this (can't get too used to this.)

Sitting up, he shrugs off his own pack with a low groan. It's acquired a few new holes along with the usual wear and tear, but nothing looks to have gotten damaged as he thumbs over the bottles in their makeshift cloth wrapping, just to be sure. He's not too keen on finding out what would happen if one of them blew up right next to him. Could be time to start investigating some kind of container to stash them in...

A couple of rolls of gauze are produced from the bottom of the pack, only slightly dirty, and he tosses one at Norman without looking to see if the other man catches it before setting about shoving the waistband of his pants just far enough for him to get at the wound. Over the tearing sound of gauze and the plastic shucking sound of another stimplack uncapped, he asks Norman:]

You recognize this place? [Joel's not often in these parts, and he'd been too out of it to get much more than a glimpse of the outside. View from behind the desk isn't stellar either.]

[He glances at the bloody wounds as Joel reveals them, and silently hopes what they have will be enough to keep both of them from getting an infection. The roll of gauze bounces off his forehead as he's too busy staring at the wounds, but that snaps him out of it. Norman places the gauze behind him, then tears off the flimsy sleeve of his raider outfit to expose the gunshot wound in his arm.]

Huh? [He asks while reaching into his bag for some purified water. Norman hates to have to waste it on this, but... cleaning up these wounds is going to be extremely important.]

I think... maybe. All these places look the same.

[He hasn't heard anything that sounds like robots patrolling the place, or any other raiders in the area. They should probably be safe for now.]

We need to clean these wounds. The one on your side first.

[That's the one that worries him the most, because he doesn't know how bad it is and it's in a more vital area.]

Huh? [The pain in his ribs had receded into a dull throbbing, almost forgotten in comparison to the previous agony of his leg.] It's nothing-- hardly got nicked. A few stitches and I'll be good as new.

[Norman seems to be something of a worrier though, and Joel's gonna have a hard time putting those stitches in himself, so he raises his arm to show him the rip in his shirt, the long red gouge along his side-- deep and bleeding sluggishly, but hardly life threatening.] Think the one in my leg went through 'n through. [A dry sound that's almost a chuckle.] Least we won't be fishin' metal out of my leg all day.

[He doesn't like being in an unsecured, unknown place, their tracks leading here clear as day-- but it wasn't like they had much of a choice at this point. Best to dig in their heels and recuperate. Speaking of which:]

Your arm looks like it needs seein' to.

Oh. Good.

[Though when he sees that gash, it still looks pretty damn rough to him. It'll definitely need stitches. Luckily, Norman knows how to do them, having had to stitch himself up occasionally while out on spying missions. He's not absolutely superb at it, but what he's got is better than nothing.]

Damn. I don't know about my arm.

[It doesn't hurt as much thanks to the Med-X, though a look at it shows that the bullet must still be in there.]

Think I might be fishing for metal there. I'd rather get you done first.

[Partly to put off having to dig a bullet out of there.] You should probably take off your shirt.

[With a low grunt of assent, Joel reaches up to tug his shirt over his head. The movement pulls at the wound along his ribs, a sharp frisson of pain, and he grits his teeth as he strips the sleeves off, jabbing that last uncapped stim right between the ribs. At the rate that they're burning through their meds, they'd probably have to hit up a caravan or local drug runner soon-- that, or scrounge up some more themselves.]

Thread and needle in my pack-- left pocket on the front. Probably some tweezers too-- [Joel's an old hand at fishing out bullets, from himself or others.]

Got a flask of whiskey in the side to wash it all off. [It'll do to disinfect the needle, tweezers, and whatever else they might need, and maybe for a little additional numbing on the side. That isn't what he carries it around for (it's obvious what he carries that around for), but hell, he'll take it.]

Got it.

[He searches through the indicated places, finding the thread, needle, tweezers and whiskey. He twists the cap off the flask, then starts threading the needle. The lighting here is dim, so it takes a few tries to get it through. He then dips the needle in the whiskey to disinfect it.]

Ready?

[His eyes flick over Joel's body before refocusing on the wound. Now is not the time to get a closer look at his partner. In fact, he should probably run on the assumption that there's never a good time for that. Christ, the Med-X must be clouding his judgment.]

