Ivory
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Pres 4 (Regal) - SL 1 (Noble) Fairest Hunterheart
Posts: 588
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Post by Ivory on Jan 5, 2021 16:16:14 GMT -8
Ivory followed the Snowskin, taking in the private space of his bedroom. The same poster being hung, prompted a slight smile from the Pale Dragon. Yule was... an interesting night, but talking with Rowan had been a highlight. The poster was a reminder that the pair had found some understanding with each other, which seemed appropriate considering their now burgeoning alliance.
With Rowan's suggestion, Ivory sat herself on the end of the bed and took the vial. Golden eyes beheld the liquid for a moment.
So this was it. The drug that had been stirring up so much trouble. Ivory found it almost amusing to consider how all of this began, born from the concern of her assets. Now, here she was readying herself to take a step into a high she didn't know to help a mortal she had scarcely met. Still, the ends justified the means. This little test could help push for greater investigation and solve the problem of a supernatural designer drug being dispensed among those who were never meant to take it.
A chuckle sound as Ivory's eyes flicked to Rowan.
"33% of a plan is still a plan, right?" she joked before lifting the vial, "Cheers."
Then Ivory slammed the vial back. That little info had been provided to her at least. One vial, one dose.
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Post by Krakenbox on Jan 5, 2021 23:00:35 GMT -8
The Snowskin watched the affluent Fairest take the plunge. She gripped the vial and shot-gunned- She had no fucking idea what she was doing. Rowan watched as God knows how many rounds of dosage disappeared into the woman's mouth in a single hit. Ivory didn't taste anything immediately as it went down, until a chemical backwash signaled that this wasn't pleasant to ingest. Her immediate instinct was to cough and gag like a bad round of alcohol. The effects surprisingly immediate, and traceable. The fact of the matter was that everything was just better. Colours became vibrant, as if a dark filter was lifted and Ivory was seeing the world for what it was really meant to be. Time seemed to slow as her eyes tried to focus, the makeup of reality showed details that were just as intricate as any piece of art, like a secret landscape worthy of a snapshot. The differences in fabric were apparent, the textures more real. Glamour pulsed through the air like an aurora and she felt more grounded in Reality than she ever had, the Wyrd no longer a wall behind the Mask. It was hard not to feel absolutely delighted with the whole thing as she floated back, watching the room sweep in an arch of snapshots. Controlling muscle was too complicated, aware of everything in her body at once as she felt the Glamour thread through her throat and stomach into the bloodstream. The Pale Dragon immediately fell back with the rush, unable to process the amount of information flickering through her Mask and Mien. Time stopped in the stream of liquid experience, unable to move or conscious of events. She had to puke, or Rowan was dealing with death by overdose.
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Post by Rowan on Jan 6, 2021 0:03:53 GMT -8
"Oh shit."
That was all he had time to say before his instincts kicked into overdrive. There would be time for panicking later, after the situation at hand had been dealt with. He had known something was wrong the second Ivory collapsed on his bed like a rag doll, and he had rushed to her side. Adrenaline was pumping in his veins and beating against his ear drums as his own heart threaten to shatter under its own rush. He did the only thing that made sense to him - he tried to shove his hand into the Fairest's mouth to make her puke.
Somehow, he managed, as the contents of Ivory's stomach rushed out. He turned her whole body to the side so she doesn't choke and took a step back. Immediate death had been averted, but things were far from being okay. He was panicking. He had no idea what to do, as nothing could have prepared him for this.
He thought about Kiths and Contracts that could help him, but his mind was too scattered to form coherent ideas. He hit his forehead several times with the palm of his hand to focus, while at the same time punishing himself for once again relying on magic to solve his problems. He grabbed his phone and dialed 911 with shaking fingers. Overdose, he told them. She was dying.
He then took a deep breath and tried to accomplish what they had set out to do, because he didn't know what else to do. It wouldn't help the paramedics, but he couldn't allow all this to be in vain. He fell to the floor and waited for the ambulance to arrive. He started sobbing into his hands, a man-child who tried to bite off more than he could chew. This was the price of hubris, the Fall of Icarus.
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Post by The Wyrd on Jan 6, 2021 0:24:23 GMT -8
"911, police, fire, ambulance."
Heartbeat.
"Ambulance!"
Thud-thud. Ivory twitched on the ground.
"Hold."
It took only a moment for the transfer. The moment dragged forever. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Ivory twitched on the bed, beginning to foam a little at the mouth.
"What is the emergency?"
Overdose. How else would you even put it? The questions were rapid-fire, taking the address and telling Rowan that first responders were on their way. He was asked what did they take, how long ago, when did she take it, do you know how much -- where is she? Induce vomiting. You did it. Okay, begin CPR. They begin walking him through it as best as they can. Her heartbeat is weak and unstable, her breathing arrested --
"Sir. Is she still breathing?"
