savetheearth | [ voice, 12/18, after dark ]

[ the voices are somewhat muffled because the phone is in his pocket. neither of them sound in good shape. ]

I'll-- I'll help you up. Let's go.

[ those who know nick will recognize the second voice as his: ] This is turning out to be a pretty crappy rescue, man, I'm sorry. [ this is followed by the sound of clothes rustling as the two dudes get up. ] It's this way.

[ the sound of snow crunching beneath shoes might be faintly heard. ]

Two trauma cases. First, hemorrhage, suspected class two. Second, penetrating trauma, chest, broken ribs. Not... No major blood loss yet. [ a pause. ] Where are we?

Just outside of town. [ this is followed by a more precise location. ]

Requesting aid. And if anyone can contact... Ravindra, that'd be great. Thanks.

[ a short stretch of silence. ]

Re- Recline your chair or lie in the backseat.

I can manage, your injuries sounded a lot worse. There's a first aid kit in the back. [ the muffled sound of a car door opening. ] I only have basic training, but if you tell me what to do I can help.

[ rustling as alex sits down, butt-ending the connection. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[This voice sounds a) very British (it's Ferelden but whatever), and b) unfamiliar — unless there happens to be a fan of "The Sunshine Farm" listening — as he's only used audio on this network once.]

Do you—.... Is there someone coming to help?

[ reply is 10-15 minutes later doot dee doo ]

Yeah, someone who can... magically heal wounds so we'll be okay. [ he hopes, anyway. ] Thanks.

[Alistair waited. Considered calling for an ambulance, when no response came — but, thankfully, the answer comes before that happens.]

Right. Magic wound healing.

[Robots. Aliens. Why wouldn't magic wound healing be a thing.]

If you—.... You don't need any more help, then.

[ THIS PERSON SOUNDS SKEPTICAL. ]

Are you new?

Is that really relevant?

[In other words: YUP. NEWBIE.]

Uh, no... Well... Kind of a shitty thing to see, this.

Are you talking about your injuries?

No, the- the post. I mean.

[ YEA...H. ]

I think we'll be okay. But if I do kick the bucket, then you can have my ugly Christmas sweater.

[ holiday spirit!!! ]

I don't want a dead man's ugly Christmas sweater. If you want to get rid of it that badly, you'll have to keep breathing.

[Mostly unamused. Mostly.]

No way, I love that thing. I'd be be... [ what is that fancy word again? ] ... bequeathing it to you, hoping it, you know, finds a new, loving home. But no, no, don't want to leave it homeless.

Then get home to it. I don't want the damn thing. They're only ever good for ugly sweater parties.

[The talk of death has him reconsidering that call to an ambulance. But, as long as the man keeps talking....]

[ he lets out a breathy laugh. ]

You're a harsh fellow, aren't you?

I'm realistic. [... No, he's just harsh.] If you want it taken care of, you need to keep breathing and do it yourself.

Or do you not have faith in your magic wound healer?

[So help him HE WILL CALL IF YOU DON'T HAVE FAITH.]

[ brief pause. ]

My faith in him is greater than the world's largest hamburger.

[ hamburgers :'( he misses them. ]

Edited (html) 2013-12-23 23:41 (UTC)

... That's quite a lot of faith, sir.

He's earned it.

[ guess slowly bleeding out makes alexander varista a mushy dude. ]

[It's not an unfamiliar occurrence for Alistair.]

How close is he to being there?

Close. I should go. I'll talk to you later, harsh fellow.

[ he doesn't necessarily mean to follow up, but 'i'll talk to you later' is almost synonymous with 'good-bye' in his dictionary. ]

Please do.

[Otherwise, he's just gonna assume you DIED HORRIBLY while he sat around doing nothing.]

[ voice, 12/18, after dark ]

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