dogbane: (ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT CHARTS)
william tsang ([personal profile] dogbane) wrote in [community profile] ataraxionlogs2015-08-12 07:41 pm

15. MEDICAL TRIAGE dundun medical triage song

CHARACTERS: Anyone/OPEN
LOCATION: Triage Tree, eventually appropriate shelter
WARNINGS: Up to R for injury/gore
SUMMARY: Wound care, pain management, crazy crewmember restraint, beside-manner/other excuses for CR, and all manner of survival/technological/architectural/medical MacGuyvering.
NOTES: I have the permission of a few people to namedrop, and will likely edit to add more. But please start your own threads-- do anything you think could be in the scope of this log! I may NPC some psychotic crewmember attacks.



Days 1-5
Rain comes down in hard, cold needles, every now and again. In between, the sunshine is oppressively fierce.

The first iteration of the triage tent is crude. Overlapping medical tarps have been thrown up on the branches of the nearest tree to create a roof that leaks irregularly at the corners. For walls, other sheets have been fastened over crude grids of tree branches, stopping the worst of the wind. It's not great work, but Kate, William, and the other well-meaning amateurs who start it are nearly always on-hand to repair what the weather peels away. Others are in and out, running supplies, and carrying their wounded.

Within, there's enough space to contain twelve gurneys comfortably; twenty uncomfortably. Neither the tiny wheels and electrical hover functions are suitable to the environment, where mud sinks and outlets are nowhere. The personnel are left to wedge the legs between tree roots or over rocks, dead branches. It smells perpetually of mud; a pleasant backdrop for the crewmembers screaming or passed out in their restraints, and the dispirited mix of lucid natives and varyingly fantastical interdimensional travelers that pass through for treatment. Look anywhere, and someone will try and help you get to the triage center. Natasi appears like an erratic ghost, with more damaged passengers or concussed crewmembers over her shoulder. Every lunatic brought in for restraint is one less to attack the shabby tent in a fit of paranoid pique. It's a little totalitarian, but safer than nothing.

But Leo and Tadashi pull apart a few unformatted prosthesis for their power converters and rig some stuttering lights powered by kinetic energy. There's a lever to feed it, rather than a human hamsterwheel.

Some of the old Medbay staff remember enough to help, and volunteers are welcome. Emergency surgery, bandaging, antibiotics, cleaning, cauterization and medical prescription. The plasma is doled out rather than budgeted, for now; they don't know how long the Tranquility will keep supplies refrigerated for, or what will be stolen without the nanites to secure them.
Days 6+
No doubt, other construction and shelter projects are going on elsewhere-- but the medical triage tent hasn't been forgotten. Ailanne, England, and the still-mysterious man formerly-from-level-x update the shelter to something far more hospitable. In a few days, there's a broad, low tent with a peaked roof. Water only gets in sideways, at about knee level, and the wooden frame holds up under the friendly mauling of the wind. The gurneys now rest on stable footing of compressed layers of rushes, beaten scrap metal, and slightly drier ground, accompanied by a few beds that were unbolted and hoisted up out of the ship.

The lighting is better, feeding off wind and into a battery; they're even working on a turbine-turned fan for ventilation. They've gotten enough handheld scanners out of the gut of the Tranquility that everyone who wants can get a technologically-assisted once-over, but the devices are powered off between uses, for conservation. They're keeping notes on paper-- mostly the dangerous medications, surgeries, contaminants, IVs and other single-use items... laundry. What the fuck are they going to do about laundry. Inevitably, the crewmembers who remain of questionably lucid disposition are observed with skepticism and intrigue, but all bulky equipment like MRIs are still nailed to the ship. Research there is going to be creative.

More and more Medbay personnel are getting memories back. Clarke is on deck now, too. Granny Weatherwax and Dr. McCoy-- or "Bones" as the case may be-- have long since been in the thick of it.

As the first week draws to a close, the worst of the medical crises are over-- leaving them with the slower deaths that challenge survival on this planet. No doubt, other minds are on that, too.

anybodies: (over the shoulder)

Mystique | Day 2 | Closed to Leonard McCoy & Whomever Else Is Assisting

[personal profile] anybodies 2015-08-14 08:43 am (UTC)(link)
[She's beginning to regret making herself a little girl.

