Roxy Lalonde (Kyr: Robin Hood) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thevoidsdarkhorse) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
gunsforhire2015-05-02 01:28 am
thevoidsdarkhorse) wrote in gunsforhire2015-05-02 01:28 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Roxy Lalonde, Open
What: Getting her first injury on Adaptive.
Where: Streets on the poorer side of town
When: May 2nd, Night
Warnings: Violence, cursing, blood, injuries.
She had trouble sleeping. If there had been any doubt Roxy wasn't in the same universe, the dreams would prove it. Namely the fact she's actually HAVING them. She knew what normal dreams were, seen them enough in media to get the concept. She's just never had them. It was either the darkness of Derse and the sweet song of the void, or it was the Dream Bubbles from after her arrival in the Game. It was weird to have things in her dreams that she didn't remember, or led to her meeting someone new. It was disorientating and sometimes it'd force her to wake up in the middle of the night. Especially since her dreams were rarely....pleasant.
Which lead to her taking walks. Something to get rid of the nervous energy she'd wake up with. There was still enough new to see that it was a welcome distraction. An hour, maybe two, and she'd be relaxed enough to go back to sleep. Nothing had happened before, she thought nothing of it.
When she passed the group of six young men in the alley, she still thought nothing of it. She just waved, smiling behind her helmet, and continued on her way. Until one of them threw out an arm to block her off, leaning against the wall in front of her.
They started talking about donations and needing a little help and it confused Roxy for several moments. She even offered to help, asking if they were out of food or medicine, until they got annoyed and just demanded her wallet. It was then Roxy got the picture.
She was being mugged.
It was like the movies. Walked into an alley and a group of thugs were trying to MUG her and she laughed because it was so cliche. This just annoyed them more, and she saw the hand coming for her, saw the aggression in their body language, and just because she was amused didn't mean she was going to just let someone get a hold of her.
It was a side step of the hand and a punch to the throat, followed by a momentary pause of shock as their friend choked.
"You bitch!"
"Rude!" Roxy shot back as the others pounced on her and she was moving. Duck, weave, distance, don't let them cluster on top of her. They were untrained, maybe they saw her as an easy target for being smaller than them, and she was all too willing to use that to her advantage. She moved and spun close, letting them trip over each other as she lead them out of the alley. Once she was out in the street, she'd have more room to dodge, more room to get away, to weave into other hiding places and-
And that was a knife. Oh, that was four knives. "Seriously?!" She demanded, grabbing the overextended wrist and twisting the arm painfully until he let go, kicking the knife away before pushing him into his friend with a punch to the solar plexus. It just seemed to make them angrier, more determined, and this was getting dangerous. Desperate was always dangerous.
She ducked under another arm, noted the long legs and was already moving between his wide spread legs from the lunge. And elbowed him in the crotch along the way. A cry of pain, a dropped knife that she snatched up and threw down the alley. Two knives gone, three indisposed, no, four, one of them was helping the one she just brought down.
Another knife coming. She needed to get them to BACK OFF. She grabbed the wrist, pulled herself up, kept up the momentum as she pulled forward and slammed her forearm against the back of the elbow, and heard the loud CRACK as the joint gave.
Then the scream.
It echoed in her head, loud and piercing. Not the choking, not the low groan, an actual scream and she never heard screaming, screaming didn't HAPPEN in a fight. Not with robots, not with undead, not mute starving Carapacians, and it was horrifying, the sound was terrible, but it was fine, fine, fine, the living back off when you break a limb-
Except Carapacians attacked because they were hungry. It was survival instinct to get food. It was survival instinct to back off when the prey proved too dangerous.
The fourth knife was coming, it was close, too close, her arm shooting out to grab it, but was too late. The scream, the expectation, it slowed her reaction time and she felt the feeling of metal in her skin, dragging along her side as she tries to get the knife away, the familiar warmth. She stumbled back, hand pressing against her side and it's too wet, too warm, and they're laughing, and the sound makes no sense.
Talking. There's talking, boasting, they think they won, that she's easy prey, and no, no, she can't stop. She can't stop because NO ONE WILL SAVE HER and they were a threat, she was bleeding, the fight had to end. She ignored the injury, she ignored the pain, ignored the part that said hold back because she tried. She tried to be kind, but when kind doesn't work, she has to survive.
There was more screaming, she told herself it was explosions, and it takes another two arms, a leg, and a bashed in helmet visor before they finally leave her alone.
