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

[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.]