leanonstuff | PSL post for daughterless

PSL post for daughterless

[The NCR had sent Norman to the Vault because the area was surrounded by Fiends, and he was damn good at blending among the various "criminal" groups around the Mojave. No way an ordinary NCR trooper would be able to get inside without being attacked. And according to their intelligence, exactly what was inside was of such great importance that they couldn't possibly wait to go after it just in case Caesar's Legion got wind of it and acted first. Norman was searching for a box of special bottles that appeared to be beer or vodka bottles, but were actually filled with a chemical that, when introduced into a water supply, could spread a deadly bacteria that would wipe out anyone who drank the contaminated water for at least a month.

Unfortunately, finding the bottles was turning out to be far more difficult that Norman had anticipated. He'd gotten into the Vault in the first place by wearing old, torn and dirty clothes that could pass as those a typical raider or Fiend might wear. He'd even bought a few chems from them to help gain their trust (and to use them later, though he planned to tell the NCR that he'd disposed of them instead). The Vault seemed to be empty of Fiends, luckily, but he wasn't too optimistic that he wouldn't eventually run into ghouls or worse.

10mm pistol in hand, Norman opens the door to the Vault infirmary, hoping he might have some more luck locating the bottles in there.]

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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.]

I am actively worried about that, yes.

[And then he's cursing in pain as Joel pours some alcohol on the wound without warning. Holy hell, that hurt! He flinches away at first, though Joel's hands help keep him in place. So he forces himself to grit his teeth and bear it.

That is, until he starts digging into the wound with the tweezers. That has him hissing through his teeth in an effort to keep quiet, while mentally cursing Joel and the damn Vipers who'd come after them.]

Well? Do you feel it? [He asks in a strained voice.]

[He had, for a moment, and then some minute shift in Norman's arm (that was definitely not due to the tremble in his hand) and he'd lost it-- and his concentration right along with it.]

Just hold still for a goddamn second-- [Focus, Joel, focus. He shifts the tweezers slightly, feeling the tinny scrape of metal under his hands, carefully maneuvering around it, drawing it out...

A couple seconds later, he drops a small, bloody lump onto the floor, where it lands with a clink. Picking up the flask again, he makes to splash some more on Norman's arm.]

I'm trying!

[It hurts it hurts it hurts. He almost decides to announce that Joel is definitely too high to be doing this when the man suddenly stops picking around in there, and he hears the sound of the bullet clinking against the floor.]

Finall- ow! Fuck!

[The alcohol feels like it burns even more this time, and he smacks his other hand against the floor in lieu of grabbing at the wound.]

Can't you warn me before you do that?

Not if you're gonna try and weasel out of it.

[He does feel a little bad, actually-- that could've gone smoother than it did, and it wasn't like him to be so damn careless. His head is starting to swim a little bit, and maybe it's not all due to the drugs. The tweezers slip from his fingers as Joel sits back, leaning heavily against the side of the desk. No, he can't rest yet. There's still his leg to see to, and he was as good as useless until they get that patched up.

It feels like it takes a whole lot of effort for him to lift his head back up and examine the wound on his leg, peeling back the strip of dirty cloth he'd tied around it. His hand comes away red, and Joel blinks. Everything, including pain, had faded into a dull throb in the back of his mind. He's bleeding-- a lot more than he'd realized, the back of his pant leg sodden with it. The bandage hadn't staunched the wound, so much as hidden the extent of it.]

Fuck...

Asshole.

[While Joel is leaning back, Norman grabs some of the bandages and wraps them around his arm. It quickly bleed through, but... it's the best they can do right now. He adds a couple more layers, but doesn't use it all up. He hasn't forgotten about Joel's leg, though glancing at it now, he feels a twinge of nervousness at the amount of blood.]

You need to take off your pants.

[Yeah, under other circumstances he'd be enjoying the hell out of ordering this guy to keep stripping off articles of clothing. Unfortunately, this isn't one of those circumstances.]

[Joel acknowledges his words with a grunt, hands already fumbling at the button of his fly, shoving down the waistband. He spares half a thought of irritation for this whole fucking ridiculous situation-- shot to pieces by Vipers, stripping mostly naked in some god forsaken dump with a guy he can barely trust (even if he's been a good partner and reliable gun so far, and even if he seems to worry about every little thing, including worrying for Joel...)

By the time he's finished that train of thought, his pants are shoved down around his knees and he's leaning back again, sweating and clammy with exertion and blood loss. Shit. He should've taken care of this earlier.

Hands shaking, he fumbles for the bandaging, dropping it twice before managing to pressing the gauze to the wound, applying pressure.]

Hey- wait.

[Norman takes the bandages from him before they can all be soaked with blood. They'll need those to wrap around his leg... it'd be a waste to use them like that now.]

Just lean back, okay?

[He grabs for the bottle of purified water, and pulls off a small amount of the bandages. Dipping it in the water, he then goes about cleaning off some of the blood, trying to make the wound easier to see on both sides. His next course of action is to reach for the bottle of whiskey.]

I'm gonna disinfect this. [He pointedly gives him the warning before splashing some alcohol on both sides of the gunshot wound. Damn... his arm hurts, but this looks like it'd be much more of a pain in the ass. He's not sure what this'll mean about travelling for them.]

[Even with the warning, his instinctive response is to grab at the hand holding the whiskey. Joel at least has enough control not to shove Norman away, fingers tightening on his wrist as he grits his teeth, air escaping in a low hiss. The burn of alcohol feels like it goes all the way to the bone, and he forces himself to relax, palms sweating all the while.]

