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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 21 2010, 02:38 AM (1,246 Views) | |
| Deleted User | Sep 21 2010, 02:38 AM Post #1 |
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A few ways away from the actual manor, in the outskirts of the near-by town- they are fairly independent; they tend to their own crops and livestock to supply themselves food, trading any extra for profit. Modest and humble in appearance, there is enough space for the family to live comfortably. -- ![]() -NPC: Rowland Stone- When Rowland followed Rebecca into the Infirmary, he was admittedly a bit perplexed and unsure of what to do, thankfully, Rebecca took care of almost all of the talking. She assured them that he was trustworthy, and that he would help. Rowland nodded to assure them, informed them that they could take the servant's entrance to avoid detection. Brandin then picked Anastasia up, telling Parker to stay behind much to his displeasure. Rowland began leading the way, while Rebecca followed behind all of them to make sure they weren't being watched nor followed. (Permission to GM given) Getting out of the manor was easy enough, Rowland had done so on a variety of occasions, but he also knew that this was an urgent matter so rather than risk taking too long by taking a less direct path, he got on a road from the beginning. His house wasn't directly in the town, but rather a bit more distant and recluse. He didn't spend much time on the main road before he had to diverge to a path -created by cart and horse of his very family- in order to reach his home. He walked quickly up the man-made path, checking behind him to make sure that everyone was still following him, before he took one, two, three, four long steps to the front door and knocked hurriedly. He heard immediate footsteps behind the door, and saw the light from the candle he assumed was just illuminated, creep under the front door. "Mum? It's Rowland," he spoke out not wanting his mother to worry about the possibility of who might be knocking on their door at this time of night. The door immediately opened, revealing his mother, a very worried looking Arleen Stone. "Rowland? Why are you here, what's wrong?" She wrapped her homemade wool shawl tighter around her shoulders as she inspected her son's face for any kind of injury or creased worry. Rowland shook his head, "I'm alright. It's my-" he looked behind him, not sure what to call the crowd of people he was helping. Well, who they were didn't really matter right now so he went with what he knew to be true at the moment. "They're guests at the Manor, they need help. She's in labor." A very surprised Arleen held up her candle higher, just now noticing the other people standing behind Rowland. She quickly took in their disheveled appearances, and her eyes immediately widened in shock as she saw the state of the young woman who was being carried by the man. "Oh my dear God, come in! Quickly," she ushered all of them in, looking about to check the coast clear before she closed the door once everyone was inside. "Second door on your left, you can put her in there," she informed, pointing at the door while she too made her way over, grabbing all the candles she could on the way so she could set them around the room to provide some light. |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Sep 21 2010, 03:27 AM Post #2 |
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She actually felt ashamed. It wasn't abnormal for her to feel that way at that moment, given the fact that she felt like such a colossal failure, but she had been avoiding Rowland's gaze. When they got to the house, she felt even worse at the sound of Rowland telling his mother 'she's in labour'. It made her feel even worse when the wonderful woman asked no questions, and even let them into her house. When Brandin had made motions to pick her up, Annie protested; as weak as she felt, that was the second thing she felt firm about. There was no way that she was going to contaminate and disease anyone else. She was bleeding at an alarming rate, even to her, already feeling dizzy and freezing in the ten minutes, max, it took for them to have a plan. So Brandin made sure to have on gloves. She would have protested further, but he'd also given her a calming potion. Due to her severe loss in weight, it acted a little stronger for her. So she was feeling ashamed as they walked into the house, but she was quiet and docile in Brandin's arms as they headed into the room Rowland's mother had alloted her. She would have been panicking, worried about the blood soaking through his clothes. Worried about the baby. Worried about the fact that she was having her child and Jason wasn't even there. This whole situation just sucked, basically, and there wasn't all that much she could do about it. All she could do was just keep as silent as she possibly could, trying not to cry out and every movement Brandin made; every contraction she fought. Hopefully, that would just be enough. |
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| Rebecca Cowen | Sep 21 2010, 03:50 AM Post #3 |
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The only thing Brandin had said to her in ten minutes was to avoid touching any of Anastasia's blood and to clean up traces of it as he carried her. The instruction was peculiar, but his face was stone and his words fire: she decided simply not to fuss and to do exactly as she was told. Rowland's presence was, for some bizarre reason, comforting--but every step she took trailing them, eyes peeled for people who might watch and wand out to erase the trail of blood they were leaving behind. The sight of so much blood was churning her stomach; her wide-eyes were brimming with tears of her own distress. After nearly tripping over her gown for the third time due to her hasty backwards walk, she looked down and gave it up as a lost cause. A flash of her wand, and she'd severed the gown to hang over her knees instead, transfiguring her shoes into flats so she might stop sinking in the dirt and still keep up. Rowland was leading the way, which left her eyes on the back of his head half of their journey, but every time she cast a glance at him, her heart seemed to sink lower in her stomach somewhere, and rest there, beating it's reminder of how many lies she was about to confess. She felt small; smaller still when she realized that his discovery of their lie had not given him the slightest moment of faltering from helping them. She swallowed. Crossing the threshold quickly, she turned to Rowland's mother with Brandin moving immediately towards where she had pointed. "Thank you." She murmured, not sure what in the world she could say to convey her gratitude, even if she had time. Making to follow Brandin, she was surprised when he fixed her with another stare and shook his head firmly. "You and Rowland...stay out here. There's no time to explain properly. I'm going to need you, but not immediately, and it's better until then if you stay here." With that, Brandin had swept himself and Anastasia into the room with his mother, while Rebecca hastened to step back, biting her lip. Tears spilled out of her eyes immediately, gaze stuck on the wood door the three of them had disappeared behind. There was utter silence in the room for a moment as the door clicked shut. Her hand fell through the air, fingertips brushing the silence in the thick air and the door. As she traced the slivers in the wood she let out a gasped, "Oh!" More tears fell instantly, her hand throwing them off her cheeks as she sniffled, looking down and out of pure aggravation, kicked her shoes off. She felt disgusting. She felt helpless. The pain and hell that Anastasia was going through...it was unimaginable to her. It was unimaginable, and their well-being was the only thing that mattered to her. Even as she stood there, bare feet in a gown cut far too short by her wand, sweaty, sniffling and disgusting, it was all that mattered. Rebecca turned back to Rowland slowly, biting her lip and shaking her head, immediately launching into a wave of new tears. "I'm sorry." It burst out of her, an incredibly small apology next to everything she was going to say. "I'm so sorry. I know...I know, we've been lying..." She rubbed at her cheeks again. "About...more, than just this. This...this wasn't supposed to happen. We weren't even supposed to...if Parker hadn't...we..." She cast her gaze back to the door, more tears making it impossible for her to finish her incoherant thoughts and shaking violently enough that she leaned against the wall to save herself plainly, from falling down. Her noise--her sniffling, crying and panic however--wasn't nearly enough to drown out the sounds from next room that had started. Trying and failing to steady herself, she shook her head and said in a smaller voice, "I just can't believe this." |
![]() your eyes whispered: have we met? this night is flawless: don't you let it go | |
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| Brandin Faye | Sep 21 2010, 05:29 AM Post #4 |
