week 4

[stagemanagers]

[Another week, and two more dead. King Richard and Red are both gone, and once again, it was through nothing more than an accident in the heat of the moment. Maybe if you all stay calm and collected, nothing bad will happen again?

Well, maybe not.

When you wake on Sunday, you'll find that you've recovered another one of those memories - or had another dream, if you still wanna be in denial about it. The grounds remain as they are, but this time, the door blocking the stairwell has been unsealed. You can now venture up to the second floor! This is the second time that's happened; it's almost as if you get more space every time someone dies. Or maybe the whole place just seems quieter.]

Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday


(( Welcome to Week 4! Please remember to submit your AC and your memory regains, as well as your coins! You can also still contact the Phantom. ))

Comments

[37773972]

[Sitting? Sitting is good. He can sit. He can keep himself together. He nods mutely, allowing her to help direct him, because as much as he wants to howl in pain he knows she's right. This...this isn't the time.

He has to stay strong.]

Yeah. It's- it's just what was in the supply room, it's over there. [It's a really basic thing, but it's something? Not nearly enough, he thinks, but he didn't think something going bad would be this bad.

Figures. He swallows, then jerks his head.]

One of the books over there- it's medical. There's a couple bookmarks I made, just in case.

[Sadly, it's not the Entire Contents Of Wikihow, but it more or less goes over some basic treatments. Rinse with cold water for x amount of time, whether or not to induce vomiting if swallowed, etc. ]

[garbageface]

[ Thank goodness for small mercies. She gets the first aid kit and the medical book, and brings both over to the counter by the sink. She pages through the book: for chemical burns, flush with water and bandage. That's easy enough. The first aid kid has gauze and tweezers, and Santana has had enough experience with minor cuts, cheer injuries, and doing her brows that she's comfortable with both. ]

Okay. Keep rinsing that for another few minutes. I'll tell you when to stop. Then we'll take out the glass.

[ Santana starts looking Stephen up and down, scanning for any other injuries. ]

Was it just your arms that got hit?

[37773972]

[Thank God it's getting to a point where Santana can take the lead, because Stephen is barely holding on to it. He's able to lead her to where she can get the lead, at least, which is...something.]

I...[Breath. Another one, clearly trying to keep steady.] I think so. I think Mephisto- I think he took the rest.

[...how close did they get to Mephisto not being able to shield him in time?

How close did he get to dying.

It's a good thing he's sitting, now, because something seems to hit him, and- he doesn't faint, but he leans forwards, head pressing against the edge of the counter, and goes silent. If not for the occasional flex of his hands, which are clawed from the pain, one might think he had passed out.

He kind of wants to, honestly.]

[garbageface]

[ Santana won’t have time to assess Mephisto’s damage until she hands Riley the tweezers, but from the way Stephen’s talking, it doesn’t sound good. There’s a part of Santana that doesn’t want to know. If she can just focus on Stephen, right here, right now, that’ll make things easier, right?

God, this is so messed up.

Then Stephen leans forward and falls silent, and Santana figures that’s not a good sign. ]

Hey, stay with me. If you — [ santana can’t say die, so she opts for: ] lose it, I’m gonna tell everyone your stupid party sprinkler story and tarnish your reputation for, like, ever. Only a few more minutes with the water and then we can get the glass out and some painkillers in.

[ hopefully the first aid kit has some! otherwise there’s always the wine that santana got from the merch booth this morning. ]

[37773972]

[Stephen...despite himself...manages a sort of laugh. It's more a shake of his shoulders than anything else and a strangled sort of noise, but it seems like it might have been an attempt at one - and not a fake one, either. He turns his head to look at her, and manages a weak smile, as well]

Better stay awake, then, huh?

[He wants to scream. It practically hurts too much to scream. As it is, he's pale, some sweat on his brow from the strain and the emotional shock of realizing how close he was to death. Is.]

...how bad is it? Be real with me.

[Don't sugar coat it, Santana. If anyone's gonna give it to him straight, you will.]

cw vomit mention, injury discussion

[garbageface]

Mmm-hmm.

[ Santana does her best to force her usual smug tone, although it comes out a bit more tense than normal. She's trying.

She sighs. It's not good, chief. While she's not close to him, Santana's father is a doctor, and she tries to emulate his tone. ]

You've got burns all up your arms, and a few pretty large glass shards stuck in there, too. I dunno if you've got any splinters yet. You should be fine as long as none of this gets infected and if the glass doesn't go too deep. Plus, you might get some really badass scars, and then the Phantom's gonna be terrified of you.

