23 Sep 2024, 00:49
Liar
It was probably his screams that roused the prefect from his fitful slumber. he had left in such haste, his sounds of distress were more akin to a haunting, terrible sound that shattered the calm of night before he fled, led by instinct rather than purpose to the well-place. That was the best a distressed boy could think, carrying his own hand in the early morning hours. The strange chittering laughter to his back died away as the dormitory door slammed behind him. They lived in the walls, under the bed, in the rafters and sometimes his head.┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓
Aamon Athanatos arrived at 5:32 am in the Hospital wing in
Hogwarts with an injury to his hand, wearing nightclothes.
He was met by a female who is attempting to render aid.
He hands her his severed hand.
A second girl arrives and states he needs a tourniquet. This
may be a subject of debate between his saviors.
Aamon gave his name and status. Was brought to a bed. Is
overcome with panic and nausea. He is vomiting, possibly on
his saviors. A Prefect is now there.
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
"Yes, I meant your arm." The first girl corroborated. The bad one? He wondered as he extended the half bandaged stump (maybe) towards her.
In his other ear. "You'd rather die?" The nameless girl accused him.
He did not want to die. He did not want anything besides an attached hand and maybe a nap. He could feel bile welling at the back of his throat, he felt like he was going to puke.
"Well guess what, I don't care. You are welcome to please sit yourself down on a bed why are you still standing?"
Why was she so mad at him? He did not have enough moisture in his brain to think straight. Did they date? No, he was too young to date. He did not date. Did his brother date her? Maybe, which one? They were all different flavors of awful. She would drag him the rest of the way to the nearest unoccupied bed, his bloodied stump still extended towards Iris helplessly. "I'm sorry about Vlad, and Giddy and Matt," was Mathias a brother? No, a cousin. Half-brother? He was not sure, his head hurt. "Jürgen, Erin..." She had grabbed his (healthy) arm and tried to guide him to a bed. He stumbled, his sense of equilibrium lost, he gracelessly faceplanted half on and half off the bed while the girls resumed their academic debate over his half-dead body while he rattled off the given names of his terrible family.
"What do you mean what does a tourniquet do? It stops the blood when pressure doesn't or when you really need to stop blood. I guess magic could do the same thing, but I keep forgetting that it exists so you'll have to forgive me for trying my best. Look, I get you don't like me but this is really not the time."
"You no longer have any say in the matter if you would choose death, but for some reason your bleeding is stopping...that is completely illogical in every regard but okay. Do you have any other injuries? What happened?"
He did not have the capacity to debate her. It was far from a miracle. Even in ancient societies, hands could be cut off, the consequence for thievery. The point was not death, it was pain, punishment and penance. While many likely still died, it was less likely from blood loss and more likely due to infection in ancient society. Vessels constrict around the site of injury and blood clots over the terminal point of the injury. Blood pressure eventually drops due to blood loss and the early signs of hypovolemic shock which further slows down bleeding and ultimately preserves life even in the face of a loss of limb. "Nothing else," he was otherwise strangely uninjured. "They cut it off," he repeated this time sounding a bit winded.
"I imagine he's overwhelmed."
Iris explained. She was not wrong. "They are me," he babbled.
A slytherin prefect would turn the corner and enter the wing. Did his screams summon him? Considering the fact that Atlas was famous, a prefect after all, Aamon recognized him. There were only four and they were the authority figures of their house in the absence of the head of house or a professor.
"My name is Atlas Anderson, I am a Slytherin Prefect. While on my way here I could hear you guys talking, only to walk in on this."
"Where is my hand?" Aamon's eyes darted around the room. "Did you bring my hand?"
He felt sick, anxiety and exhaustion overtaking his senses as the periphery of his vision continued to dim.
"Here's what we gonna do, someone get me surgical gloves, please!"
"Surgery?" A dirty muggle word. He would lift his head from the bed and try to get further on top of the bed, a better position to be worked on and slightly more dignified even if the later was far from his primary concern.
"You gonna have to calm down, Mr. What's your name?"
"I'm..." he was about to give him the speech, the speech that was so ingrained in him that it was instinct by now. But no, something else was brewing. From his mouth he spewed something awful. Whatever it was he ate last evening before retiring was now coming from his mouth, hot and liquified. [If it hit any of you or not, that is up to you.] "Aamon" huff "Athanatos... th-third, no second" huff "in my... Merlin" he coughed up another mouthful of vomit. "Family line as heir apparent," he took another breath where he could. He thought some vomit might have escaped through his nose. his nose was burning. "First year Slytherin."
