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Post by AndrogynousMelon on Nov 17, 2006 1:42:16 GMT -5
Ed dipped a finger in the mans blood and traced out his intended cut. "Satisfactory?" He asked, going to the window and cleaning his hands in the salt water.
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Post by Clover on Nov 17, 2006 1:46:51 GMT -5
Cadiz could tell she was trying very hard to ignore him. So hard, in fact, that it well approached redundant. But he wasn't going to talk to her first---the first to break the truce was generally the first to drop dead, and he treasured his survival far too much to waste it bandying words about with some high-flown tavern wench.
He climbed onto the cot behind the man, cradling the limp body against his own. Arms wrapped around the man's chest and arms, latching tightly.
He would likely give the man bruises, but it was better a bruise then an accidentally severed artery and a slow, bleeding death. He held the man close, bowed his head and closed his eyes for a quick second. A small, muttered prayer escaped his lips, and when he opened them, the grey depths were dark; hellsmoke captured on the sea.
"Please hurry, for I don't know how long I will be able to hold him when he fights."
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Post by starvingartist on Nov 17, 2006 1:49:21 GMT -5
"Aye, that works," Skye said, distracted by the saw. It was, slowly, going red. She'd need it much hotter if she wanted to do this cleanly.
"I'm not cutting," she warned. "I'll prep you and hold him and clean up, but I won't cut into him."
It wasn't really a matter of squeamishness, of the feeling of meat beneath a knife. She just didn't trust herself with something that big.
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Post by AndrogynousMelon on Nov 17, 2006 1:51:50 GMT -5
Ed shrugged and returned to his post. "It is the cleanup I am most worried about." He said, eyeing the saw. "My hands are..." And here he held up his large hands. "A bit too clumsy for such fine work." His fingers tended to get in the way of finer stitching. They were too long and too large. But he hadn't any problems cutting.
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Post by Clover on Nov 17, 2006 2:00:54 GMT -5
[oh man. I want to reply, but its late. Thought I'd let you know, so the rp wouldn't stall.. ]
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Post by AndrogynousMelon on Nov 17, 2006 2:01:53 GMT -5
((I'm gonna agree with that xD))
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Post by starvingartist on Nov 17, 2006 2:02:13 GMT -5
She smiled at Edwin, silently (and unwillingly) noting the storm behind Cadiz' eyes.
"This should help a little," she said. "I know you'll want it to bleed some, but the quicker we can cauterize it the easier this will all be. Speaking of ease...get our assistant here to hold his shoulders and torso, I'll get the head. That's a two person job he's looking at."
Immature triumph! She had avoided speech with Cadiz, whom she had mentally given a foul name, and still gotten the message across. The saw was cherry red now, and she grabbed a third candle, holding it beneath the saw as well. If she could get a white core without melting the tool, she'd be happiest.
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Post by starvingartist on Nov 17, 2006 2:03:03 GMT -5
(Lord, last post for awhile. Ridiculously full day tomorrow. I'll be outta town this weekend, but I'll try to post in the evenings sometime)
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Post by lor344 on Nov 17, 2006 18:29:22 GMT -5
((stupid school and sleep and life I have missed so much><)) Kathrine, in the meantime, stood out of the way of the proceedings. Wounds were no stranger to her. Along the time of her silence she heard herself being refered to a mouse, une souris, she thought. She sighs slightly and brushes some hair out of her face with trembling hands. It was better than wench at least.
Her eyes trail over to the surroundings. Moaning men, the stench of blood, crimson stains everywhere. She felt oddly at home. She was not squimish in the least, these men knew nothing of pain. They had gotten off easy, only when they wanted with every fiber of their being the sweet release of death would she tolerate their whines. But no, not now.
She then looks over to Ed and the other two strangers, hovering over one man. She shudders slightly, the proceeding was sickeningly familiar but this man was actually wounded. She takes a slight step forward and merely watches with interest, prepared to aid them at any time she was called upon. Until then she saw no reason to help the pathetic other men. They deserved no sympathy, the pain would do them good.
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Post by lor344 on Nov 17, 2006 19:07:47 GMT -5
((does anyone feel like picking the drunken snake rp up? or is that dead and gone for good?))
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Post by Trey on Nov 18, 2006 12:40:50 GMT -5
((Curse you all for rping four pages, goddamn it. DX))
((The DS wouldn't mind being picked up. My characters may get disoriented and confuzed though. I started writing it yesterday*delight*^_^))
McDougle shifted his gaze between captains, the sweat protruding from Trey showed his pain, despite weather he wanted it to or not. His captain, on the other hand, had a plan in his eyes, and Douglas was eager to learn what Delano would do to break him.
