Status: I'm really not sure about this. :s
Black
Four
Punishment for her would have to wait. Withered she sat in front of the mirror, meticulously digging the metal from her arm with tears in her eyes and a string of curses. She half felt to puke from the pungent smell of blood that clung to her, the other part wanting desperately to succumb to her wounds. "Son of a bitch." She shook and dizzily tossed herself back at the bed-- groaning miserably on impact. Luck was not on her side now. Her lips quivered and blood tickled down her arm-- hearing the drops hit the sheets throughout the silence.
She wants to fall to her knees and beg for the Gods to return him, shake her fists at the sky and bellow out her agony in its whole. Now though, she felt slipping and smiled. "I will know peace at your side brother." Any rational thought screamed back she was meant to die a hero or at least in a battle against a worthy opponent, not from some lucky shot. Right now though, she was slipping and smiling as she dove into the darkness.
"I bear a message from the General." The walls were still breathing when the messenger entered wearily, measuring out her wounds and blood loss with his now wide eyes. She guesses she may have over looked a laceration from a combat knife.. Or three. "Lady Cyrena, are you well?"
She can only laugh as reply, opening her sleepy eyes to watch him. "What's it look like?" She didn't mean to offend or be rude, she was just in too much pain to keep the sharpness out of her voice. "You got a dangerous job, kid. I wouldn't leave this place willingly to deliver mail." She warns him with her eyes as if he knew what she meant.
"It hurts like a bitch." The boy laughs at this, a quiet strange laugh. "Say, wanna help me out?" She motioned with her head to the bullet hole on her arm. "I got bad luck with guns." This is a wince and he begins a string of objections and reasons why he shouldn't before seeing her eyes closing. He was no healer but he knew that wasn't good.
"I-- I don't know what to do." The boy looked no older than sixteen, terrified out of his wits from all the blood. He was definitely not Andrew, that was for sure. She didn't even remember being so squeamish at that age. She looks blank and ponders what she could do, her options, weighs them out and calculates the probability of the outcomes being good.
"First, grab that switchblade on the dresser. Pry that shiny shit out of me. Think of it as a first aid class, kid. I'll wait to beat you until I'm healed." She teases and grins, constantly fighting herself. Keeping focused on things seemed unreal. He's shocked.
"You want me to use a switchblade to scrape shrapnel from your arm." Alarmed, he eyes her with the weapon he held like a pencil shines in the light. There was that smile, the 'you're not who I imagined you'd be' smile.
“I don't want an infection, its imperative you get it all out. I'll even settle for almost all right now."
"Do you not have anything better? This is strange to use." The messenger keeps eyeing her, inching closer to the wound and waiting for some sort of objection or nod. "I'm afraid to make it worse."
She smiles and takes a heavy breath, reassuring him with just that. "Listen, if this isn't done soon I'll likely run out of adrenaline and pass out from pain. Then I won't be able to walk you through this. Also," Cyrena looks to her stomach and winces at the tattered light armor. This is worse than she thought. "Fuck, get--" She mouths something and squints at the gauge on her side but when she moves she feels something in her chest. "Oh fuck."
He follows her eyes and jumps a little-- a bullet piercing through her armor and in her chest. He starts shaking and getting pale, "By the Gods.."
She panics more because he's freaking out and ready to pull it out. "No! I'll bleed out if you do that. Just.. Just get.." Cyrena coughs and touches the bullet. "Get Andrew.."
She wants to fall to her knees and beg for the Gods to return him, shake her fists at the sky and bellow out her agony in its whole. Now though, she felt slipping and smiled. "I will know peace at your side brother." Any rational thought screamed back she was meant to die a hero or at least in a battle against a worthy opponent, not from some lucky shot. Right now though, she was slipping and smiling as she dove into the darkness.
"I bear a message from the General." The walls were still breathing when the messenger entered wearily, measuring out her wounds and blood loss with his now wide eyes. She guesses she may have over looked a laceration from a combat knife.. Or three. "Lady Cyrena, are you well?"
She can only laugh as reply, opening her sleepy eyes to watch him. "What's it look like?" She didn't mean to offend or be rude, she was just in too much pain to keep the sharpness out of her voice. "You got a dangerous job, kid. I wouldn't leave this place willingly to deliver mail." She warns him with her eyes as if he knew what she meant.
"It hurts like a bitch." The boy laughs at this, a quiet strange laugh. "Say, wanna help me out?" She motioned with her head to the bullet hole on her arm. "I got bad luck with guns." This is a wince and he begins a string of objections and reasons why he shouldn't before seeing her eyes closing. He was no healer but he knew that wasn't good.
"I-- I don't know what to do." The boy looked no older than sixteen, terrified out of his wits from all the blood. He was definitely not Andrew, that was for sure. She didn't even remember being so squeamish at that age. She looks blank and ponders what she could do, her options, weighs them out and calculates the probability of the outcomes being good.
"First, grab that switchblade on the dresser. Pry that shiny shit out of me. Think of it as a first aid class, kid. I'll wait to beat you until I'm healed." She teases and grins, constantly fighting herself. Keeping focused on things seemed unreal. He's shocked.
"You want me to use a switchblade to scrape shrapnel from your arm." Alarmed, he eyes her with the weapon he held like a pencil shines in the light. There was that smile, the 'you're not who I imagined you'd be' smile.
“I don't want an infection, its imperative you get it all out. I'll even settle for almost all right now."
"Do you not have anything better? This is strange to use." The messenger keeps eyeing her, inching closer to the wound and waiting for some sort of objection or nod. "I'm afraid to make it worse."
She smiles and takes a heavy breath, reassuring him with just that. "Listen, if this isn't done soon I'll likely run out of adrenaline and pass out from pain. Then I won't be able to walk you through this. Also," Cyrena looks to her stomach and winces at the tattered light armor. This is worse than she thought. "Fuck, get--" She mouths something and squints at the gauge on her side but when she moves she feels something in her chest. "Oh fuck."
He follows her eyes and jumps a little-- a bullet piercing through her armor and in her chest. He starts shaking and getting pale, "By the Gods.."
She panics more because he's freaking out and ready to pull it out. "No! I'll bleed out if you do that. Just.. Just get.." Cyrena coughs and touches the bullet. "Get Andrew.."