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Whatever the troubles of escaping through deserted servant's quarters while carrying the rag doll of Anastasia cradled to his chest, Brandin paid them no mind. Slipping gloves on and taking a few steps through corridors and out onto a dirt path was the easy part. There were complications, but he was as safe as he possibly could be and due to his completely resolute aversion to losing any of them, it was the best he could do. Rebecca was wiping clean the blood behind them magically, a spell Brandin had snapped to increase it's power--Scourgify alone would not have been enough in his mind. Whether she had put together his wariness with his instructions or simply thought she was keeping people off their trail, Brandin didn't know, and he didn't be found to accurately state that he cared. The panic, tears, anger, frustration--these were emotions his companions were experiencing. These were emotions he could not be allowed to feel. He had to stay calm. He had a different sense; that of duty and single-minded purpose. His mind ran down an organized list of procedural diagrams and incantations. There were red flags all over his mental notes for the simple precautions. Whatever sheets they used would be burned (he would be sure, naturally, to procure new ones for Mrs. Stone as only the beginning of their repayment). He did, most unfortunately, require her help in the delivery as Rebecca's explanation of how many times she had been through labor meant she had to know a better way to help keep Anastasia calm and could tell him what to do. At least, it was the best they had. That was where the duty came in. Brandin was neither trained nor schooled in the intricacies of what he was about to undertaken. That was not to say he was unprepared. He was prepared. He was prepared, quite simply, to do whatever he could and whatever it took. He had a substantial knowledge of basic anatomical procedures--it wasn't like the research for his engineered virus had skipped such intricacies. And most helpfully of all perhaps, Catalina was pregnant and as such, he had spent a good month reading books on 'What To Expect' and the particulars of magical birth. Reciting his unsubstantiated credentials to himself calmed him, but when he came into the house he inclined a single nod of thanks towards Mrs. Stone and had snapped at Rebecca to stay out for now. The longer she and Rowland could avoid contact with the room, the better the chances were for keeping the contamination contained. The door shut behind them with an unnaturally final click, but Brandin spun around instantly heading toward a bed. The room they had entered appeared to be a spare bedroom, complete with dusty boxes no doubt used for storage and a nice looking vanity. Everything, though perhaps small, was well-kept and maintained with an oddly formal air. Momentary curiosity on Rowland's lineage was replaced with a sudden cry of Anastasia as he spread her down on the blankets. His calming potion had done it's work for now, but he knew it was not going to help for long. Though nice, it was hardly an ideal sterile environment and Brandin swallowed, reaching for his wand. First, he spoke nothing but cleaning spells. He conjured a basin for the side of the bed, as well as a cool washcloth soaked in simple water for the sweat. Her shaking was getting to him, her thin blood splattering and scant, already soaking into the sheets. An idea occurring to him, he cast over his clothes first--and then Mrs. Stone's, an Impervius! charm. If such a spell could keep water off of them, it could repel the squirts of contaminated blood. Not even bothering to count to ten as he was already quite steady, Brandin turned to look at Mrs. Stone, holding out gloves. There was no questions about what he needed to do. "I need you to put these on, and keep as much of yourself as covered as possible. I don't have time to explain but...for the sake of the baby; there's no chance of a normal labor." He spoke firmly. "I really, can't thank you enough." That was as much thought as he could spare for gratitude right at that moment; a hurried thanks spoken while he conjured dozens of bandages and gauzes, clearly for pushing to the wound he was about to create. Towels he slid underneath the gown, trying to create a softer cushion. Managing her pain was truly the problem. As many spells to calm as he could cast, this was going to hurt. It was going to hurt in one of those indescribable senses, and he firmly disliked causing her any pain, let alone the equivalent of setting her aflame. Biting on his bottom lip, for the first time in moments, he bent over top of Ana, wiping strands of hair out of her face and saying carefully, "I need you to lay as still as possible, stay as calm as possible. I am sorry. They used chlorofoam for anaesthesia back -- in this time. I'd prefer not to use it as a painkiller if I can help it; the toxicity risk is too great. I can cast an area-specific numbing spell, but it won't be complete. You're still going to feel pain and in particular--a great amount of pressure. I'll keep talking as I go, tell you exactly what's happening." It was imperative that she understand exactly what was happening in his mind. "From there, I'm going to use my wand instead of instruments; the room is as sterile as I could make it. We'll get rid of what we need to. I'll use a vertical incision to reach your daughter, deliver her from there and remove the placenta, cut the cord, and then close. Okay? I am going to save her, Anastasia, and you as well." He bent his lips for a moment to her forehead to kiss her, though he had no illusions about what such a gesture could offer her literally. It wasn't for medical benefit that he kissed her, rather a gentle emotional reminder of his commitment. His own stomach squirmed slightly, but he ignored that, straightening and lifting his wand to look at Mrs. Stone. "I'll need your help to keep pressure, and give me light, but mostly? Can you just help me keep her calm? I want to move as quickly as possibly..." And again, as he was speaking, he was conjuring: this time machines, powered purely by magic and looking as though he'd stolen them from modern-day Mungos. Put plainly: Brandin didn't trust anything back in this era to take care of her daughter once he'd delivered her. She was only twenty-five weeks. Getting out of the manor, putting gloves on, impervius' proofing the room... They had been the easy part. Edited by Brandin Faye, Sep 21 2010, 05:38 AM.
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I am nothing more than A little boy inside That cries out for attention Yet I always try to hide Cause I talk to you like children Though I don't know how I feel But I know I'll do the right thing If the right thing is revealed | |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Sep 21 2010, 05:41 PM Post #5 |
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"Your house is lovely." The trembling Annie made an effort to tell the woman who had just taken them in how grateful she was. Rebecca had clearly chosen a good sort to be friends with; they didn't seem to judge her whatsoever, at least not yet. Instead they just were willing to help and weren't asking questions whatsoever. In her own generation and time? That wasn't a prominent quality. However, then Anastasia was being laid down on the bed; an excruciating motion that had her, despite her wishes, shrieking. She hadn't laid on her back for months, and now doing so already was putting pressure into her stomach and hips. To counteract, she just attempted to stare up at the ceiling and breathe, in, and out. Deeply, and calmly. It wasn't working. Her intense gaze shot to Brandin instead when he started talking to her, needing to have something to zone into. Already it was agony; she knew what he meant when he said 'n ochance of a normal labor'. She knew she was about to be cut open. It scared her almost as much as the thought of her child coming out at twenty-five weeks. His instructions she listened to as well as she could concentrate, pausing for a moment to force her hysterics to pull back. It took her a few swallows to get her dry throat to be able to speak, and she told him, "I'll hold still as I can but I'm going to...jerk..." That wasn't really a voluntary reaction on her part. It would just be her body's reaction; similar to how she had when Liz had stabbed her. The chloroform she agreed with; that was a poison, and she didn't want to switch one pain for another. Instead, she accepted the numbing spell as the only option. She was actually a little relieved that he was going to use his wand for the pure reason of him coming into less contact with her blood, but the rest of what he was going to do was lost on her. Anastasia had done a lot of research on cesarean sections for this reason exactly; she didn't want her child to have to increase her chances of being born with HIV in a vaginal birth. Therefore, the vertical 'incision', as Brandin so succinctly put it, confused her a little while. Still, she trusted him to do what he thought was best; he was the only hope she had. "Okay." Annie told him, laying her head back against the bed and closing her eyes, hands gripping the mattress in preparation. Merlin, she prayed, give her the strength to get through this. "Just remember your promise." She whispered, not moving from her white-knuckled position. The kiss that he gave her might have comforted her if his lips didn't feel so cool against her skin; she was flipping between raging-fire hot to dry-ice cold, and it caused her to shiver. She was terrified, and she just had to have a little faith. She just had to trust him, and know that he would take really, really great care of her daughter until the child could be given to Jason. Anastasia had no qualms or denial about the fact that she might be dying right there. She'd already lost a lot of blood and the HIV had weakened her substantially. An ordeal this huge on her body was like asking for that endless blackness, when even the gentlest of colds could have gotten her to a similar result. After a few deep breaths - her face screwing up when the contractions hit - she opened her eyes one more moment, fear dulling in her eyes as she told Brandin, "I love you, and I trust your abilities. My daughter's in your hands, Brandin, but I don't want you to blame yourself if fate's decided it's my time. This is miracle work. I just wanted to let you know that." From there, Anastasia fell silent, tense as she waited for things to start. |
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| Brandin Faye | Sep 24 2010, 08:03 AM Post #6 |