I've done this plenty of times before, so it shouldn't be a problem.

[Usually not in a dark, unusual building, however. And not while on Med-X. Ah well.]

[Joel's torso is heavy with muscle and laddered with scars. There are the heavy pockmarks of more than one gunshot wound, thin white lines from bladed weapons, and three long clawmarks that trace the curve of his ribs-- the ravages of the wasteland. Under Norman's gaze, he leans to one side, shifting his arm out of the way so that the man could have easier access to the injury. It doesn't hurt quite as much now-- the stims kicking in, and he thinks a bit fuzzily that maybe he'd shot himself up with a few too many chems this time around.]

Long as you get it stitched up, it don't much matter. Pass me that whiskey [he beckons for the flask, hand shaking slightly] and let's get it over with.

[Norman's just glad he's not out of it enough to openly ogle him, although he does sneak a few more glances when Joel shifts himself to make this easier. He's definitely had his fair share of conflicts, judging by all those scars. Norman wonders how he got some of them, but knows better than to ask.]

Alright. [He hands the flask over, the settles himself in to do the stitches. If they had enough water it'd be much easier to properly wash his hands and the wound before getting started. Unfortunately, that's not really an option here. Norman works slowly and carefully through the process, more interested in precision than speed. Luckily it doesn't take too many stitches, though it probably felt like it did considering his pacing.]

That should do it.

[He takes a long pull of whiskey, swishing it around his mouth before swallowing. Tastes foul, but at least it's a distraction as Norman threads the needle and presses the point into his skin. It feels like... shit fucking shit, it feels like a hell of a lot more than one small needle, as thread pulls through skin and Norman makes another stitch. Joel sucks in a deep breath, gritting his teeth and keeping his mouth closed on any snappish comments, pain showing only in the vibrating tension in his body. Christ, could the man take any longer? When Norman finally finishes, he lets out the long breath he was holding in an explosive exhale.]

Fuck. [Low and emphatic, as he applies a pad and some adhesive to the neatly sewn up cut, so that nothing would catch on the stitches. Hell, he had to give the man some credit, he'd done a good job of it. Joel checks on the improvised bandage he'd slapped onto his leg wound-- only bleeding sluggishly now, he'd get that patched up in a bit, then reaches over to pick up the pair of tweezers Norman had fished out of his pack.]

Looks like it's your turn. [Metal in the body would poison the wound. Getting the bullet out is probably next on the priority list.]

[Joel is good at hiding his pain, Norman will give him that much. But he barely has time to admire the neat row of stitches before Joel is covering them up with bandages. Well, at least he knows he did a nice job there.

And now, the moment he'd been dreading. Despite the dangerous circumstances surrounding his work, Norman hasn't had to deal with many bullet wounds. The idea of those tweezers going inside him to try and find a slippery piece of metal does not appeal at all.]

You think you can get it?

[Despite his reluctance, Norman shifts around so his now sleeveless arm is facing Joel. There's a lot of blood, and he's hoping it doesn't obscure the wound too much. Either way, he's prepared for this to hurt like hell.]

To be honest, I'm kinda worried that you're too high to do this right. [Excuses, excuses. He knows what needs to be done, but really doesn't want to deal with it.]

[Is he too high? ....maybe. Joel carefully does not look at his hand, which is still trembling slightly. Either way, it needs to get done, and Joel's dug out his fair share of bullets before. He can handle this, no problem.]

Yeah, well, let's worry about your arm takin' rot and fallin' off.

[The flask is about half empty at this point, but he pours a little more on Norman's arm and wipes it off with an edge of cloth. Despite the gruffness of his voice, his hands are gentle. Positioning the tweezers at the ragged edges of the bullet wound, he picks out a few shreds of thread before digging in. The lighting is terrible, and between the blood and the shadows he can't see for shit, so he moves the tweezers slowly and carefully, probing for metal.]

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ffffuuuu sorry for disappearing forever, the holidays pretty much killed me dead

It's okay! Just glad to see you aren't done with this!

dammit dw why you gotta do this to me

What is DW doing to you?

just posting my shit in the wrong place, but i almost didn't catch it

Ooh damn

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