Right. J-Just get on with it.

[Joel's thinking something along the same lines-- they're barely out of NCR territory, and sure as the sun rises there'll be patrols out here before long. At the end of the day, there's nothing stopping Norman from ditching Joel by the roadside and getting the hell out of here; if the tables were turned, he'd be thinking real seriously about doing exactly that, every man for himself, but....

Norman doesn't seem the type. And that's... something. Joel doesn't like banking on other peoples' better natures (it's a surefire way of getting yourself killed in the Mojave), but it ain't like he's got much else in the way of choices here

Move on, or hole up?]

How much Med-X do we have left? [If it's enough to tide him over until they hit the nearest trading post, moving on might be the better option. If not... then maybe they could hide out here, at least until the patrols pass. Luckily for Norman, Joel still hasn't caught on to how fast their stash seems to be dwindling.]

[Joel has quite the grip, but Norman keeps his hand where it is when the man squeezes his wrist, giving him the opportunity to get past the pain of the disinfecting process. He knows that there's only so much chems can do for this level of pain. And just as he did the stitches, he's trying to be gentle here.]

I'm working on it.

[He grabs for the bandages that weren't ruined with blood, and after removing his wrist from Joel's hand, starts wrapping them around his thigh. Again, carefully. Norman's obvious been taught by professionals, and he's the type to follow his instructions to the letter. Getting sloppy isn't in his nature, not when he can help it.]

...Some. [And suddenly, his "little" addiction is a much bigger problem. Joel is gonna need a lot of Med-X if they're gonna move anywhere, and they don't have a lot. A good deal of that is Norman's fault.]

I can check out this building, see if I can find some more.

[His arm won't hold him back much. And if they have any luck at all, there won't be raiders holed up in here, or robots guarding the rooms.]

[Norman seems to be pretty well versed at patching people up, and Joel leans back again, relaxing under his hands when it's clear he knows what he's doing. He isn't sure if it's the lightheadedness talking or if that last stimpack was finally starting to kick in, but... this doesn't feel half bad, actually. As the Norman pulls the bandages tight around his thigh, he grimaces deeply but slowly begins to shrug back into his pants.

"Some" isn't exactly a reassuring answer, and Joel frowns slightly as he pulls his shirt back over his head. He could've sworn they'd picked up a whole mess of chems back in the Vault... but then again, meds always got used up faster than anyone expected. Digging in and fortifying the place might be a better bet for them after all-- better than the prospect of traveling, at least, but all it would take is one stray patrolman to blow their cover...]

Alright, let's check, but-- [Joel isn't really sure what to say-- he's more or less useless right now, moving at a fast hobble.] Holler if you need help, got it?

[He'll do what he can.]

[ooc: ALSO incidentally I just started Heavy Rain with my roommate last night! :O We're like 5-6 hours in and oh my god this game is fucking nuts.]

[He doesn't have as much experience as it might seem. He just... pays really close attention to what he learns. Slow but steady leads to less errors, and he isn't really comfortable enough with what skills he does have in medicine to move any faster. Thankfully, Joel seems to be taking it pretty well. Either that, or he's close to passing out. Norman hopes not the latter.]

Yeah. You should stay here... or in a room nearby. You definitely aren't ready to walk around yet.

[He's glad Joel didn't ask questions about the Med-X. His hope is that he'll find another infirmary around here and can restock without a hassle. Maybe for once something will go his way.]

I'll try and find some new clothes for you too. You don't wanna go wandering around covered in blood like that.

[With that Norman stands, gathering his pack and making sure his rifle is in hand. Shooting that thing might not be too pleasant with his injured arm. Getting shot again would be worse, so he'll manage.]

[ooc: OH excellent! Now you can know if my Norman is terrible or not! Hope you can manage to keep people alive, 'cause my first playthrough I failed spectacularly.]

[Joel's more or less in agreement with Norman as he slowly levers himself up as well, guns, pack and all, and starts hobbling toward another room, what looks like a rundown administrator's office. While Norman explores the building, he's too exposed here, and even injured, he doesn't want to stay out in the open.

But it's easier said than done; his vision is still swimming a bit, and Joel has to stop to catch his breath, bracing himself against the wall.]

Think you could gimme a hand here? [He'll need Norman's support to make it further.]

[ooc: Heheh, Norman and Scott are my favorites so far. Where's his accent from, do you know? That said, my first attempt at going through the game I'm pretty sure I got Norman killed really early on /face in hands. Though so far, nobody is dead yet!]

[Norman had been investigating a beaten set of double doors, not paying attention to Joel's attempts to make it to that room. So when he hears his request for assistance, he's over there quick enough, using his good arm to wrap around the uninjured side of Joel's waist.]

No problem. [Slowly, he helps Joel into the room. There's a couch against the wall, tattered to all hell but still somewhat useful. So Norman leads him there and helps sit him down on the battered cushions.]

I'll look around a little at a time and come back if I find anything.

[As injured and out of it as Joel is, he doesn't feel comfortable leaving him alone for too long at a time.]

[ooc: Woo! Well the actor isn't American, and I think he was trying to pull of a Boston accent, though it often sounds New Yorker. It's kind of a weird hybrid of the two IMO.]

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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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I'll be out the next few days for a con o/

Have fun!

I did! And then immediately came down with con plague ahaha

Oh no! I hope you're feeling better!

I'm doing okay!

Good!

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