It was useful the yesterday, she's confident, but maybe she's out of practice with pretending to be other people or something because she's beginning to get a headache. She started falling asleep by a campfire, at some point after the rain. Only caught herself, with a jolt, when she saw the freckled skin on her wrist beginning to prickle back, turn blue. She'd crawled off in the dark then found a stick for a cane, grabbed a nap concealed in some ferns a few dozen yards further out, but it had been a poor and fitful sleep, fraught with bugs and paranoid jolts and pain steady in her amputated foot.

Through the heat of the day, she's seen people with pointy ears, and a strange man with skin made of glass and phosphorescent green eyes, or something. But she'd lost track of them, and couldn't find anybody else who was blue.

By the time she makes it to the triage tent, there is a miserable shape to her slouch. She's swinging her tiny foot, but her bandaged stump, dewy again with blood, is motionless beside it. Her curly hair hangs sticky against her cheeks, and she's watching the doctors-- who don't look like doctors she's ever seen-- move between the gurneys and cots. Waiting her turn with more patience than she sincerely feels.]
goodgodman: (pic#9306179)

poor bab :(

[personal profile] goodgodman 2015-08-17 01:56 am (UTC)(link)
[ Leonard wipes his brow with the back of his hand as he walks away from the previous patient. Smudges beneath his eyes, near bruise colored, are the only evidence of his exhaustion. He's carrying himself like he hadn't been working almost sixteen hours straight.

Sixteen hours was nothing. Sixteen hours was a cakewalk when he was a resident, he shouldn't be this tired. But the stress of disasters makes everything different.

Looking up from the damp notebook he's scrawling in he sees the small girl sitting on the gurney closeby. Leonard had seen all manner of terrible, untreatable things when he worked as a doctor of pathology in pediatrics but that didn't matter. The sight of her leg strikes him dumb for a moment. When had this happened? How long had she been without treatment? He doesn't remember treating her on board the Tranquility. The fact they've been here two days and he's just now seeing her makes him want to tear someone a new asshole. ]


Hey there, [ he says, voice warm and calm, more-so than it ever is to the adults in his care. ] I'm Doctor McCoy.

Lay back for me, we'll get you looked at. [ He pulls out his tricorder and scanner, keeping his movements brisk but purposeful as he starts to scan her. ] Don't suppose you remember your name yet, darlin'? Or how this happened to you?
anybodies: (a dawning terror)

[personal profile] anybodies 2015-08-19 06:11 am (UTC)(link)
Nope, [Mystique answers, tipping herself backward carefully. She settles down carefully, tiny shoulders against the gurney, opting not to think about who was laying here before. Her wound hasn't touched it direct, anyway. It's the least of her worries.] It's nice to meet you, Dr. McCoy, [she adds.] You can call me--

--um. [She eyes the scanner, suddenly. Wondering if what he can pick up is exposing her on some small level. He can see her heart rate speed up fractionally, a little heat gathering on her skin. Maybe that makes sense, considering she can't remember when the last time was that she'd been subject to this technology. What it does; what it could do. It's perhaps a convincing deception, when underneath it she's wondering if he can see her scales.

He can't, incidentally. She looks almost exactly like an ordinary little girl inside. Her bones a little dense, maybe; nothing especially shocking about the low-resolution take on her neural activity. The bacteria levels aren't too high, around her stump, but there's an infection waiting to happen-- if she goes another day without changing the bandages, surely.]


I can't think of a name...

[Funny thing: she lets herself be distracted from the pain with simple conversation. Whether or not that was what he intended.] How did you get yours back?
atent_dead: (Default)

OTA

[personal profile] atent_dead 2015-08-14 06:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Initially, Granny just comes by because she feels like she needs to be doing something. Then the memories start to come back. And fortunately for everyone, even before she's completely certain who she is, she remembers how to treat injuries without everything they have on board.

So she decides that's who she is. Someone who puts the people here back together. So the injured are addressed with a gruff "Granny's got you." She's stingy with the painkillers, wanting to make them last until she can find something local that will work. But she can clean and bind wounds, set broken bones, do an awful lot without having to rely on technology. And that means she's needed here.
bespectacle: (oblique)

[personal profile] bespectacle 2015-08-16 01:54 am (UTC)(link)
"Hello-- I'd ask for your name, but I'm not sure about all that at the moment--"

The young man awaiting services on the gurney is quite disheveled-looking. Even his clothes aside, his dark hair sticks up wildly, to reveal a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. These details are probably somewhat less noticeable immediately, though, than the fact his nose is purple and he sounds like he's talking while holding his breath, easy indications that his nose is broken.

