civilobedience: (pic#4837097)
The Militia. ([personal profile] civilobedience) wrote in [community profile] multiversallogs2012-10-01 08:45 pm

The Arena Riots ( open, gamewide )

Who: The Militia, the city, and you.
What: The Arena Riots.
Where: The Arena, Griss Twist.
When: Newdi, Eliaderen 1. (Monday Oct 1st)
Notes: Companion post for questions and plotting is here.
Warnings: Violence, police brutality, disturbing content and imagery, graphic death.

It's apparent even before dawn that something out of the ordinary is happening. Canton sheriffs are roused from their sleep or pulled away from their work to be told that on no uncertain terms, today will be a day that they do not leave their neat lines on the map. That their individual offices will be responsible for all crime and unrest within their jurisdictions, with no help; the powers that be offer no details, but the creeping feeling in their presence suggests no questions would be tolerated anyway – the implication that they'll all be watched is a strong one. In Mog Hill, Sheriff Norrington proceeds as he always does under such orders. In Mafaton, leadership is stoic but one deputy laughs, sharp and bitter, while the Emissary of the Council merely checks his watch, unseen underground. Sir Hellsing is pulled away from her dinner in the Guild Hall, a Sobek Croix deputy anxiously relaying the news. The sound of shattered glass disturbs the pre-dawn silence in Flyside, a brick hurled by some faceless figure into the front window of Thames – and nothing else.

From the Spire, hooded Militiamen move quietly and uniformly south, to Griss Twist. They are followed by wagons, full of prisoners.
amberdrake: (to hear a story no one’s telling anymore)

[personal profile] amberdrake 2012-10-07 01:31 am (UTC)(link)
The day and its horrors have progressed quite a bit by the time Amberdrake sneaks -- and he can be quite sneaky, having evaded an entire army in the distant past -- 'round to the back door to Dr. Bernát's place. Here, he knocks. He's found a change of scrubs since Healing a number of random strangers (and Wolfgang) in the street; so his clothes, at least, are not completely covered in blood.

Yet. I'm sure it's only a matter of time.

But with the first wave of gravely injured staggering away from the arena tended to, (or at least those he'd been able to reach), he figures it's about time to check in with the other chirurgeon he knows and see if she has need of his Gift as well. He can tell there's been injured coming and going from here, thanks to his Gifts, else he would have kept on going himself.

Drake leans for a moment against the door, but straightens when his Gifts report someone coming near it. The gray cast to his skin can't be helped, the utter exhaustion of a drained Gift starting to coil its fingers around his bones, but his outward demeanor is as calm and steady as ever. He's pushed his resources far worse in the past, and he's not anywhere near his stopping point.
Edited 2012-10-07 01:59 (UTC)
asklepios: ᴀᴄᴛʀᴇss ɴᴀᴛᴀʟɪᴇ ᴅᴏʀᴍᴇʀ; ʙʟᴏɴᴅᴇ (Default)

[personal profile] asklepios 2012-10-07 03:58 am (UTC)(link)
Even if he hadn't known, it's obvious enough when she answers the door (after a look through the peep-hole) what she's been doing - her hair tied back, her clothes bloodstained. She's peeled out of her sweater at some point, moving around her apartment in palazzo pants and a camisole, slippers on her feet and gloves on her hands, and she has the slightly manic air of someone staring down the barrel of a very long few days.

It's probably a familiar look, even if she applies her own context.

“-there's coffee on,” she says, in lieu of a greeting, when she gets a proper look at him.
amberdrake: art from the books (Default)

[personal profile] amberdrake 2012-10-07 05:47 am (UTC)(link)
It's fairly obvious Drake's on his second set of scrubs, because there's dried blood on his neck and a bit of it in his hair; a streak on his upper arm, that doesn't match what he's wearing. His current set are still largely unscathed.

Thankfully, gloves aren't a requirement for him, since he can destroy infection with his mind. He'd have gone through three boxes by now.