His surname was well-known, their family was a very carefully bred line of Seers and sometimes legilimens but the later was a one-in-a-generation rarity. Wealthy, prestigious and often involved in political drama, Aamon also had to contend with the legacy of his elder brothers and cousins who have done little to leave a positive name in their wake even if the power of their clan is long-withstanding.
WC: 880
iNPC: Taylor Athanatos
23 Sep 2024, 02:17
Liar
Upon the arrival of a prefect, a sense of momentary relief washed over her. Not her job, not in the slightest. For that, Iris was grateful. The weight of responsibility slid from her shoulders as the older boy took over, his voice laced with an authority that suggested he knew what to do. One could only hope, she supposed.
She watched as the boy slid pitifully onto the bed, a twinge of sympathy falling upon her features. The entire situation was bewildering, a chaotic tapestry woven from pain. As he continued to ramble, the theory of him having lost his mind hardly changed. Apologizing on the behalf of names Iris had no idea of, ones she figured her peers knew just as less.
Iris then took a step back, establishing a gap between herself and the injured student. If the prefect were to actually do something about it, the need for Iris was now very little. Her hands, which had previously hovered near Aamon’s trembling form, now fell to her sides. That was his name, wasn't it? He spoke it once, though the following act of vomit managed to let it slip her mind.
If a mess hadn't already been made before, it surely stained the room now. Instinctively, Iris' first thought was for a bucket. A bag. Something to clean it up with. Side stepping the puddle on the floor, it was hard to say what to do now. A house elf would tend to it, surely. As for Iris, well there was hardly anything she could offer. Other than assistance, though there appeared to an abundance from once she originally entered. The chiming of multiple voices had become even a bit distressing, let alone for the child who appeared actually at risk.
As the Slytherin, Atlas, continued to seize control of the situation, she caught his eye for a moment. A brief, silent glance of acknowledgment before dismissing herself entirely. That was all she needed. No thanks, no reassurances, just the understanding that her part in this was over. With the turn of her heel, she managed to take one last glance at the scene. The frail boy, the smell of iron thick in the air, before slipping back from whence she came.
Iris has left this thread.
| sta : 7 ⸝ eva : 7 ⸝ str : 0 wis : 9 ⸝ arc : 9 ⸝ acc : 8 |
Iris E. Athanasiuo ·𖥸· |
━━━━━━ | Wings of silver, talons of gold. |
23 Sep 2024, 02:56
Liar
𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲThe Thread Date Unknown
"You'd rather die?" The first of several high-pitched voices sounded, and it soon proved to be the least mental statement of them all. Prefering death was a perfectly reasonable response to being given Skele-Gro, for starters.
".. Tourniquet"
"Yes I meant your arm."
Then, worst of all:
"...I am a Slytherin perfect."
Two of the worst things one could be at Hogwarts and he, at least the voice sounded like a boy's, was both.
Death certainly seemed preferable to that.
Finn rounded the corner back into the Hospital Wing, yet didn't return to his bed. Any chance of sleeping while this racket was going on had long since gone anyway. Besides, whoever's arm needed surgery by a Slytherin prefect using a tourniquet (he presumed that had to be what has going on), was already being swarmed on all sides. The most helpful thing to do now seemed to be to stay out of the way and fetch a nurse.
A proper one.
"I'm sorry about Vlad, and Giddy and Matt (...) Jürgen, Erin..."
He froze. Half of those names were meaningless to him, but the other half was not.
"They cut it off."
"They are me."
The boy - it was a boy wasn't it? - was clearly in shock. Who wouldn't be with their bloody arm gone? Had he really heard that right? Had "they" cut his arm off? Who were they? He didn't seriously mean that Erin and Vlad and Giddy had-
"Where is my hand?"
Surely he meant wand, surely-
"Did you bring my hand?"
Then an awful, retching sound. The splatter of it on the floor left little to the imagination.
He was a split second away from turning on his heel and running to the nurse's office when the boy's pitiful voice rooted him to the spot.
"Aamon..."
"...Athanatos"
Now there was a name he recognized. For several useless, wasteful seconds his mind reeled with possibility. It was the stirring of one of the young students leaving the scene, giving poor Aamon some much needed breathing room, that snapped him back to reality.
What was he doing? What were any of them doing? The boy needed serious medical attention, not a group hug or a heated debate over his corpse.
Or being morbidly spectated from afar...
He jumped into action, ambling bare-footed across half the length of the wing to where Aamon had been deposited like a sack of potatoes. A foul, putrid stench hit his nostrils and he barely resisted the impulse to gag.
