Ricki Tarr (
rickitikitarr) wrote in
reverienet2018-07-05 11:27 am
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voice: un: thomas
[[Forward dated to one good nights' sleep after the music ends.]]
Well.
[Says Ricki's voice, with that very distinct perfectly calm tone that manages to convey that something is probably actively on fire.]
Is there a doctor on board?
[The feed disconnects rather abruptly. What's happening in Ricki's room isn't pretty. Brightly, he adds;]
And if so is he free right fucking now?
[[Content warning for blood and injuries.]]
[It starts with a scratch on the back of his hand. It's just a little thing, he probably gave it to himself while he was helping Bodhi with the clean up. That he can't remember, after the week it's been, isn't surprising. When he goes to check on it that night, just to be sure it isn't infected, it's already gone... except now there's blood on his arm? How did he get cut there?
When he wakes up from the next sleep he's bled right through his undershirt, and all over his sheets, and it's hard to breathe. That's when he gives in and gets on the network and posts his message, staunching the wound with the clothes he has, trying to lie mostly still and not panic about the fact that his body is apparently tearing itself open from the inside out. It's like being a piece of cloth snagged on a rusty nail, and he doesn't know if he wants to laugh or faint.]
Video, much later.
[He pans the camera around his room, after it's older. It's the Reverie station standard, except now it looks like a fucking crime scene. Cloth and tissue and torn off sheets are wadded on the floor.
He's not up for making the full report. In fact, his hands are shaking badly enough that he lowers the camera, sets it down, putting himself in frame. He takes out, and lights a cigarette, lifting it to his mouth and taking a long drag off it, with fingers that are both shaking badly and bloodstained.
Ricki takes a long drag, breathes the smoke out through his nose.]
Fun for the whole family, right?
Well.
[Says Ricki's voice, with that very distinct perfectly calm tone that manages to convey that something is probably actively on fire.]
Is there a doctor on board?
[The feed disconnects rather abruptly. What's happening in Ricki's room isn't pretty. Brightly, he adds;]
And if so is he free right fucking now?
[[Content warning for blood and injuries.]]
[It starts with a scratch on the back of his hand. It's just a little thing, he probably gave it to himself while he was helping Bodhi with the clean up. That he can't remember, after the week it's been, isn't surprising. When he goes to check on it that night, just to be sure it isn't infected, it's already gone... except now there's blood on his arm? How did he get cut there?
When he wakes up from the next sleep he's bled right through his undershirt, and all over his sheets, and it's hard to breathe. That's when he gives in and gets on the network and posts his message, staunching the wound with the clothes he has, trying to lie mostly still and not panic about the fact that his body is apparently tearing itself open from the inside out. It's like being a piece of cloth snagged on a rusty nail, and he doesn't know if he wants to laugh or faint.]
Video, much later.
[He pans the camera around his room, after it's older. It's the Reverie station standard, except now it looks like a fucking crime scene. Cloth and tissue and torn off sheets are wadded on the floor.
He's not up for making the full report. In fact, his hands are shaking badly enough that he lowers the camera, sets it down, putting himself in frame. He takes out, and lights a cigarette, lifting it to his mouth and taking a long drag off it, with fingers that are both shaking badly and bloodstained.
Ricki takes a long drag, breathes the smoke out through his nose.]
Fun for the whole family, right?
voice; un: rogue
Where are you, sugar? What's going on?
no subject
[Still level, still purely informational;]
I'm bleeding.
[And apparently understating the case.]
no subject
I'm on my way there right now. What happened?
no subject
[Now he sounds properly light headed, but that's mostly the shock.]
Bring bandages.
private;
Unsurprising, of course.
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video; un:millerlite
Put that damn thing out or I'll find a creative way to do it myself.
no subject
[Answers Ricki, sweetly, and definitely keeps smoking.]
It's an emergency.
no subject
no subject
[Answers Ricki, and doesn't put out the cigarette.]
Emphysema is the least of our fucking worries. This place is eating through us like we're a wet paper bag.
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audio; un: alucard
Where can I find you?
no subject
[Is there a different, less Transylvanian doctor?]
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I am the closest thing this station has to a doctor. It is me, or no one.
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audio; un: rogue
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voice | apollo2
Ricki? What's wrong?
no subject
[He promises, audibly coming down now from the panic.]
no subject
[ He's already punching the keypad to his own cabin door and heading down the corridor. ]
That didn't really sound like a false alarm to me. I'm coming over...
no subject
[Says Ricki, who is pretty unilaterally done with people announcing they're invading his place. He's moving, after this.]
action
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video » un: rook
[ that. doesn't sound good, at all. Bodhi might not be a doctor of any kind, but could probably help get him somewhere, if that's what he needs. ]
no subject
[He asks, when he gets to this a few minutes later. His tone is changed from bright and aggressive to sluggish and subdued.]
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private
But it doesn't matter. The cut's definitely closing up now.
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video } un; envoy
( that was a lot of fucking blood and this was coming from someone who'd seen a lot of fucking blood many times in his life. )
Are you dying?
no subject
[He answers, low and finally through 'spitting mad' and into 'slightly woozy'.]
Bleeding's stopped now, but it lasted a few hours.
no subject
( he doesn't want to be dubious but he was dubious. )
How? Does this station have arms now?
no subject
My skin just ripped open and blood started bubbling up. Started on my hand, tore right up my arm and down to my stomach, closing behind itself as it went. The tail fucking lengthened as it dragged, like some kind of- shitty fucking comet.
[There is a case to be made that he's in a little bit of shock now. Playfully conversational, he adds;]
I'm handling it well. Four screaming arguments and one near fistfight.
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private
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