"That sounds splendid," he replies while stepping in. And once the door is closed again, "I thought I would drop by to see if you need any help, now that I'm on my next wind. I made sure no one saw me come this way."
asklepios: ᴀᴄᴛʀᴇss ɴᴀᴛᴀʟɪᴇ ᴅᴏʀᴍᴇʀ; ʙʟᴏɴᴅᴇ (Default)

[personal profile] asklepios 2012-10-07 06:47 am (UTC)(link)
“Thank you,” she says, directing him toward the kitchen, where the coffee pot and cups are - the two-level apartment is largely open-plan, and some of those well enough to sit up but not yet ready to leave are sitting outside on the patio that her oversized living room opens onto, where she can readily see them through the windows.

Her sofas are pushed to one side of the room, covered with plastic sheeting (her white sofas), with her rug rolled up on one of them, tables and chairs pushed alongside; it clears a large space for her to triage patients and then navigate, and it also blocks the stairs upstairs so she can nominally keep everybody where she can watch them and make sure no one's injuries are complicating out of her sight, and because she's more stringent of her own privacy than she sometimes seems, as someone who habitually invites strangers and known criminals into her living space. It's a well-appointed place, and it seems at this point as though it has at least in part been chosen because of how easy it is to repurpose this way.

The coffee is already made, and cooling a little but not yet cold, and it looks like Benevenuta is just making sure there's a pot on as often as possible and leaving it to whoever wants any to serve themselves.

“When you're ready, I've one or two still here who'd benefit from your attention.” More serious injuries that Benevenuta has stabilized but isn't yet comfortable turning loose; there's only so much even she and Drake in combination can do on the spot, especially when this isn't somewhere she can keep people for rest and safety, but at least she can make sure that they're well enough to travel before they have to.
amberdrake: (if you need to crash then crash & burn)

[personal profile] amberdrake 2012-10-07 07:08 am (UTC)(link)
Amberdrake has yet to become fond of coffee, but he'll drink anything useful during a crisis. He pours a cup, but leaves it sitting for the moment; even he knows the stuff is too hot to effectively take in over-sized shot form.

"Do you have a way to get hot water?" he asks, slinging his pack off his shoulder and producing his thermos full of absolutely horrible-smelling herbal tea. Well, less full now, it's down to the dregs... but hot water will fix that. "You haven't shoved me at them, so I'm assuming they're stable. What's their damage?"

He seems quite calm despite the barrage of the day, but his usual gentle smiles and artful gestures are gone, tucked away in the kestra'chern part of his professionalism. Right now he's a Healer, and little else.

But even a Healer on his world should never appear rattled. To so much as clench his fist is a bad omen that would have others from his world in a panic if they saw it. Amberdrake doesn't bother trying to turn that part of his training off; it's much of what is keeping the Empath together.
asklepios: ᴀᴄᴛʀᴇss ɴᴀᴛᴀʟɪᴇ ᴅᴏʀᴍᴇʀ; ʙʟᴏɴᴅᴇ (Default)

[personal profile] asklepios 2012-10-07 08:03 am (UTC)(link)
“I'd like you to assess possible hidden internal bleeding,” she says, returning to her current occupation - those still in the living room area are those she's more actively monitoring still, and she's concerned about some of the rib fractures that are coming through. (If she doesn't see a case of flail chest tonight, she'll be surprised before she's relieved.) “I can do more if I have more knowledge of the internal injuries. Please squeeze my hand and pull, yes, just like that-”

That last part was not addressed to Amberdrake.
amberdrake: (rip out the wings of a butterfly)

[personal profile] amberdrake 2012-10-07 08:13 am (UTC)(link)
Amberdrake fills the thermos with water, whether hot or not, and stashes it back in his very bloodied and battered backpack before he comes out to the living room. He needs that stuff to steep and be on hand, or he's going to end up going into easily-lethal over-extension shock by the end of the night.

"I'll fix whatever I find internally," he tells her, and whoever he's currently approaching, "not to worry." Because why would he just look when he can fix while he's there? External injuries, he's been trying to handle through largely mundane means to conserve his energy. But if someone's bleeding inside, he's not going to leave it un-patched.

And there's the Gift, overlaying his sight as he puts a hand on one of the patients in the room with an automatic (but masterful) reassuring smile. He goes about his business like this for a while, splinting fractured or broken bones with the appropriate levels of energy and knitting tissue. Anything that would require surgery to get at, he handles.

