2022-08-11: Birefringence

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  • Cutscene: Birefringence
  • Cast: Loren Voss, Lan Lilac (technically)
  • Where: Lake Macalania
  • Date: August 11th 2022
  • Summary: Loren struggles to save Lan's life, in the aftermath of a particular incident.

BGM: (Florence and The Machine ~ Heavy in Your Arms) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SK6U4FiAoAs


She's heavy, in his arms.

Whatever he did, he was gambling with her life.

He'd ruled out heading towards the hangar ruins, if they're even still there. Even if the teleporter unit is present and still functioning, even if he could get through and get help on the other side...

The thought had occurred to him as he'd considered, as quickly as he could, what options were even available. Lan would... rather die than go back. Isn't that right?
And it isn't as if he could afford to set her free, in that hypothetical future.

The temple... no. Not with the Fayth's presence so close at hand. Who is to say he wouldn't simply be struck down the moment he crossed the threshold?

So he'd made a different choice, one that had seen him off across the frozen plain. Of course he can't run, even if time is of the essence. He'd collapse before long from the burden and pace. Make haste.
Slowly.

His breathing is labored, even so. They don't have a lot of time. Him, and her.

He runs through the steps as he walks, using it as a mantra of a sort. First, find shelter. Then confirm its appropriateness as a surgical theater. Evaluate her injuries properly and apply treatment. Monitor recovery and adjust treatment as needed.

It's more complicated than that. Each step brings with it a host of sub-steps, and their own ad infinitum. That's fine. It keeps his mind occupied as he proceeds with the more taxing task of obtaining shelter.

One foot in front of the other. If there are Fiends, if they scent her blood-- no, there's no time to consider such things. One foot in front of the other. He'll handle it if it happens.

Crisis affords him with such clarity at times like this. If only he could summon it thus by his own will.

There had been a traveler's inn in this region. Serving pilgrims to the temple. It had been heavily damaged in Sin's attack in Macalania, and of course it had not returned to use with Solaris holding the region.

It's as good as he's going to get. He just has to cross the distance.

He slows for a moment, out of necessity. The wind has picked up and he needs a moment to catch his breath, to check his heading. He had only stopped the once previously, and then only to temporarily plug the wound in her chest. It's nothing immediately fatal, that injury, but it will be if he can't do what's necessary. And to do that...

Loren sucks air into his lungs, not daring to set her down. The cold is biting. No, he can't stand here like this or he'll succumb. Every moment he's not moving, she feels heavier.

One foot after the other. He thinks his heading is correct.


He almost misses it. The storms of late had been strong, and the remnants of the traveler's inn are almost blanketed in white. But there are the tell-tale fence posts. There's the shattered wreckage peeking out from the snow that had been the chocobo stables.

There is the door, nearly off its hinges, part of the front of the building buried in a slumping mound of snow. Part of the room must have come down under the weight of the snow. Problems to solve later. It should hold for now. It isn't as if he has another option before him.

He shoulders aside the door and heads on in.

It's as frigid inside as it is outside. He'll need to do something about that once he's able.

First, though, he must find somewhere for her to lie. This is easily solved: it was an inn, though the beds are covered in debris and dust. Loren sets her there for just the moment, slipping off his bag afterwards.

It's no surprise when the cloudbear comes crawling out of the bag once he flips the top open -- he'd thought, but had been unable to confirm, that it was still in there. It's probably also just as well for it, since if it hadn't been there, it would have been buried in the destruction of the outpost.

Digging about in his pack he finds what he's searching for -- a carefully folded, thin tarp and a small device. He unfolds it in a few quick motions and slides it under her, moving her as little as he must and tugging it the rest of the way across. It's not the neat, clean job the instructor made it look during instruction, but even if it's wrinkled, it'll have to suffice.

The device he clips over a finger.

All Lan does is gasp, as if struggling for air. She hasn't regained consciousness, which is just as well. He'd wager she's got a lung injury, and depending, here is where things could get difficult.

Loren nudges aside the small bear, which had been worrying at his boot. He crouches one time more to obtain a series of items from the depths of his pack, the last and most important of them a portable light. This permits him to squint at the display on the oximeter. He's not sure why he expected anything different. Damn, it probably is a collapsed lung...
He's running out of time.

He needs to confirm his suspicions about the type and severity of her wound. Then check the wound, clear it of any debris. Last, he'll have to patch it -- and then monitor and continue to survey her condition, because if he's right, he may need to decompress it. It's going to be a long night. Or day, to be honest.
With all that in mind, he sheds his combat gear and gloves before he cleans his hands with disinfectant, pulling on the medical gloves once he's finished.

The first matter of business will be to cut her out of her shirt. But even as he's picked up the shears--

Lan wakes up.

Or some part of her does. She's not conscious in the way that she thrashes; her gaze is unfocused as she tries to rise from the bed and fails. He's seen this before -- the most ancient parts of her brain are trying to fight and flee from the threat it's perceived. But it couldn't have come at a worse time.

Her panic, amplified by her inability to draw a proper breath, is turning into a feedback loop. And her body doesn't have the strength to do this, even as she struggles and fights with him as he tries to steady her. If he had at least one other person--

He doesn't have the time. How long until the black ribbons leap from her? What if she tries to unconsciously cast a spell next? He glances at the loaded needles in the kit that -- barely, now -- rests on the bed, and without any more hesitation grabs the one he needs, a sedative.

Their eyes meet as he wrestles with her, trying to pin her right arm as she fights him still with her left, and he can tell no one is there right now. It's just instinct. Just the last gasp attempt to survive from a life that's fading.

The needle slides home and he depresses the plunger slowly. She claws at his face, pulls his glasses free. Loren doesn't move, enduring whatever else she has left to give.
At this point, it isn't much.

She's still before long, quiet but for the gasps for air. Picking up his glasses from where they lie atop her, he folds them carefully and sets them to one side. He doesn't need them for this.

With the last of her fighting strength gone from her, he's struck for the moment just how diminished she looks as she hovers on the edge of death, for all her one-inch-on-him actual height. How fragile she is -- not the inherent fragility of a fine porcelain dish, no, but the fragility that all living things have. How quickly the strong can be laid low. There and robustly thriving in one moment...

...and broken so easily in the next.

It happened so quickly.

Loren lifts the scissors. He has work to do.