Closed RP Dumpster Diving

This RP is currently closed.
Wendigo

Wendigo

Member
There wasn’t too much blood, not quite yet. It was a lot, but Cryptid knew from experience just how much blood loss resulted in death.

He didn’t normally patrol the college area, but he’d been trying to extend his reach both to find Lament, and to avoid Phoenix. He was doing his best to avoid her on patrol. As Phoenix and Cryptid, their little charade was even more brittle than it was as Todd and Sam. She knew, and maybe Phoenix wouldn’t have the same hesitation that Sammy had.

He shook away the thought. He’d almost immediately found something in the area – and good thing, too. The blood on the asphalt wasn’t dry yet, and the scent was strong enough for a predator to pick out above exhaust fumes and other pedestrians.
He could give chase to the attacker, but he could tell the victim was still bleeding. The fact that someone was still bleeding meant they were still alive. He needed something good on his scales. With the recent relapse, he really needed more than just “beat up some bad guys” – especially since beating up bad guys could result in another relapse. He didn’t really want that.

He followed the assailant’s scent into the alley. Masculine, sweet citrus core scent laced heavily with iron. It wasn’t the same blood as the other person in the alley, which completely masked any identifying smells on their body. The assailant smelled like tobacco. Not any cigarette brand he knew, but not quite cigars, either. He’d have to remember that. Because he wasn’t just going to let this go.

He followed the scent to a dumpster, and frowned deeply under his mask. This was a sloppy job. A mugging gone wrong, maybe. Maybe hoping the victim would just die in the dumpster. Based on the tobacco and the thick vanilla cologne, however, the assailant wasn’t poor or desperate. Not the faint almost-vanilla of most colognes – vanilla, clear and strong. A professional hit, maybe?

If that was the case, maybe the victim wasn’t the actual target.

He raised his head, checking rooftops and listening for nearby breathing. Nothing except the faint sound of whoever was in that dumpster. He licked his lips, then looked at the bin. Slowly, he raised the lid.

A kid. The victim was a kid, maybe eighteen. Same age as Adelyn. Maybe that’s why his chest tightened. Maybe it was the way her half-lidded eyes weren’t all the way closed, or the rainbow hairclips, or the chunk of crystal still sticking out of her calf. There were other injuries, still oozing blood.

Oozing meant that, despite her apparent condition, she was still alive.

Rather than touch her right away, he put one glove in front of her face and snapped his fingers, clearly telegraphing I’m here, pay attention to me.

“Hey, kid,” he said, as soon as he saw a sign of actual awareness, “You gotta wake up. C’mon, look at me...”
 
Beatrice Alexandra Waters had never given much thought to how she would die, but dying lying amongst food and plastic bags with the overwhelming stench of rot, seemed like a terrible way to go. She couldn’t even see the sky.

The last thing Bea remembered clearly was forcing herself to remain limp and still as her attacker picked her up in his arms, trying to convince him she was dead. He smelt faintly like vanilla. He settled her, bleeding in a dumpster, before closing the lid. After that it all became a blur. Everything was becoming a bit blurry, and her head was getting heavy and sleepy. Even if the Mustache Man had left already, she couldn’t quite find the strength to sit up and climb out of the dumpster.

Beatrice didn’t know how long it was, in that in-between state of sleep and wakefulness, when the dumpster lid opened. It opened? She didn’t quite register it until the figure leaned over her, bringing his hand toward her face.

Beatrice felt a surge of adrenaline course through her and she reached up, swinging at the man ferally with wide eyes, before collapsing back against the trash bags with a cry, clutching her wounded shoulder as a bolt of white hot pain shot through her arm

“Dont touch me!”
 
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He stepped back to avoid the blow, still holding the lid to the dumpster. Even if she hit him, she wouldn’t hurt him, but as her cry indicated she was going to hurt herself more if she got worked up. He realized as he put his hand up that he still had his claws on – of course she was going to assume he was here to attack her again.

It was only then that he remembered his mask was designed to instill fear, not trust.

“Hey! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.” He pushed his mask up. It wasn’t like the face under it was his real face anyway, but it was human. “Easy, kid. You’re roughed up pretty bad. It’s good to see you’re alive, but try not to move too much.”

He took a second to push the dumpster lid the rest of the way back. It hit the bin itself with a crash that made him flinch, but it freed up his hand. He then pulled off the bagh nakh claws, and slipped them into his pocket. He then held his hands up again, showing off that he was disarmed.

“It’s okay– I’m friendly. Friendly. We need to get you out of there before your wounds get infected.” His tone was the slow, soft voice used to calm down wild animals, dependent more on inflection than actual words. He understood that her current state left her in fight mode, which was a good measurement of character. It meant she’d probably gone down swinging before the blood loss got to her. He wanted to commend her for that.

