[Video/Action]

[chartom]

[If he were thinking clearly, Talbot would be approaching his first network transmission with a bit more finesse, restricting the communication to a voice or text message. But not only is he in a fix, he's fixated: if Drake or Sullivan were dragged down into this godawful place with him, he wants them to see his face; he wants them to experience the itching of a gaze on their backs every time they step outside.]

I need a surgeon. [The video feed is unreliable, but the splash of aged blood around the entry wound in his shoulder is hard to miss on the backdrop of his white shirt when it momentarily sputters into clarity. He tilts the screen up, putting his tired face into view.

There's a hiss of static, then:] --and I need information.

((OOC: If you're a castmate, your thread's probably going to get encrypted to prevent eavesdroppers!))

Comments

[chartom]

That's easy enough to say now. But one isn't always given that choice.

[uncalled_for]

You've already found a safe location, what choice of safety isn't available?

[chartom]

[Once he's finished fretting over the poor woman, Talbot sets to opening his shirt and working his shoulder free of it. The dressing's already been removed, leaving the angry red entry mark at the crown of his deltoid exposed.]

It's three, four days old.

[chartom]

[The prying isn't improving his mood. But as long as he has a supply of untruths that may help him snare his quarry, he's willing to spin them.]

The men responsible for this [he lifts his chin at his shoulder] may well still be near.

[uncalled_for]

[Not so much prying as it is a concern that her efforts are for nothing...]

More of those Masked made it under ground? Or are we fighting each other while bombs drop on top of our heads?

[Fabulous more infighting.]

[feel_nevermore]

Then close your eyes, relax and clear your mind from all thoughts. Tell me when you're ready.

[Her palm hovers over the wound and she waits for his green light before she starts using telekinesis to remove the bullet.]

[chartom]

Oh no, they're other transports. And I have reason to believe they'll be after me again, given half a chance.

[uncalled_for]

And the reason they are after you in the first place being..?

[The herbs are done, by the way, now she's just waiting for him to prove they wouldn't go to waste on him.]

[inwhichwar]

[Maria makes a disapproving tch noise and delves into the satchel for hand sanitizer and gloves, which she applies. "Sterile" is a joke given their current conditions, but one does what one can.

That done, she leans forward and peers at the wound, pressing a thumb experimentally to the nearby flesh.]

You have had any signs of fever or weakness, any feeling of heat or burning in the arm or the wound itself?

[chartom]

A bit of an unresolved matter from back home.

[Said with some finality--if she wants details, she won't get them.]

[chartom]

[Talbot winces at the prodding, though he does try to keep obvious signs of physical discomfort to a minimum.]

Yes, the fever started in today. [If not for that, he might not have asked for help at all.]

[uncalled_for]

And this unresolved matter can't wait until explosions cease dropping on our heads?

[chartom]

Now that's up to them, isn't it? I can behave all I want. That doesn't guarantee my safety.

[uncalled_for]

[Augh. People just never learn. Screw the herbs. This is frustrating. She'll set down her supplies and move closer.]

Hold still, I'll use a spell. But you get yourself injured again by these people because none of you fools wanted to set your differences aside during a time of war, don't expect there to be someone willing to drop everything to come and help you.

[inwhichwar]

Ahuh.

[She doesn't sound surprised because she isn't. She sits back a bit and frowns.]

You have allergies I should know about, Talbot -- sulfa, penicillin, anything of that sort?

[chartom]

[The woman's thoroughness is comforting. In putting out the call, he hadn't dared hope he'd nab anything resembling a professional in this wretched hole in the ground.]

No. You're all clear.

[inwhichwar]

Very good. I don't have so much of a selection down here with me, so fewer complications is best.

[Out of the satchel comes a wrapped syringe and a small bottle of fluid. She goes through the motions of drawing a dose as she speaks.]

So. We do nothing fancy, no surgery or any of that which could introduce more contaminations. But antibiotic and some cleaning up, that we can accomplish down here and not cause more than we solve. Sehr gut?