06 Amateur Medical Advice
Lelith awoke with a sharp breath followed by a silently uttered curse. She'd teetered on the brink of death for hours, her only real motivation for staying alive was keeping the demon from sucking on her soul when she passed. Looking down her rage built up at what had been done to her once beautiful body. A long vicious cut had been shorn from the top of her shoulder down to her rib that arced when it reached her breast, which had was left almost dangling by a few strands of flesh. She slowly prodded the wound with her fingers, her mind registering a soreness that would last for weeks or possibly the rest of her life, depending on how things went. The added fact that the Mon'Keigh's chain sword had also nearly lopped off her right breast, seemed to be quite unnecessary.
"Fucking...erghh... damn." She cursed as she rose out of the cockpit seat. This is what I get for wearing a fucking Wych's armor and not being a fucking wych, she thought to herself. Before she'd departed she opted to wear the Wych's apparel she'd received back in the convent as opposed to the Warrior armor she traditionally wore. If she had, the issue of a butchered tit wouldn't be much of a concern. She moved out of the cockpit and into the cabin area of the humans ship. With one hand on her side she rummaged through the compartments for a few minutes until she'd found what appeared to be a box of medical supplies. If there was one thing to be grateful about, she mused, it's that they don't carry tools only for torture.
After she'd emptied the contents of the box onto the floor she sat on the bench adjacent and began to dig through the pile of medical supplies. There were dozens of bandages for different wounds. Packets of gel for burns. Packets of powder with little diagrams explaining usage, as it were to flash clot wounds which she set aside. There were also some glass bottles with liquids of varying color in them and a packet of syringes, nothing useful. She'd been hoping to find an item similar to a mi'dal, a device which could suture wounds through means of a low powered laser which in effect fused skin together. Painful yes, but the Eldar prided themselves on such things. As it were the closest thing she could find was in a small packet marked Suture Kit. It contained a length of durable wire attached to a needle. There was a small set of instructions but much of the terminology was lost on her. And probably didn't apply either. Another indignity she would have to suffer before this was all over.
The shock of losing so much blood and from soft tissue damage still had an almost debilitating affect upon Lelith and caused an unusual amount of clumsiness in a race that was known for it's elegance. After fumbling with the needle with her right hand she realized with an irritated curse that a muscle in her arm or shoulder must have been cut. Switching hands she sutured her way down the jagged cut and with a difficulty born from shock, pain, and more than a little disgust sewed her breast back to her chest.
Lelith looked down at her handiwork. It wasn't pretty. In fact it was atrocious.
"I may as well have cut it off." She said quietly to herself. Not wanting to look at the disfiguring scar any longer she took a bandage from the supplies on the floor and wrapped it around her horizontally and vertically, across to prevent her breast from tearing off again and up to hide the scar. But seeing as how she might be forced to fight again a large white bandage didn't seem to be a good idea. "In the Bloody Handed one's name no more." She spoke to herself with a hint of resignation as she searched the compartments again. Lelith found a compartment full of standard Imperial Guard fatigues. She dug through them finally settling on desert fatigues with a digitalized pattern. Their original owner name tapes said Vasilevich. Some Mon'Keigh name which she didn't bother trying to pronounce. "At least It's in my size." She said sarcasm dripping from every word. In reality it was a bit of a miracle considering she was just under seven feet tall. Irregardless of whether it fit lengthwise, the width of them would literally fall of if their were to hang loose. While the previous owner may have been a huge muscle bound creature Lelith could be no more the opposite. A lithe figure with extremely well toned muscles, she relied on lightening fast attacks as opposed to brute strength, something the animals outside had learned the hard way.
Lelith stripped the Wych's armor from her body and pulled on the fatigues using a belt to keep the camies from falling from her waist. She could do nothing but let the top hang loosely from her shoulders. They didn't seem to get in the way so she supposed they would do for now. With the easy parts out of the way Lelith decided set out to learn how to fly the unholy contraption and devise a plan of escape. She made her way to the cockpit and then stopped. She was in pain, her judgment was clouded, her reflexes dulled, and she was still in a little bit of shock. "Perhaps there's something in there." She said turning around turning the pile of supplies around and picking up any bottle with liquid she found and setting it aside.
Each of the bottles was color coded but despite the fact that she could speak and read the Mon'Keigh's language the labels on each bottle was indecipherable. Lelith organized the bottles by their color as it were by green, blue, red and brown. She picked up each bottle in turn analyzed the tiny lettering, scanning for the word adrenaline. Lelith was hoping to find something that would give her boost, and while it was a bit of a long shot to think that human medicines would work on her it couldn't have any detrimental effect either she reasoned. None of the labels however contained the word in need. In a small act of venting Lelith closed her eyes waved her hand above the bottles and picked the first one she touched. It was a tiny bottle one of the red ones, with a clear liquid that sloshed around when she shook it.
"Metho..he...qi...xi.. fuck it, Methohexital. Fucking warp damned erghhh." Lelith said in frustration as she read the title aloud. She pulled out one of the syringes stuck it through a rubber air seal at the top of the bottle and filled the syringe half-way.
"That should do it. Here I go. This better work." She said as she plunged the needle into the vein in her arm. The substance felt cold as she injected it.
"Not workin..." Lelith never finished the sentence, the anesthetic knocking her out before she'd finished injecting the entire syringe.
I'm Your Captain belongs solely to Grand funk Railroad and any other people who may actually own it without my knowledge. Or Copyrighted it. Or fucking whatever. I haven't read the copyright laws but since I doubt I'll ever make any money out of this I don't think I'm infringing on anyone's rights. If I am I'll take it down no argument. If a moderator feels this is a form of plagiarism I will take it down, and just remove the scene.