Destruction Lay Around Me From a Fight I Could Not Win [OPEN]

[witnessme]

Who: Victims and their friends
What: Devil's night left Shepherd's Haven and more than a few of its inhabitants in rough shape. While rebuilding is in process, a few of these folks are in a Christchurch hospital.
Where: Christchurch Hospital
When: October 31-November 7, please note the date in your toplevels.
Status: Open, ongoing
Warnings: Injured people



A mission of peace, kindness and camaraderie was a wonderful thing in theory, and even in practice, so long as every variable meant it. For a little while, it had been that way, and then a variable had turned negative and poisoning an otherwise nourishing well with fear and fire. It had deflected and desecrated every approach until the very last, requiring might in numbers to drive off. The result lingers long after the last traces of its shadow, though, and some who had relocated to Shepherd's Haven for the isolated safety found themselves lifted out by helicopter and taken to Christchurch Hospital for treatment.

There are reporters that want to get to into the rooms, curious about the victims and about the mysterious, dangerous Numbered who would do such things to his own. For the most part, they're kept out, but one might slip through every so often. Visitors are allowed, and if one of the unfortunates who was in the village at the time of the attack wishes to be near another, they're unlikely to be discouraged. While the world may not understand or always love the Numbered, at least Christchurch as a whole seems to realize that the ones currently admitted are not to be feared.

Comments

Misa Amane | OTA

[lovesickkiller]

Misa is uncharacteristically quiet through all of this. Perhaps her mouth earning her so much pain has something to do with it, or it could simply be the lasting consequences of the attack lingering on her mind. Third degree burns do not heal easily. She doesn't fully understand what a skin graft is and doesn't want to.

Bye-bye miniskirts.

It's a silly thing to fixate on, but the loss of a favorite item of apparel is far easier to focus on than the near death of herself and her similarly broken boyfriend. It's easier to fixate on than the reporters bustling by outside, and anything inside the burn ward really.

They came so close to dying. Every time the thought crosses her mind she is thrown back there, to the broken ground and the ghastly burned legs she couldn't even recognize as her own. The fabric of Lazarus's pants melted into his skin. Then tears spring to her eyes and she wants to vomit. And she thinks about how good she used to look in miniskirts.

[solvethepuzzle]

Nathan is as liable to become as familiar to the hospital staff as any of the patients. He isn't hurt, but he is here often enough to see them. Just sort of . . . awkwardly hanging around, trying to make them more comfortable in whatever little way he can.

He isn't at all sure that he is good at it, but he makes the effort nonetheless.

He peeks his head in the door, just a little. And quietly, just to make sure of his welcome: "Hi. Is it okay?"

[lovesickkiller]

Misa stares at him for a solid minute. There's nothing note-worth in her eyes, no shock or exasperation over a social blunder. She simply has no idea what to say to that. Of course it isn't okay. Nothing is okay. Isn't that obvious?

Eventually it dawns on her that he is asking if he can come in. Misa gives him a slow nod.

[scarlet_devil]

Nothing like almost dieing to convince stubborn vampires to let silly grudges go. In any case, Remilia had decided to to and make an appearance here.

She announces herself with a knock at the door. "Hey..."

[lovesickkiller]

Misa looks up, and is a little surprised to find the vampire standing there. Last she checked Emi was still mad at her for some reason or another; the feeling had been one-sided, but Misa had not put much effort into patching things over either. There had always been some other pressing issue stealing away her attention, leaving squabbles between friends a low priority.

She has nothing but time on her hands now.

"Hi," she responds, making a small movement with one lightly bandaged hand to beckon her in.

[charcoalfeather]

It was a cold day in hell that Rakka didn't show up for her friends. She was in the hospital with most of the other members of Shepard's have, suffering from only minor burns as she was more focused on taking out the fires then anything else.

And her friends... they were getting the medical care they needed. Rakka would pay for more, if that was needed.

There came a knock to Misa's door, and a nurse stepped inside, followed by Rakka, who looked just as sad as Misa did.

"Umm, hey..."

[lovesickkiller]

Misa tensed as the nurse entered, on alert and expecting some painful procedure to follow. It didn't help that anything involving moving, being touched, or otherwise existing was painful at this point. She let a small sigh of relief when the nurse looked at the machine by the bed, noted something down, and then left to check on another patient.