Barely looked at the remaining students either. Just long enough to know that none of them were any bloody use. And neither was he.
"Don't just stand around. Get help!" A little hypocritical to be sure, but better late then never. Without pausing to join the debate on surgery, he bellowed at the top of his lungs:
"NURSE! NUUUUUUURSE!!" @ Dusana Sabo
OOC edit/note:
ReducioTo clarify, I intended my post as Finn already being present in the hospital wing due to an unspecified Quidditch related accident. However, he conveniently happened to be visiting the lavatory when Aamon was brought in. This post is from the viewpoint of Finn returning from the loo to get back to bed, only to be greeted by the sound & sight of Aamon and his fanclub.
Last edited by Finnegan Connor on 23 Sep 2024, 14:26, edited 1 time in total.
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio
23 Sep 2024, 08:10
Liar
@Aamon Athanatos @Finnegan Connor @Atlas Anderson
Opeila had developed a new little habit at the start of her fifth year and while it was not part of her job as a prefect, she quite liked being up early. Or at least she did while the sun still rose early. It was starting to stay dark longer, sometimes she waited a bit before she slipped out for her early morning patrols.
These patrols were usually uneventful, but not this time. The panicked chatter reached her way before Opeila was even in the right corridor. Five years of seeing all kinds of different horrors at Hogwarts had her running in an instant, already scared of what she would find.
And when she entered the Hospital Wing, the scene before her was just as terrific as she imagined. A bunch of children were crowded around a young boy- oh, the boy. He looked awful. Pale, blood all over his clothes and... his hand...
The metallic scent filling the air made her nauseous. For a moment she was not in the hospital wing anymore, but the forest, and the blood she could smell was her own.
It was the name that pulled her back into reality. Aamon... Athanatos? Opeila shook her head, trying to get a grip on the situation again. She was the oldest witch in this room. She had to make sure he would be fine.
"Hey, Finn?" She remembered the kid from a trainride. "Please go and wake up nurse Sabo. I'll make sure he stays awake."
Finally having a bit of a plan, Opeila approached the group of children, already searching through the little bag, she always carried with her, until she found what she was looking for. She had known it. After the forest, Opeila had sat down to brew a few potions for herself. She had known that blood replenishing potion would come in handy sometime.
"Hey... Aamon, is it?", she started trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. She couldn't help searching his face for any similarities with Vlad. "I am Opeila, I am also a prefect and a hospital wing intern. I think you have lost a lot of blood, so I want you to drink this. It will replace the blood you lost, you'll feel better." If he allowed her, she would put the little flask into his uninjured hand, before she turned to Atlas. "Hey, what are you doing?" If it was a good plan, she'd help.
Asking Finn to get the nurse, giving Aamon one dose of blood replenishing potion.
23 Sep 2024, 12:44
Liar
· · ─────── ·
· ─────── · ·
· ─────── · ·
@Aamon Athanatos @Avis Marlong @Atlas Anderson @Finnegan Connor @Opeila Winters
What was all the racket? Still dressed in her sleeping clothes which consisted of a long, full-length teal nightgown and her hair wrapped up in a matching coloured sleeping turban, Dusana blearily wrapped a loose fitting dressing gown over herself when one of the house elves who helped in the Hospital Wing came to her sleeping quarters. Something about a boy with a severed hand, and blood, and students, and the Nurse had to come quickly. Dusana herself could hear someone bellowing for the Nurse. She sighed frustratedly.
She'd left the space late the night before, having made sure that all her patients were quiet and content, free of any pains and ailments that might trouble them. She'd checked her stocks of potions and items, as she always did before heading to bed. She was a human after all and still needed her beauty sleep. Asclepius, curious at the commotion of movement from his mistress, raised his head from his own sleeping place.
"Where are you going, Sssspirit of mine?" he hissed out.
She listened to her snake, pausing at the door as the house elf worriedly twisted their hands, imploring her to come quickly. Dusana harshly tied the sash around her waist tighter, making a follow me signal to her serpent friend as she pocketed her wand into her dressing gown, her entire being vibrating with anger. She answered him as they made their way past her storeroom to the main Hospital Wing.
"We are going to see why the fuck students are out past curfew and bleeding all over my Hospital Wing. This isn't some playground to play Healers and Nurses."
White linen beds lined the walls, some filled with patients and some not. Plants surrounded the windows and free shelves. What immediately caught her eye was that the Wing was filled with numerous students, the door to the rest of the castle open to the early morning. She scowled at the sight.
"Look at you all, pretending you have an ounce of medical knowledge that could help this person," she drawled.