Not right now, though. Right now he just smiled without teeth, carefully not quite meeting her eyes, and relayed with his relaxed body language Look at me, I’m not a threat. I won’t come close until you let me.
 


Beatrice cringed horribly as the lid fell back, echoing through the metal of the dumpster. She came too a bit more now that she had been shocked awake by the man’s arrival. He pushed back a demonic looking mask revealing a young, tanned face and a mass of curly hair. Maybe ten years older than her. He smiled and spoke calmly. She didn’t trust him completely, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t put her at ease.

“We need to get you out of here.”

He wanted to help.

He could be another wacko like Mustache Man, but this man didn’t have that look in his eye that he had, the one that looked at her as prey. Besides, she couldn’t get in much worse shape, so might as well accept it. If he was going to kill her he would have done that before getting her attention.

Beatrice took a breath and nodding in permission for the man to come closer, wincing in pain as she did her best to prop herself up, but her left arm and leg were useless right now, and sinking into the garbage. Bea offered the man her good arm the best she could.

“Sorry…I thought you might be someone else when I tried to hit you…”
 
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She relaxed, and he stepped up to the edge of the dumpster again so she could see his face when he pulled his mask down. Blood loss did some silly stuff to the human brain. Being able to see the change might help her remember that this was a person, and one who wanted to help her to boot.

Now that he didn’t have to worry about that, he reached out and took her good arm. He used it to gently adjust her weight so he could get under her shoulders, and then took her under her thighs. He went slowly, given he’d have to touch her still tender injuries to carry her this way, but he definitely wasn’t going to ask her to walk in this state. Bridal carry was their best bet for speed and comfort.

“I kinda figured,” he assured her, never losing the calming tone. “Whoever did this will probably come to check up on the body once there isn’t any foot traffic on the street. I can take you to somebody who can help you, unless you’d rather we go to the ER.”
 
Beatrice, despite everything else, felt a bit childish being carried. She didn’t fight though. He didn’t feel like the Mustache Man, and was much more careful as he slid his arm under her knees and lifted her from the dumpster. Everything hurt still, but she didn’t scream.

Beatrice held tightly around his neck with her good arm. She thought about his next words. A stranger, or go to hospital. She almost suggested the ER when she stopped.

“Does your friend…ask questions?” Beatrice asked. It was a horrible thing to be helpless, but even worse to have limited options offered by people she didnt know or trust.

However, the last thing she wanted was anyone finding out about this, especially the Mustache Man. The longer he thought her dead the better. There was also little she could do to explain why she had been attacked, or the crystals still lodged in her calf muscle. They’d call the police and ask where she was found and all sorts of things that would go public very quickly.

Beatrice, you almost died and you’re worried about people finding out about this?

“It doesn’t matter, I guess…I can’t be that hurt enough to need a doctor.”
 
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Under his mask, Todd smiled. She was almost weightless in his arms. While the temptation was there, his recent feeding muted any of the typical hunger that came with proximity to blood, injury, weakness. At least she wasn’t afraid of him. And wasn’t strong enough to run. That made this easier on both of them.

“No. She won’t ask if I ask her not to.”

He shifted her weight in his arms, careful not to jostle the crystalline weapons still jutting out of her body. He knew better than to remove them; without a healing factor, she’d bleed to death in minutes, or at least black out. Which turned his smile into a frown. She was being very nonchalant about a serious injury. But… there was no point in worrying her more than she probably already was. He could tell her that the reason he’d even offered was because this looked like a hit. Or he could just let it be. He could ask what happened, but asking might be more in Sammy’s realm this time.

So instead, keeping the same calm tone he’d used before, he told her, “I’m gonna need you to do whatever you gotta do to keep awake, kay? I’ll be going as fast as I can, but keeping conscious is up to you. Talk to me about something. Time’ll pass faster.”
 
Bea relaxed a bit at his answer. Even if he didn't comphletely have her trust, he seemed to offer some level of discretion with the medical care. Besides, what's the worst that could happen after everything the past week, past hours, had brought her? She held on to neck, closing her eyes. They were so heavy- but then he asked her talk.

Beatrice had read a lot of medical journals as a child, but she needed him to remind her not to fall asleep. "I uh...I dunno...I don't talk about myself a lot...I'm a college student. I haven't been in Pittsburg long...I'm from New York, actually. Brooklyn...where does your friend live?"
 
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“Brooklyn, huh? I met a Manhattan guy lately. Didn’t like him all that much. My friend’s nearby. You’ll see when we get there.”

He kept the conversation casual as they took the shortest route shy of public spaces back to the gym. He asked her questions that made her think – her interests, her major, any hobbies, her favorite places back at home. He asked her name, and she gave him “Bea,” which felt natural enough that he didn’t ask any more questions. No point in putting her off.

