Team #6: Trapped in the Caves

[the_seafarer]

 Somehow, they've been separated.

No. He knows how. She'd been speaking with a number of the new arrivals he hasn't yet met in the main room, and he'd wandered companionably with one of the tour groups, and one room feel away to another until he was down here and she was not, and then the world cracked open under his feet and above his head in a cataclysm of dust and falling rock, a sudden sick lurch of the ground that was meant to be solid, stable, unbroken.

It lasts for an instant and an eternity: the people he's with shout and duck, and he shouts and ducks, instinct leaping to the forefront of conscious thought and wiping it clean, as if an arm thrown over his face could save him from being crushed by a boulder or the weight of the earth above him, as if some frail human reaction could stave off razor-sharp rock edges, spurs of stone, the drowning dust and collapsing ceiling. He's vaguely aware of the child in his group, of throwing himself towards her, in the wild hope that his body might somehow protect hers from the wreckage tumbling around them, but he's too far and the ground bucks and tosses him off his feet, throws him into a wall that hadn't been there before, knocking the air from his lungs and filling his vision with dancing spots.

He rolls. Finds his feet. Thinks: out. Thinks: escape. Knows, with a sick drop of his stomach that's more complete than words: the world is ending, here in this new universe, and they've been separated. 

He can't hear his own voice when he shouts Marian! and couldn't say why he tries, or why he makes a last frantic push for the way he came, one arm shielding his head, and the other reaching like he might find a hand --

And then --

And then there's nothing but settling dust and a low ringing buzz in his ears, and a leaden weight on his chest that only lets him cough out, feeling something shift and twinge unhappily in his back. It's a moment before he can push to his feet, blinking through wide, watering eyes, and then he sees it. 

The way he came. The way they walked only moments before. 

It's a riot of jumbled rock, sharp edges and implacable stone, and impossible weight, and he coughs as he sizes it up with a glance, before turning what's left of the cave they'd been viewing, waving his hand before his face like it might clear some of the moody, persistent dust, taking in the moving figures, the motionless ones. The ground is littered with loose rocks and debris, and he picks his way carefully in the direction of the little girl he'd seen before, trying to peer through the wall of dust, and his heart is hammering in his ears, narrowing his vision, but his voice, though dry and scratched, is the cutting ring of a ship's captain calling for his crew, an army's commander wresting the attention of a field of soldiers.

"Is anyone hurt? Sing out if you can, do it quick!"

Comments

[abyssum_invocat]

It's hard to sing when you're only just regaining consciousness. And no one would know that better than, at the moment, Sinthia.

Sinthia, who is currently sporting a jagged cut above her temple and will soon have a matching lump on the back of her head, and is blinking at the world as it spins like some kind of demented centrifuge, images blurring and rocking and wobbling in a way they honestly ought not to. It's enough to make someone sick. The crumbling, shearing sound of crystalline-fused rock echoes in her ears loud enough that Caspian's call really sounds like little more than a dull susurrus under everything else.

One arm is alright, and both legs, but her right arm is pinned under a rock she can't seem to budge no matter how hard she shoves at it or tugs her arm--an action which only makes her go pale as her stomach clenches, wanting to retch because it hurts that badly to jostle her arm. "Caspian!" she shouts, though the dust clogs her mouth and lifting her voice to be heard over the ringing in her ears only makes her skull throb with her pulse.

[magicsprice]

Gold fortunately hadn't lost consciousness, but he was a little too busy trying to deal with the injury he'd gotten in the tossing around they'd suffered when the quake had hit. He'd attempted first to simply heal the wound, but when his effort not only failed, but gave him a headache to rival the one the head blow had given him, well, needless to say he ceased his efforts in attempting to heal it all at once.

Best try things a little at a time, see if that gained him progress or more pain. If the latter, it was a good thing he hadn't used magic up til now. Though there was the niggling thought in the back of his mind that his earlier actions might have actually been part of the cause for this current upset. Perhaps the crystals were what passed for magic in this world and his attempt at claiming one had caused this backlash.

He was successful however in first slowing and then halting the blood flowing from the scalp wound and a little further careful effort toned the throbbing headache enough he could actually focus his thoughts on checking on the one person he was concerned about in their current little party.

Finding her pinned to the floor via a fallen rock has guilt churning in his stomach. At least the rock is easily enough moved aside to free her. Kneeling beside her, he concerns himself with checking out the arm that had been trapped while he speaks to her. "How bad does it hurt?"