What was it with students and thinking they could be the heros of every story. Hogwarts needed to kick some life lessons into these children. She raised an eyebrow at them all, drawing out her wand from one of her dressing gown pockets.
"You're all out past curfew. If it wasn't for the blood spilling across my clean floors, I'd have you in detention. Prefect or not."
She eyed the two Slytherin prefects standing next to the boy bleeding out. She hadn't met the younger one in her time yet, but she knew of them. She'd made a point to at least recognise some of the faces who held a little power. Who knew when she might have need of them?
She didn't know what had been previously done but it looked haphazard at best. Gloves from somewhere in her domain had been grabbed, something she was going to be dealing with later but she would pick her battles. The bleeding boy was her first priority. She sniffed at the attempt of bandaging his arm.
"I hope none of you did this. You'd be given a T for this poor performance if I gave out marks."
Dusana eyed the boy. He was pale, and clearly in shock from his mumbling and unfocused countenance. Her tone gentled, trying to soften the horror that this young boy must be feeling.
"It's alright," she soothed. "It'll be right as rain soon."
She carefully unwound the bandages, wrapping them tighter over the wound to stop the blood. A tourniquet was needed before she could look at the wound properly. Dusana pointed her wand towards the boys arm. It would need more than the muggle way of doing this.
"Ferula," she hissed, moving her hand in the correct wand movement. Stupid Hogwarts with its stupid students. How was a boy coming to her with a severed hand?
"None of you are in my internship. Useless the lot of you." She eyed them all, catching on Opeila Winters, recognising her as an intern. "If you don't have any medical knowledge then it would be best you found yourself a bed."
She pointedly looked towards some of the empty beds in the Hospital Wing. She was sure one student in particular had been left in one last night.
"I'm sure you all found your way here for a medical reason, yes?" she addressed the group.
It wasn't a question really, but a statement. She was sure that for some utter babble, that they were in need of her help at the ungodly hour it was, but standing around a student majorly bleeding out was not a good reason to be out of bed.
"You'll be seen to after this incident."
She nodded at the potion the girl was offering. "Correct idea, Miss Winters." Thank god for the girl being in her internship and being competent enough to think of something quickly. "Blood replenishing potion." She let the boy take it if he wanted. It would be best. Dusana would get some more out of her own stock in an hour, depending on how much he needed.
She gestured to one of her house elves to get a tourniquet and another blood replenishing potion so she could look at the wound properly without the boy suffering. It was as she gave the rushed instructions to one of the house elves that she noticed the bloody hand that one of the students was holding.
"Give that to me. I'll need to reattach it."
Casting Ferula around Aamon's wound, and asking for the severed hand.
· · ─────── ·· ─────── · ·
· ─────── · ·
23 Sep 2024, 13:44
Liar
When Atlas applied pressure on Aamon's wound in an attempt to halt the bleeding, his hands trembled. Warm and viscous blood seeped between his fingers, filling his nostrils with a fragrance of copper. He was used to being responsible, but this? This exceeded his wildest dreams. His thoughts raced with the enormity of the matter at hand, it causing his breath to catch in his throat and get shakier with each breath out.
Aamon laid in front of Atlas looking as pale as death and with a half-bandaged arm that twitched haltingly. With weakness and uneven breaths, the boy's chest rose and fell. Atlas's heart raced in his chest, timed to the intensity of the moment. He disregarded the sweat that trickled down his cheeks and mixed with the blood on his palms. There was no place for discomfort. He couldn't afford to breakdown at a time like this. This experience was too traumatic.
His head ached. The headache he'd been suffering from was strenuous ever since entering the room now pulsed behind his eyes, a sharp stabbing sensation that interfered with his ability to think. For a short moment the Prefect closed his eyes in an attempt to ignore the severe heachdache pain, but it intensified. His eyesight became a little fuzzy but he kept on blinking quickly, trying to keep his attention on Aamon.
He wasn't prepared for this. Not one of them was. Being a prefect wasn't about this; yeah, they had to uphold discipline and provide direction, but this? A young child loosing his hand? Blood splattering all over the floor? This was much more than any student ought to be expected to manage.
Atlas felt a wave of panic and pressed his fingers harder on the wound. He hoped he would somehow stop the blood flow. "Come on, come on...Aamon," he whispered to himself, his voice wavering, "please hang on."
The walls seemed to close in around him as the weight of the situation started to heavily press down on his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.
Suddenly, Finn made his debut in the doorway as he took in the chaos that was unfolding before everyone present in the room.
“NURSE! NUUUUUUURSE!!”