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Miracle work, she called it. Brandin took that simply in stride. It wasn't a miracle. Miracle implied there might be divine intervention. There was no brilliant white light about to possess his body and take his hands: there was only him, his own brain and his own wand. Brandin wasn't relying on anyone or anything but himself, and luckily: he happened to have faith in his own abilities. He blinked at her words. Truth was, he could count on his hands the number of times someone had actually opened their lips to tell him they loved him. Love was an emotion he'd rebelled against, fought against. It was an almost entirely unknown entity. If he'd ever felt it before, he hadn't known what to call it. He still couldn't put a name to it. He didn't know how to even try. He blinked again. And then he thought about Anastasia. He thought about how she treated him, how she talked to him. He thought about the many amazing things she'd shown him, and he realized it didn't matter if he wasn't sure what it meant. It mattered to Anastasia because she'd understand it, if he couldn't. So to her statement, she simply nodded gratefully, his eyes locked on hers. The strangest thing happened as Anastasia reiterated his promise (to which he nodded, though perhaps his head jerk was somewhat more "irked"): he could have sworn for a moment he'd heard Parker. His eyes cast around the room for his brother. It would have been just like him to have slipped out anyways. There was no one in the room however, besides Anastasia, himself, and Mrs. Stone. Yet he'd been sure he'd heard a shaky, 'So, no pressure...' The feeble, flat joke internally did nothing but make him want to roll his eyes. Parker's presence in his mind on the other hand, wasn't so easily forgotten. If he was going to perform this surgery and have to decide in split seconds ways he could save both or be forced to fulfill his promise, he couldn't have Parker in his mind. He couldn't be thinking about his brother's face when they next came face to face. He couldn't think about Jason back at home. His hand, still gently tucking hair behind Ana's ear as she spoke stilled and he appeared to stiffen. Their faces, swimming before his eyes and their words echoing with their duty melted away as he took a steadying breath. If he was going to do this, he had to act like he didn't know them at all. His face moved to stone; his lips froze in an unreadable, mute expression and his single nod of understanding was that of doctor to patient, not friend to friend. His hands were steady. His breathing was even. He replaced the gloves, burning the ones he'd been wearing with a controlled wave of his wand. He pulled back, going to undo the violet gown, splattered as it was with blood and lift the skirt gently as he could to reach her stomach. His contact might be strictly Healer-oriented, but he kept his eyes high with firm determination; she had to be uncomfortable enough. Worrying about that too... It wasn't an option to Brandin. When her stomach was bare; the skirts severed out of the way and pushed up; he lifted his wand to clean her skin with a few separate quick spells. Cleaning was secondary, however, to hoping that his half-way numbing spell would be enough deaden the immediate pain; the last thing he wanted was to send her into shock. Surgery prepared, he took a breath, and nodded. There was literally, no time to waste. Quietly, he lifted his wand and his hand to indicate a countdown: five, four, three, two... At which point, he slowly began moving his wand across and up her stomach, a vertical cut appearing as he went. He was slicing through her skin and flesh, but also tendons, fat layers, and other tissues, with his eyes firm on his task, though his other hand had gone to her arm, to help keep her breathing at the very least. |
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I am nothing more than A little boy inside That cries out for attention Yet I always try to hide Cause I talk to you like children Though I don't know how I feel But I know I'll do the right thing If the right thing is revealed | |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Sep 24 2010, 03:28 PM Post #7 |
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Brandin had gone basically cold as stone, a man etched out of rock not even warmed by the sun. He stopped speaking, stopped doing anything but looking with that cool, calculated expression Annie knew means his mind was whirling around in many directions. For a moment he had looked around like he was looking for something, but then he went to work. She watched him all but turn off, and it did nothing more than to make her more nervous. Taking off her clothes wasn't exactly something that Annie had thought about, so when Brandin started to remove her skirts, Annie flushed. It was still the dark, purple coloration as it had been the first day she'd fainted in front of Damocles, but it was color nonetheless. Fighting to stay still and not squrim, Annie started writing in her head. Even writing didn't help when he started cutting though, her entire body seizing and trying to shrink away from him .It was involuntary, and no matter how hard she tried, she still trembled. Tears still streamed down her face with newfound fervor, screams bubbled in her throat waiting their turn to be released. Hot flashes of agony ripped up and down her body until she was ready to beg for it all to stop. Brandin's grip on her arm didn't comfort her the slightest in his mask, hyperventilating as she tried to breathe through the cutting. Her stomach burned; her entire body felt like it was throbbing and Anastasia couldn't help but feel like she was back in Russia, six years ago. It was the only experience she could relate it to. As the cutting continued, Anastasia realized that the high-pitched noise in the room was gone, her throat sore and raw. After a while, Annie started to feel dizzy, empty. The amount of blood she was losing made her feel empty, and she realized she was shaking. No matter how tight she held onto the sides of the bed; no matter how much she attempted to stop herself, she was trembling. It was very nearly an out of body experience; she didn't feel like her mind was clear, felt cloudy and as if this wasn't really happening. It was surreal...impossible. It pained her so badly, a white-hot feeling, that she ceased to feel at all. Closing her eyes and hoping for it all to go away - especially the pressure in her chest, so she could breathe - Annie slowly grew less and less conscious. |
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| Brandin Faye | Sep 26 2010, 07:57 AM Post #8 |
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The screams were those of nightmare. Choked by her lack of air, they nonetheless rang in everyone's ears even as she died off. Brandin's face flickered; his ear twitched with his pang of guilt. All he had done to ease her pain was cast a regional spell of numbness. It was as effective, he thought, as laying a cool washcloth above a flaming forehead. While it might have provided temporary relief, there was no ignoring the fever. His brow screwed up in concentration, he nodded to Rowland's mother as he continued cutting. He couldn't hear her words of counsel; they were all of counting breaths and focused on keeping hope alive. Blood was pouring thick from the wound, streaming and coloring the sheets around her while she shook and sweat in pain. He used one hand to squish the towels closer, sopping up as much as he could without removing his eyes from his cutting. He needed about six arms, he was learning too late. The only light in the room came from flickering flames in holstered lights and the moonlight pouring through the window. His wand being his instrument of cutting, he could not use it to cast a single Lumos, nor could he keep pressure at the same time as peel back her skin so as to seek out the next layer he'd need to cut. If ever there was a time Brandin wanted divine intervention, it was right this moment: he would turn Hindu if he had to, to gift himself with the extra limbs. She had stopped screaming. Aggravated, he thrust his arm back, murmuring under his breath. From the tip of his wand a floating sphere of blue light emerged, casting a ghostly luminescence on the scene. His wand moved again, his hand pressing to her stomach. He was enlarging his hole with his thumb and forefinger, the sphere floating around his head as he bent forward to continue the spell as fast and as carefully as he could move. In the hazy light, he could see multiple layers he'd been cutting through--the cells and fat were being squished to the side so that he could see her intestines, bladder, stomach...uterus. Before he could continue however, he muttered in surprise at a rupture, blood shooting forward and splattering his hands, repelled by his spell. His eyes narrowed and Brandin quickly cast Exuro. His wand flared red, a bright fire-engine color to contrast the maroon of her blood as he cauterized a vessel. Effectively burning the burst hole shut, Brandin swallowed and examined critically the mass of pulsating organs in front of him once more. However worrying it as that she was hardly moving as she sank into unconsciousness was, Brandin was only spurred to move faster. His eyes locating the uterus; the light hovered above the hole. Taking only one breath to steady himself, he resumed slicing, this time thick into her the tissue of her uterine wall. Transparent, watery amniotic fluid slipped out, the turgid substance coating the gloved thumb before he had cast a spell of suction. The vacuum was magical, but his conjured forceps were not as he continued to cut deeper, holding them open until he saw a tiny head. His eyes went wide as he realized he was looking directly as her daughter, her head no larger then the space between his fingers with eyes shut tight. She was nestled still in her pelvis. The sheer wonder of that moment stalled him for a heartbeat. His breath caught as the moment seemed to hang out. That was her daughter. Her daughter, tiny, covered in fluid with blood too close...much too close... As though a wire snapped in his brain, Brandin leaned closer again, tucking his wand in his ear and as gently as possible cradling his hands around her head. To say he was being careful as he lifted her, disengaging her from the pelvis and cradling her head, was an utter understatement: Brandin was terrified he was going to break her. Annie's stomach was squeezing around the