Harry had waited awhile. Hadn't wanted to hog crisis stabilization or emergency services, when all that was wrong with him was a crack in some cartilage. He saw her step away from a young woman after referring to herself as Granny, but he's not sure what she meant by that. A cultural affectation? Or real family connections?

His heart squeezes a little, weirdly, secretly hopeful.
atent_dead: (Default)

[personal profile] atent_dead 2015-08-17 03:05 am (UTC)(link)
"Seems like folk mostly call me Granny." There must have been a time when they didn't. But everything was still a bit of a muddle. People call her Granny and ask for her help when they might be dying. She wants a better picture of who she is, but that's enough for her to know what she needs to be doing. And knowing how to look after the injured was more useful than a first name right now.

"What's troublin' ye?" He doesn't look on the verge of death. Always a promising start.
bespectacle: (fuuuuckkk)

[personal profile] bespectacle 2015-08-19 06:23 am (UTC)(link)
Harry's face falls, just for an instant. The next, he carefully reaches up his face to push his glasses a bit, glancing to the left then the right, reassuring himself no one needs help more than he does at the moment. Well. You know. Other than the nutty people freaking out still.

"Nice to meet you, Granny," he says. "I think my nose is just broken. I had a couple of those whaling on me." He jerks his head at the nearest man strapped down on the gurney, still frothing and snarling. Winces slightly, when the madman jolts briefly. Somebody's going to need their sedatives upped, he thinks, even if the whole notion of their restraints and so on-- it makes him feel a little queasy. "You look to have made it out all right."
atent_dead: (Default)

[personal profile] atent_dead 2015-08-20 04:26 am (UTC)(link)
"Ya don't make it to my age without bein' tough." She'd survived the crash without any injuries that wouldn't heal on their own. And much the same in the fighting. No one really felt the need to leave an old woman be, but she's managed to give as good as she got in the fray. Better, really, since she was still walking around and patching people up.

She starts looking over his nose. "That'll be simple enough to set."

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but_civilization: (apron the look)

Day 3-4ish? Open TW: Backboard and cervical collar, concussion

[personal profile] but_civilization 2015-08-14 09:31 pm (UTC)(link)
He doesn't remember who he is, or what is going on, to be honest, or even how long he's been here like this now. There was a crash, he can remember that, landing really hard on his head and his neck had hurt like anything, but he could sit up and move his limbs so that had been good, right?

Later on, Combeferre had mostly alternated between waking up with terrible shooting pains in his head and down his spine, and a lot of blackness. He'd hid for some reason, some instinct that told him that he must not be found. The guard would like to kill him, kill them all. It had been enough to keep him crouching away from the others, until...

Until he doesn't know what happened anymore. He'd been trying to find food, forcing himself to stand up and walk a few feet closer to where he'd seen and heard other people gathering, and then things had hurt much more and it had gone white and...

The next thing he knew, he'd woken up here, lying next to people who seemed to be hurt but he couldn't be hurt, right? He'd only fallen, nothing else. How had he even gotten here? Were they going to arrest and execute him soon, or...

Anyway, Combeferre's now lying down, some kind of horrible board holding his head and shoulders tightly in place so that he can't move them and it hurts, everything hurts, his neck and shoulders are on fire and they won't stop it, no one will stop, as badly as he wants for...


"Let me GO!" he's pleading, in an odd mixture of French, Provencal, and some Latin, whenever he seems to feel someone walking by. His bones are going to snap if he stays like this much longer, the BURNING, and the pressure and they have to help him soon, don't they?

"Please. I've only hit my head. I must be away from here before the Guard... They mean to kill me, and you for helping me! Please no, don't let them...Oh dear GOD it hurts. My spectacles are gone! I need them, I can't see." Another source of panic right there too. They have to have them don't they?

This alternates with pleas for people who he only knows as names and sources of different forms of comfort. He might not connect them names with specific faces, but he knows that someone named Eponine will pet and kiss and coddle him, that Enjolras, Jehan, Courfeyrac and Feuilly are people he can trust with anything, that Bahorel will protect him and that 'San' will know just how to take his pain away. Much as he doesn't know who they are a part of his mind wants them near him anyway, and here he is, frequently begging all the same, while trying to demand or negotiate his way off the horrible backboard and stiff collar holding him in place.