He won't be here all night, so anything he can do to take the strain off his fellow medic while he is here, he's quite willing to do.
inkdamage: (four rusted horses)

[personal profile] inkdamage 2012-10-07 07:29 am (UTC)(link)
It's late in the afternoon - nearly dark, shadows as long as they're going to get before the light gives up - when Severus appears, accompanied by a popping noise that Vanessza might find familiar due to her dealings with another of his kind. Severus does not know this woman, but he knows of her, and as he is curious about the current climate but not wanting to get any closer, he's decided to poke his head in over this way to see if there's activity he can observe.

And lo, his instincts are not incorrect.

He doesn't plan to stay long, but he doesn't plan on being useless if he's going to hover. Once he's nudged (bluntly) over to the fellow who could use an alchemist, he ends up drifting over to where Amberdrake is working, his own dark eyes taking in the scene and the triage with an expression of ... bizarre normalcy.
amberdrake: (I painted all your pigeons red)

[personal profile] amberdrake 2012-10-07 07:47 am (UTC)(link)
It isn't Drake's house, and thus not his territory, and so he's largely working on whoever he's pointed at... although he isn't shy about assessing new incoming, as well.

He's finishing up a row of tiny, precise, long-practiced stitches on a man's leg where a compound fracture had had his bone jutting out of the skin. It's currently being held together with an expertly-woven splint of Amberdrake's own energy, deep inside the leg. Infection has already been burned mercilessly out before it could even develop.

In more peaceful times, he'd Heal all but the bone on the spot. Right now, his stitches have to take some of the burden, because his energy isn't infinite and the evening has only begun. Drake knows well that night is going to bring a whole new wave of chaos, and he won't be staying here for much longer himself.

He's a mobile medic, and he's certainly going to take advantage of that mobility.

"Can I help you?" Drake asks without looking up from his work. He hasn't exactly been paying attention to the comings and goings of the non-injured in his fellow surgeon's house. His tone is mild, however, not snappish.
inkdamage: (she hangs the headless)

[personal profile] inkdamage 2012-10-07 08:33 am (UTC)(link)
"No," is the equally mild reply. And - well, he can't help Severus, at least not at this very moment, when he is neatly in one piece and not hemorrhaging anywhere. The (strong) argument could be made for him needing therapy, but in addition to this wildly not being the time for such issues beyond narrative asides, hell would sooner freeze.

"I can help you, however, if you'd let me borrow whatever you're drinking to stay awake, for a moment."
amberdrake: (heaven ablaze in our eyes)

[personal profile] amberdrake 2012-10-07 09:30 am (UTC)(link)
Ah, but that's the thing with kestra'chern. You don't have to come to them for therapy, to end up getting it. But right now that entire subset of his training and instinct is taking a back seat, so Severus is safe. Probably. For now.

Amberdrake glances up while he's bandaging up that freshly-stitched leg, the Healing Gift automatically giving the tall young man a once-over assessment. Nothing too detailed, of course. Not without touch. His blue eyes are slightly unfocused with the Gift -- most Healers from his world can't even speak while working, for fear of breaking their concentration.

Drake, of course, is not most Healers.

"It's not for keeping me awake," he turns back to his work, having felt the air of knows-what-he's-doing from the other man. It means Amberdrake can let him poke around in his tea, at least. "It's for keeping me from going into shock when the Gift eventually catches up to me tonight."

Because oh, it will. And there's no Gesten and Aubri here to pick him up out of the mud and pour the foul stuff down his throat when it does. So, he's keeping a steady amount of it already in his system, ready to go when the Gift comes looking for payment.

"It's the blue thermos in the bag over there," a jerk of his head indicates the bloodied backpack leaning against the wall over yonder. Said bag is full of all sorts of field-ready medical supplies.

The tea itself is made up of Velgarthian herbs, and smells like it would melt a spoon. He's not bothering to doctor it up like Gesten does.
inkdamage: (up in her cemetery head)

[personal profile] inkdamage 2012-10-07 09:57 am (UTC)(link)
Severus doesn't respond, and instead goes to investigate the indicated bag. It's only bloodied for another moment, as he mutters something at it - scourgifying it thoroughly, he's not shoving his hand into something covered in Merlin-knows-what's blood - and retrieves the thermos. He has no idea what the Gift is exactly (though he can guess), or what toll it will take on this man, but he can make an on-point hypothesis based on the tea. After a thorough inspection, he gives the thermos a shake, and it refills itself, proper potency and all. Stretching concoctions, duplicating atoms - all things he can do second-nature, though substances are not infinite, and only go so far. He sticks the canister back in the bag.