hole, as he lifted, pressing even as her head hit the air. His lips were moving soundlessly with words of spells, wandless magic having taken over for suctioning. Cleaning her up had to be his first priority as he continue to lift her out. Murmuring the spells, he was wiping the area around her nose and mouth, offering as much help to get her to breathe and realizing with shocks of terror that it wasn't happening. There was no crying; her chest was not rising and falling soundly. He was quite afraid the moment he cut her free she was going to stop breathing altogether and he--for a hundredth time--resolved to move even more quickly. Scooping lower into the cavity, Brandin's hand wrapped around her carefully, searching the umbilical cord out. As he lifted this time, however gentle he was being, he continued to disengage the cord slowly, lest it wrap around her neck. Having difficulty wresting her free, he spoke for the first time in four minutes to Mrs. Stone; she had to press on her upper stomach, help squeeze her out. His eyes were still full of a terrible wonder and fear. His determination alone was not bringing that Hindu God, but he was refusing to let himself doubt consciously. With her finally free a minute later, Brandin muttered the spell to cut her umbilical cord and lifted her into the air as gently as possible. His foot was hooking the machine beside, tiny hand towels and spells suctioning and cleaning her as fast as he could manage. The machine was an insulator to protect the fragile temperature she required; powered entirely by magic, he had half a dozen wires to hook her into within to get her breathing again. Though he was not willing entirely to part from Anastasia, he had no choice for a minute. His promise rang in his ears as he stepped towards the machine, lowering her baby gently and carefully onto the soft cushion within, as soft as he could make it. He'd added cushioning charms to protect her, and he attached the machines as carefully as possible. Murmuring under his breath a few spells--even Anapneo--desperate as he was to get her to breathe, the machines seemed to take care of that a moment later. "No." He spoke to no-one in particular. "No, I can do this, I can save them both." And in a quieter, whispered, desperate voice, he murmured, "She's not going to die."... Turning back to Anastasia now, the beeping of the machine beside him help half of his attention even as he began to work in reverse at top speed. First he removed her placenta; leaning closer to inspect any damage he might have caused and breathing his first true sigh of relief. Zoned as he was to the sounds of the meek facts that she was still alive, Brandin's relaxation only came from knowing he had not damaged her ovaries or tubes. As he began to repair and magically sew the wounds, he thanked merlin that he was able to close within minutes as opposed to an hour as the surgery would usually take. As her stomach closed once more, it was as though sounds and thoughts suddenly crashed against Brandin's ears. As though he had not been truly present for the minutes he had worked--was it only minutes?--he was suddenly thrust back into the emotional myriad of their current unfortunate reality. He was casting scougify over and over again, levitating the towels around them and tossing them into a bin beside him--which he promptly lit aflame. Contamination was a pressing matter, as was the baby--the way too tiny, born far too early form as large as his palm cradled in a machine from another time. Pressing, these matters were. However, they were no longer the dire situation. His eyes were now trained on Anastasia. She had lost too much blood. She was not conscious. Her breath was slow, ragged, and labored. Replacing his gloves for the third time (the second pair meeting a similarly fiery death) and conjuring a clean sheet to wrap around her bare abdomen, he slipped his hands into his pocket, removing a single vial. The potion was not his first choice, but a potioneers habit had him always caring basics on him--and as with the Calming potion, he had a soothing potion to place directly on the long scar he had sewed up. It wasn't perfect. It was a gel that he rolled on to ease the stretching and burning beneath the numb, trying to offer what tiny release he could to the pain. He didn't want to wake her up to shock her with it once more. Then he pointed his wand at her esophagus, muttering under his breath another Anapneo to ease her breathing, a third potion fumbling forward, the rim of the vial against her lips. The blood replenishing potion was a stop gap, as was his gel, but these were stop gaps necessary to her life. Wiping sweat off her brow with his thumb, he tipped the vial back as hard as he could, his hand against her mouth a moment later to insure it trickled down. He was breathing heavily himself, his adrenaline pounding in his ears. He hardly noticed the light sweat falling off his own eyebrows until a drop splattered on the sheets she was cradled within. When he was sure he had done all he could while she was still unconscious, he bit his lip and straightened, shaking his head again. "Please, Ana.." He muttered in perfect Russian. His hand groped for her neck, fingers probing for a pulse. "Wake up..." His wand waved a final time, in a very final way, casting it's wordless Ennervate spell and his stricken face hovering above hers. His other hand was atop the glass machine, his eyes flicking back and forth between them both. The were by no means out of the woods. He'd performed the surgery on his own, there was no medicine he had on hand to knock out the spells, infection risk was only as minimal as he could make it. It was stop gaps all the way through. It was stop gaps and half-jobs and only partially complete to keep them both alive, though it seemed only to delay the inevitable. But they were both alive. That was what mattered. They were both still breathing, however shallowly, however supported, however shaky. They were both alive. And only now did Brandin realize he was the third person in the room hardly breathing. Clearing his throat, he cast a third Anapneo on himself and collapsed against the bed, his knees hitting the floor with a dull thud of pain he ignored. They were both alive. Edited by Brandin Faye, Sep 26 2010, 08:00 AM.
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I am nothing more than A little boy inside That cries out for attention Yet I always try to hide Cause I talk to you like children Though I don't know how I feel But I know I'll do the right thing If the right thing is revealed | |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Sep 27 2010, 04:46 AM Post #9 |
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By the time that her multiple layers of skin had been cut through, Annie had gone limp. It was her body trying to protect her once again, blocking out the pain from her mental state of mind. However, it didn't mean that she didn't continue to react to what was happening to her body. Shocks ran up and down her nervous system, causing her to continually tremble and jump at every new movement he made. Blood continued to spill out over the wound, and cling to any other material. It stained her skin; his gloves, gathering around the forceps in pools. Her breathing became shallower and more laboured, skin growing more colorless, lips turning bloodless and grey, fingertips fading to blue. She simply gave into the blackness. When Brandin finally made his way into Anastasia's uterus, the tiny fetus was in complete breech position, her little, underdeveloped legs crossed and her head upright. Her skin, despite it's unoxygenated blueish tone, was no longer translucent and instead had a pink glow. Her half-inch fingers wavered slightly in the cool air, reaching for the warmth previously given to her from the amniotic fluid that had gushed out. Her arm extended towards Brandin's face, tiny fist clenching as she met nothing but air. Her nostrils, though clear, only flared as she attempted to take in air to her still developing lungs, blood vessels having begun their growth in that highly important organ. Air sacks had just finished developing, something necessary for the first breath of air - a breath she wasn't taking. The baby only weighed a pound, her length being just a small bit longer than a ballpoint pen; her width being about half of that. As she was pulled ever so carefully out of her safe home of the past twenty-five weeks, her movements stopped. Her fragile body shook from the exertion of trying to take her first breath, unable to even as Brandin carefully cleaned out her throat and nose. Her tiny chest fluttered frantically in the effort, her tiny patch of blonde curls standing up in the cold. Her fingers were turning blue, her heartbeat slowing dangerously low. Thankfully, after being hooked up with the many patches and tubes, laying in the incubator, she did take her first breath. The machine helped her lungs inflate, her tiny chest rising and falling with every click of the machine. The IV continued to feed her gentle antibiotics and growth stimulatives, patches stimulating nerve development and heat. With all the help of magic, the baby's heartbeat settled and continued to beat rhythmically once again. Her mother, on the other hand, was not regulating as easily. As clean as she was being made, as careful as Brandin was to keep contamination to the smallest amount, the worst was in her. Despite a fair amount of her blood now existing in the ashes and soaked into her clothing, the virus still ran rampant in her body. Now that her immune system no longer had a foreign creature inside of her to attack, it was just her; her body, her blood, her genes. The calming potion had long worn off, skin growing angry as Brandin stitched the wound he had created back up. It grew hot around the area, red and swollen even as he rolled on a gel to help with the pain of the damage. As helpful as magic was, it still could not simply rewind and fix all the damage that had been done in order to reach inside the uterus. Although there may have been potions for