Bottoms Up
2014-Aug-26, Tuesday 04:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oldsouthTEN FORWARD
(Closed)
He doesn't remember when he got the chance to use his legs again. Frankly, it isn't much of a luxury when McCoy can barely stand on those swollen feet. Each step is numb, like he's been wandering in some godforsaken tundra with snow up to his knees. But it's not. The air is cool, even if his body is boiling from fever. There is no bite or fall of snow, just the feeling.
Five paces in and the doctor crumbles like someone cut his damn strings and let him fall to the floor in pieces. Ah well, it sure's better than walking. The vertigo is less noticeable this low to the ground, that's good. Progress is good. Be nice if he could remember just where in the hell this progress brought him to. His last memories are of a cavernous room, strung up by his hands and bloodied by two sadistic bastards with too much time on their hands--Correction, not enough time. And with that recollection, McCoy finally tries to see the world he's fallen to.
The lights are dim without being an obstacle, but the rest makes no sense. There's people or the sounds of them: Talking, low conversation that's occasionally cut by harsh laughter. His eyes are too swollen to make much sense of anything. But it reminds him of a dining hall, and McCoy has to wonder if this is Heaven. Or Hell. Then again it hurts too much to be anything else but reality. He's not falling into the sweet by and by that easily, that is just not his luck. There's a clatter to his right as if someone jumped from their seat, legs squealing against the ground. Conversation turns quiet, rushed, and somehow closer even as he begins to drool crimson on the clean floors.
SICKBAY
(Open to all)
The readings from his own monitor are what wake him. He can't help but squint in the bright clinical light as his blue eyes adjust. Smells of sterility are familiar, and McCoy doesn't need more than two brain cells to rub together that he's in Sickbay. That certainly puts his mind at ease even if there are a hundred questions whirling around in his brain.
Not to be too cynical, but he hadn't imagined getting out of their time on Minara II alive after the way those Vians worked him over. He doesn't regret his decision--Obviously, since everything seems to have worked out--but it certainly had been a rather character building experience to say the least. And he would do it again for his friends, for Jim and that pointy-eared devil he had the nerve to stuff into that category. Now the question is where are they?
There's no one around him, nurse or otherwise. His private room is, strangely, unfamiliar. Even the biobed is outfitted differently, which puts him back on high alert. Maybe they couldn't make it back to the Enterprise. Maybe his injuries were so grievous he had to be transferred--Though that seemed real unlikely. No, nothing about this makes sense, and he's starting to get frustrated with no answers. He's a doctor for Chrissake! He should be the one holding the cards here.
(Closed)
He doesn't remember when he got the chance to use his legs again. Frankly, it isn't much of a luxury when McCoy can barely stand on those swollen feet. Each step is numb, like he's been wandering in some godforsaken tundra with snow up to his knees. But it's not. The air is cool, even if his body is boiling from fever. There is no bite or fall of snow, just the feeling.
Five paces in and the doctor crumbles like someone cut his damn strings and let him fall to the floor in pieces. Ah well, it sure's better than walking. The vertigo is less noticeable this low to the ground, that's good. Progress is good. Be nice if he could remember just where in the hell this progress brought him to. His last memories are of a cavernous room, strung up by his hands and bloodied by two sadistic bastards with too much time on their hands--Correction, not enough time. And with that recollection, McCoy finally tries to see the world he's fallen to.
The lights are dim without being an obstacle, but the rest makes no sense. There's people or the sounds of them: Talking, low conversation that's occasionally cut by harsh laughter. His eyes are too swollen to make much sense of anything. But it reminds him of a dining hall, and McCoy has to wonder if this is Heaven. Or Hell. Then again it hurts too much to be anything else but reality. He's not falling into the sweet by and by that easily, that is just not his luck. There's a clatter to his right as if someone jumped from their seat, legs squealing against the ground. Conversation turns quiet, rushed, and somehow closer even as he begins to drool crimson on the clean floors.
SICKBAY
(Open to all)
The readings from his own monitor are what wake him. He can't help but squint in the bright clinical light as his blue eyes adjust. Smells of sterility are familiar, and McCoy doesn't need more than two brain cells to rub together that he's in Sickbay. That certainly puts his mind at ease even if there are a hundred questions whirling around in his brain.
Not to be too cynical, but he hadn't imagined getting out of their time on Minara II alive after the way those Vians worked him over. He doesn't regret his decision--Obviously, since everything seems to have worked out--but it certainly had been a rather character building experience to say the least. And he would do it again for his friends, for Jim and that pointy-eared devil he had the nerve to stuff into that category. Now the question is where are they?
There's no one around him, nurse or otherwise. His private room is, strangely, unfamiliar. Even the biobed is outfitted differently, which puts him back on high alert. Maybe they couldn't make it back to the Enterprise. Maybe his injuries were so grievous he had to be transferred--Though that seemed real unlikely. No, nothing about this makes sense, and he's starting to get frustrated with no answers. He's a doctor for Chrissake! He should be the one holding the cards here.