Finally, she turned her attention to Rakka.

"Hi," she replied weakly.

Nux- Open, November 3

[witnessme]

Such a little thing. One self-righteous, hot-tempered moment that had passed quickly from Nux's mind and been forgotten had been the cause of all this, and now, even beaten, bruised and bloody, he doesn't feel he's suffered nearly enough to pay for what happened. He loves Shepherd's Haven, truly loves it with all his heart, and after promising to help and protect the Numbered, something like this...

They'll never forgive him. Hot, heavy tears drip down his mottled, swollen cheek as he thinks of how he'll probably need to leave and make his own way now, somehow or other. Maybe in the barren wastelands of the American west? Lazarus and his girlfriend were both hurt, so was Tony, so was Richard. All people he loves even if their relationships are complicated at times. All people he will not be able to look in the eyes again.

His tissues are piling up. Maybe he can write off the fact that he can't seem to stop crying as a result of the pain, but any Numbered who comes to visit will likely suss out the real reason for his tears very swiftly.

Re: Nux- Open, November 3

[meteormercenary]

Jacob has on a long sleeve to keep his injuries covered as he visits the hospital. He doesn't want to attract the attention that the patients should be having. He got lucky, he'll never forget that. He wishes he could have stopped Damon and saved the others. He supposes it lucky they survived, as well. But having them end up in the hospital still feels like a weight. He practically couldn't do anything.

This time, he's visiting Nux, another good person, if not a friend to him. He knocks on the door politely and peeks in. He sees Nux crying and concern crosses Jacob's face. He approaches Nux's bedside softly. He reaches to set a hand on Nux's shoulder, but he's not sure if that will cause pain, so he retracts his hand. When he speaks, his tone is soft.

"Hey, what's the matter? Are you alright?" Jacob wonders if should call a nurse to the room.

[witnessme]

There's not too much to feel guilty for, even though that's creeping into the consciences of many today. Damon is powerful, and even another powerful Numbered doesn't necessarily have the firepower (or the will to destroy) to allow them to go head to head with the demonic presence.

The exception, of course, is Nux, who brought his wrath down on everyone's heads and has to find some way to live with knowing that he's the one to blame for all of this.

He had been eyeing his pudding a moment ago, brought to him by hospital staff along with his lunch. He hasn't had much of an appetite these last few days, feeling sick rather than hungry on account of what he's seen of the others. He's seen how Misa dresses; those burns won't look pretty in a miniskirt. He saw Richard impaled like a bug on a corkboard, Lazarus' leg, Tony... every time he thinks of all them, his stomach turns over and he dies a little more inside, but he was starting to think that maybe the pudding looked good, maybe he wasn't such a waste of life that he couldn't try to enjoy just a few bites...

He glances up at Jacob with red-rimmed eyes, wiping his nose noisily on his hospital gown when he comes in. As tormented as he is over this, he doesn't want to look like some kind of sissy or something. Tears draw comfort, and he doesn't deserve comfort right now.

"It's all my fault," he says. "I did this... brought it all down on their heads. None of them asked for it and I didn't even think when I told that guy to come fight me. Stupid...!"

Lazarus and OTA- November 4

[numberedshepherd]

The horror and desperation of what had transpired in Shepherd's Haven will be with all of them for a long time. Some will carry reminders of it for the rest of their lives, and taking the brunt of Damon's attack without any kind of healing powers basically guarantees that Misa and Lazarus are both in that number.

He's on the good drugs, and several days after the event, the worst of it might be over. The clothing had been cut away, everything had been cleaned and the slow, painful process of healing is underway. Only one of his legs was hit, and while the prospect of scarring in general doesn't bother him as much as it once did (he already carries a few, after all), the thought that this might affect his mobility isn't a pleasant one.