her to take to do something rather similar, they were in a time with those supplies unavailable to them. Despite her throat being raw, with the anapneo spell it was clear. Air rattled though her dry windpipe, wet only by the blood replenishing potion she was force fed a moment later. She didn't choke, nor swallow; the potion slid cleanly down her throat with Brandin massaging it to make sure it went down the right pipe. Finally, he spoke to her, spelling something to help her wake up. Then it was just a waiting game. At first, she woke slowly. Her heartbeat sped up, limp, cold fingers once again clutching into the fabric she laid on. Her first remembrance was of the pain, gasping air into her swollen throat, screams ready to explode out of her very core. Her stomach burned, even with the cool gel that had been applied, stretching as she started to hyperventilate, diaphragm moving to accommodate her panick. No screams left her, however. Her voice was too hoarse, supplying instead rough whimpers as she began to sob. It wasn't in reaction to knowing what was going on; instead, it was simply a reaction to the pain. Anastasia had never been able to handle pain stoically; she could take it, yes, but she was going to react to it as well. Especially when the pain was rushing up and down her body in dizzying waves; she was drowning in it, suffocating her. Then, waking up became an immediate urge, a terror clawing at her as she realized just where she was, and what was happening. Her arms pushed weakly against the bed, launching her into a sitting position far before she should have moved whatsoever. It felt like her insides were ripping, her mind losing itself in pure disorientation and dizziness. She wavered, swaying in place as her fingers whitened as well as they could to settle her. Her breathing was harsh and raspy, eyes flying open just to fill with tears, immediately blurring any view she had. "Otce nas, suscij na nebesach..." Her lips moved, no sound coming out. Not particularly being all that religious, however Orthodox the beginning of the prayer was, she quickly switched over to the wonderfully colorful range of vulgarity. At least, for a moment until she was able to calm the room's spinning and catch sight of the incubator, noise finally coming from her mouth in a cry of shock. Yes, Annie knew it was too soon. Yes, she knew her child would be tiny and not ready to be out in the world. However, she hadn't expected...that. She hadn't expected the miniature, shriveled doll. Abruptly, her language flipped. "Oh. Oh god. Oh merlin. What did I do?" Her hoarseness made her whispering voice crack, fresh tears rushing down her face as she realized that she was going to be sick. Guilt swept up under the pain and crippled her, crushing her heart in that one, simple look. Her arms stopped holding her up, sinking back onto the bed in a slightly more curled position, eyes never leaving the still form of her baby. She could see the tiny chest rising and falling with the machine's beeps, a motion that for the moment helped her ignore her own pain as she weeped instead for the form laying beside her. She knew better, and now look what her selfishness created... |
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| Deleted User | Oct 5 2010, 07:42 AM Post #10 |
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![]() -NPC: Rowland Stone- Rowland ushered in to his family's home immediately after his mother urged them to step quickly into the house. He stepped aside into the immediate living room that the house opened up to, not wanting to be in the way as his mother waved off all thanks for now, shaking her head and saying a brief, "No need.". Rowland didn't know much about the condition that the Lady Anastasia was in and he did not know the extent of where magic could help but he hoped it would be enough. He was concerned about her, curious about what had caused her to be in such a state, even more curious as to who these people actually were. As he saw his mother about to enter the room alongside Lady Anastasia and Lord Brandin, "Mum, they're-" "Magic," she finished for him in a hushed whispers, nodding her head once to assure him she was in no way going to be surprised. Well, too surprised. Arleen was a lot smarter than most people gave her credit for but that was the point after all. Even still, Rowland couldn't help but to worry. Everyone was in such a frantic and nervous and hectic state- it was almost contagious, suffocating actually. He just wanted everyone to calm down and everything to be fine. He casted his eyes down the hallway, leaning slightly more towards it to see if he could catch a sound made by any of his younger siblings. His older siblings were already out of the house, married, one with a child of their own but the youngest child was still ten years old and therefore they were living here. He didn't want them waking up and having to deal with this chaos either. So he hoped for the best, in the whole situation. He took a deep breath, running a lazy hand over his face, he looked up suddenly when a small exclamation from Rebecca shook him out of his thoughts. Noticing her state of dishevel clearly outmatched his own, he remembered why he had led the group over to his family's home in the first place. She had asked him for help urgently, and at the same time asked him to forgive her for their lies. Rowland did not hold grudges, and he knew the lengths people would go to for the people they cared about. Obviously Lady Anastasia needed help, and Lord Parker was obviously sick so they weren't entirely lying. Then Rebecca started apologizing before he even had a chance to speculate even the hint of the truth. Rowland shook his head, "No, please, you don't have to...," he was at a loss for words as he stepped closer to her. Tears were such an intimidating force- the irony there was almost unbelievable. One of the most fragile things he had encountered- tears, yet he was sure they could move mountains. It was painful to see them shed, especially by a person like Rebecca. "You obviously had your reason, and I can tell it doesn't stem from ill will," he assured her. He walked closer to her as she leaned against the wall, and then softly and carefully put his hands around her arms, leading her to the pair of chairs by the fireplace. "You do not have to explain anything, not now, not if you do not want to." he reminded her. There was just something so peculiar about the night. It made everything seem a lot more hopeless and overwhelming than it actually was. If a person could survive the night, everything else was simply another step on the road. |
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| Rebecca Cowen | Oct 5 2010, 08:27 AM Post #11 |
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For a moment, as Rowland looked at her with a mirrored expression of hopelessness, Rebecca quieted. Her eyes remained wide, her lips curled beneath her teeth. Her breath halted. She was waiting for him to be angry. She was waiting for him to understand that she was lying, lying about everything, lying about who she was and where they'd come from and waiting for him to walk away. Instead he put his arms around her and gently lead her to the chair. She folded against him, head tucking beneath his chin. At once, more tears spilled out of both eyes. Oh. Oh, he was too good. In that instant she almost wished he'd yelled. She wished he'd be angry, wished he could be upset with her. The fact that he still was attempting to take care of her, make this okay for her...another tear rolled down her cheek and she sniffled. Then she drew a deep breath, sitting up straighter and searching his eyes. "You really mean that, don't you?" Her words were quiet. "You would let me walk into your home, revealing Annie's pregnant and we're not who we say we are, and demand no explanation. Merlin, Rowland you're..." There were no words. Her mouth gaped. Her eyes flew shut for a second as another tear fell, and she folded her arms into her lap, settling beside him and counting to twelve. Perhaps it was more like fourteen. The steadying breath she drew did not remove her tears, but she looked up another moment and shook her head. "I...no. You have a right to know." That wasn't why she wanted to tell. With a single glance to the door, she knew it was what she would tell Brandin, but she looked back with only the slightest wince. Quieter, she admitted the truth as well, "And I can't keep lying to you." She just couldn't. Wiping another tear from her eye, Rebecca was pleasantly surprised to find it was the last--at least for now. She had steadied within his grasp and collapsed against the chair. Or perhaps her breath had calmed simply because she was finally telling the truth. Either way, she met his eyes and said slowly, "I'm so sorry, Rowland, I should have...I wasn't allowed to tell. You have no idea how dangerous all of this is. This secret...you can't tell anyone, although I'm not sure who would believe you. And I'm just...I'm so sorry I lied. But I'm not..." Merlin, how did she even start? You were right when you pointed out that Cowen isn't a Russian name. It's Scottish, but I'm actually from America. And I...I only met Annie a few months ago, I'm not a child hood friend of theirs...none of us are who we say we are. But you--you have to understand, it was because of Parker, Parker...Parker almost died..." This was too jumbled. Biting her lip, she shut her eyes for another moment and finally said instead, "I'm not a noble born Lady, Rowland. My parents own a bookstore. And I have...I have the ability to foresee certain things. I foresaw Parker's illness, because it's not...it's not an illness; it's a curse. Someone tried to kill him. I tried to stop it, because see, Parker saved my life a few years...ago, although technically..." Still too jumbled. She took a pause and a breath and concluded, "Technically, technically he saves my life more than a hundred and twenty years from now. My name is Rebecca Cowen, and I was born April 14th, in the year...1991." Edited by Abi Noel-Carter, Oct 5 2010, 09:02 AM.