Though Finn's yell reverberated through the Hospital Wing, Atlas hardly noticed it at first. He stared at Aamon, whose face had turned completely white. The boy's respiration was now hardly audible and his lips were becoming bluish. Atlas felt fear gnawing at his insides, causing his heart to miss a beat.
A million thoughts raced through his mind. What if they were too late? What if no one came? What if Aamon—
Opeila raced through the Hospital Wing entrance. Atlas felt a wave of relief when he saw her. She was more than simply another prefect—she was an expert in her field. She was the one who could help in this dire situation.
When Opeila questioned Atlas about his actions, the young Prefect gave her a look while continuing to apply pressure to Aamon's wound. The boy's sleeves became stained with dark red color from the blood seeping through the cloth. His trembling voice revealed the helplessness that had been festering within—from the beginning of the whole scene.
“I’m… I’m trying to stop the bleeding,” he said with his throat dry trying to utter some words trying to explain. “It won’t stop. I don’t know what else to do.”
His gaze locked with Opeila’s as he was awaiting desperately for some hint of comfort. The weight of Aamon's existence seemed to be crushing him and he felt as though he was losing control. He felt a sudden spike of pain going through his head as his headache throbbed more intensely. Everything seemed to be whirling around.
Opeila jumped in to assist with the situation. Atlas froze, it seemed as if he was observing everything through a thick glass window and with that happening, he felt as if the space seemed far away and muted. Now his headache was blinding, and the air was heavy with the sickening stench of blood, so much blood. He forced a firm swallow, trying to quell the queasy feeling in the pit of his throat.
Opeila quickly gave the boy a blood-replenishing potion. Atlas observed withhis chest tight with anxiety, every second feeling like an eternity.
He released a long-trembling breath that he was unaware he had been holding. Blood was still all over his hands, and his senses were overpowered by the metallic odor in the atmosphere. His head was spinning, the blood clinged to his skin and seeped into his garments. He absentmindedly wiped his hands on his robes but the stain remained.
He was dizzy. It was all too much to bear—Aamon's wound, the blood, the guilt. His eyesight became slightly blurry, causing him to waver slightly before he could almost topple down. He forced himself to remain upright, to breathe properly. He was not going to pass out. Not right now.
After what seemed to be like few minutes, the school nurse came in. The young Prefect was so preoccupied by the scene of his injured peer. His pale face haunting him, that the nurse's words scarcely registered in his thoughts. He should have felt more at ease having the nurse around, but her dismissive attitude made him feel even more uneasy.
He felt his heart beat fast as she deftly removed the improvised bandages and started to apply a tourniquet. His unfocused eyes rushed around the room as if he looking for something to hold to, and he could see the boy's horror intensifying. His head was more tense and he was nauseous due to smell of blood. He could see the pressure behind his eyes rising.
He wanted to say something, to reassure Aamon, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he watched, entranced by the nurse's efficiency. The way the Nurse commanded the room was impressive yet her harshness grated against his already frayed nerves.
When she gestured to cast a spell on Aamon's severed hand, his stomach twisted. This was real—too real for Hogwarts and for any underaged kid to see. But as he stood there, the weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders. The boy’s life seemed to rest on all of the Nurse's actions.
@Opeila Winters @Aamon Athanatos @Finnegan Connor
@Avis Marlong
@Dusana Sabo
24 Sep 2024, 01:48
Liar
He did not notice her leave. She faded away into obscurity when the room became crowded, but he would not know why. In fact, in the throws of his personal anguish and panic, he would not notice her gone until many moments later. Iris Athanasiuo has left the thread.┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓
Aamon Athanatos arrived at 5:32 am in the Hospital wing in
Hogwarts with an injury to his hand, wearing nightclothes.
He was met by a female who is attempting to render aid.
He hands her his severed hand.
A second girl arrives and states he needs a tourniquet. This
may be a subject of debate between his saviors.
Aamon gave his name and status. Was brought to a bed. Is
overcome with panic and nausea. He is vomiting, possibly on
his saviors. A Prefect is now there.
A second prefect arrived. He was given the blood replenishing
potion. Someone else arrived and called for the nurse. Iris left
without a word. Nurse Sabo arrived and is treating his injuries.
Aamon is crying, less delirious and feeling guilty for getting
everyone in trouble.
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
It was a dizzying blur of activity about him. As one was preparing for surgery, other faces and shadows with physical forms impinged upon his space thickening the air he was so desperately trying to breathe. Restless, cold and pale, a mist of sweat across his brow his eyes darted about him but he struggled to focus.