When he wanted to, Todd had a very comforting voice, soft and assuring. He knew that was just an aspect of his camouflage, but nothing about the pressure in his arms called out to the feeding portion of his brain. Maybe it was the recent meal.

That thought was put down as soon as it came up. Flashes of blonde hair and green eyes drowned it in guilt that he hid from her behind more questions that he only half-listened to. It was enough, however. Enough to get back to Infinity, to start climbing the fire escape.

To wait for Sammy to open the window she should’ve felt him come up to, and call out softly.

“Paging Dr. Walsh. It’s Cryptid. I know it’s still early, but I’ve got a patient for you if you’re in.”
 

Sam was just finishing up the dishes. She had been spending the time thinking, as she often did now, about what the fuck had happened to her life. Three months ago, she had been on her way to Philly on a suicide mission, and now she was standing there worried about her relationship and how to fix it. So much had changed. She had friends, people she’d even consider family, like Connor and Addy. But most of all, she had Todd. Or at least, she hoped she still had Todd.

He’d been avoiding her. He’d been avoiding her, especially around patrols. Used to be that they had patrolled almost every time together. She could feel him slipping away, trying to withdraw from her life. And the thought of possibly losing him hurt her heart. It hurt so deep that her chest ached. She could feel it, like her chest was going to collapse in on itself.

She turned the water off and leaned against the counter, staring sadly at the spot on her wall where the paint had bubbled up from her meltdown. Then, he’d held her and took her heat. He had held her in his lap like she was the most precious thing in his world. Cluing him in had been a mistake. She never should have done it. She was going to lose–

She was shaken from her thoughts when she felt the vibrations on the fire escape. She didn’t know who it was, not based on vibrations as the metal shook too much to tell. But she knew who it was, and suddenly her world began to brighten. She ran to the window just in time to see him crouched by it.

She threw it open and smiled. Then, she processed his words and looked down at his arms. There was a young girl there, held carefully. There was no panic this time, no fear or anxiety, because this girl wasn’t a threat. She was barely conscious, and sticking out of her leg was a crystalline structure. She eyed it and her smile became a frown. Her lips parted slightly as she finally understood Todd’s words.

Doctor. Whoever this was couldn’t go to a hospital, and Todd knew that Sam had been trained in emergency first aid. He didn’t know it was her older brother Joshie who had trained her, not yet, but he would in time. She hoped. She backed into the window and nodded her head for him to come in as she ran over to her couch. She pulled out a tattered and worn blanket and threw it over the couch.

“Cryptid, bring her in. Right over here, let me have a look at that. It looks bad.”​
 
Beatrice held on a bit tighter as the man climbed a fire escape. She didn't know what to expect this freelance medic to be like, but she should have known better than to assume he'd use the front door. Duh. Of course he wouldn't want them seen.

Beatrice looked to his comrade "Dr Walsh". She was a rather pretty woman with striking eyes and beautiful red hair. With the house light pouring out into the night behind her through the window, she was almost angelic. The devil and the angel. Her two rescuers. Beatrice didn't know how to thank them.

Cryptid, Ms. Walsh called him, carefully climbed inside the house, causing her to squint from the sudden change of light, and settled her on the couch. A jolt of pain struck her shoulder, and she bit back a scream, but relaxed a moment later. The couch was immensely more comfortable than trash bags. She even closed her eyes for a moment.

Beatrice probably looked like shit, bruised and bloodied. Her hair was tangled and she could still smell the linger scent of rotted fruit.

"It probably looks worse than it is..."
 

Sam moved to the kitchen again and opened the lowest drawer, shifting through the medical supplies there. She had long since needed anyone to take care of her, not since Joshie had taught her how to sew her wounds shut, had taught her how to disinfect wounds, and how to staunch bleeding properly. She quickly found the kit she was looking for and double-checked that the numbing cream and needle were in it before she raced back over to the girl.

“Hey now, keep those eyes open, girly. No passing out on me, you got that?”

She knelt next to her and looked her over in the light, barely catching as Cryptid slipped back out her window and into the early night. Her shirt was bloodied and torn around the shoulder and she could see through there the deep and jagged cut. That was going to need a lot of cleaning, but it was oozing and not gushing. It could wait until she had done what she was about to do.

She turned her attention to the crystal, blood red and sharp, in the girl's leg. It was maybe an inch and a half to two inches deep judging by the circumference of the base she could see. This was not only going to hurt pulling out, but it was going to bleed badly. Sam reached into her kit and pulled out a long rubberized cord, wrapping it above the wound tightly, making a tourniquet to keep the bleeding to a minimum. She’d have to work fast, but between that and some pressure dressing, she should be able to staunch the bleeding enough to apply the lidocaine cream and stitch it shut.

It wasn’t going to be pleasant, but the girl would live.

“Hey, talk to me, okay? My name is Sam Walsh. What’s yours? Cryptid doesn’t bring me a lot of patients like this, so what happened to you?”

