[log] I JUST DIIIIIED IN YOUR ARMS TONIIIIIIGHT [closed]

[devoutish]

Characters: Alfie Solomons, Emily Kaldwin, Fiona, Royce Melborn
Location building 41
Date: evening of 157 through morning of 158
Summary: Alfie bleeds to death in the blood house, for maximum Snowhell fun
Warnings: graphic injury, death and dying

Step into the only remaining room in this house and you'll be in for a shock--at first blush, it looks like you've stepped into a room that has blood all over the floor and walls. Look closer, though, and it's actually paint. This was once an artist's studio, judging by the canvases stacked up in the corner. It seems like there were paintings on the canvases once, but now they're muddy or blacked out entirely by thick paint. Some of the paint on the walls has been scraped away, revealing yet more paint. Some of the canvases have had their paint scraped off, or have been taken apart entirely.

Comments

[devoutish]

[It had been so stupid - a literal misstep. They'd been walking all day, and it was getting a little too close to lockdown for Alfie's comfort. He'd been bringing up the rear of their group, and had hurried up the steps just a little too quickly. His foot had slipped. He'd gone sprawling - right onto the rubble pile by the door, and right onto a long piece of sharpened wood. He yells, both because of the pain and to get the others' attention.]

Leave it in, leave it in--!

[He's no doctor, but he knows if they pull the wood out right away, it'll be hard to staunch the blood flow. They need to prepare something else to plug the wound first.]

[devoutish]

[Later, he's settled as well as he can be, lying on his back on the floor. He has some supplies that can be used for medical purposes in a pinch - disinfectant, cloth wraps that can be used as bandages - but none of it is going to be good enough, and he knows it. There's a small chance that he can make it through the night, and an even smaller chance that he'll heal up well without any lasting complications. This isn't going to end well no matter what, and he knows it.

The pain is terrible, and it's unrelenting. He doesn't even try to move around, letting Royce and Fiona position him wherever they want him. Mostly, he'll just be lying there with his eyes closed. He'll be alert enough for about two hours, but after that, he'll be more and more out of it, eventually slipping into unconsciousness. Barely half an hour after that, he'll stop breathing entirely. They'll be stuck with his body until they leave in the morning.]

[plundering]

[Fiona settles down next to him at some point, after every other option has been exhausted. She sits beside him with her knees drawn up to her chest, and she stays strangely quiet. She isn't squeamish in any sense of the word, but there's a lot of blood, and knowing what it means—that he's dying, there's no way around it—makes it hard to look at. There's an ache in her chest and in her throat, and she lets out a soft, shaky breath, reaching out to smooth the hair away from his forehead.]

Alfie?

[devoutish]

[By now the wound has been wrapped as well as it can be, and he holds a hand over it, pressing down - not nearly hard enough to make any difference, especially in his weakened state, but it gives him the illusion of doing something, and he decides to allow himself that.

He doesn't open his eyes when Fiona comes back over, but he turns his head in her direction.]

Water?

[plundering]

[Fiona has her bag next to her, full of a bunch of useless things they could probably use as bandages, not that it matters at this point. Even if they could stop the bleeding, they can't fix the damage. Not even John could help at this point, and she's fully aware they're just waiting for the inevitable now. She's trying very, very hard not to think about it. Not to panic.

She digs in her backpack for a water bottle and uncaps the top.]

Think you can sit up a little if I help you?

[devoutish]

[It's not an idea that he likes the sound of much - it'll hurt more. But it's not likely to make his injuries worse, so he gives a small nod.]

Shouldn't be wasting the water, but--

[He's so thirsty.]

Just a small sip.

[plundering]

Shut up, Alfie. You're not wasting it.

[It comes out a little sharper than she'd intended, and she frowns, scooting over to help him up. She does it as slowly as she can, but there's no way she can avoid hurting him, not with that wound. As soon as she's got him propped up a bit, she tilts the water bottle to his mouth, biting her lip as she does it.]