Atlas pressed down on the stump of his half-bandaged forearm. The bleeding was slowing, but not because he was getting better but rather because he was running out of blood. The room swirled around him. "Come on, come on...Aamon," he whispered to himself, "please hang on."
"NURSE! NUUUUUUURSE!!"
An unknown voice would bellow. An emergent siren summoning the school nurse. A relief, the promise of surgery by a minor did little to alleviate his anxiety.
"Hey, Finn?" A girl's voice asked, he assumed it was Iris still there. A bit gentler than before, his mind lacking the means to calculate a reason for the ladies' bickering. It was the name that struck him - Finn. He new a Finn, and a wave of relief washed over his pale, exhausted and terrified features. "Please go and wake up nurse Sabo. I'll make sure he stays awake."
"Finn is a doctor," he insisted. Let the person that can fix him now take care of this. Of course, he was confused. There was more than one Finn with connections to Hogwarts. Aamon was thinking of Finley VanCleaf, former nurse of Hogwarts. Well, nurse being a general term. Finn was an accomplished physician, capable in his own right for so much more than managing the ailments of reckless children. Yet something happened to him when Aamon was quite young, he had gotten himself in trouble because he forgot who his true friends were. He was not sure what that meant, but he was not questioning this as he laid gracelessly on this bed crooked and bleeding out.
The girl who was looking to dismiss the doctor approached him. There was something wrong with her face, through his bleary eyes he was not able to make out her features any longer but he was pretty sure that girl had a blunt bang. "What happened to your face?" He was confused, in shock and not much help in his present state.
"Hey... Aamon, is it?"
He nodded, trying to face her but he was getting weaker with each passing second. She would see a bit of Vladimir in him perhaps (Roll: 8 + Wis 16; DC 20), his jaw, his cheekbones, one of his eyes. The other was a bit off, not quite blue. There were differences also, his face a bit fuller. His chin stronger and his hair darker. The Athanatos family purposefully bred their line, seeking above all certain genetic traits while maintaining genetic diversity. One would need a roadmap to determine who was who. But she could be certain of one thing, the boy was certainly related to that family.
"I am Opeila, I am also a prefect and a hospital wing intern. I think you have lost a lot of blood, so I want you to drink this. It will replace the blood you lost, you'll feel better." She would place a flask in his hand. He did not ask her what specifically was inside the flask, desperate people did not ask questions. He would consume the potion in a greedy gulp. His stomach revolted as the potion hit his recently emptied gut. He felt like he was going to vomit again and he started to retch. He could feel the bitter bile creep up the back of his throat but he forced it back down.
"Hey, what are you doing?" The question was not for him but he did not know the difference.
"Not vomiting," he coughed. he doubted he would succeed.
“I’m… I’m trying to stop the bleeding,” Atlas answered. “It won’t stop. I don’t know what else to do.”
"Just get doctor Finn back," Aamon babbled.
there was no doctor Finn to bring back.
However, his savior or the next best approximation would arrive, rushing through the threshold. He was not able to see much beyond blue, the color of her nightclothes through the haze that was his sight. The potion was starting to work quite quickly however, so he was starting to feel better. His eyes starting to blink away the blurriness. "Look at you all, pretending you have an ounce of medical knowledge that could help this person."
She made sure that she took the time to scold them, although to what ends he would not realize or have the mental fortitude to protest. "You're all out past curfew. If it wasn't for the blood spilling across my clean floors, I'd have you in detention. Prefect or not." Before wasn't it? Was this before? After?
"I hope none of you did this. You'd be given a T for this poor performance if I gave out marks."
"Was me," his voice shook as she notified him of his incompetence. "I just had the one..." hand he was about to say, his voice getting smaller as he started to explain himself but instead extended a shaking arm towards her to do as she willed. The blood pressure was rising within him thanks to Opeila's potion, but that coupled with the removal of the bandages, what early clotting that had occured already was undone. Blood started to pour readily from his stump.
He was crying.
"It's alright... It'll be right as rain soon."
She would rewrap the stump, tighter, more decisively than he had with the early assistance of Iris who he realized now was gone. He felt guilt for running her off, despite the fact that he was the one in crisis. He had done something wrong, he was sure of that. He had earned the ire of the school nurse, got these good samaritans in trouble also.
"Ferula," the nurse hissed, mad.
He cried as the blood started to get trapped in him, it seemed that his body insisted on leaking fluids from somewhere.
"None of you are in my internship. Useless the lot of you."
Small. Very small.
She would eye some girl he did not rec0ognize, having thought Opeila was the argumentative girl with the blunt bang. He was not wholly sure when she arrived. That she was the one that gave him the potion. He did not have the capacity to muse such possibilities.