"Do you need anything specific?" His voice is low, but audible; this is someone who is not very talkative, but used to making himself heard anyway. Across the room, someone is bleeding all over Vanessza's floor. Severus eyes them, but without any urgency. It isn't that he's unconcerned, but he hasn't been invited to act as a medic, and he knows better than to go sticking his fingers in wounds when the other professionals around him have no idea whether or not he's capable, triggering unrest.
Edited 2012-10-07 10:00 (UTC)
amberdrake: art from the books (I seize the moment)

[personal profile] amberdrake 2012-10-07 10:24 am (UTC)(link)
Drake has finished with the bandaging at some point during this, and is sitting back on his shins, wiping his hands clean. He watches Severus quite carefully as he does so, taking the moment in between patients to assess this odd stranger. He's probably the first person he's run across today that isn't a fellow medic -- that he knows of -- or grievously injured.

Or panicking, for that matter. Amberdrake's shields, battered and bruised as they are, aren't being beaten on by this particular man.

And that, in this situation? That is definitely noteworthy. And worth paying careful attention to while he has the chance. Backseat or not, the kestra'chern instinct is what it is, and the latest addition to the Kings of the Haighlei Empire is no fool.

He gets up to go to the next person -- the one bleeding everywhere, immediately slowing the blood-flow with a touch of his fingers. "You look like someone who knows his way around a wound," he says, and not to his patient, though he offers her some murmured words of reassurance as he begins, before continuing to Severus, "You're acting calm, but not shell-shocked, and you're not flinching at all the wounded in here."

Because while his Empathy is a useful tool, it isn't the only way he reads people. Kestra'chern are trained without it, too, and he's had some twenty-seven years of practice. Mercenaries, mages, psychologically traumatized veterans, abuse victims... just about anything a decade of war and a decade of recovery can throw at a kestra'chern, spanning five sentient races.

And the quiet, perhaps fussy ones (yes, he noticed the cleaning of his backpack) isn't unfamiliar. Even coming in a tall and skinny and other-worlder package isn't something Amberdrake hasn't dealt with before, but he keeps any thoughts of golden blond hair and eerie violet eyes firmly out of his way. He can't afford to be distracted with sadness and nostalgia right now.
inkdamage: (through my tinted window)

[personal profile] inkdamage 2012-10-07 10:54 am (UTC)(link)
On a list of 'mercenaries, mages, psychologically traumatized veterans, and abuse victims', Severus hits an alarming number of points, but any wandering tendrils of empathy will find themselves hitting a curiously distant target. Occlumency is not merely psychic shielding, and keeps a great number of sins covered. ... Like human emotions, yes. Though not completely, to be fair; Severus is Just Sort Of Like That.

"My magic does not always mix well with injuries inflicted by other means," he says evenly, offering a reason why he isn't up to his elbows in gore already in place of any explanation about himself. It's true enough, anyway, he doesn't want to attempt to heal someone and have it react badly. He's more useful when he has a wider scope, and the ability to pick and choose where to apply himself for maximum efficiency.

And besides, he isn't interested in a heart-to-heart.
Edited (it's 4am i need to stop trying to write ) 2012-10-07 11:00 (UTC)
amberdrake: (nothing's what it seems to be)

[personal profile] amberdrake 2012-10-07 11:06 am (UTC)(link)
The distance isn't all that peculiar, Drake just figures the guy has some shields, like he himself does. And he has never relied on that Gift, having not even been trained with it initially.

Whatever he does get off him with it, well... Drake is quite used to the emotionally shut-down. It's not going to make him so much as bat an eye.

Amberdrake is silent for a moment as he knits vein and muscle and tendon, piece by piece. He can't spare the energy to numb the nerves in the area he's working on, so the woman has gone quite pale with the sensation.

