William is not a doctor and he feels certain he has in no life ever been a doctor, so he is freaking out right now, trying to get this bandage to go around the graphic shrapnel wound of this white-faced woman who someone mentioned something about-- that-- she might die of shock? His fingers are numb and stupid and the buzzing in his ears doesn't seem to have anything to do with the amount of background havoc in the Dowager.
Yet somehow he's managing to keep count of the rotations he's making around the woman's arm. Bullet had said twenty-seven. So he's on thirteen, fourteen, counting carefully as he goes, trying not to think too hard about how horribly pale the Olympian woman is growing, as she stares blankly into the chaos of the cargo hold now. Crates of supplies converted to beds for the wounded, smaller stacks roped and tarped together for stability-- and sterility-- and made now into surfaces for medical supplies, a water distribution station. The Dowager is past capacity.
He's trying not to picture the next bad swerve the ship makes. What'll happen if this woman falls over, maybe falls onto the piece of metal poking out of her arm, what if it. moves. cuts into an artery or--
"As makeshift furniture goes," he's trying for humor now, "you've got the best crate of the lot. One of my mates brought a sexy blond onto this ship and she's been up to all sorts of monkey business, I'm pretty fucking sure, so honestly-- we lucked out."
William is rewarded with a vague twitch of her shoulder.
Closed to Benji | Final Destination!
Yet somehow he's managing to keep count of the rotations he's making around the woman's arm. Bullet had said twenty-seven. So he's on thirteen, fourteen, counting carefully as he goes, trying not to think too hard about how horribly pale the Olympian woman is growing, as she stares blankly into the chaos of the cargo hold now. Crates of supplies converted to beds for the wounded, smaller stacks roped and tarped together for stability-- and sterility-- and made now into surfaces for medical supplies, a water distribution station. The Dowager is past capacity.
He's trying not to picture the next bad swerve the ship makes. What'll happen if this woman falls over, maybe falls onto the piece of metal poking out of her arm, what if it. moves. cuts into an artery or--
"As makeshift furniture goes," he's trying for humor now, "you've got the best crate of the lot. One of my mates brought a sexy blond onto this ship and she's been up to all sorts of monkey business, I'm pretty fucking sure, so honestly-- we lucked out."
William is rewarded with a vague twitch of her shoulder.