07-01-2014, 11:07 AM
Luckily the hour was late, so the arrival of three large mysterious looking men carrying a wounded girl to his door went, for the most part, unnoticed by his neighbors. And the few that might have seen it, were the sort that weren't going to mention it to anyone.
Hood opened the door, revealing the main room sporting a few minor changes. Sheets of plastic covered the floor around the only table, which sported a thick layer of blankets that were in turn covered with more plastic; no point letting them get stained with blood, after all. The heat had been turned up too; near cranked, and the room was uncomfortably warm for most. And probably just right for a tiny shrimp of a girl missing a pint or two of blood.
He'd raided his supplies; bags of plasma sat ready to be used, a tray of surgical tools. None of the fancy gizmos or technologies of a modern hospital, it was all the sort of stuff you'd expect in some beleaguered military field hospital. No monitors, no computers, but there were anesthetics at least. The girl wouldn't need to be conscious for what was about to happen. He was about to blow a small fortune of hard-to-replace supplies on the girl.
"Table, now. Who's assisting?"
He'd keep one of the Atharim with him, and expect the other to keep Seth out of his way. His tone was no-nonsense, but then again, when wasn't it? He touched the back of his hand to Rune's forehead as Seth carried her in, muttered something about 'too much damn makeup' when he tried pinching her cheek to see how pallid and bloodless it was, then went to work without any further conversation.
Hood knew a thing or two about patching people up, and doing it the 'old fashioned way'. It was a must for a guy of his background. Wandering around some backwater shithole in Africa, you needed to be able to fend for yourself and your team. Sure he hadn't been the best field surgeon of the group, but he knew enough to patch up a knife wound. Even one as dangerous as a gut wound. Sure the technique was dark-ages in comparison to what one could get in a hospital, but the drugs, the disinfectants and such he employed, were modern stuff.
The surgery too the better part of two hours, with Hood and his assistant hovering over Rune. Empty plasma bags were tossed aside, and by the end of it it was readily evident why he had laid down plastic sheets. Eventually though, the wound was stitched shut, as tightly and cleanly as he could, but there would still be a scar. Which was too bad; the girl might not be as interested in wearing certain types of tops because of it.
When Rune woke next, she would be bundled up under the blankets on a cot in the guest room, an IV poked into her arm and a slowly fading dose of anesthetics wearing off. The sun was up, and the door to the rest of the house was open. She'd been out for the better part of a day; the sun was setting, not rising, so most of her team had left already, tasked to trying to figure out what had happened with Jaxen, where he had gone.
Hood was in the kitchen, easily seen through the open door, once again in nothing but sweat pants, and was giving the tools from the night's surgery a second cleaning before returning them to vacuum sealed plastic bags, and speaking over the phone with one of his suppliers, debating the price on the supplies he would need to replace from having to patch Rune back together again.
Hood opened the door, revealing the main room sporting a few minor changes. Sheets of plastic covered the floor around the only table, which sported a thick layer of blankets that were in turn covered with more plastic; no point letting them get stained with blood, after all. The heat had been turned up too; near cranked, and the room was uncomfortably warm for most. And probably just right for a tiny shrimp of a girl missing a pint or two of blood.
He'd raided his supplies; bags of plasma sat ready to be used, a tray of surgical tools. None of the fancy gizmos or technologies of a modern hospital, it was all the sort of stuff you'd expect in some beleaguered military field hospital. No monitors, no computers, but there were anesthetics at least. The girl wouldn't need to be conscious for what was about to happen. He was about to blow a small fortune of hard-to-replace supplies on the girl.
"Table, now. Who's assisting?"
He'd keep one of the Atharim with him, and expect the other to keep Seth out of his way. His tone was no-nonsense, but then again, when wasn't it? He touched the back of his hand to Rune's forehead as Seth carried her in, muttered something about 'too much damn makeup' when he tried pinching her cheek to see how pallid and bloodless it was, then went to work without any further conversation.
Hood knew a thing or two about patching people up, and doing it the 'old fashioned way'. It was a must for a guy of his background. Wandering around some backwater shithole in Africa, you needed to be able to fend for yourself and your team. Sure he hadn't been the best field surgeon of the group, but he knew enough to patch up a knife wound. Even one as dangerous as a gut wound. Sure the technique was dark-ages in comparison to what one could get in a hospital, but the drugs, the disinfectants and such he employed, were modern stuff.
The surgery too the better part of two hours, with Hood and his assistant hovering over Rune. Empty plasma bags were tossed aside, and by the end of it it was readily evident why he had laid down plastic sheets. Eventually though, the wound was stitched shut, as tightly and cleanly as he could, but there would still be a scar. Which was too bad; the girl might not be as interested in wearing certain types of tops because of it.
When Rune woke next, she would be bundled up under the blankets on a cot in the guest room, an IV poked into her arm and a slowly fading dose of anesthetics wearing off. The sun was up, and the door to the rest of the house was open. She'd been out for the better part of a day; the sun was setting, not rising, so most of her team had left already, tasked to trying to figure out what had happened with Jaxen, where he had gone.
Hood was in the kitchen, easily seen through the open door, once again in nothing but sweat pants, and was giving the tools from the night's surgery a second cleaning before returning them to vacuum sealed plastic bags, and speaking over the phone with one of his suppliers, debating the price on the supplies he would need to replace from having to patch Rune back together again.