He's restless here, wanting to go back to his normal routine, thinking about his work with running Shepherd's Haven and taking care of the animals. For someone who spent so much life feeling like he's not had a home, it was the closest thing he ever found to a true one. Even though there are a lot of emotions he could be feeling right now- fear that Damon will come back, guilt for not protecting Misa more effectively, fury at Nux for incurring the wrath that had affected all of them for his dumb mistake- he is in a state of numb acceptance more than anything. The burn is a part of him now, and he is focused forward on convincing himself that it is not that bad. When he thinks he can get away with it, he leaves his bed and tests his leg. As expected, he limps, and the delicate flesh stretches and tears around the site of the burn, but it's not like the steps are causing him to collapse in agony. It could be the painkillers, but he wants to think that if he can tolerate it in the hospital, he'll be able to tolerate it once he's discharged.

If he feels some strange, underlying panic about the entire situation, it stems from the possibility that something about his life will have to change. He's not in bed when his latest visitor enters, rather sitting by the window in one of the visitor's seats with his good leg tucked against his chest and his bad one straight out in front of him. The hospital gown hangs off his gaunt frame, but he has a terrycloth robe that covers him a little more decently. He's flanked by his IV bags, but otherwise seems determined to look like anything but the room's resident patient.

[dragon_blossom]

What could Marina do or say? She hadn't been there. The town was ablaze, and the water mage hadn't gotten the message until what had burnt had been reduced to a smolder. As useless as she felt, though, so many people were there and couldn't help it, so how were they handling it? At least she hadn't heard of anyone dying yet, thank god, but there was a long ways to go before things were alright. A lot of people were hurt and scarred, and she knew what it was like to be changed by an injury, leaving her far more conscious of her missing eye than she had been in months, as she visited the hospital.

A lot of the worst injuries seemed to be among the residents that she was less well acquainted with - no surprise, some of her closer friends among them were in the same city she'd been in - but she knew Lazarus well enough. She knocked sharply, standing with her hands behind her back. "It's Marina."

[numberedshepherd]

There were a lot of people who were there who couldn't help... and a lot of people who weren't who could have. The facts are glaring and highlight Lazarus' failure as a leader. The stress and panic doesn't excuse that he tried to handle something alone that he absolutely needed help with, with disastrous results. All things considered, Lazarus' injuries are the least of his concerns.

"Please come in," he calls, steeling himself for a conversation that he might not want to have, but needs to. Hiding with regret and shame, while it's appealing, is not the way to handle this. He owes apologies to the people who are wrongfully feeling guilt for what they didn't even know was occurring.

[solvethepuzzle]

The helplessness is something that Nathan will remember, too. That the only thing he could do had been to hide and call for help . . . and that help had also wound up badly hurt as a result. Nathan is unscathed physically -- one of the few in the village that can say this -- but he has much to work out emotionally. He almost feels like he should be hurt; everyone else is, after all. Even though he knows that would not be what any of them want.

He has been taking care of things at what remains of the town, being the one that is in better shape for it, but whenever he can, he makes the time to come down to the hospital and visit everyone. It would be wrong to do otherwise.

His steps are quiet, always quiet so as not to disturb anyone. When he sees Lazarus in front of the window rather than in bed, he does not scold him. At least this way he is still resting.

Nathan just stands silently in the doorway for a moment, hands in his pockets, before a soft: "Is it any better today?"

[numberedshepherd]

Lazarus avoids Nathan's gaze when he enters. While he's grateful for the visits while he recuperates, he is painfully aware of the fact that he was wrong. He didn't handle things well, he didn't delegate well, and his instincts about being able to get through to Damon and resolve things peacefully couldn't have been more off the mark.

He knows full well he should have stayed in the shelter with Nathan and Misa from the start, sending out a message over the Network calling for the help of Lily, Winter, and a score of other people who stood a chance of stopping Damon by force. He didn't; he vastly overestimated his ability to reason with Damon, as well as Damon's ability to be reasoned with. Some things don't follow the straits of logic, are truly random and monstrous, and the chaotic nature of Damon's rampage is crushing.

"I understand that things could be worse," he says. "That most of the villas sustained relatively minor damage or none at all, and though the barn burned down, the town hall was untouched. So that's good, right?"

He rubs at one of his eyes. He handles painkillers well, historically, but they still make him foggier than he's at ease with in the clean phase of his life.

"I've also not been talking to the reporters, obviously. I don't want the location of our settlement to get out. It can't just be rebuilt, it has to be rebuilt safer, and I already have some ideas."