He left as swifty as he'd entered, letting the door shut behind him. The well kept deck made quick way for the first mate, few obsticles in between him and the lower deck's stairwell. Quickly making his way down them, the burly man barely noticed the change, being on a ship for so long, that the stairs gave him no disorientation, he made his way towards where they stored the lines and sails, but slowed at the stench of decompozing flesh. Douglas stopped at the door to the sick-room, gazing into it. McDougle, quick in mind and thus in decisions, entered the cramped quarters, unfortunate as the space may be, all other space was occupied, and the deck needed to be kept free for the working crew. The scottsman strode past the surgeons, but stopped when he saw they were about to amputate, "Only do that if it is neccessary," McDougle noted that they'd be given grief when they got back to port,"That limb'll earn him 800 eightpiece if severed..." Douglas continued down the room to a very distraught looking sailor. The sailor's curly red hair lay matted flat with blood. He was already missing an arm, and it seemed as if he wouldn't have many legs left by the end of the journey either. The sailor's other arm had been holding his own guts in until he had grown too weak to keep his arm there. A bit of entrail laced down to where his arm rest... A little chuckle escaped Douglas as he bent down, head to head. "Well, I was always told I'd outlive you, brother." The firstmate smiled sadly, they had both migrated from scottland together and for a while sailed seperately. McDougle got up, and made his way back to the surgeons, "Do you require anything? I'm on my way to get supplies myself and I could drop some off on the way back..."
((Gotta go to work, I'll post as Trey or something when I get back...))
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Post by Clover on Nov 18, 2006 12:58:38 GMT -5
Cadiz raised his head as the burly Scotsman stepped into the room. He walked as if he owned it, which in a way, the younger male supposed, he did. But what a kingdom to be lord and master over, the moans and sighs of dying men as his music and the bodies of the dead and dying as his domain.
Cadiz shuddered and pushed such thoughts from his mind. It wouldn't do to think of them, wouldn't do to think of those that could not be saved. It would only lead to madness.
Focus now, he thought to himself, on those that can he helped, those that can be brought around. But when McDougle spoke, his tenuous grasp on calm was snapped, and he raised his eyes, glints of knife-steel in a gray-washed face. "You would think of the cost? You would think of the price of a life? Expensive it may be, but this sailor has given his all for this ship, and has recieved naught but pain and suffering as his wages. He will loose the leg regardless, for it stinks of rotting flesh, and is better served now as food for whatever seabeast would stoop so low as to touch that..."
He took a breath, contemplated for one bitter second the fact that he had lipped off to the first mate, and then continued, for his thoughts burnt like bile in the back of his throat. "...He will loose the leg. The question is, will he loose his life as well? For if the leg is not removed now, price be damned, then the rest of him will soon appear as blackened as that limb you see there."
Cadiz stopped, took a breath. His speech had been inpromptu, but heartfelt, and he felt like a fool. For on board ship, heartfelt only took you so far, and insubordination to the mate--for this was indeed what he had done--would earn far more trouble then he would have ever wished.
But the words were out, and there was no taking them back. So he sat, in stony silence now, waiting for the axe to fall.
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Post by lor344 on Nov 18, 2006 13:06:34 GMT -5
Kathrine kneels down beside Cadiz, what was wrong with this person? He took everything too seriously, if he was going to lose his leg anyway why not get money for it? And even if he lost his life what was one more life when there were so many people in this world. Too many for her taste. For a moment she merely looks to him with icy blue hues, truely he did talk to much. Soon though she reaches a pale hand out and touches his cheek lightly, as if in ohpes of comforting him "You need not fear for this man, there have been much worse off than him." She replies in nearly a whiper, her thick french accent coming through fluidly. With that a faint smile plays across her lips and she shifts her gaze down to the man whom they were working on. She dared not look back at the man who had just entered, she could not, he would catch her. The stowaway that she was even though she had recently been discovered she did prefer Ed's company over that of a ruthless captain.
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Post by Clover on Nov 18, 2006 19:47:50 GMT -5
The featherlight touch had Cadiz drawing back as far as possible, as if scalded. The fingers had been cool, delicate little bones covered in delicate flesh, and touching his cheek. And he sneered, one eyebrow raising as he replied back, knife-gray eyes meeting blue, holding the contact, and then narrowing.
"You presume much, Miss. You will not be so bold in the future, or so help me God, you will loose that pretty little hand. Are we clear, Mouse?", he hissed out, eyes narrowing even further.
Really---and he had believed he'd gotten to the point of apathy, only to be sent seething once more by this French mouse. Raising his eyes to McDougle, he never the less whispered out to the stowaway, his voice fierce, "And they all died, so where does that leave this sailor, hmm, Mouse?"
His inflection turned the possible endearment into a snarling accusation, his eyes dangerously cold. Cadiz had all but lost his temper with Skye. He had come very close to raising his voice. Now, his voice was soft, but the effect was that of a coiled snake, more then ready to strike.
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Post by AndrogynousMelon on Nov 18, 2006 20:50:19 GMT -5
Ed didn't care to look at McDougle. Each man had his priorities, he supposed. He didn't care much for where the scotsman had lain his, but it would do him no good to dwell upon it. With a steady, careful hand, he drew the Mouse away from Cadiz. He didn't care about their personal quarrels. "The air in this room is heavy enough." He said without glancing away from the glowing saw. The sick and dying had enough trouble breathing, they didn't need any added tension pressing upon their tired lungs.
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