"Please!" He calls again, clutching at whoever passes by him. "Can't you help me!" And then, even quieter. "Do you know me?" Because he'd like to know that too, believe him.
Edited 2015-08-14 21:33 (UTC)
jondrette: (carry me combeferre!)

[personal profile] jondrette 2015-08-15 02:19 am (UTC)(link)
Eponine, or, Marigold as she had named herself, had taken to spending time around the triage tree. she'd begun to voulenteer, sitting with patients and talking to them, changing bandages. nothing too extreme, but it made her feel important. Maybe she liked caring for people? who knew. what she did know was that a young man was crying out, screaming, and it tugged somewhere deep inside her, as he tugged at her skirts. with little thought, she aet the basin down and turned to him.

the source of the noise was, a handsome man, strapped to some sort of board. setting the basin down, she reached a hand out to touch his sweaty forehead. "m'sieur!" her language was still rough Argot though she didn't recognize it as such. the nanites still did their job. "m'sieur, shh." she turned her attention to the basin and placed the cloth in the cool water. after she wrung it out, she placed it on his forehead. "hush now, m'sieur, you are safe. I do not know who you cry for, but tell me of them if it will help you." no one knew too much of who they were here. but some had an innate knowledge of what to do. With one hand, she pushed his hair out of his forehead, the other mopping his brow.

"you are safe here, as much as I know. I do not know who you are, nor who I am. none of us do." she cooed softly, her free hand still playing with his hair. Soft. oddly familiar. "Do you know your name, m'sieur? Or shall I name you? I will pick a good name, of that I have no doubt. or tell you a story? I have no voice to sing, but I will keep you company until those you call for arrive- your Eponine and Enjolras."
but_civilization: (Default)

[personal profile] but_civilization 2015-08-15 04:52 am (UTC)(link)
Someone was coming, anyway. Combeferre's hand brushed against her skirt a moment, before he blushed as she laid her hand there. There was something in her touch that felt right, reassuring, even as confused as he was at the moment. Did he know her? No, probably not. He didn't know anyone here.

The argot was different to his ears, and he knew a smattering of it only, not that he understood how he knew those few words, but they were there anyway. He recognized only that it was different, slightly, in tone from what he was speaking, so that helped a bit. It was like...hearing some kind of slight accent, maybe, or vocal variation that was odd to him. Or that could be from how he'd hit his head. Hard to say.

The cool water felt good on his sweaty brow anyway, much cleaner at least. "I...am not sure myself." he confessed, feeling more alone than ever, and confused. "I do know that we fell and that I...it was dark for a while and my head and neck...Eventually I did end up here but the people that I must have known...I have names, nothing more. I know that they were friends who looked out for me...I think that a few loved me and I loved them." But more than that is so difficult just now. It's hard to form thoughts about it.

He relaxed a little into the stroking of his hair. "I do not remember it, no. Any help in finding one, something...it would be nice to know myself again. And stories are...I do like those."
jondrette: (all i'll amount to)

[personal profile] jondrette 2015-08-15 05:53 pm (UTC)(link)
Eponine smiled reassuringly. "you know more than I do. I picked my own name, with assistance from Robin." she'd helped her pick out names. It was better, to have something to better associate herself with. "I am Marigold, as far as I know now." she was lucky she hadn't been hurt in the fall.

"all of us were on that ship, I believe. none of us remember anything so you are not alone m'sieur." she wrung out the cloth and doused it in cold water again to continue mopping at his brow and, slowly, his neck and what of his chest was visible. "But we must think of a name for you. let me think... You are a handsome man, so you must have a handsome name. it is only fitting..." She pressed her lips together as she thought.

as she thought, with one hand she began to undo the buttons on his shirt, to better cool him. A few scars peaked out and she found herself running her fingers along them. there was something familiar there, an urge to bend down and mouth along them. But she stopped herself, forcing herself to think of those names. "Beauregard! no, no, that is too obvious. Elliote, Julien, Alain, Jean- but that is common-, I do like Marius. Perhaps Remí. or Soren. There are many handsome names at your call." To spare him, she returned to his brow, wishing, despite herself, that she could lean down and kiss it.
but_civilization: (apron the look)

[personal profile] but_civilization 2015-08-16 07:54 pm (UTC)(link)
"Picking a name...that doesn't sound so bad." Combeferre seemed to drift for a moment, letting names run through his mind there. Burnet, Atlas, maybe? They sound rather impressive names, titles? To start with though, and he's not certain he would class himself there just now. Or, honestly, that he's probably all that handsome at the moment. Still, he flushes a little.

