Ricki Tarr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rickitikitarr) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
reverienet2018-07-05 11:27 am
rickitikitarr) wrote in reverienet2018-07-05 11:27 am
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?
no subject
[ Insert a loud sigh followed by a heavy banging on his door. ]
no subject
[Says Ricki, answering the door for her, half naked, covered in blood, and clutching a pillow case against his ribs.]
I would literally rather be dead than engage with someone who tells me 'cooperate, and this will go easier for you.' [A half step back, to let her in.] Anyways, it's pretty startling, but I don't think it's turned out nearly as bad as it looks.
no subject
Well that's good, because it looks really damn bad. What happened?
[ There's so much blood, but now that she's here, it's easier to snap into action. Assess the situation and take care of it, just like she had during the war. Try not to concentrate on the fact that this is her friend who looks like he's about to kick the bucket. ]
no subject
[He says, submitting to her shepherding and sitting down. He pulls the pillowcase away, painlessly since the blood hasn't had time to dry on his skin, and dabs it clean once more. The wound is about as long as Rogue's palm now, bleeding freely, and as you look closely at it, it travels. The progress is slow, but visible to the human eye. Someone or something is tearing a cut along Ricki's skin, down his chest towards his belly. It closes, but not quite at the same speed as it opens, such that it lengthens as it goes.]
Took five years off my life, coming to in a puddle of blood, elbow to heart. It's also gone clean through a couple of tattoos-
[Rotating his strong shoulder to show her a swallow he picked up during his years on the ship. The ink is undisturbed.]
no subject
What the hell is this place doing to us? [ The question is breathed into life in exasperation as she turns back to grab some bandages, taking a moment to check that her bracelet is secure before getting too close to his skin with her own. ]
If you keep losing blood like this, you're gonna need a transfusion, sugar. And I'm not at all sure what equipment we have on the station. [ There is, at least, no present shortage of bandages (not in this room anyway), so she leans in close to try for a better look at the cut. ]
no subject
[He decides, first, giving her a hopeful glance, setting in and putting firm pressure.
Over on the desk there's two items; an empty coffee cup, with a little ring left in the bottom, and a polaroid snap of Ricki playing tourist in front of a statue with his little girl. Danny is about ten years old, half Malaysian, and has her father's smile.]
There's nothing to do by keep pressure on it and try to keep my heartrate down.
no subject
And goes still at the photograph beside it. A happier moment than this by far, with a beautiful little girl. Picking up the cup, she heads over to the sink, cleans out that ring of dried coffee, and returns with the requested drink. ]
What's her name?
no subject
[He says, when he realizes what she's looking at.]
We were way too young, but at that age, God looks out for you. Silly mistakes with such joyous consequences.
[Ricki still believes, after all these years.]
no subject
She's beautiful.
[ Handing over the cup, she sits beside him on the edge of the bed, concern written in her expression with a hearty dash of sadness. ]
I hope we can get you back to her.
no subject
[He sounds positively sure; he loves her very much.]
Fuck, I'm getting emotional. I'm used to working abroad, not seeing her, but-
no subject
Well, lucky for you, I've got some experience helping bend space and time. [ She tries to make it a joke, but the words fall a bit flat, her own emotions leaking in and making her voice crack a bit. ] We'll get you back to your little girl, Ricki. We have to, she needs her daddy.
no subject
[He says, quietly, settling down against the wall, eyes finally closing.]
All right, I think it's stopping.
[He pulls the rag back, delicately, looking at the cut, which has indeed stopped actively spreading.]
no subject
[ The southern phrase slips out without any meaning other than simple relief, and she gets up to grab a few fresh bandages, wetting one slightly to try to clean him up a bit. He looks like he's been through some kind of battle, rightfully so. ]