fullofmercy: (between the wasteland and the sky)
Nicholas D. Wolfwood ([personal profile] fullofmercy) wrote2012-06-04 12:16 pm

Between the wasteland and the sky

It's truly strange, wheeling the Angelina II out of the garage and under the double suns of Gunsmoke, making him squint even behind his dark glasses.  Human beings aren't meant to travel that way, he's totally, one hundred percent positive of that. Motorbikes, spaceships--hell, even Thomases are preferable. He likes to see where he's going, he likes to know how he's getting there.  Magic doors and multiversal travel are more than he's really comfortable with.

Yeah. But maybe just a little of the disorientation has to do with the place he's reappearing; a little wishful thinking to get him through the sinking feeling in his stomach. Hey, honey, he thinks, gloomy. I'm home.

It's early; one sun has managed to clear the horizon but the other is still only a wavering, fiery line bleeding reddish gold streaks across the infinite waves of dune after dune. A few houses, weathered clapboard, stand between him and the open desert. The morning breeze ruffling the few faded, flowered curtains already has a hint of the coming heat, a little vibrant edge to it, promises of the spike that comes once the second sun rises and burns over the planet for another day. Not a single cloud mars the unbroken smoothness of the sky.

Behind him, around him, the little town is just beginning to wake up. Vendors are opening their shop doors, mothers are coming out of their houses to hang rugs and wash on the porch rails or clothesline, men are greeting each other with silent nods on their way to whatever job they've managed to hold onto. Every one of them is gray and colorless, clothing faded with many washings and hours upon hours of harsh sunlight. Even their faces seem gray and lined.  Still, they smile, they shake hands. Even here, where the sand is already beginning to creep up onto their doorsteps, people continue to believe that everything will turn out all right. They have to--how else could they get themselves up in the mornings?

He finds it insulting. He finds it inspiring. It's the most unbelievable thing he's ever seen--the ability of humans to continue daily life under the constant threat of complete extinction.

He half-turns to his right, one hand in his pocket, fingers of the other already searching in his breast pocket for his pack of smokes, teasing one battered cigarette out, and casts his glance over Michael.

"Well," he says, and sticks the unlit cigarette between his lips. "Home sweet home."
luvs_yogurt: (really?)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-11 08:59 pm (UTC)(link)
Michael frowns as the acrid smoke hits his face.

"Fine, but if you bleed out between here and there, I'm not carrying you."

He probably would, if it comes to that, but he'd prefer that it doesn't.
luvs_yogurt: (ducttape)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-12 07:05 am (UTC)(link)
The kit is, regrettably, the sort of thing reserved for the occasional twisted ankle or paper cut... not exactly gunshot wound material. But, there's a few things he can work with - including a pair of tweezers and some gauze.

"Sit down, I'm gonna see if I can find someone with a sewing kit and a bottle of alcohol. Unless you happen to be carrying it already."

He really, really should start a kit to take with him on these sorts of things. Little backpack, load it up... no problem.
luvs_yogurt: (arms folded)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-12 03:40 pm (UTC)(link)
Michael watches the wound as he pulls away the shirt - it's only a graze, but he can see unexpected fragments and assumed ammunition manufacturing might not be quite as controlled as it is at home. Cheap bullets, bad pressing... either way, he's got to get them out.

Without another word, he made his way down the corridor until he returned with a sewing kit and a bottle of clear booze that didn't have a label and the previous owner only referred to as 'hooch' - it smelled like a strong grain and the very quick nip Michael dared reminded him vaguely of the low end vodka in Russia.

Keeping one eye on Wolfwood and the other on his own hands, he set up a shot glass and poured out a shot before adding the tweezers and threaded needle; "This is going to hurt."

On a second thought, he took off his belt and handed it over; "You're gonna want something to bite down on."
luvs_yogurt: (thinking)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-12 04:36 pm (UTC)(link)
"I need you as coherent as possible while I work - in case something goes wrong." Not that it ever has before, of course, but things happen. "I don't know that I'd purposefully drink something the owner calls 'hooch' that doesn't even have a label."

He works slowly, removing the small fragments as gingerly as possible in between swipes of the alcohol soaked gauze to keep the wound clean and wick away the blood.