"Ah, I fear that I have seen better days but thank you all the same." He could not, despite everything else, fail to be a little, quite a lot, actually, flattered at her words there.

Was she going to...it felt right as she got closer, in a way he couldn't quite define, and then found himself smiling at those names a little.

"Jean does seem a bit...as though it is the name of every man in Paris, somehow." Paris...Paris felt right for whatever reason, though the other names...Hmm...

"Marius does feel...something." He's not sure what, but "Less...foreign somehow to me if that makes sense." It COULD do.

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forgodssake: (Default)

day 3. closed to william tsang.

[personal profile] forgodssake 2015-08-17 05:16 am (UTC)(link)
[ Charles is halted in the midst of the triage area, unhelpful and distracted. With the fresh white of bandages patched above his left eye, it's probable he's already been seen to.

But his gaze is set down towards where one of the others that need restraining is restrained, half-conscious from their own delirium, perhaps drugged. Charles isn't sure. He isn't sure of a hell of a lot. Glancing past his shoulder, to ensure no one is going to stop him, he steps towards the man in his restraints, and recognition ripples over his expression. Not the kind of recollection that would be helpful, digging up only recent past. He hadn't gotten a good look at him, in the dark of the medical bay, in the midst of trying to fend him off.

But enough of a good look.

After a few seconds, Charles places his hand on the other man's forehead, and the twitching resistance against restraints cease, the man's expression slacking, eyes closing. ]
forgodssake: (#9194010)

[personal profile] forgodssake 2015-08-23 05:54 am (UTC)(link)
[ Charles lifts his hand off the prone man's forehead immediately, somewhere between 'guilty' and 'scalded' in reaction time to the mere suggestion of someone being nearby. Furtive twitchiness not very Charles, at least not as most people know him. No one's told him, anyway.

The look he casts William is one of only minimal recognition -- familiarity for the fact he is one of the doctors in charge of dispensing medical care and stability. He listens and doesn't comprehend, exactly, a blankness given in response to strange stumble and phrasing. ]


I don't know Heather.

[ Or you, he doesn't say, but he probably doesn't have to. He also doesn't mention he hasn't got very much at all on his plate beyond surviving. ]
Edited 2015-08-23 05:56 (UTC)
forgodssake: (#8414270)

[personal profile] forgodssake 2015-08-24 12:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The disappointment is clear and easily read and anxiety immediately flushes through him, bringing colour to his face as he links his own hands together to knot his fingers. Some equally anxious query is forming on the tip of his tongue, a nagging feeling devoid of context and detail, but before it can manifest into whole words, the doctor is blandly shiny again. A stranger.

He feels like he missed something. It is incredibly frustrating. And yet pride, or something like the absence of pride, stifles down the impulse to ask.

Charles glances alongside at the man flopped unconscious on the gurney just next to him. ]
I just came in to get my stitches checked, [ he says, a hand fluttering vaguely upwards at the fresh gauze taped at his head. ] And I was just looking at this one -- he'd attacked me, on that first night.

[ He sets a clear stare back at William. Tentatively-- ]

It's odd, isn't it, how they all think the same.

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goodgodman: (010)

Closed to Tadashi - Day 2

[personal profile] goodgodman 2015-08-17 02:05 pm (UTC)(link)
"Christ almighty," Leonard curses under his breath, clinging hard to the rope as he's lowered down. He'd been rock climbing with Jim a few times, but only on a safe and steady rock wall and he'd still hated it. Heights ain't his thing and this is just a mess waiting to happen. It'd been hell climbing out and he didn't know why it didn't occur to him that it'd be hell climbing back in.

He feels his feet touch the ground and he exhales noisily, quickly struggling out from the tangle of ropes. Looking a touch wild in the eyes he glances up at Tadashi, who'd been brave enough to made the trip down first. "Well, kid, let's get this show on the road."