[the_seafarer]

He coughs, looking in the direction of her shout, and makes his way towards her, stepping carefully among the fallen rocks and strewn rubble. "I'm here," he calls. "Hang on, Sinthia, I'm coming."

She's only a child. His mind is trying to race through the fog of shock and adrenaline, his eyes are watering in the dust, but she's not far, and there's another figure already bending over her. Glancing at the man to check for any obvious injuries, he kneels at Sinthia's other side, smiling as strongly and comfortingly as he can. "Hello, there."

The other man is checking her arm, and he casts a quick glance at it as well, but he's never been well versed in the healing arts; his gift in helping the helping the wounded is through bolstering their spirits. "That was a nasty quake, wasn't it?"

His hand goes to her head, gentle. "How's your head? Can you see me all right?"

[abyssum_invocat]

"I can see you okay. You're blurry," she says, very much trying not to look down at her arm.

"My head hurts, and my ears are ringing. I'm cut," she says, trying to list off as many details as she can. It might work to take her mind off the fact that they're trapped and injured. She blinks up at Caspian and at Gold with a look that belies how little she actually functions like a child, breathing deep and slow and even. "My arm's broken. I can feel the bones moving. They hurt," she says simply, because simple says everything she can.

[magicsprice]

Gold could feel the break as well, unfortunately he could also tell the break was far from a clean one. At least none of the bones had broken through the skin, though if they weren't careful in how they moved her arm, that could still happen. He gave the other man a brief glance at the greeting, but refrained from returning it in favor of trying to judge just how badly the break was and how best to tend to it given he was incapable of repairing it via his magic currently.

There was also a passing regret that he had left his cane behind in Neverland and never thought to conjure a replacement while on the ship. He'd had no need of it then however, thus he hadn't given it a thought. Something he found himself ruing now, given he needed something akin to it to splint the girl's arm. He had his scarf, but beyond fashioning a sling from it for her, it was next to useless without something stick like to act as a brace.

"Does anyone have anything that could be used to create a splint?" he called out as he focused for the moment on at least easing the amount of pain that Sinthia was no doubt in. he wouldn't take it all, pain was a valuable tool, but too much was just as bad as none at all.

[rorypond]

There's a cough from somewhere closeby, and then through a cloud of dust and the tumbling of rubble emerges one skinny, tall male nurse.

Just what the doctor crew ordered, right?

He doesn't look too badly hurt, just a couple of surface scratches and some already blossoming bruises. He rubs his head with one hand, groaning and squinting as the dust settles.

"What just happened?" he asks, before his eyes settle on the young girl and what clearly looked like a broken arm, if the swelling and the slightly funny way she holds her arm are any indication.

Suddenly, it's like he's been revived, because his own pain and grogginess are gone.

"Right - d'you mind if I take a look?

"I'm a nurse."

[abyssum_invocat]

Sinthia isn't in great shape, that much is easy to see. Her head is bloody from the gash on her forehead, and it's seeping into her hair, and out of the cut no one's yet discovered on the back of her skull, which explains a great deal of why her vision is blurry. And her arm, well. It's difficult to tell exactly what condition the break is in without an x-ray, but it's not good.

"I don't want you to move it," she says, through the fog of headaches and telepathy that's picking up on all the worry of the few people around her, and worry of her own that they might be trapped and she can't move. "It hurts," Sinthia murmurs, face pale and dirty.

/imma just take this one then

[rorypond]

"I won't move it, promise," Rory says, crouching down towards the girl, hands in front of him in a means-no-harm gesture.

He nods, his movements slow and deliberate, and yet very much gentle. First he inspects her forehead, making a mental note to check on that gash a little later.

"What's your name?" he asks, as he turns his attentions now to her arm.

Re: /imma just take this one then

[the_seafarer]

"Sinthia," he says, partly to answer the man's question, and partly to keep her attention on him. His hand goes to her cheek, and he smiles, comforting and calm. Her cheek is warm under his hand, her hair dusty and full of grit as he brushes it back from her forehead.

"I know it hurts, dear one. Be brave. It'll be all right. We'll have you out of here and back on the ship in no time at all."

[abyssum_invocat]

"I want to go home now," she says, looking straight up at Caspian with her lip between her teeth, voice wavering. It's not the same kind of pain as before, when everything hurt for hours while she was in that machine, before she ever came here.

