Meyer Lansky (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
recognize_an_opportunity) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kore_logs2013-06-10 01:21 pm
recognize_an_opportunity) wrote in kore_logs2013-06-10 01:21 pm
Entry tags:
It scares the hell out of me...
Who: Meyer & Ned, possibly Bruce & Charlie later.
Where: Starting near the woods. A little too close to the woods.
When: Late evening, Day 81
What: Meyer got a little too close to an angry sabertooth tiger, and unfortunate mauling occurred. Ned is his rescuer.
Warnings: Tiger attacks, and all the blood and pain that they entail. Swearing. Angst.
Lying there, facedown in the dirt, unable or unwilling to move -- was he supposed to be playing dead? He couldn't remember. What had seemed very important at the time now seemed like nothing more than a hazy, half-formed thought. There was something you were supposed to do in a situation like this. There was a protocol, a way to survive being attacked by an animal, but Meyer didn't recall it.
He knew what to do when people attacked, knew that if you were outnumbered or overpowered to curl yourself into a tight ball and protect your head and neck, protect your vital organs. He'd managed to curl himself into a ball of sorts, protecting his face, but there was a screaming pain in his abdomen -- maybe his ribs, he didn't know -- that prevented him from curling himself up entirely.
Motionless, barely breathing -- was he not breathing on purpose, or was he losing the need to breathe? -- he wanted to reach for the gun that had been knocked out of his hand after firing one shot. The animal had been on him in seconds, knocking him to the ground, although from the noise it had made, the outraged and pained roar, he might have shot it. He hoped so.
Maybe someone would hear the shot. Maybe someone would come. Maybe he'd die here. That thought enraged him; he'd fought tooth and nail to live his whole life, and now this. He moved his head slightly, trying to see if the tiger was still there; it was. It was watching him from a slight distance, and for a moment he thought about going for his gun, about finishing off the animal completely -- if he was going to die, he could take the damn thing with him -- but he couldn't seem to get up the strength to do. There was blood, he realized, blood all across his back where the tiger's claws had gouged him, blood trickling down his sides and onto the dirt, but that, he thought grimly, wasn't his problem. No, it was the problem of whoever showed up and discovered this scene, once the tiger gave up its waiting game and ate him like he knew it intended to.
He let his eyes slip closed. He let his breathing grow stiller. He hoped he looked dead. He wondered if he might be.
Where: Starting near the woods. A little too close to the woods.
When: Late evening, Day 81
What: Meyer got a little too close to an angry sabertooth tiger, and unfortunate mauling occurred. Ned is his rescuer.
Warnings: Tiger attacks, and all the blood and pain that they entail. Swearing. Angst.
Lying there, facedown in the dirt, unable or unwilling to move -- was he supposed to be playing dead? He couldn't remember. What had seemed very important at the time now seemed like nothing more than a hazy, half-formed thought. There was something you were supposed to do in a situation like this. There was a protocol, a way to survive being attacked by an animal, but Meyer didn't recall it.
He knew what to do when people attacked, knew that if you were outnumbered or overpowered to curl yourself into a tight ball and protect your head and neck, protect your vital organs. He'd managed to curl himself into a ball of sorts, protecting his face, but there was a screaming pain in his abdomen -- maybe his ribs, he didn't know -- that prevented him from curling himself up entirely.
Motionless, barely breathing -- was he not breathing on purpose, or was he losing the need to breathe? -- he wanted to reach for the gun that had been knocked out of his hand after firing one shot. The animal had been on him in seconds, knocking him to the ground, although from the noise it had made, the outraged and pained roar, he might have shot it. He hoped so.
Maybe someone would hear the shot. Maybe someone would come. Maybe he'd die here. That thought enraged him; he'd fought tooth and nail to live his whole life, and now this. He moved his head slightly, trying to see if the tiger was still there; it was. It was watching him from a slight distance, and for a moment he thought about going for his gun, about finishing off the animal completely -- if he was going to die, he could take the damn thing with him -- but he couldn't seem to get up the strength to do. There was blood, he realized, blood all across his back where the tiger's claws had gouged him, blood trickling down his sides and onto the dirt, but that, he thought grimly, wasn't his problem. No, it was the problem of whoever showed up and discovered this scene, once the tiger gave up its waiting game and ate him like he knew it intended to.
He let his eyes slip closed. He let his breathing grow stiller. He hoped he looked dead. He wondered if he might be.
no subject
"I could list off everything bad you could've had. Severed spinal cord, which could lead to paralysis; internal bleeding. Things I couldn't easily treat." Though he could call in one of the angels, come to think of it. He'll file that away mentally, but not mention it now. Let people think they shouldn't go and severely injure themselves. Because obviously.
"Both of those are good. I recommend a lot of rest, definitely don't overtax yourself. Your stitches are sort of all over, and in twisty areas, so you shouldn't move around too much or you'll pop them. You should get someone to change your bandages, or I can come around and help you with it. I'll send some home with you, along with stuff for the pain. Do as best you can with that; it's not an unlimited supply. I'll check up on you to see how you're healing, and then when the time's right, I'll take your stitches out and we can talk care again."
That sounds like everything, but it's been a while since he gave this kind of talk.
"Do you have any questions for me?"
no subject
Admittedly, that someone might complain about it, but he'll do it nonetheless. He tries to think of any questions, brain still fuzzy and slow, although he's starting to feel a little less baffled by the whole incident. It had occurred, it's over now -- except for the unsettling fact that the tiger's still out there, potentially threatening other residents -- and he's alive, albeit in pain. He has to focus on that for now; anything else just gets his brain whirring, makes him start worrying again.
"Yeah, just one question -- what kinda pain stuff are you going to give me?"
It's not like he's going to come right out and say it, but he's got a stash of something back home that can help with the pain, too, if he runs out of whatever it is Bruce can provide. It just depends on how good the stuff the doctor wants to give him is. If it's good enough, maybe he won't need to break into his stash just yet.
no subject
That should be enough to ease the pain without being too much. Bruce was glad to get a supply of it in that pile o' stuff that fell a little while back. It still seems so odd to him to be doing, like, actual doctor work. It feels like an age since he tackled anything this serious. Ruby had some stitches on her finger, but nothing like this.
no subject
He gestures to the stitches, not knowing exactly how to phrase it, but knowing that Bruce will understand what he means anyway. He's always been suspicious of doctors, but in this instance, he might have to reconsider his stance; Bruce has been nothing but helpful to him, even if getting the stitches hadn't exactly felt great.
no subject
"I'll pop back out and talk to Ned. You lay there and rest, okay? I don't want to move you yet."
He slips outside.