Shouldering a large empty duffle bag he flicks on his flashlight, its white beam cutting through the dim red tint of the emergency lights. "So, I gotta say, swiping kinetic based battery packs from prosthetics? Damn smart idea. Don't suppose you can find a way to rig it so that we can charge our medical devices off it too, hm?"
tadashiwashere: (concerned: Second Guessing)

[personal profile] tadashiwashere 2015-08-18 02:14 am (UTC)(link)
Tadashi is glad that, though the climb down wasn't exactly easy for him, it wasn't harrowing either. He's young and in reasonably good shape -- basically built for these sorts of challenges right now. Maybe not as much as the adventurer types around the camp... but he can at least manage on his own two feet.

He turns from swinging his flashlight's beam into the gloom when Leonard makes it to the ground. He nods, reaching up to touch the strap of his pack to make sure it's still secure -- still ready to ferry some desperately needed supplies from this run back to the barely-established triage tent.

"Ready when you are," he says, but nevertheless he starts to take a few cautious steps down the hallway. His memory still has a few holes in it, so he's careful to take it in slowly, giving himself time to recognize any parts of the ship his flashlight beam sweeps across.

At Leonard's comment, he ducks his head slightly, self-consciously pulling down on the brim of his cap.

Honestly, he's glad that the idea worked. And wishes he could think of some other ways to ease the tech deficit their makeshift med bay is facing.

"The trick there is gonna be how much amperage we can pull off the proprietary conductors. The last thing we need is to burn them out." He considers the problem for a moment, recalling his failed wiring in the hover craft he fooled around with a little while back. "Unless... we might be able to find the parts to take advantage of that system. If there's a running water source we can use, I think I might have a few ideas."
throwsdown: (whoa dude)

ota | day 2

[personal profile] throwsdown 2015-08-18 08:17 am (UTC)(link)
Takeshi doesn't remember anything yet. What he does know is that he is medicated and he's got a broken leg that needed to be properly dealt with. He's got a splint on his leg, his black power suit peeled away from the belly down — someone was kind enough to give the poor lad a pair of generic boxers with a rope belt, so that his pale legs can hang free over the small cot he's got for himself.

He lays there patiently, obediently, unsure if he should tempt fate by moving. The adults all keep rushing in and out, intensely focused on their own work. Maybe... he should ask for paper. He likes to draw; he can't remember what he liked drawing exactly, but that's not important. What's important is that when he's not aching horribly (basically, when he's not drugged), he's desperate for something to keep his mind off everything that's happened recently.

He's not very talkative, though, nervous to ask for anything. He hugs a charred blanket close to him, watching everyone over the edge of it with dark, worried eyes.
atent_dead: (Default)

[personal profile] atent_dead 2015-08-18 07:03 pm (UTC)(link)
Granny's remembered enough to know that she can treat people's injuries here. Even enough to remember what the concoctions around the ruins of the medical bay do. There's not as much to go around as she'd like, especially with no way of knowing when she'll be able to manage more.

But he's a child. And she remembers enough to know that matters to her. "How're ye feelin'?"
throwsdown: (pic#9433051)

[personal profile] throwsdown 2015-08-19 07:34 am (UTC)(link)
He looks up, hugging his arms around himself a little more firmly.

"... M'okay..." he says in a quiet voice. He looks at his blanket, pulling it closer. He thinks maybe she's a doctor, and doctors are usually good — but he can't remember if he knows any doctors to prove this theory of his. "It hurts a little still... I broked — broke it pretty good, they said..."
atent_dead: (Default)

[personal profile] atent_dead 2015-08-20 05:01 am (UTC)(link)
"That's your body lettin' ye know somethin's wrong. Even though ye already know." She wouldn't bother explaining it to most people, but children might actually want to learn it. And that's worth nurturing.

"It'll hurt less once it's really healin'. They got it so ye can't move it?" At least they're well equipped to set broken bones, even if other supplies are lacking.

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romancekiller: (pic#8752122)

clarke griffin | ota

[personal profile] romancekiller 2015-08-24 12:16 am (UTC)(link)
[it's been a week so far in who knows where they've landed, clarke still is no closer to remembering anything past her own name and a few disembodied memories in which all she remembers is helping people, treating them when they were injured or sick.

it's what she remembers doing first and foremost as if it's ingrained in her and with william having approached her to tell her she was part of the medical team, she sticks with doing what she knows and helps out people where she can because she can't just sit around doing nothing, after all]