Ivory was in a world of color and light. Nothing has ever been better than this. She doesn't realize what's happening, the vague pressure on her chest meaningless against the kaleidoscope of emotions. Her Mask doesn't fall from the overwhelm of Glamour, but Rowan can sense that it is beginning to crack, or is that just his Fear rising? The Dragoness was part of the universe now.
Two breaths. Compressions. Updates on her condition. Rowan never imagined he would be telling a dispatcher about Ivory beginning to turn blue...
The front door is tried once then kicked open. Two burly firefighters and two paramedics burst into the room, calling for where they are. They ask for her name. They begin calling for vitals. They inject her with something. They get her onto a stretcher, one of the paramedics continuing compressions as another worked an oxygen bag over her mouth. Movement was everything. Time was everything.
Rowan was told they were taking her to Kindred Hospital. The hospital was ten minutes away.
Seven minutes had elapsed.
Whoever these paramedics were, it was all up to them now. As the doors were slammed and the ambulance took off at high speed with its lights and sirens on, Rowan was asked one final question by one of the firefighters.
"Hey. You need a ride?"
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Post by Rowan on Jan 6, 2021 0:35:50 GMT -8
He nodded numbly, incapable of doing anything else. Of course he needed a damned ride!
His thoughts were jumbled, fighting for supremacy. There was guilt, anger, hopelessness, exhaustion. All these things swirled like chaos. The firefighter took him by the shoulders and helped him to his truck as Rowan clutched onto his phone like a life jacket. Some plan was starting to form, but adrenaline was plummeting and exhaustion and numbness set in.
But.
There will be Hell to pay.
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Post by The Wyrd on Jan 6, 2021 0:48:17 GMT -8
The fire truck pulls into Kindred Hospital a few minutes behind the ambulance. After all, there was no reason for the fire crew to endanger the public by going as fast as the paramedics were. The minutes were slow, crushingly slow, a breath-by-breath slideshow of Fear. Fear for Ivory's life. Fear for what the cops might think if she died. Fear for his own future, if Spring came down on him for her --
The Darkling had to center himself, had to fight through the chaos. It was the sterility of the waiting room, the shitty Rice Krispy Square some intake assistant handed him with a sympathetic smile and a pat on his shoulder.
It was over an hour later when a Doctor Chau came out, his manner efficient but polite.
"Sir?"
He glanced at his clipboard, but it had no way to identify him by name. He just knew what the guy looked like from the paramedic's description.
"She's not quite out of the woods, but the prognosis is good. We got to her in time. It was a close thing there. She's in ICU in a coma and is going to need to be monitored for a couple of days, all right?"
It was a statement phrased as a question, a sort of gentle dismissal suggesting he could go home.
"We'll call her next of kin. Nothing to worry about."
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Post by Rowan on Jan 6, 2021 1:22:56 GMT -8
He nodded silently again. She would be fine. She would be fine. He kept repeating it like a mantra, some sort of incantation to solidify it in his reality. His Mask glistened with illusory tears, as his real ones stayed frozen on his face. He had felt so powerless.
He was resentful. Resentful of the orderlies that didn't let him in. Resentful of the doctor who had just dismissed him. But most of all, he was resentful of his own ineptitude. He seethed and stewed as his thoughts got darker and darker, spiralling deeper and deeper. After a while, he stood up and wiped his face. He wrapped his Mantle tightly around him, a cloak of whispered threats that pushed others away from him, and walked down the street with the inevitability of Winter. If the drive to the hospital had been excruciating with anticipation, the walk of shame back was like treading on scorching coals. His own mind was his enemy, constantly replaying scenarios where the paramedics didn't make it in time. Or where Ivory died on the drive to the hospital.
He had been swaggering around the Hold like some sort of bully, forcing his way onto others because he had nothing to lose - that was the advantage of the unlikable. He had forced others to face Fear and had forgotten to tend to his own. No more.
The apartment welcomed him with a gaping maw, the door kicked in when he didn't answer the firefighters. It swayed on broken hinges, the lock blasted. He took a tentative step inside, stepping into the darkness that had fallen within. Most of the space had remained the same - the kitchen/living room still lacked art, the washroom still smelled vaguely of mildew. He turned to face is bedroom and froze. His books and been knocked down from their case, the sheets on his bed soaked in vomit. He avoided it as if it were a trap.
He undressed and took a shower. The smell of disinfectant still clung to him like chains. He kept scrubbing until his whole body was raw and bleeding. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, deeper and deeper, to the flesh, to the bones, to his core. The water ran red, then pink and clear again as his identity went down the drain.
The Darkling gathered immediately necessary things into a bag. He didn't have much. The rest he could come back for later: he doubted anyone would steal books. And if they did, oh well. Everything was heavy, everything reminded him of what happened. It played on the back of his mind every time he closed his eyes. He couldn't stand being in this place anymore.
Nursing his fear like a bleeding wound, Rowan walked out into the night.
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Post by Krakenbox on Apr 2, 2021 17:52:20 GMT -8
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