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![]() your eyes whispered: have we met? this night is flawless: don't you let it go | |
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| Deleted User | Oct 5 2010, 09:39 AM Post #12 |
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![]() -NPC: Rowland Stone- He couldn't help being insecure about what he was doing- he had never been in a situation even slightly similar to this one. He knew how to comfort sore hands, scraped knees, bruised fists, but that was relatively simple compared to what he was dealing with right now. He had absolutely no idea the severity of the situation, of course, because he had been trying to avoid meddling but it was obvious that eventually more knowledge would be needed. He wasn't exactly thrilled for that; especially when it came to this situation, as much as he was able to deduce, knowledge was going to be dangerous. Yet his imminent curiosity continued to bug him. He wanted to know the truth, he wanted to know how they had managed to do fool the most esteemed noble house of Faye. Honestly, he wanted to applaud them on some level for it. Most importantly he wanted to know how he could help, help with anything at all. He did not care about how minor and insignificant it might have been, if he managed to accomplish at least task that was the slightest bit helpful, he would have felt better. He was helpful by nature, with only a small exception for manipulation when it suited him- he had no interest to manipulate right at that moment. "I do," he answered, nodding his head to further show his answer. He didn't understand why she was so surprised by that. Then again, if she was used to noble life- but there in laid the problem. He didn't know if she was noble or not, or if any of them were who they said they were. Their names might not even be theirs. What he was sure of however was that the time he spent with Rebecca at the lake, that was real. There was no absolutely no way to imitate something of the sort. He refused to believe it. Still, his throat constricted slightly at the thought of it. He waited patiently as Rebecca collected herself, gathered her thoughts and simply went through a series of facial expressions that only proved how distraught she was at that moment. Once she started talking, admitting that he had a right to know, that she wanted to tell him, it only put into perspective more clearly the fact that lies were uttered and flaunted and used. Hes sighed, and nodded, not knowing what to think really at that moment. He couldn't know what to think- she hadn't said anything yet. That did not last very long; she began with another apology. Rowland casted his eyes downward momentarily, as he leaned forward in his own chair, the elbows of his arms resting on his legs. He looked up again, to listen as Rebecca kept explaining. "I already promised I wouldn't," he reminded her as she urged him once again to remain quiet about what she was going to divulge. Rowland was aware that repetition was the key to retention, yet if anything the phrase just made him all the more anxious. Finally, some answers started arriving- shortened ones and abrupt, but answers nonetheless. They were not of Russian nobility, she was American, and Anastasia went by Annie and Parker was on the brink of death and- Rowland had to blink and shook his head, as if that would clean up the mess of tangled thoughts. It continued, the knowledge that she was revealing. She could somehow see into the future and she attempted to stop it and now they were here? Why? ....Oh. "You're from the future?" he repeated in a question, blinking his eyes in confusion as his mouth went agape. He breathed out, "How, how is this possible? Why...here? Why now?" There were just a lot of questions. He was going to focus as much as he could on the questions instead of the facts right at that moment. They were from the future, they didn't belong here...they had to go back. |
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| Rebecca Cowen | Oct 5 2010, 10:08 AM Post #13 |
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Rebecca had stopped crying. She had stopped shaking. The door across the room even seemed to have gone silent; the screams on the other side had quieted. Glancing hesitantly at the door for a moment, as though the wood held the secret magical answer to everything, she bit her lip and held in a sigh. A single flinch and she was looking back at Rowland. Her eyes trained on his. Shifty as she was, distressed for all their sakes as she was, for a moment she was consumed with the absurdity of the statement. It was out of a science fiction novel--and she couldn't tell him that, because she didn't actually know if the genre existed yet beyond Shelley's Frankenstein. Or...perhaps H.G. Wells The Time Machine was out, as well? She honestly had no idea. Of the many books she had read....her breath caught again. Something in Rowland's expression had just clicked as she spoke, and all other thoughts were driven from her mind. He accepted it readily enough, a bobble-head becoming her nod at first. There was no way to cushion this that she knew. It was too huge, too destructive a secret. Instead she merely bit her lip, nodded all the more vigorously and then held still trying to think how to explain. "We're not sure how it happened." She admitted quietly. "But yes. We all...are. In fact..." She looked down, wondered for a moment when she had slipped her hand against his, and pulled back to rub her forehead again. "I don't actually think that's the strangest part." She said it as carefully as possible. "Brandin, Parker, Anastasia...they're not siblings. Well, Brandin and Parker are." She bit her lip. "It is Anastasia Zytsev, she really does come from Adygea, Russia. I probably know her whole family tree down by now, and a good amount of Russian basics, she's been teaching us. But Brandin and Parker...it's Brandin and Parker, Faye. This is their home in the future. Damocles is something like their great, great, great, great, grandfather..." All she could think to do was keep talking. She wanted to respond to his questions, try to cover as many facts and answers as she could. She wanted to focus on that. She couldn't --she simply couldn't---focus on anything else. Her eyes kept being drawn to the door, wondering what was going on behind it, deathly terrified of losing either Anastasia or the baby. With so much happening, she was simply babbling. "I had...see, a vision, that Parker was going to be killed by a...a 19th century, clock. Brandin has a picture, I can show you it. I warned him and Annie, but I didn't realize what was truly going on. The assassin took his pocket watch and made the clock look like his watch. It was cursed so that whomever wound it, if in the correct location, would be cursed and fatally ill--if indeed not killed immediately. Some part of the plan went wrong, and thus when Parker, unknowingly, wound his pocket watch he triggered the curse. It infected Parker. And it did something to the device. Brandin has this idea that it's brought us all back to the year it w....the year it was created. It's also essential to solving the..the illness, saving Parker..." But she trailed off, suddenly not at all interested in the small talk and horribly awkward where she was trying. A few more tears were freed, unable as Rebecca was to focus any more on what this all truly meant. She cut herself off and said instead, "I lied because time travel is illegal. I lied because I want Parker to be okay. Annie glamored her pregnancy so that she could get into the house too. We lied to try and save him, but...but Rowland..." She took his hand now, and lifted it with an air of slight desperation. "I didn't lie to you otherwise. My likes, my dislikes, my issues, what I've said about you, ...it's all been real. I know you have absolutely no reason to trust me, when I say that but... it is, the truth. " There was a ridiculous plea in her voice as she squeezed his hand, searched his eyes. She refused to even think about what this really meant. && desperately close to the coffin of hope; i'd cheat destiny just to be near you... |
![]() your eyes whispered: have we met? this night is flawless: don't you let it go | |
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| Jason Lambert | Oct 9 2010, 05:14 AM Post #14 |
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Jason felt like he was spinning, falling, twisting, jerking--he was every which way but "up." It was like taking a Portkey and taking the Floo and combining the worst parts of each. He didn't know what, if anything he could see because he certainly wasn't about to open his eyes. When he finally "landed," so to speak, it was clumsily, and he was actually pretty sure he hit the floor. At least, he assumed it was the floor. It was a rough landing, and it hurt,, but it jolted him back to reality. He lay there for a moment, taking in a deep breath. Wherever he was, it was at least somewhat warm, and he was pretty sure it was inside. There were various sounds that he couldn't quite identify, still being just a little disoriented. Forcing himself to finally open his eyes, he did so, the first thing coming into focus being a ceiling. It was a pretty ordinary ceiling, as far as ceilings went, so that was probably good. Or something. He wasn't quite sure what the ceiling had to do with anything. He sat slowly, bringing his hand to his head, blinking as his vision adjusted to somewhat dim light, and his body got used to the sensation of just having traveled that ...far(?) and that quickly. He felt like he had just been jerked back into his body, and it was an oddly jarring experience. Looking around the room, the first person who was visible to him was Annie, sitting marginally propped up in a bed looking terrified, upset, panicked... "Annie?" Jason called out hesitantly, struggling for a moment before pulling himself entirely to his feet. "Annie, are you okay? What ha--" The words died on his lips as he heard the machines softly beeping, drawing his gaze over to what was unmistakably an incubator, and what was unmistakably a tiny, tiny baby inside the incubator. The baby was taking small, fragile--far too fragile--breaths... and was so tiny. So, incredibly small. There was absolutely no way this child was even close to full term. And, though it made no sense at all, though he couldn't put a single piece of what had happened together if he'd tried, he knew. It was a gut feeling that bowled him over like someone had punched him in the stomach. He just... knew, somehow, what was happening. That was his child. Their child. Their daughter. |