"If you don't have any medical knowledge then it would be best you found yourself a bed."
"I'm sure you all found your way here for a medical reason, yes? ...You'll be seen to after this incident."
He did not say anything. He was not sure if he was supposed to. If this was just her venting her frustration at the general populace. If he had somehow focused her ire on them because of this. He had to do this, a logical part of him reminded him. He was missing a limb. Part of one. Those that helped him would not have been enough without her. Right? He was not sure. Maybe he would have been OK, albeit maimed but he would be put back together eventually probably. Teens and children saw themselves as indestructible, the concept of mortality an abstract concept for the most part.
"Correct idea, Miss Winters." She eventually commended Opeila. She had given Aamon the "Blood replenishing potion."
She gestured to one of her house elves to get a tourniquet and another blood replenishing potion. She would then notice the severed hand.
"Give that to me. I'll need to reattach it."
Just some information for the next post(s).
WC: 1498When she unwound the bandages again, gave him another potion. The cycle would resume - he would start to bleed out again anew. Of note, the edge of his stump and the wrist of his hand -- the jagged, rugged cuts, many small cuts to achieve this effect. it was not a clean cut, like something done by magic or a decisive cut from a single sharp blade. It was not ripped or torn. An animal? Unlikely because nothing was missing.
iNPC: Taylor Athanatos
24 Sep 2024, 02:06
Liar
Avis listened to the Nurse. Detention? For being past curfew? Avis hadn't realized there was a curfew. No one had told her that. That was frustrating. Shouldn't someone at Ravenclaw told her that? A prefect, the Head of House? A second year? And detention. Avis certainly didn't want that. She regretted getting into this whole mess now, even walking in the room. There were so many people in the room now. The nurse, two prefects, and another kid who had had the sense to call for a nurse. She was not needed anymore, even if she knew it should've been a tourniquet. "What was the best move now?" she thought. The kid was cared for, though she still wondered what happened. But she really didn't want to get detention. Best to stay on everyone's good side. Maybe she could just slip out the door and get back to Ravenclaw. For now. She would be back. She would find this kid, check on him. Avis would find out what happened, what was so weird about this place that kids have severed hands. Find out what and why he was mumbling about. Maybe she could write him a letter? Avis slipped out the medical ward door, heading back to Ravenclaw and hoping to escape detention for this new rule she had learned.
Avis Marlong | ”She won't cry or beg for help...she'll isolate from the world and fight her own demons so that nobody can throw it in her face later.” |
"The odds of hitting your target increase dramatically when you aim at it." Benji Marecos |
24 Sep 2024, 20:36
Liar
𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲLiar Date Unknown
To her great benefit however, Opeila had once handed him a chocolate frog on the train to Hogwarts. By virtue of that alone, she was something of a standout. Had circumstances been different, he might have attempted to weasel his way out of having to obey a Slytherin. The pale, wretched boy bleeding out couldn't wait however, delirium was kicking in hard: "Finn is a doctor," he heard the first-year babble.
After a flash of recognition showed in his eyes, he nodded curtly at Ms. Winters. "On my way-". Then the double doors burst open again.
This time it was nurse Sabo, and she looked about as happy as a fuming bull in a red room. At once he jumped to the side, making way to let her pass. Sunshine Sabo looked to be in the foulest mood he had ever seen her in, and he had no ambition to earn himself a detention from her. That probably involved cleaning up messes like this, or worse.
"I'm trying to stop the bleeding-" Anderson's voice sounded, at which he turned to look from where he'd frozen, about two beds closer to the exit than Aamon's bed.
-"just get doctor Finn back."
"I'm here," He responded on auto-pilot. It didn't matter that Aamon was delirious from shock. If the boy's delusion could provide some comfort, Finnegan would play his part. He pushed himself off the bedrailing he'd been holding and with cold, pitter-pattering feet, returned to stand at arm's length from Aamon Athanatos' bed.
The one advantage of being a regular in the Hospital Wing was that he had a rough sense of how Aamon might be feeling. Surrounded by strangers, telling him he was going to be 'right as rain' while he was fighting tooth and nail to remain conscious. Finn knew that feeling, he had been there before. He knew what it was like to have all your strength and lifeforce flow out of you into a red puddle. That fateful night in April was closest he'd ever come to dying and he imagined Aamon was feeling and thinking something similar.
Not wanting to get in the way of nurse Sabo or draw her ire, Finnegan opted to reach for the closest bit of Aamon that he could find within reach. It happened to be the boy's knee, which he gave his best reassuring squeeze. "I know you're freaking out, I know you're scared, I know... b-but you're in good hands now, OK? I know..." God only knew if it helped at all.