[bywolves]

[ It's not that Royce is unused to death, because obviously he isn't, it's just that - this is different. This is personal, this is something that shouldn't have happened, and it's slow. It's slow and painful and there's not a lot that they can do other than try, very hard, to slow the bleeding. This is worse than before, this - gives Royce time to think. It's not like the anomaly. It's torture, for all of them.

Royce paces in the other room while Fiona gets ahold of Watson, paces when she comes to sit next to Alfie and when Emily comes to talk, but the rest of the night has Royce sitting right by Alfie's side, hood up and fingers twisting at his blanket.

When it looks like there's really nothing else to be done, he speaks up. His voice is tight and low and pained. ]

I can - if the pain gets to be too much, I can end it. If you need me to. [ He doesn't know what else to do, to offer. ]

[devoutish]

[The offer twists at him a little, though he know Royce means well.]

No, no. Nothing like that.

[He doesn't like the idea of telling someone to euthanize him, and he doesn't like the idea of Royce doing the deed. He's not shocked or angry that he'd suggested it, but he definitely doesn't want to take him up on it.]

[bywolves]

[ So what else can he do, then - Royce twists the blanket between his fingers so hard it's in danger of ripping, sucking in a sharp, unsteady breath that he immediately regrets. He's silent for a long moment, not knowing what to say. ]

Idiot. Should've taken your time. This is stupid. [ He doesn't mean to be an asshole about it, but he's upset and he can't possibly be genuine, so. ]

[devoutish]

{He knows he's going to hear the same thing from Kesara, and probably from Rhys.]

Do you think you're gonna tell me anything I don't already know?

[empireofrats]

[There's only one other time before that Emily visits, and it isn't for very long because Alfie being hurt this way reminds her a lot of watching her mother get stabbed in the stomach while she was being hauled off by assassins. She at least apologizes before she leaves.

When she comes back the second time, Alfie doesn't have very much longer left. In the time, she's powered through the growing ache to her arm and finished a small drawing for him in the notebook he gave her. She tried not to be sloppy, but it shows here and there; the pain in her hand, the fear in her heart.

For a moment, she holds it up for him.] I drew you something. It's all of us, and Miss Fiona, too. [Tifa, Royce, Alfie in his hat, her, Fiona. Standing somewhere that's decidedly not Norfinbury. Flowers. Green grass. A bright sun and blue sky. Not Dunwall. Not London or Camden either.] Here. [She puts it on him in a way that covers the wound so neither of them have to look at it.]

You look really tired. Do you want me to read the book Duster gave to me?

[devoutish]

[He doesn't blame her, and he tells her as much when she leaves the first time. He wishes this weren't happening with her here, especially in a one-room house. There's nowhere she can go to escape. Kids shouldn't have to deal with this sort of thing.

His breathing is noticeably more shallow when she comes back over. He doesn't try to speak. He just gives the tiniest of nods.]

[empireofrats]

Okay. We're already a few chapters ahead, but-- [Her legs fold Indian-style beneath her, and she props the book on her lap.] It's about a girl and her dragon. Her name is Jordi, and the dragon's name is Verath.

They met when the dragon had eaten some of the nectar that was going to make alcohol. It was accidentally burning down a part of a town, and Jordi had to figure out how to stop it.

Now they're on the run from a mean creature collector and some Hunters. [Briefly, she glances at Alfie, then goes back to the book.] On the second night, Jordi and Verath decide to make camp in a glade outside of Goldlea...

[devoutish]

I do wish you didn't have to be trapped here.

[He doesn't mean to interrupt, but the state he's in makes it easier for words to just tumble out.]

[bywolves]

[ It's later. Royce hasn't moved from Alfie's body for an hour or two. There's no response from him if he's spoken to. He doesn't move or speak - barely even breathes. Sitting here is almost like punishment. It almost feels good. And he hates the fact, so damn much, that he can feel the artificial energy coming in like a storm, trying to get him to get up and move, talk. He ignores it. It makes him feel worse, to ignore it.

So by the time that Fiona walks past him, he's already ready for confrontation. He'd been ready to ignore her for the rest of the night - doesn't have to put up with her if Alfie's not here - but the bracelet around her wrist catches his eye.