She gave her best smile as she tied her hair back to keep it out of the way. And then, without counting down or giving the girl a chance to really think, Sam wrapped her hand around the crystal and pulled it out, fast and hard. She immediately threw a towel over it, slamming pressure down on it to stop the inevitable flood of blood.​
 
Beatrice opened her eyes wincing as the woman tightened a tourniquet around her upper leg. "I don't think you're giving me the chance to pass out." Beatrice mumbled, trying not to think to hard about her situation or the equipment the woman was preparing. She couldn't help but think of Frankenstein.

Then without warning, the woman pulled the shard of crystal from her leg with an agonizing tug. Beatrice bit down on her sleeve, and held on to the arm of the couch with her other hand so she wouldn't kick her medic. She could feel warm blood rushing to leave her body, but Sam was already pressing down on it to staunch the bleeding. Beatrice relaxed a bit, exhaling through the pain. Sam had asked her a question.

"Uh, my name is Bea...." She said, choosing her words carefully. "I think it was a meta. I was walking home and..." She didn't want to dwell too hard on what the Mustache Man had said. How metas like her needed to be weeded out. Exterminated. "He was probably homeless or something...I didn't have anything to give him and he stabbed me..."

Beatrice could feel his heel on her back. His southern accent rang in her ears with the way he said. "Sugar."

"He probably thought I was dead." Bea finished, hoping the lie sounded convincing. It was close enough to what really happened. "Thank you, for helping really...I appreciate it. I have a thing about hospitals."
 

Sam smiled at Bea as she explained what had happened to her. It was believable. Unfortunately, Sam could tell exactly what parts were lies. She was changing some parts of her story, as though she didn’t want to tell her the truth of what had happened. It was small, but it was enough for Sam to catch it. She didn’t push though, she just kept the pressure on the wound and nodded her head.

“This looks like a meta, yeah. I can’t think of anything else that would make a crystal blade like this. But it’s going to be okay. You don’t need a hospital, I can take care of you right here.” She gave another reassuring smile. With her free hand, she pulled out an alcohol wipe and tore it open with her teeth. She kept her forearm on the towel, but wiped both of her hands down with the wipe. She wasn’t going to give this girl an infection if she could help it.

“So how did Cryptid find you, girly?” Another question, meant to keep her distracted as she waited for the bleeding to become oozing. As she waited to be able to apply the lidocaine so she could stitch the wound shut. It was going to hurt bad, but the cream was going to at least numb it for the time being. Sam knew how to do stitches, at least. They might not be perfect, but they worked, and that was all that mattered.​
 
Bea smiled faintly, "Well, that's good..."

She was more than content to not go to the hospital, and it seemed like Ms. Walsh knew what she was doing. The doctor at least was trying to prevent infection, which was an amusing thought consider the next question.

"A...a dumpster in the alley." Beatrice said blankly, trying to control her thoughts, and also her emotions. "Like I said...I think he thought he killed me and uh...hid the corpse so to speak."
 

“In a dumpster, huh? Well, don’t worry. Cryptid is very good at tracking people down. I’m sure he’ll be able to figure out who did this and catch them.” She lifted the towel slightly to check the bleeding underneath. It was still bleeding enough that she wasn’t comfortable doing the cream and stitches. She pressed back down on the towel.

Through the wall and the floors, Sam could feel Todd entering his apartment and heading straight for the shower. He was probably washing Bea’s blood off before changing and coming over to check on her, then. After all, he was Todd still. His worry for her was going to be stronger than his desire to hunt the man who did this down. She loved that about him, though. She loved how much he worried, even when he didn’t have to. She loved how much he cared.

“We’ll get you fixed up though. I don’t think this is bad enough that you need a hospital. But you will have to come back for me to check your stitches every few days. I’ll need to monitor you for infections and any issues with the muscle healing.” She pulled out with her free hand another pack of alcohol wipes, and the packaged suture kit. Everything was clean and sanitized. Sam’s body might be able to fight off any infections and diseases known to man, but she never knew about others. And it was better to clean the wound’s edges completely before she applied the cream.

Of course, that was going to hurt like a bitch. But better safe than sorry.​
 
Beatrice chuckled dryly at the idea of having to return to be checked up on. Maybe the blood loss was getting to her a head a bit, "I don't know if you'll accept my insurance, Doctor Walsh." She leaned back again on the couch exhausted. The urge to pass out was increasingly weighing on her now that the panic and fear were wearing off. She couldn't place why this doctor, and the Cryptid, made her feel...safe? Was this safety? Beatrice didn't know what to think about that considering she met them five minutes ago.

Beatrice noticed the wipes and medication and the doctor's slight hesitation. She grit her teeth, "Go ahead. I know isopropyl alcohol stings like a bitch...just do it."
 
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