"I don't want to be here anymore," Sinthia murmurs as her heartbeat rises. She keeps oddly flickering--not teleporting, but it's hard to keep control over abilities like intangibility when you're hurt and worried--and her breathing hitches.

[the_seafarer]

"I know."

He won't lie to her. Comfort is still a fair, fine line from false hope, and he won't say they'll take her home now, or that they can escape as soon as they pull her free. They cannot, and he won't.

But he can keep his hand on her hair, and keep her eyes on his. "I'll take you home soon, Sinthia. Back to the ship. We'll find our way out, and they'll come for us --"

The words drop off like pebbles over a cliffside, and his fingers stiffen, but do not leave her hair. "Sinthia? Are you doing that?"

[abyssum_invocat]

She bites down on the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste the dirty copper taste of her own blood pulsing under the thin tissue layers.

"Y--yes," she whispers, trying to tamp it down and not succeeding. and now she's looking anywhere but at Caspian and Rory and the others, because that will only end in reciprocity, sharing memories and thoughts and things she desperately wants no one else to see, ever. "I can't stop. Please, I wan to be able to stop."

[the_seafarer]

He reaches for her hand, to hold it firm in his own warm, solid one, without flinching at the strange flicker, as if she isn't really real --

But she is. Just a scared little girl, no older than Lucy when Lucy first stepped through the wardrobe and broke the wintry spell of Old Magic. "Shh." Soothing, low and comforting, hoping to distract her so the nurse -- Rory -- can examine her wounds. "It's all right, little one. I know it's frightening, but you're not alone. You can do this. I'm right here."

[abyssum_invocat]

"I c--can't stop," she whispers, and the flickers are lasting longer each time, periods where she's there, but she can't be touched, things will go right through.

"I want to go home, Caspian." Even being with her father would be better than this, than being trapped and unable to get free.

/some alternate-ish version of rory emerging from the rubble

[rorypond]

"M'all right," Rory calls out, his own voice sounding hoarse and dry to him.

He lets out a cough, and then another, satisfied when the itching and dryness more or less subsides.

Ugh.

He has no idea what happened, and a part of him even wishes he'd taken Amy's offer of staying on the ship and having the room to themselves instead of bloody exploring this place like he was trying to be the Doctor or something.

(Actually, he wasn't. Really, he wasn't. He'd just gotten a bit carried away with the whole Star Trekiness of this adventure ... and one thing led to another, and now he's stuck in a cave.

Brilliant.)

"What exactly just happened?"

[the_seafarer]

"An earthquake, I expect."

Caspian's tone is dry and level, but strained; he'd been uncomfortable above this shaking ground, caught in memories of the Last Day

(the earth cracking beneath his feet, the final trumpeting destruction of the Shadowlands that were his home, the door that will not open again --)

and as he pulls himself to his feet, he casts a venomous glance at the fallen rock and detritus around them. "Are you hurt?"

[rorypond]

Rory manages to get to his feet, momentarily off-balance, while the ringing in his head slows to a stop and his vertigo readjusts itself.

He shakes his head again, dusts himself off, bits of debris falling from his clothing.

"No, no," he says, "I'm fine. Just startled."

And a bit bruised, but nothing that won't fade in a few days time.

"Are you? I ought to - we ought to check to make sure everyone's fine."

[the_seafarer]

"Up you come," he says, reaching out to grip the man's forearm, hauling to help him to his feet. "Nay, I'm not hurt -- but there is one wounded, a girl --"

His ears are still ringing, and his vision is blurred, but he suspects it's a result of shock and the dust still clouding the air. "What's your name?"

Focus. If they can all focus, and stay calm, they may make it out of here. He's survived so much worse before --

(Somewhere, in a safer place, a calmer time, Marian tosses her skeptical head and demands to know what, precisely, he might call worse than having the ground cave in over his head, but he's still breathing, can still move, and she isn't trapped here, so it is, it's better)

"There are five of us trapped but conscious; if someone can stay with the wounded, I'll search for a path out among the rubble."

[rorypond]

"Rory," he replies. "Rory Williams."

He runs a hand through his hair, dust flopping a light cloud around him, that he waves away with the same hand.

He shuts his eyes, then opens them again, nodding in response to this information. "Conscious. Conscious is good. I can stay with them - I'm a nurse. I help in the sickbay.

"But - er. You'll need someone with you if you're going to go off for a bit."

Buddy systems are important, Caspian.