And in an instant, Royce is up and in her space, grabbing her wrist violently and pressing one of his shivs against her throat. ]

That. Isn't. Yours. [ What the fuck. Did she steal it? Was she so low as to actually -- ]

[plundering]

[Fiona is prepared to ignore him, too. She's already furious, not necessarily at him, but at this place. All it takes is for him to grab her wrist for that anger to be immediately and sharply redirected, and then he presses the shiv to her throat, and the only reason she doesn't punch him is because he'd slice her open.

She tenses instinctively, but she's glaring back at him, all stubborn defiance.]

Don't fucking touch me.

[He isn't owed an explanation, in her mind, so he doesn't get one.]

[bywolves]

[ She doesn't give him an explanation, and for about a full five seconds he really considers just slicing her throat open. He almost does. She stole something, she stole it, Maribor-damned con artist thief. He's going to kill her. He's going to - but he doesn't.

Alfie would be pissed. Emily doesn't need to see another death. He shouldn't. He can practically hear Hadrian screaming at him to stop.

Royce is furious, but he doesn't move. Just tightens his grip on her wrist. ]

You took it. Put it back. Now.

[plundering]

[Fiona twists her wrist, trying to break the hold, but it doesn't work. She's too beyond angry to really think straight, and she has a big mouth at the best of times, so she leans forward, letting the blade just break the skin of her neck, voice low enough that only he'll be able to hear. Their faces are uncomfortably close now.]

You gonna cut my throat open in front of a kid, you psychopath, or are you going to stop making idiotic assumptions?

[bywolves]

[ Uncomfortably close, like Royce is so, so uncomfortably close to just saying fuck it and finishing the cut. She's practically gloating. Rubbing it in his face. He doesn't have someone to text him reassuring things, doesn't have someone to pull him back away from the kick of a shovel, not this time, and he could really, absolutely do it. ]

Explain yourself. Or I will cut your throat open in front of a kid, yes. [ He's almost calm with it, low and icy. ]

[bywolves]

[ Hours, now, after Alfie dying, after Fiona and the bracelet, after speaking with Tifa, Royce is in the corner of the room. He has all his stuff pulled close, but he can't sleep. At all. He just sits there, staring at the wall from under his hood and blanket. Doesn't bother changing out of his wet things.

He doesn't hide Alfie's pack. He knows Fiona's not going to steal anything out of it and if she does, who cares. He's dead. Alfie is dead and it's over, now.

Royce doesn't sleep. Doesn't expect Emily to come to him, either. He's just there, quiet, breathing slow and even, and the only part of him that moves is his fingers, tapping in time to the energy inside him that he's bottling up. ]

[empireofrats]

[Emily comes to him because they're in a one-room house, and she has nowhere else to go that doesn't feel alone, and she doesn't know Fiona very well and now that the woman is upset...

It hurts too much to draw after a while, and she doesn't feel like drawing right now anyway.] Can I stay here? [Standing in front of him, not too close and not too far. Not trying to see under his hood. Not trying to hold his hand or show him any art.]

[bywolves]

[ There's a long pause, almost like he's not going to answer. But then he does, a little nod. He doesn't move much else, doesn't try to lift his blanket for her to crawl under like before. Not because he doesn't want it, just because he doesn't know if she does. ]

Yes. [ Royce says, raw. Mechanical. ] You can stay here.

[empireofrats]

[At first, she thinks she may sit down off to the side of him, out of the way and inconspicuous. Then she thinks better of it; decides to be a little selfish.

She knees down between his ankles and gently touches one of his knees with a small hand.] I'm sorry about Mister Alfie. I know he was your friend.

I miss him, too.

[bywolves]

[ Was, like his body isn't right there. Was, like the odds are so much worse when it's your second time coming back. Royce's fingers dig into his pants leg. He doesn't look at Emily, but he doesn't push her away or make her let go of him. ]

He'll either come back or he won't. [ Royce says in that same tone. Was your friend. He won't even argue the point. ]