She's stumbling down the street now, trying to get home, pressing against the wound in her side. She's still bleeding. She's not sure if it's because she kept fighting, or if it's too deep to clot properly. She's fairly sure no organs were hit, but it'd be a while before she was sure. She just had to keep moving. She just needed to get home, to get to the first aid kit. She'd be fine then. She'd be fine.
Because she has to be. She can only depend on herself to stay alive.
What: Getting her first injury on Adaptive.
Where: Streets on the poorer side of town
When: May 2nd, Night
Warnings: Violence, cursing, blood, injuries.
She had trouble sleeping. If there had been any doubt Roxy wasn't in the same universe, the dreams would prove it. Namely the fact she's actually HAVING them. She knew what normal dreams were, seen them enough in media to get the concept. She's just never had them. It was either the darkness of Derse and the sweet song of the void, or it was the Dream Bubbles from after her arrival in the Game. It was weird to have things in her dreams that she didn't remember, or led to her meeting someone new. It was disorientating and sometimes it'd force her to wake up in the middle of the night. Especially since her dreams were rarely....pleasant.
Which lead to her taking walks. Something to get rid of the nervous energy she'd wake up with. There was still enough new to see that it was a welcome distraction. An hour, maybe two, and she'd be relaxed enough to go back to sleep. Nothing had happened before, she thought nothing of it.
When she passed the group of six young men in the alley, she still thought nothing of it. She just waved, smiling behind her helmet, and continued on her way. Until one of them threw out an arm to block her off, leaning against the wall in front of her.
They started talking about donations and needing a little help and it confused Roxy for several moments. She even offered to help, asking if they were out of food or medicine, until they got annoyed and just demanded her wallet. It was then Roxy got the picture.
She was being mugged.
It was like the movies. Walked into an alley and a group of thugs were trying to MUG her and she laughed because it was so cliche. This just annoyed them more, and she saw the hand coming for her, saw the aggression in their body language, and just because she was amused didn't mean she was going to just let someone get a hold of her.
It was a side step of the hand and a punch to the throat, followed by a momentary pause of shock as their friend choked.
"You bitch!"
"Rude!" Roxy shot back as the others pounced on her and she was moving. Duck, weave, distance, don't let them cluster on top of her. They were untrained, maybe they saw her as an easy target for being smaller than them, and she was all too willing to use that to her advantage. She moved and spun close, letting them trip over each other as she lead them out of the alley. Once she was out in the street, she'd have more room to dodge, more room to get away, to weave into other hiding places and-
And that was a knife. Oh, that was four knives. "Seriously?!" She demanded, grabbing the overextended wrist and twisting the arm painfully until he let go, kicking the knife away before pushing him into his friend with a punch to the solar plexus. It just seemed to make them angrier, more determined, and this was getting dangerous. Desperate was always dangerous.
She ducked under another arm, noted the long legs and was already moving between his wide spread legs from the lunge. And elbowed him in the crotch along the way. A cry of pain, a dropped knife that she snatched up and threw down the alley. Two knives gone, three indisposed, no, four, one of them was helping the one she just brought down.
Another knife coming. She needed to get them to BACK OFF. She grabbed the wrist, pulled herself up, kept up the momentum as she pulled forward and slammed her forearm against the back of the elbow, and heard the loud CRACK as the joint gave.
Then the scream.
It echoed in her head, loud and piercing. Not the choking, not the low groan, an actual scream and she never heard screaming, screaming didn't HAPPEN in a fight. Not with robots, not with undead, not mute starving Carapacians, and it was horrifying, the sound was terrible, but it was fine, fine, fine, the living back off when you break a limb-
Except Carapacians attacked because they were hungry. It was survival instinct to get food. It was survival instinct to back off when the prey proved too dangerous.
The fourth knife was coming, it was close, too close, her arm shooting out to grab it, but was too late. The scream, the expectation, it slowed her reaction time and she felt the feeling of metal in her skin, dragging along her side as she tries to get the knife away, the familiar warmth. She stumbled back, hand pressing against her side and it's too wet, too warm, and they're laughing, and the sound makes no sense.
Talking. There's talking, boasting, they think they won, that she's easy prey, and no, no, she can't stop. She can't stop because NO ONE WILL SAVE HER and they were a threat, she was bleeding, the fight had to end. She ignored the injury, she ignored the pain, ignored the part that said hold back because she tried. She tried to be kind, but when kind doesn't work, she has to survive.
There was more screaming, she told herself it was explosions, and it takes another two arms, a leg, and a bashed in helmet visor before they finally leave her alone.