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| Catalina Faye | Oct 12 2010, 08:48 PM Post #15 |
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Cat had somewhat mentally prepared herself for a Portkey-like experience, so when she felt the jerk at her navel, she just closed her eyes and waited. She found her heart beating just slightly faster than normal as the free-falling sensation continued for what felt like ages but was really probably only a few moments. She knew that eventually she'd get somewhere; she just had no idea where...or when...or if it would even take her to where she needed to be, with whom she needed to be. And then, quite suddenly, the falling stopped short. The ground came up far too quickly, despite her best efforts to brace herself, and she stumbled a little. Not her ideal situation, but at least she didn't fall, managing to grab onto some piece of furniture--she wasn't quite sure what, as her eyes adjusted to being open. So she knew the baby was all right, and that was good. Besides, she could feel him kicking, and activity was good. When her head stopped spinning, her vision cleared, and her stomach stopped feeling like someone had flipped it over, she straightened herself out to her normal, proud stance and looked around the room. Her eyes landed first on Brandin, then Annie, then Jason getting to his feet, and the immediate feeling that swelled within her was that of triumph. That, however, quickly changed as she observed the mood of the room, and then saw the cause. The prematurely born baby, lying in the incubator, a moderately crudely-fashioned replica of modern medicine that felt so oddly out of place in that room. The somber feelings upon seeing the baby sunk into her in a way that she wasn't sure she'd ever felt before. What had happened to Annie's baby? In an instinctive-but-unecessary protective gesture, her hand went to her own stomach, where it rested as she looked up, meeting her husband's eyes, for she felt she should address him first. "Hello, Brandin." |
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| Brandin Faye | Oct 12 2010, 09:40 PM Post #16 |
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Brandin had been sitting perfectly still, waiting for Anastasia to awaken. His eyes were tired, those of a man so inundated with images that he was willing the world in front of him to be black. He hardly thought he could stand to see anything else, any new surprise when it was taking everything within him just to keep breath going, until Ana opened her eyes. It is a crushing, overwhelming exhaustion that accompanies any triumph of that magnitude. He sat staring on his knees, his legs not having enough strength to lift him up. He stayed like that for a minute, before the dim memory that another was in the room with him and he suddenly stiffened. His moment wasn't held within complete secrecy; Ana might be asleep, and her daughter might be too weak to comprehend what he was doing, but there was a third and it was Mrs. Stone whose eyes he suddenly met. The raw, open vulnerability within his gaze seemed to disappear in an instant as he looked at her. He took a shaky breath and stood, hands cracking into fists as they dragged sheets beneath Anastasia and clenched. Leaning on his palms, his eyes returned to Ana's. She was waking. One moment was of silence. The next was of pain. His expression broke, his lips turning down and he shook his head, ignoring the heated Russian and he fell to be sitting beside her again, this time near the crown of the bed. The tears that were rolling down her cheeks he reached for, his hands falling just short of taking her cheeks and hovering in the air in helplessness as she sat up and promptly fell, wincing. Shaking his head again, words slipped from his lips in similar fervent Russian. "No. No, Anastasia, you didn't do anything, she's alive. Ana. You need to lay still-- you need to relax, please. Please, Anastasia. She is alive, and so are you, just as I promised. Just, just like I promised. Okay? We're going to take care of her. We're--" He was distracted, if only slightly, by the strange sound of a plunger. For a moment it seemed the world around him wrinkled, the atmosphere withdrew on itself into a line and when the moment passed, he spun around without releasing Anastasia to spy two very familiar people. One was falling over, the other was as ever the picture of grace and poise, with no small amount of triumph in her eyes. "Cat." The name--a nickname at that--slipped out of cracked lips beneath his tired eyes. He returned to staring. Though he was surprised to be laying eyes on Jason and his wife, it was too drummed within him not to betray his emotions that surprise was the last thing to explode across his expression. So why was it that a weight on the center of his chest seemed to vanish; why was it that breath seemed to rush back into his lungs with renewed speed? Blinking in his confusion, his hands fell to his sides and he pulled himself into a straighter sitting position. He watched her eyes flutter from his own to take in the child in the room with them, and her hand jerked to rest on his stomach. The breath that had returned cut out and he suddenly stood to take a step closer to her. He went to ask after her, after his own child, but his lips snapped shut as he looked at her again. The knee-jerk protectiveness fell away as he realized she was only reacting to the baby with them. At least, he could hope, and he'd ask after he'd greeted her. The fact that he was seeing her, amidst all of this pain and hurt was affecting him in a strange way; a way he couldn't name, and decided against trying. He rubbed his eyes, tried cleaning the sweat from his brow and in effect erase the vulnerability in their situation with a single wipe of his hand. Needless to say he failed. And incredibly, his lips broke into a smile. Catalina had come looking for him. Instead of leaving them to deal with it, instead of being on his own; it appeared his wife had taken matters into her own extremely capable hands and come after him--and all of them--on her own. With something stuck in his throat, his hand fell to rub it and clear it, before speaking again, "I should have known you'd find us." He was still smiling, his hands now slipping into his pockets as he looked at her with no small amount of happiness. He was pleased--extremely pleased, and knew that whenever she got into explaining the science of how she had managed it, he'd be similarly extremely interested. But it wasn't the science, for once in his life, that he was interested in. No, part of him was just happy to see her. "And I'm glad you did." As his gaze cast to Anastasia, a strange emotion flickered across his otherwise impassive face, and he turned back to Catalina, his eyes suddenly narrowed. And then he took a final step forward, and hugged her. It was briefly and simply, as he reveled in the familiarity in the embrace--in the arms of someone whose well being he had been wondering after no matter the weight of the tasks before him now. He released her quickly, not one to dawdle, his drawn expression replacing the softer smile as he turned to Jason. "She is alive." He repeated hurriedly. "And she will recover. I promised Anastasia, and I'll promise you now. But the situation...it is critical, Jason, I won't lie to you either. If you want details, I can give you them, but suffice to say I performed an emergency Caesarian approximately ten, perhaps fifteen minutes prior to your arrival with less than ideal circumstances." Now addressing both Cat and Jason, he flicked his gaze back to her, knowing she would have the same hunger for information that he had himself upon arrival. "You're in the year 1884, standing in the home of one very gracious Mrs. Stone. There's...a bit to explain about how we've ended up here precisely, but Cat..." He looked at her, his eyes suddenly locked on her before he continued. "It's because of Parker. Seems my father was determined to kill him after all." |
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I am nothing more than A little boy inside That cries out for attention Yet I always try to hide Cause I talk to you like children Though I don't know how I feel But I know I'll do the right thing If the right thing is revealed | |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Oct 12 2010, 11:15 PM Post #17 |