He only Heals it to a safe depth for stitches to take over, as he did with Wolfgang. Then he goes about doing exactly that with his neat little chirurgeon's stitches.

That he's working bare-handed with other people's blood doesn't seem to be an issue for him. There's zero scent or sign of infection, here. "I would ask if you were willing to assist, but none of this is quite so bad as to warrant it." And he's certainly not going to ask the guy if he wants to come along out there where it's apparently protocol to try to gun down Healers.

He'll save that sort of thing for if and-or when he knows him for longer than two minutes. If ever.

"Beyond that, I wouldn't know what specifics you might be offering. Are you the alchemist I was told about?" Because the guy had made a bee-line for the subject of what he was drinking...
Edited 2012-10-07 11:08 (UTC)
inkdamage: (you can't take this from me)

[personal profile] inkdamage 2012-10-07 11:27 am (UTC)(link)
"Presumably."

Something in his tone says that he's not actually close enough to Vanessza to know for sure, but that even if he wasn't, that Amberdrake has now lucked out by getting him and not some other alchemist. (And he has, let's face it.)

It's an interesting thing, watching someone mix magic and modern medicine. Severus isn't a mediwizard, but functions as one close enough when he has to, and he's done enough research about non-magical healing to get by there, too. It's helped, in being a teacher. The number of sucker-punched noses he's had to fix...

"I can refill anything you're working with, or give you substitutes for now." He does not volunteer to assist with the hands-on healing; Severus won't be staying for long enough to get fully involved, though if someone truly a heartbeat from death stumbles through the door, he'll throw his hat in on grounds of not being completely soulless.
amberdrake: (I follow the stars to my abode)

[personal profile] amberdrake 2012-10-07 11:37 am (UTC)(link)
"It seems fortunate we've met, then, as I will undoubtedly need such things in the future," but not tonight. He was prepared for the ever hungry, ever unpredictable beast that is the War to come slinking out of the shadows and feed.

He's always ready for that. Nearly sixty year old Amberdrake will, in that future, still be waiting for it. When his daughter heads off on her first mission for the Silvers, armed and armored and trained, accompanied by her gryphon partner Tadrith, Amberdrake will be expecting the War to lunge after them.

And he'll be right.

It's always out there, waiting. Always. Urtho's people have learned this lesson well.

"My name is Amberdrake," he offers once he's done applying expert bandages over his stitches. He hasn't ignored his patient, speaking to her in quiet tones during the procedure. But it's obvious when he's talking to Severus, because his tone has been trained to carry as well. He's no teacher, but kestra'chern are performers in many ways, and now that he's a King... well. It comes in handy.

He doesn't quite prompt the younger man for his name, curious to see if he'll simply give it or not. You can learn a lot about someone by how they respond to you giving them your name.
inkdamage: (up a hill in hades)

[personal profile] inkdamage 2012-10-07 08:59 pm (UTC)(link)
He does give it, but perhaps not in the most polite of ways. Behind him still, Severus conjures a small card - his name and CiD number written on it in slanted handwriting - and sticks it in the bag he cleaned a moment ago. Then he leaves the room, walking with one hand out as he passes, and any gore and grime left from blood or sickness vanishes.

In his wake, there's a number of useful odds and ends left with Vanessza, ranging from hyper-effective bandages to topical painkillers to ever-smoking potions in glass jars meant to revive anyone who drinks it. But as he's not participating in the triage itself, that's about as much help as he's going to be, and lingering any longer will just put him underfoot. Outside the apartment, he turns on his heel and disappears, off to investigate the situation from some other angle - or perhaps, merely return home.
amberdrake: (come on lets show them your love)

[personal profile] amberdrake 2012-10-07 11:00 pm (UTC)(link)
Amberdrake would make a poor kestra'chern indeed if he was easily offended or ruffled, so he just continues on with his work until this latest wave of incoming injured are dealt with.

When he goes to leave shortly after, he's pleased to find the card when he goes to dose himself from the thermos again... and he's intrigued to find the state said tea is in. Yes, he'll definitely be contacting this 'Severus Snape' once things have calmed down.

For a variety of reasons, perhaps. Drake is, under all his present exhaustion, curious.
Edited 2012-10-07 23:00 (UTC)