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The Ebon Hawk, Monday Night
Aug. 27th, 2018 07:26 amThe first sensation that crawled back into Atton Rand's consciousness was pins and needles: like a sleeping limb, awoken with extreme violence, except over his entire body. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it wasn't pleasant, either.
The second sensation that managed to reach his slowly-waking brain was a ticking noise that rang entirely wrong alongside all the other, more familiar sounds.
"...karking... Micalwhat'dyoudotomyship?!"
"He's awake."
"I noticed," Brianna said, her impassive white face hovering into Atton's view.
"'s not supposed to tick like that," Atton mumbled. "What'd you do to make it tick like that?"
Mical drew a heavy breath. "We can talk about that when you've healed," he said delicately. "You've been in medbay for almost two days. You were lucky; Mira timed your exit perfectly. We managed to get to you before your brain became starved of oxygen."
Mira? ... Mira.
"Mira," Atton managed. His own voice sounded strangled. He imagined Mical looked pale.
"We can talk about that when you've healed," Mical started.
"We think she went down with the ship," Brianna said flatly. "We can't sense her."
An old panic uncoiled in Atton's gut. He extended his sluggish senses rapidly, ignoring the pain it sparked in the back of his head, in every inch of his pins-and-needle skin.
He found nothing.
He tried to sit up, his entire body protesting at the move. He only made it a few inches. "Mira!"
"Atton," Mical said delicately. "We're going to move you to the kolto now. We can talk later. I promise."
As his body forced him to settle back down, to submit to whatever the karking hell they were doing, only one thought remained bouncing around his head: I hate August. I hate August. I hate August.
[[ last one, establishy. ]]
The second sensation that managed to reach his slowly-waking brain was a ticking noise that rang entirely wrong alongside all the other, more familiar sounds.
"...karking... Micalwhat'dyoudotomyship?!"
"He's awake."
"I noticed," Brianna said, her impassive white face hovering into Atton's view.
"'s not supposed to tick like that," Atton mumbled. "What'd you do to make it tick like that?"
Mical drew a heavy breath. "We can talk about that when you've healed," he said delicately. "You've been in medbay for almost two days. You were lucky; Mira timed your exit perfectly. We managed to get to you before your brain became starved of oxygen."
Mira? ... Mira.
"Mira," Atton managed. His own voice sounded strangled. He imagined Mical looked pale.
"We can talk about that when you've healed," Mical started.
"We think she went down with the ship," Brianna said flatly. "We can't sense her."
An old panic uncoiled in Atton's gut. He extended his sluggish senses rapidly, ignoring the pain it sparked in the back of his head, in every inch of his pins-and-needle skin.
He found nothing.
He tried to sit up, his entire body protesting at the move. He only made it a few inches. "Mira!"
"Atton," Mical said delicately. "We're going to move you to the kolto now. We can talk later. I promise."
As his body forced him to settle back down, to submit to whatever the karking hell they were doing, only one thought remained bouncing around his head: I hate August. I hate August. I hate August.
[[ last one, establishy. ]]