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There was only one short, momentary subconscious change in Anastasia's attention from her newborn in the entire time that she was awake, and that was to recoil from the hands that found themselves in her sight. She flinched away from them, pushing herself back in the bed; her arm wrapped around her stomach like that would calm the pain shooting through her body, the other arm trembling lightly as it held her up. It felt as if she had just been in a car accident; the shock was causing things to not really connect with her. It hurt, and it contained a lot of terror. The child in front of her was surely not going to survive in 1884 without proper medical attention. How could she?? She was smaller than a children's doll toy. Although her ears picked up the words that she was being told, Annie...didn't listen. Lay still and relax? Was he kidding her? There was no way she was going to lay back and be stationary; she needed to go make sure her daughter was actually breathing. Luckily him him, she was momentarily distracted by the fact that all of a sudden...there were two more people in the room. More than that though, it was Jason. Somehow it was her bad luck. Somehow, it was just fate's way to tell her that she totally sucked. Not only did she have to be losing the uphill battle to stay healthy, not only did she nearly lose her baby, not only was the child surrounded by machines to keep her alive, but now Jason was there to see what a fail this was. Twenty-five weeks. She was just over a month past the halfway mark. They didn't have her house or the nursery finished, a name picked out...they didn't have any of the things that she would need to take care of the baby...hell, they weren't even in the right time period. Jason was just staring at the incubator looking like he had just been sucker-punched, her eyes flicking off him in crippling guilt as she glanced over at Brandin greeting his wife. With him distracted with that, Annie struggled to free herself from the linen prison, pushing the sheets that she had been wrapped in and tucked down with away from her as fast as she could. It wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do, but she managed to swing her legs over the bed without vocally expressing just how much agony she was in. Her stomach was on fire, her hips feeling unbelievably tender and sore, and her legs felt rubbery but she still managed to get herself into a standing position. For a moment she stood there silently, unable to meet the eyes of anyone in the room except for the tiny face of her baby, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Her nightgown was clean, presumably scourigified by Brandin, but it was still ripped in the stomach area where he had needed to work to prevent the miscarriage. She'd simply pulled it together and tenderly made her way over to the machine, scared to even touch it, lest it begin to malfunction and they were out of luck with 1884 medicine incapable of saving her. "I"m sorry." She mumbled, though to whom was up in the air. Her hands rested light on the glass, and then hesitantly slipped one through the holes to brush her finger against the tiny, red fist. Her breath hitched once again, shaking her head slightly as her grip on the glass grew white. |
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| Jason Lambert | Oct 19 2010, 04:59 AM Post #18 |
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Jason wasn't sure what to do, but he knew that he had to snap himself out of the shocked state he was in. He was there, yes, and there was a good part of everything that was going on that was really freaking him out. But... he was there, and Annie and his daughter were there. They needed him, and he was going to be there for them. There wasn't one single part of his brain that really made the decision to just focus on the two of them. It was more instinct as he shook his head, literally shaking away the other thoughts. Heart beating somewhere in his throat, stomach somewhere underneath the floor by that point, he took a step towards Annie, who had gotten up and had gone over to the incubator. She was apologizing. He was shaking his head again, this time in response to her words. How did she think she had anything at all to be sorry for? His feet carried him over to her until he was standing directly behind her, both of them looking down at their baby. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, having been able to guess what had just happened and not wanting to touch anywhere near her stomach and cause her any pain. But he wanted to hug her, hold her, and reassure her. "Annie, don't apologize," he implored her, tone as soft and soothing as he could possibly make it. "There's nothing to apologize for. She's here. She's here, and she's going to be ok." The words weren't just empty consolations--he really meant what he was saying. He had to. He couldn't even think about what it would mean if their baby wasn't going to be ok. She had to be. |
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| Deleted User | Oct 24 2010, 05:03 AM Post #19 |
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![]() -NPC: Rowland Stone- The eerie silence was something that Rowland was not comfortable with. He was used to the smallest of noises all the time; the creak of a floorboard or the scurrying of vermin in the walls, or some sort of expensive copper cooking utensils falling against a stone floor if he happened to be taking a brief break in the kitchen. In this situation, he would have expected to hear a lot more than a simple hushed noise coming from the room. It had seemed so loud before, everything threatening to explode and now the whole ambiance was still in a way that was far from comforting. If he weren't already dreading having either his father or any one of his siblings wake up, he would wish they would just so he would be reminded that normalcy did indeed still exist. Rowland both enjoyed and cursed his natural curiosity, especially at times like these. The question why and how were common to him ever since he could remember how to talk, so of course it would make sense for him to utilize them even now. Problem was that he wasn't sure whether or not he actually wanted to know, or rather whether or not he would regret knowing. But he had already asked the question, now it was simply a matter of waiting for the answer. Rebecca was already in knots over this, and the last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel uncomfortable more so than what, he assumed, she must have already been feeling, and had been debating on whether or not to hold her hand after hers brushed against his. After all, it wasn't every day that you revealed to someone that you were from the future. It wasn't also any day that your friend or comrade went into early labor after having hid it from everyone in the manor along with their real identities. Yes, restating the facts was necessary; he still needed to get used to the situation. Listening to the explanation was not any better or any worse than what he had been expecting. He hadn't been expecting much truth be told, he just needed to get used to the idea that...well the laws of time and space could be broken by a simple clock. And the fact that Lord Brandin and Lord Parker were actually the descendants of Lord Damocles? This all was too strange, and complicated and he was somewhat aghast at the fact that someone would go to such lengths to commit murder. Lies, deceit, manipulation, drama...yes, they were definitely descendants of the Faye family. As the explanation deviated and turned more personal, Rowland scooted more forward in his chair, not entirely sure of how to try and calm Rebecca down, he just knew that he didn't like to see her cry. He was slightly surprised as she took a hold of his hand, but he didn't pull it away. Truth be told, he hadn't even thought about this whole situation as a lie directed towards him. He was still trying to process everything to be worried about personal offenses. "Rebecca, I'm not mad at you," he assured her with a small bit of uncertainty as to why he was supposed to be mad in the first place. "You did what you had to do and I...well, I'm still glad to get a chance to know you either way. Despite...everything." Everything here meaning...quite literally, everything. He would ask what else is there, except he had a feeling he would be answered. "Did you see me? In a vision...I mean," he asked with curiosity about one of the other things that were particularly shocking. He knew it was possible, that some wizards had the rare gift yet he was very much perplexed as to...well, how many times did he have to say everything before he made his point? |
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| Anastasia Zytsev | Nov 3 2010, 03:20 AM Post #20 |
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Annie couldn't keep her eyes off of the tiny creature laying right in front of her, hoping to merlin that Brandin's magic would hold. After all, that kind of technology hadn't been properly created yet. It didn't belong there. Just like they didn't. Although she was focused on her child, Annie was highly aware of Jason moving around, shaking his head. She was aware as he made his way behind her, chills making their way up her spine for the moment before he spoke. Her tremors calmed slightly as he wrapped his arms around her, and she reached up to hold onto him, give her further support to stay up. "She's not supposed to be here." Annie whispered, blinking back more tears. If they had been in their own time, and if she had been able to take her medicines, this might not have happened. Even if it had, maybe at Mungo's there would have been a better way to go about this. At the very least, she'd have felt more comfortable with the idea that the baby was being taken care of. Despite only being vertical for a few minutes, Annie was already feeling any strength she had seeping out and onto the floor. "How am I going to feed her?" Annie suddenly realized, stiffening a little. If her body was too sick for her to carry the baby any longer, then that meant her levels were up. Which meant that any body fluid past saliva was going to be dangerous. Hell...if her levels were up, how much longer did she have? "We need to name her." Annie eventually said, closing her eyes. |
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