[meteormercenary]

Jacob rounds to check on another patient - Lazarus. He was extremely relieved that the frail man had survived. Looks like Jacob's last words of 'don't die,' worked. Still, he wishes he could have worked alongside of Lazarus, and maybe he wouldn't be in such bad shape. Granted, that probably meant Jacob would be in much worse shape, make him another hospital patient. But, if he didn't get to help then, he's willing to be an errand boy to those who are in the hospital. There's quite a few of them, he can't help but notice.

He takes a breath before knocking politely on the door, trying to be noninvasive when he comes in. Looking at Lazarus, Jacob feels like he looks as a lonely, caged dog. Guess Lazarus doesn't like hospitals. If Jacob might have thought a bit of snark would lighten the mood, he might have used it. But Jacob's not the joking sort, and this is a serious situation. Joking about living might actually prod several a few unwanted buttons. He glances over Lazarus as he walks up to him. What should he say? Questions of well-being feel misplaced.

"Hello, Lazarus." He thinks of how Lazarus said he was going to try and make peace, and he must have tried his best in the fight. "Thank you. For trying to stop the monster. Is there anything I can get for you?"

[numberedshepherd]

Ultimately, "what if" are a pair of very torturous words to the man right now. His mind has always naturally looked for alternative paths, creative exercises in cause and consequence, and with so many variables and so much disaster, it only makes sense for him to backtrack a little bit. What if Jacob had stayed? What if Misa hadn't interfered? What if Richard had gotten there earlier? What if I'd just stayed in the shelter with the others?

He can't stop and reverse time, only live with the way things did play out... even if adjusting to the consequences promises to test him. Being willing to die for his friends is one thing, but being willing to live a more difficult life for them is another, and it's been the subject of many hours of reflective thought.

He glances toward the door when Jacob knocks and enters, setting his good leg down on the floor and sitting up a little straighter (at least, as much as his curved spine will allow.) Jacob's right; he hates hospitals, because every time he's ended up in one, his life has gotten a little worse as a result. He braces himself for the awkward little courtesies as a visitor goes through the song and dance of seeing someone who's in this difficult situation, but Jacob surprises him by saying something he didn't realize he wanted so much to hear: thank you for trying to stop the monster. His breath catches slightly, then he offers a twitchy half-smile in response.

"Anyone would have," he says, and suddenly being here doesn't feel so bad. His leg even seems to hurt less. "Actually, I've been thinking about a drink of water for a little while, but..."

Just getting here to the window was hard enough. The water is back by the bed, where burn victims are supposed to, you know, stay put.

[peacefulwinter]

It had been an easy decision to come here to visit people; it was comparatively harder to do so without wanting to punch a hole in something. The town - her town, she'd helped build it with her own two hands - had been attacked, and she'd been in her home doing. Something. It doesn't matter now. What matters now is that rebuilding needs to start, people need to be nursed back to health. Shepherd's Haven is a mess, and she prides herself on fixing messes. Both those she's in time to prevent, and those she can't reach until too late.

It's not hard to find Lazarus, or indeed any of the others. When Winter comes into the room, taking a tentative step inside the open room to make sure she's not intruding at a bad time, she catches sight of the person she'd worked together with, lived a few doors down from for months. Part of her immediately wants to set her rage aside. He's... clearly already suffered a fair bit. But another part of her feels an incomprehensible anger. Why did this have to happen in the first place?

Aloud, she clears her throat so as not to startle him, if he's not paying attention. "Mind a little company, Lazarus? I feel like... we need to talk." Even tone, no accusations, no hovering. Her feelings are complex at the moment, and she doesn't want to go off on him for something that isn't his fault.

[numberedshepherd]

Physical healing might be the easiest part of all this. The cold, hard reality is that Lazarus should have handled the situation with more sense; even in a moment of panic, in a location ill-prepared for this kind of attack, he should have had the wherewithal to do certain things differently. One of those things was recognizing earlier that Damon was not to be reasoned with, and that solving the problem peacefully was more than naive. It was outright foolish, and he was supposed to be better than that.

"Please," he says, nodding his permission and setting his other leg on the floor. "I've had a lot of time alone with my thoughts and... you're right. We need to talk."

