"Uh.." She trailed off, lost in thought. "Could you please grab some bandages, the thick ones, the surgical thread... the needle should be tucked in there too... Antiseptic, gloves, and a syringe and some of that bottle with the reddish yellow liquid." She gasped suddenly and whimpered, her hand going to her side.
He searched the bag, taking out the requested items. "Just don't die, yeah?" Once he had everything he turned to her. "Do I have to do it? Cause I'm not good at that stuff."
"I think.." She closed her eyes for a second to gather her thoughts. "I think I can do it." She turned her attention back to the glass in her side and put on her gloves. She took a cloth and patted the wound as dry as she could, trying not to gasp as she did it. She attempted to thread the needle, but it took her a few tries with her hands shaking so badly. She took the syringe, and filled it with the reddish liquid and set it near her side. "Okay," she said finally, her voice shaky. "Okay. I'm going to try to take the glass out now." Her hand was a fist, and she was squeezing so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her breath came is small, shallow gasps, and she trembled from head to toe. She took a deep breath, wrapped her hand around the glass, and pulled it out in one swift action. She cried out, and she reached for the syringe, tears welling up in her dark eyes. She quickly began pressing down on the plunger, and the liquid began to solidify on the wound, slowing the blood down to a small trickle.
He sat against the door, listening to the outside. His heartbeat felt quick, and he was light-headed, but said nothing.
Poppy began to stitch up the wound quickly, wincing every so often. Her stitches were crooked and inconsistent, and her more perfectionist side critiqued her, but she managed to shush that part, and she tied off the final stitch. She used the cloth to clean the remaining blood and bandaged the wound, wrapping it around herself, and trying to keep her breathing consistent. She took a deep breath as she finished the last wrapping and she sat back, her eyes looking dazed for a moment. Finally, she shook herself out of her stupor. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Did you get hit or anything?"
"Can't really complain," she said. She laughed lightly, but it really sounded more like a sob. "You know, for a girl who just got hit by flying glass because her government is being bombed." She reached into her bag and pulled out her sleeping bag, tightly rolled from the day before. She tossed it to Francis. "Here. It's kinda chilly in here, and there's no telling how long we'll be here." She peered back into her sack, reached in, and then pulled out some pills that were the same color of the medicine that Francis was injected with earlier. "This is just for your symptoms," she said, handing them to him. "They won't make you sleepy."
He took the pills, but gave the sleeping bag back. "You could use this more than I could." (I'm making another modern Pirates thing! Is it okay if I do Natalia?)
(Of course! You can always draw any of my characters.) Poppy rolled her eyes, but smiled weakly at Francis. "Charming. Here though, this is easy to fix." She unrolled the bag and unzipped it fully, leaving a large rectangle of blanket. She laid it horizontally over the two of them, giving them both blanket but not making it exceedingly awkward. "See? Problem solved. As long as you're not a blanket hog like my sisters, we'll be fine."
"Good, I'm glad." She stretched as the room shook with explosions. She pressed her fingertips to her eyelids, trying to dismiss the thoughts that threatened to spill in.
He was silent for a long while, before looking up. "I suppose they didn't get a new ambassador in time."
She looked over at him, unsure if he was joking. "No, I guess not. God, how many people were out there?"
"I don't know. Most of them were unprepared and asleep. Hopefully they're okay." He got up and unlocked the door, taking a peek outside.
It was a wasteland. The air was thick with smoke, and the building had been completely blown apart. Plane shot still circle up ahead, and a crew of scouts patrolled the ruins, the emblem on their chest unfamiliar.
He shut it again, rather quickly, then locked it. "It's, uh, not great. If we need to run again, will you be able to?"
"Sounds like I kinda have to," she said, standing up and wincing. She rolled up her bag with a practiced hand, and packed her bag quickly. The side of her shirt was torn and tagged, and she stared down at t for a moment, and then looked up at him. "Do I have time to change this shirt?" she asked, raising a brow.
"Yes, but it's best you hurry," he said quietly, then turned away, staring into a corner. "There are people outside."
"How many?" she asked, turning her back to him and slipping off her bloody shirt. She reached into her bag and pulled out an easy tank top and put in on, muttering a curse as it touched her bandage.
"I'm not sure. Maybe five or six? There's most likely more scouting other areas, as well." He crossed his arms. "If you need help, please say something. You nearly gave me a heart attack when I realized you had been injured."