She's stumbling down the street now, trying to get home, pressing against the wound in her side. She's still bleeding. She's not sure if it's because she kept fighting, or if it's too deep to clot properly. She's fairly sure no organs were hit, but it'd be a while before she was sure. She just had to keep moving. She just needed to get home, to get to the first aid kit. She'd be fine then. She'd be fine.
Because she has to be. She can only depend on herself to stay alive.
no subject
Wash follows the sound, walking quickly. He would run except that he doesn't know what he's getting into. It could be a trap. It could be a false alarm. He's still going to look, though. To try and see if he can help. That's how he got his job in the first place, after all. Showing up from out of nowhere when shit hit the fan.
He knows he's found the trouble when he sees her. It's that girl from the other day, the one with the cat. She's hurt bad. This time Wash runs, tearing his shirt to use as some gauze to at least slow the bleeding.
He wraps his arm around her back and begins applying pressure to the wound. It's an invasion of personal space, sure, but Wash doesn't care. His job right now is to make sure she stays alive, and he'll do that in any way he can.
"Hey, there. I've got you. You're gonna be okay."
no subject
But in the dark, the yellow is a bit darker, and there is the impression of orange. Orange doesn't exist in her terrifying world, where her instincts were made. Only black, white, pink, and red. Orange is safety, orange is away from all the terrible things.
It's enough to relax her, to let Wash get close without her lashing out. Enough for her mind to catch up with what she's already decided subconsciously. "Washington?" She said a moment before the shirt is against her wound. "Fuck!" She hissed because that hurt, all right.
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Later, Wash will get angry. What kind of sicko would do this to a poor girl? Wash knows exactly what kind, but that doesn't make it any better. And she's new to Adaptive, which makes all this even worse. Getting stabbed is a shitty way to acquaint yourself to a new place. But right now, he's got to keep a cool head. Right now he's Recovery, and this kind of thing doesn't bother him, because this kind of thing happens all the time. Right now he's got to stop the bleeding, and then when that's done, close the wound.
"You're losing a lot of blood. Is there any place I can take you? Any place you're staying, or someplace that's secure and close? Close is important."
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Because she had to save herself and that meant she had to be in control.
"No shit I am, damn fuckers not backing off," she said with gritted teeth and pointed the way she was headed. "Bout a mile that way. Don't be loud because I dunno how mother hen three will react, and dear god I don't need my competency questioned for something I shouldn't have let happened." It wasn't that important, an odd request, but sometimes focusing on the inane helped in dealing with the really damn painful.
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He tries distracting her from the wound, the pain, the feelings of incompetence. "So who's mother hen three? Is there a mother hen one and two?"
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She knew what was happening. She was being helped. She had the coherency to get it, but it was so weird as well. The closest she ever had to help was when she was a small child or when she and her friends dragged themselves back from a fight. The concept was still mostly foreign.
"Mother hen one and two are bros and more overt on the worry. Mother hen three pretends to be chill, but he offered me a place to stay special, so obvs a worrying type under the chill."
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Wash smiles softly, and even though he's still wearing a helmet, there's a tenderness to his words that he hopes is reassuring.
"I'm sure he loves being called mother hen." Wash hopes, for Roxy's sake, that these people can be trusted. It's generally not a good idea to go around accepting houses from strangers, especially not in Gulch.
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Roxy snorted at that. "Nah, makes him appear less chill. But its fun to tease and he gets the whole teasing banter thing, so all good."
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They're getting some states from passers-by, but Wash doesn't care. He's too focused on getting Roxy home safe. At last, some houses are beginning to come into view.
"Any of these yours?"
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Roxy gestured with a hand. "That one," she said before returning her hand to put pressure on the wound. It wasn't a big place, but hey, it was a place to stay. "It's a mess, so watch your step."
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"Please tell me you have a key. I'm not a lock guy, and I really don't wanna have to break down your door."
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A hand is already reaching into her pocket, scowling in her helmet. She's getting blood EVERYWHERE. "Never had this problem with sylladexes," she muttered as she eventually fishes the key out of her pocket, reaching over to put it in the lock. With his hands full and all. "Not even really my door and my carpentry skills are subpar, so better if ya didn't."
omg this is so late I'm sorry
*pat pat* its okay o/
Re: *pat pat* its okay o/
Re: *pat pat* its okay o/
no subject
While the mess is a little more extreme than what Wash is typically used to, he doesn't really mind it. The house has personality. It's not cold, stark--too clean is worse than too messy, and this isn't even all that bad.
He brings her into the bathroom and sets her down at the edge of the tub. "Do you have any disinfectant? Sewing supplies?"