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, shifting one aside when it comes a little too close to the burned area.

"I made a mistake. It's not my fault that a psychopath attacked the settlement. It's not even Luca's, as thoughtless as I find him. But we weren't prepared, and I misjudged some critical things." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, and I'm going to fix this."

[scarlet_devil]

Guess who is feeling frustrated as all hell and feeling like a failure for not being in Shepherd's Haven when everything went to shit? This girl. She doesn't even know if her presence would be very wanted here in the end... And even if she did, what was there for her to say?

Well... at some point she decided to knock at the door to his room. Too bad not everyone can regenerate like she can.

[numberedshepherd]

It's too bad that he can't regenerate, but it's worse that he might not have needed to get hurt at all if he'd bothered to make more of an effort to get in touch with the rest of the world's Numbered population that night. Unfortunately, he'd misjudged a few key variables, and though the words "what if" are a very effective torture tool for those prone to overthinking, things could have gone very differently if he'd handled them the way he knows he's capable of: with a level head and consideration for the bigger picture.

"Come in," he says, fully expecting to see someone who wants to inform him just how much he messed up.

[charcoalfeather]

It was the easiest thing to come to the hospital, following the horrible incident in Shepard's Haven. Rakka had to be there too, for some smaller issues - burned wingtips, smoke inhalation, the general things that would end with you on your feet within the day.

The worst injuries were, unsurprisingly among the members of the town that didn't posses the amazing luck or healing abilities Rakka knew her other friends possessed. Namely Raye. Lazarus was... the unfortunate one. She didn't see him until after the fires died down, and in such a state that she couldn't bear it. But now she was here, outside his door, and she knew that, whatever he was feeling, he needed someone to be there for him.

She knocked, once, and twice, before letting the door open slightly. "....L?"

[numberedshepherd]

The unfortunate one. How many times in his life has Lazarus needed to wear that label? More times than he cares to count, truly, and in this case, the burned leg he sports might be the least of his troubles. A lot of people are furious with him for letting this happen; maybe rightfully so. He's still processing and coming to terms with the fallout, which he might have been able to help circumvent if he had taken different measures in a more timely manner. What he's feeling, through the pain and bitterness toward Damon, is actually a tremendous amount of guilt.

"Come in," he invites, shoulders slumping in a defeated hunch. He's come to expect that many of those who come here want to leave him with a piece of their mind sticking into him like a jagged piece of broken glass, and he can't even get up and move away from their anger. Not that he has any right to avoid what's coming to him for being such an inadequate guardian.

[lovesickkiller]

Misa has been drifting in and out of consciousness for what could have been days or weeks, for all she knows half the time. It isn't that she is never lucid, but it takes an appreciable amount of painkillers to make her current existence bearable and well... what is there to do but stare at the ceiling, the droning television, drift off to sleep.

There is the occasional visitor, and her bedmate turned burn ward mate... Too much and too little to say, there. In the arguments she fabricates in her head, some days Misa is convinced that he hates her and other times that she will never forgive him. But none of it leaves her mouth, for a long time. She at least has the excuse of being unconscious or incoherent entirely for those first few days.

But days are passing.

"You seem better," she murmurs, staring at him by the window. He's not supposed to do that, she's fairly sure. She is also positive that she would not be capable of it, with both legs burnt to a crisp from the calf up to the beginning of her thigh.

How revolting.

[numberedshepherd]

It would be simpler if Lazarus hated her. As it is, there's no easy way to reconcile logic with emotion, leaving him numb and cold and uncertain. He reminds himself that all she said and did came from a place of love, even if it was reckless and almost cost them both their lives. His own guilt is a factor, of course; it was excessive, even in such an irregular situation, to physically restrain her against he will, and he'll always blame himself for what happened to her legs.

Now that she's mentally present enough to speak to him from her place in bed, he has no idea what to expect, knowing that it could really go both ways very easily.

"I was going to come sit by you, to see if you were awake enough to talk," he says, and it might be true. "I guess you beat me to it."

Even though neither of us will be placing in any foot races, anytime soon.

"You look better too. I don't know how you feel, but your legs don't look bad."

That's a matter of opinion, but his, at least, is an honest one.