Sawbones Jetshard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dubiouslychthonic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
phantasmalrift2018-03-05 08:00 pm
dubiouslychthonic) wrote in phantasmalrift2018-03-05 08:00 pm
making this cold harbor now home
Who: Sawbones Jetshard and open!
What: Several around-the-station open prompts, first week of March.
Warnings: Third prompt involves blood and routine medical testing.
A - March 2, Common room, ~1 A.M.
[It's still a little surprising to Jetshard how quiet it is in the middle of the night around here; it's not unheard of for others to be up and around at this hour, of course, but in a troll community the aftermidnight hours would be the busiest part of the day.
Anyway, it feels vaguely antisocial to spend too much time shut up in her quarters, even if her sleeping schedule doesn't seem to coincide with most others', so she's currently camped out in the common room, sitting crosslegged on one of the couches with a large, dense book open in her lap and her tablet computer balanced on one knee. Ever so often, she taps something into the tablet.]
B - March 5, East Residential Hallway, ~7 P.M.
Aw, shit, no...
[The exclamation - more disappointed than alarmed, almost resigned - is accompanied by a faint clatter from inside the open door of Apartment #1. A smallish disk-shaped robot with a largish knife taped to the top trundles out of the room and down the hall toward the kitchen - maybe a bit faster than might be expected of a troll roomba. A moment later, Jetshard follows, stocking-foot and damp haired. She looks both ways at the door before spotting the device and giving chase. Hopefully it hasn't found any ankles yet...?]
C - March 7, Medbay, ~9 P.M.
[Jetshard sits on the edge of a cot in the medical bay, a combination of her own kit and some supplies she's scrounged up in here spread out next to her. She's turned away from the door; although she hasn't bothered to pull the curtains and hide herself from view, she's also kind of sheilding what she's doing with her body as she draws a vial of jade-green blood from her arm.
There's no real reason why she needs to be in here for this, except that there's something comforting about keeping medical things to the medical bay. It feels... safer somehow. Less vulnerable.]
What: Several around-the-station open prompts, first week of March.
Warnings: Third prompt involves blood and routine medical testing.
A - March 2, Common room, ~1 A.M.
[It's still a little surprising to Jetshard how quiet it is in the middle of the night around here; it's not unheard of for others to be up and around at this hour, of course, but in a troll community the aftermidnight hours would be the busiest part of the day.
Anyway, it feels vaguely antisocial to spend too much time shut up in her quarters, even if her sleeping schedule doesn't seem to coincide with most others', so she's currently camped out in the common room, sitting crosslegged on one of the couches with a large, dense book open in her lap and her tablet computer balanced on one knee. Ever so often, she taps something into the tablet.]
B - March 5, East Residential Hallway, ~7 P.M.
Aw, shit, no...
[The exclamation - more disappointed than alarmed, almost resigned - is accompanied by a faint clatter from inside the open door of Apartment #1. A smallish disk-shaped robot with a largish knife taped to the top trundles out of the room and down the hall toward the kitchen - maybe a bit faster than might be expected of a troll roomba. A moment later, Jetshard follows, stocking-foot and damp haired. She looks both ways at the door before spotting the device and giving chase. Hopefully it hasn't found any ankles yet...?]
C - March 7, Medbay, ~9 P.M.
[Jetshard sits on the edge of a cot in the medical bay, a combination of her own kit and some supplies she's scrounged up in here spread out next to her. She's turned away from the door; although she hasn't bothered to pull the curtains and hide herself from view, she's also kind of sheilding what she's doing with her body as she draws a vial of jade-green blood from her arm.
There's no real reason why she needs to be in here for this, except that there's something comforting about keeping medical things to the medical bay. It feels... safer somehow. Less vulnerable.]
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People in my world, among other stats, have Hit Points, or HP. At zero, you're at the verge of unconsciousness. Below zero, unconscious and possibly dying. Negative-ten, you're done for.
Which is a particularly terrifying thing for beings like me who don't have a separate soul - when we die, we die barring True Resurrection...
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Shock, though, wouldn't that require lightning?
[Medical terminology has improved since her day.]
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