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She grabbed the bottom of her shirt, bracing herself. It's sticking to the wound, which means getting it off will hurt. Deep breath. Hold it. Pull.
Fuuuuck.
She pulled off the shirt, letting out the breath as she dropped the bloody shirt. Which would also reveal quite a number of scars. Most are fairly non-life threatening, merely the NUMBER that's worrying. Old burns, old cuts from shrapnel, bad tumbles in the city. And one....bite mark in her side?
The only ones that seem particularly bad is the silver dollar sized one just under her heart that looks like it had been deep. (One matches on her back.) But surely that's just something weird, because there's no way she could have survived a blow there too deep? And then there are the burns on her chest, making a symbol. Partially hidden by her bra, but the rest is still hard to miss.
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He starts dabbing the wound with the cloth. That's when he notices the scars. He's not put off by the number of scars she has. Sure, it looks like a lot but he's a mercenary. Mercenaries get scars. The burns on her chest are interesting, though. They look almost intentional, like they're forming some kind of symbol. "Bet there's a story behind those, huh?"
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It's been a long time since someone else tended to her wounds. It was weird.
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, most do. Hard to forget when you fix 'em up after."
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"You've had a lot of experience then, I take it."
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"Yeah. Been attacked for years. So, learned what I needed to." She shook her head. "Dude shouldn't have even gotten close with that knife, stupid mistake."
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Once he's satisfied the wound is clean, he begins threading the needle. Time for stitches.
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Roxy picks up a piece of gauze. "Give it a minute. Nothing serious feels like it was hit, but I haven't been able to judge if it's slowing properly." She said, holding the gauze to the wound. She really hoped it was. It was never fun to cauterize.
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"You got it. Hey, at least you've got a conscience, unlike those assholes." And so many people in this town.
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"Had to. Some of the attackers weren't malicious, just desperate. Couldn't break 'em just cause they had a mental disadvantage to bad shit," she said. Because it was true. Carapacians were terrible at restraint. They barely knew what impulse control WAS. "Someone had to keep a cool head and it had to be me."
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She moved the gauze from her wound, studying it. "Yeah, its slowing. We should be good without burning things."
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He sleeps long and he sleeps hard and he snores loud so waking him up is a very difficult task. It's even unusual for him to get up during the night, so this is an odd thing indeed.
It probably has less to do with the fact that he heard noises in his house and more to do with the fact that he probably shouldn't have tried to drink Tucker under the table but that's not something to be thinking about right now.
Instead Grif has to deal with the fact that Roxy is in the bathroom, bleeding, with some guy Grif has never seen before and Jesus Christ what the fuck is going on?
"What. The fuck. Is going on?" He says, going from zero to awake, his voice starting to hit that panicked upper register.
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"Hey," he nods at the newcomer. "Roxy got stabbed. I brought her back here. Hope that's okay, she needed first aid real quick."
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"I went for a walk, muggers got in my face, I hospitalized the lot, but one managed to stab me a lil, its seriously not a huge issue," she said to Grif with the most put upon look. "Just a few stitches Wash is helpin' me with."
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"OKAY? WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THIS OKAY?! SHE'S STABBED AND BLEEDING AND YOU'RE IN THE BATHROOM? WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE HER TO A HOSPITAL?! ROXY WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL ME OR SOMETHING?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!"
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"Mmm, she was bleeding in your bathroom. Sorry, dude. We tried to not get it on the towels." He shrugs. It's not his first instinct to go to hospitals, honestly, not for just a stab wound. You can't quite trust them when you're a mercenary.
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Though the concern was touching. And confusing. And like her feelings for Wash's help, she's repressing them until she can properly deal with them.
"Cause the other guys have severe broken bones, there's six, emergency room only so big, and I dun have any sort of papers," Roxy said. And the idea was so damn foreign. What was even having a hospital option. "Anyway, I've dealt with worse injuries solo," she said. Which....probably wasn't gonna help, but she'd been stabbed, hard to realize how much others worry,
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"SO? I'D MAKE SHIT UP OR SOMETHING!" And he would. He's got connections somewhere. His sister would help him out, he's sure.
He rounds on Washington.
"Look, if you're gonna do that, do it in a room with better light. I don't remember the last time I cleaned in here and the last thing we need is an infection or some shit."
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Roxy grimaced at the thought of moving, half stitched up. "Cleaned it two weeks ago. I hit the kitchen last week."
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However, there's a more pressing issue at hand.
"You did? Seriously?" There's admiration in that sentence because the bathroom had reached a state where not even Donut would touch it.