"You're lucky," he mutters as he sets aside the bloody tweezers and fishes the needle out of the shot glass; "Pierre was a terrible shot."
luvs_yogurt: (alrightythen)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-12 05:07 pm (UTC)(link)
"Not today," Michael sighs and rinses his hands with more of the alcohol before wiping the wound again. "Alright, bite down now - I don't know if you've ever been sewn up before but it hurts like a bitch."

He wishes he had fishing line to work with, but good strong thread would do for just a few stitches. "Once the wound heals closed you'll need to have these removed - I can do it if you want me to."

Taking a deep breath, once his belt is once more secured between the other man's teeth, he makes quick work of the stitches - small, tight surgeon's crosses that'd hold up to even fore fighting and the weight of the cross he insisted on carrying. When he finished, he tied off the thread in a small knot and then rinsed his hands again.

"I'm gonna wrap it, and then when we get back to Milliways I want you to get some gauze from the bar - two rolls of five-by should do it." He rips off three squares and then presses them hard against the stitching; "First you lay down a pad." He then wraps the rolled gauze several times around his arm; "Then you wrap. Change it daily, keep it clean - I'm sure you know the drill by now."
luvs_yogurt: (sigh)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-12 05:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Michael almost blushes at the compliment, hiding it behind a shady half-smile as he pours out a shot for the preacher. "You get good at it after a while. Better than fixing my own."

Clearing his mess, he found himself once more fighting to focus on anything other than the man he'd killed and the girl he'd held hostage.

"It's a tight stitch, so you shouldn't have a problem with the cross or using a weapon or anything. It might hurt, but you won't tear it open."
luvs_yogurt: (Default)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-12 05:46 pm (UTC)(link)
Gotta have you in one piece for that adventure - who knows what we'll run into next time.

Michael's still washing the blood from his hands when the door opens; "Thank you." The words seem to dismiss the man who seems almost in a hurry to get away from them - not that it would suprise him if he was.

"So, what's the plan?" He turns to Wolfwood, both of them reeking of strong booze and blood.
luvs_yogurt: (Default)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-12 07:03 pm (UTC)(link)
The desert at night isn't a new thing for him, but watching their shadows from the strange moons is enough to make it easy to dip into his own thoughts as he follows silently beside his companion.

An open door sounds like really good plan right now, a few hours to get ready before heading into the fray with Ellen's job and maybe deal with what's going on in his head.

Maybe. Doubtful, but maybe.
luvs_yogurt: (genuninesmile)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-12 07:26 pm (UTC)(link)
Michael can't help but smile at the sight, sure he's got a weak spot for kids but just seeing the unexpected affection directed at the same guy he'd just been sewing up not long before brings a smile to his face that he didn't see coming.

"Wow, uh... hey everyone..." he laughs under his breath, keeping a close eye on Wolfwood until his attention is directed elsewhere.
luvs_yogurt: (genuninesmile)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-12 07:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Still grinning, Michael hardly knows how to respond to the children, though he does offer the girl a gently squeeze of the hand as she leads him.

"Is there, uh, anything else I can do while we're here?" He raises an eyebrow toward the woman; "Ma'am?"
luvs_yogurt: (wild eyes)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-12 08:34 pm (UTC)(link)
He's eaten stranger foods on his planet, besides... for all he knows it'd be a horrible insult to refuse and he'd rather not hurt nice people. Besides, he is getting kind of hungry and the promise of a bar-yogurt when he gets back seems ages away.

"Uh, sure... sure..." his eyes dart for Wolfwood - wide and the slightest bit cautious. "It wasn't any trouble at all, ma'am."
luvs_yogurt: (thinking)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt 2012-06-12 08:43 pm (UTC)(link)
Anxiety getting the better of him, Michael forces himself to sit down and after a moment of getting his bearings, he looks over to the quiet girl and murmurs; "This is pretty crazy, huh? You must be kind of like a big sister."

He's got radar for the quiet, responsible ones. It's one of the things that makes him feel even worse about how he treated the girl on the train.

(no subject)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt - 2012-06-12 22:24 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt - 2012-06-13 03:33 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt - 2012-06-13 05:41 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt - 2012-06-13 06:03 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] luvs_yogurt - 2012-06-13 06:26 (UTC) - Expand