Given how often Sabo had been involved in bringing him back to health, Finnegan could not seriously harbor any ill-will toward her, but her comments were extremely unfair. She was the bloody nurse, wasn't she? It was her job to be around for emergencies, not theirs. Yet all she could do was grumble and whinge about everyone's incompetence and how she'd have them all in detention.
Finnegan bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from lobbing some choice words back at the nurse. How could she possibly complain about blood on the floor? Did she know what kind of job she was in? Maybe the Headmaster had been so desperate to replace the previous nurse that he'd misrepresented her duties to her. Whatever the case might be, Finnegan kept his mouth shut, but only just. Maybe after he'd been discharged from her care, when tempers had cooled a bit, he'd give her a piece of his mind.
Standing at the foot end of Aamon's bed, his vision of the boy's stump was partially obscured, and so jagged nature of the injury escaped his notice. He did however notice Anderson's growing unease. Perhaps he had judged too quickly and too harshly. The Slytherin had done what he could and sounded remorseful when he admitted he didn't know what else to do. Did any of them?
"Are you alright?" Finnegan mouthed at Atlas. Best to keep his voice as low as possible while he was this close to the irritated nurse. The girl near to him @Avis Marlong seemed equally taken aback, so he extended a curt nod to her as well before she tried to leave.
She has the right idea, he thought to himself. Though he was keen to point out to the nurse that he hadn't broken curfew, that he'd been in the hospital wing since yesterday, he remained silent. Better to show her by returning to his bed near the tall, skinny windows.
Unless he was halted, he returned to his bed, slipped under the covers, and drew up his knees. From there, several beds away from Aamon's, he watched in silence. I hope he gets better soon, he thought. He had many questions for Aamon and was keen to have them answered once the boy got better. Maybe tomorrow? He had no earthly clue what would be involved in magically reattaching someone's hand or how long it would take.
@Opeila Winters, @Aamon Athanatos, @Avis Marlong, @Dusana Sabo, @Atlas Anderson
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio
26 Sep 2024, 23:47
Liar
@Aamon Athanatos @Avis Marlong @Finnegan Connor @Atlas Anderson @Dusana Sabo
Thank god. Opeila heard the nurse's snarky comments before she even saw that she had entered the hospital wing. While she could supply the boy with some more potion to stop him from bleeding to death, Opeila was only an intern in the end. Anything further than bandaging and keeping him alive was beyond her expertise and Aamon certainly needed some more professional help than that.
She remained silent when nurse Sabo reprimanded the group- while some of her points were rather ridiculous, certainly the child hadn't deliberately lost a hand to bleed all over the hospital wing- it was rather curious that such a large group of children was outside after curfew. The school rules explaining the curfew were accessable to all students after all. If they broke the rules because they failed to read them, that was entirely on them, not the staff.
Only when the nurse finally began to tend to the injured boy, Opeila noticed how bad Atlas looked. "Hey..." Quickly she looked around, eventually finding a chair from which he would be unable to see the wound and blood. Gently she would take him by the shoulders and navigate him away from Aamon. "Come on, you sit down there. Take a deep breath, all is well."
Finn is a doctor. Opeila heard the words again when she walked back to the nurse. Finn? Finn was a kid, Aamon had to be confused. Did he know a healer named Finn maybe? (OOC: Opeila was at Hogwarts during Finley's time. Can I roll whether or not she figures it out?)
Opeila would return to where she had been standing before, take more of the blood replenishing potion from a house elf that brought it over, and put it into Aamon's hand. "Can I help with anything, Miss?"
A quick look at Atlas and Aamon answered that question to her very quickly. Both children were clearly disturbed and there was a little girl present who also didn't quite seem to know what to do with herself.
Well, first things first. Opeila drew her wand and pointed it at the floor that was still covered in blood. "Scourgify." Once that was done, she turned to the girl- never mind, the girl had left. Probably the best course of action if she wanted to avoid trouble with the nurse. Opeila turned her attention back to Aamon, offering a reassuring smile. "You'll be fine in no time."
One look to the nurse still working on reattaching the hand told her that it would probably be best to keep the boy distracted for now. Or would it? "So, what were you up to, this early in the morning?"
She made sure to make the question sound as lighthearted as possible, when in truth, she was digging her nails into her palms with tension. This was bad. It had to be. A new Athanatos was at school and he already turned up with the most gruesome injuries?
Getting Atlas to a chair a little further away, cleaning the floor, distracting Aamon.