[ Since Stephen's using the sink, Santana applies some hand sanitizer to her hands and announces: ]

Alright, you can take your arms out of the water. Riley's still working the tweezers, so I'm gonna pull out your bigger pieces with my hands. This, uh -- this might hurt.

[ Santana swallows. She's gotta keep it together, even though what she really wants to do is hurl into the nearest trash can, and maybe also punch a wall. But after this, Stephen owes her one. ]

[37773972]

[Makes sense. Aside from the 'badass scars' bit and the Phantom being afraid of him bit- he manages to crack another laugh, somewhat shakier, because fuck, fuck, he's going to scream if he moves his arms out from the cooling water, and he knows he won't be able to be silent when she's pulling glass fucking shards out of his arms.

Okay. First things first. He's going to take a page out of Mephisto's book;] I need...something to bite on. Please. I don't care what. [Stick his goddamn foot in his mouth if you have to.] And- cover your hands.

[Call him stupid and tell him you already thought of that. Or don't. Just don't touch them with your bare hands. He's just trying to get up the courage to move his arms, so you have time to do that.]

[garbageface]

[ Santana fetches a wooden spatula and a pair of plastic food service gloves (the one upside of Stephen and Mephisto pulling this shit in a cafe, probably). ]

Open your mouth, bite down on this.

[ She'll stick it between his teeth for him, no need for Stephen to move his arms for this. Once his arms are out of the running water, Santana takes another deep breath and moves in close. She can do this. It's like taking out a splinter, except with more blood and much higher stakes and -- no, it's best not to think like that, after all. She has to focus.

Her right hand is hovering over the largest shard. ]

On three. One, two --

[ And instead of saying three, she pulls it out. ]

[37773972]

[Right, he'll...that'll work. He obediently takes it in his mouth and somehow manages to get his arms out of the water, making a muffled groan as he does; his shoulders aren't hurt, but the change in sensation is enough to agitate the pain again. As she gets in closer, he looks at her, looks at his arms, then immediately looks away; resting his cheek on his shoulder, he preps for a breath and-

-that's not a scream, but that's something close. It helps(?) that it's muffled, but he clearly felt that, jerking slightly before getting something of a hold of himself and forcing himself to settle back down.

The other ones aren't as bad to remove. But each time, he jerks, each time, he doesn't-quite-scream. But by the end of it, the sounds have tapered off, and he- well.

He's not doing too hot.]

[garbageface]

[ Santana tries to work as quickly as possible, removing the larger shards first and then switching to tweezers for the smaller shards once the bigger ones are taken care of. She stops counting down each removal, instead switching to babbling on about basically nothing, both to get Stephen’s mind on something else and to keep herself as relaxed as possible. If Stephen’s paying attention, he’ll learn a lot about her long and rich history of petty fights with Quinn Fabray.

Santana doesn’t know what’s worse — the muffled not-screams and jerks of Stephen’s body, or their absence, by the time she finishes. Both are terrifying, both are reminders that he could die from this, that Santana is only technically an adult who’s barely passed high school biology and is incredibly underqualified for this sort of thing. By the end of it, she’s breathing rapidly. It’s getting harder to fight off the panic. But she’s gotta keep trying.

Next up: pain relief. Then wound care. ]

Okay — okay. They’re out. There’s, uh — some Tylenol in the first aid kit. Can you swallow pills? Just — just nod, if you can.

[37773972]

[He's trying, damn it. Trying to stay awake, trying to take her distraction. But he's just a man, and this. Fucking. Hurts. With the glass removed from the wounds, blood flows freely- perhaps not enough to put him in immediate danger, but the sooner they're bandaged, the better. Because honestly?

That paleness isn't just from emotional shock.

It takes him a moment to register she's spoken to him, a moment more to process the words, but when he does, he nods mutely. He doesn't spit out the spatula, but won't resist if it's tugged- and boy, those are some bite marks in the wood.]

[garbageface]

[ Santana is back with the Tylenol, the bandages, and a plastic café cup and straw of water. Shit, that’s a lot of blood. There’s — a lot going on. Does Santana treat the pain first, or the bleeding? The medical manual is pretty much cast aside at this point — Santana isn’t sure she’d be able to summon the focus to read something.

Santana removes the spatula, pointedly not looking at the bite marks, then replaces it with two Tylenol (he probably needs more, but Santana isn’t confident he’ll be able to swallow more than that) and holds the straw up to his lips. ]

Drink. Then bandages.

