IT WILL HAPPEN SOON / FEELS LONG OVERDUE

[heltersskelter]

CHARACTERS: tate & everyone who signed up
LOCATION: Space Bablyon & the subsequent corridor || evening
WARNINGS: violence, character death, sexual innuendo
SUMMARY: tate flips his lid and shoots some people
NOTES: feel free to start your own threads in this & threadhop for whatever your needs! tate will only be replying to characters who have signed up, but this is open to others to tag in if you want to be part of the chaos/bystanders/doctors/etc. action or prose is fine!

CORRIDORS
SPACE BABYLON
MEDICAL

Comments

[elvenking]

[Deep breaths. It's not really easy to obey, as it feels like breathing isn't sufficient anymore, isn't doing its job. He's not getting enough air no matter how much he draws into his lungs. But he obeys.]

Must I stay awake?

[doc_pompous]

[Simon is already prepping syringes, local anesthetics that he hopes will be strong enough for someone who might possibly have a metabolism much faster than ordinary humans.]

Just for a little while longer, if you can.

[elvenking]

And if I cannot?

[doc_pompous]

Just try. You're going to be okay.

[Simon supposes that in the end, it doesn't matter, as he'll be putting Thranduil under anyway, but at the very least he can have unconsciousness on his terms.]

Why don't you talk to me? While I get everything ready.

[elvenking]

What do you want me to say?

[It's hard to think past the pain and the world's blurry spinning.]

[doc_pompous]

Anything. Anything that comes to mind.

[He's already tapping the air bubbles out of the syringe, and the next step is to pull on a pair of gloves.]

Tell me about your son.

[elvenking]

The day he was born...

[It was a mistake to start off with that. Thranduil doesn't remember the day Legolas was born. September took it. The Elvenking raises his hands to cover his tingling face, heedless of the blood on them.]

I cannot remember, no. I taught him the use of a bow when he was a child. He was ever more a wood-elf than a Sinda, and I was glad of it. I was glad of it.

[And not. Part of him would never stop wanting to revive the glory days of the Sindar in Doriath.]