[ If Stephen does as he’s told, Santana will set the cup down and begin working on bandaging, starting with whichever arm had more glass in it. The pressure likely hurts, but Santana doesn’t want to risk any more blood loss — not when Stephen’s that pale. She’s still muttering to herself, keeping herself grounded: ]

Come on, yep, you’ve got this, everything’s fine, it’s fine, Dad’s done worse, you’re a bad bitch, come on —

[37773972]

[The straw was probably the best idea anyone in this room has had today, so far; Stephen trying to drink from a cup in this state would have probably resulted in a body hell of a mess. As it is, though, he manages another nod, a grateful look, and - most impressive of all - to get down enough water for the pills.

He's still silent, not trusting himself to speak- as it stands, that grimace of pain may be permanent, though he does glance at her when she mentions Dad doing worse.

What's with you kids and your parents? Seriously.]

[garbageface]

[ At Stephen’s glance, Santana shoots him a look right back that very plainly reads: try me, bitch. It’s the most typical Santana-style things she’s done since this catastrophe started, which is reassuring, maybe?

Once Stephen’s all bandaged up, Santana steps back and lets out one long, slow exhale. Now that her adrenaline’s starting to drop, Santana just feels tired. And gross — there’s blood on her gloves, and some on her arms and clothes, too. She stares at the mess blankly, for a moment, before peeling the gloves off and throwing them away. ]

Okay. Once you’re not bleeding like a vampire’s paradise, we can change the bandages and get you some topical antibiotic. You’ve, uh. Lost a decent amount of blood, so I’m gonna find you some sugary juice or something and you’re gonna drink it.

[ It’s good to have a plan! Maybe this cafe has apple juice or something. Before she turns away to go look for that: ]

You holding up okay?

[37773972]

[At least...at least Santana isn't freaked out enough to give him those kind of looks? He almost laughs, and instead just sort of. Slumps in his chair as she works. Not quite the lean from before, but he's back to resting- or at least conserving his strength. When she finishes, though, he's able to look at his arms, which...he'll very much take amateur bandages over burnt skin and glass shards embedded in it, even if it still very much hurts.]

...I feel like shit.

[In more ways than one. But? He feels. As opposed to...being too dead to feel. He coughs, then, and raises his head again]

Thank you.

[To. Everyone.]

[garbageface]

Good.

[ Said in Santana’s usual blunt tone, but there’s an undercurrent of concern there, too. Feeling like shit is much better than not feeling at all. ]

Just don’t do that again, and we’re cool.

[ Santana leaves Stephen there for a moment to go stick her head in the fridge underneath the bar of espresso machines. There’s sadly no real juice, so Santana instead fills another cup with water and like, a ton of raspberry syrup. It’s gross, but it’s sugary and not too thick. She sticks a little straw in it, then places it on the counter in front of Stephen. ]

Your blood sugar’s probably low, or whatever. We’re gonna need to get you out of here, but you look like you’ll pass out if you stand up, so.

[ She gestures at the cup. Time to drink. ]

[37773972]

[He's just gonna work one hand in to a thumbs-up for that, and- go back to thinking of how close he came to dying.


That's probably not a good place for him to go, but. It's either that or pain or- raspberry syrup? Stephen stares down at it, then up at Santana, then back at the drink, and sighs]

Bottoms up.

[Because he's pretty sure she's going to convince him to drink it, one way or another, and- logically, he knows she's right. He's given blood before, and is hoping that, all considered, he's lost not much more than when it's willingly taken- but he doesn't know. And all they have, really, is going off what they do know. Which in this case?

Is downing a rather...disgusting drink, if the expression on his face is any sign, but he's trying, alright? Even if he does have to pull off and grimace for an entirely different reason than pain, because /god damn/.]

Couldn't have been the dolce?

[At least he's feeling good enough to try and joke?]

[garbageface]

Mmmmnope, that got blown up. Tragic.

[ That joke was mediocre at best, but have an equally mediocre and trauma-saturated joke right back! Humor is good. It's one of Santana's favorite ways to cope, especially when it's mean.

After Stephen's got a good amount of the drink down, Santana will check the bandages to see if the bleeding's subsided enough to get some ointment on there. If so, that's what she'll do next. ]

[37773972]

[Honestly, Toni has only so much idea on how long lacerations take to stop bleeding, so we're just going to say SURE WHY NOT for ease. It'll probably require some cleaning, though, so enjoy that.

At least Stephen seems a little less pale? He's still in obvious pain, but. He's at least feeling well enough to vocalize something that's been plaguing him since this happened;]

...how's Mephisto?

[heathencall]

[Mephisto is halfway out of the door at this point, thanks to Riley. He catches that and lifts his head. He... can't really bring himself to say anything in this situation, but he can at least acknowledge the fact that Stephen is alive and at least relatively grateful for --

No. Mephisto isn't going to think about the damage. He's just going to slink out as quick as he can.]