grace ahn. (ashless) wrote in warrantlogs, @ 2016-01-13 14:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | grace ahn, lionel owen |
WHO: Grace Ahn, Lionel Owen, & one Georg Freud.
WHAT: Finding a broken and bleeding bounty.
WHERE: Ganymede, behind Moxie's.
WHEN: Wednesday the 13th, midday.
WARNINGS: Injury.
The thing about bounties was that some were easy, straightforward; others were unpredictable. There was no such thing as a normal bounty. The RAC was meant to be challenging and exciting, the opposite of the ordinary day-to-day struggle that defined so much of life in the poorer colonies, and it reflected in the instability of every job. Never knowing where the danger came from, never knowing whether or not they'd win. Never knowing who would get hurt. It was starting to feel like it had been a very, very long time since the B52 had gotten a straightforward day on the job. Grace and Lionel were on their way to regroup with the rest of the crew — they heard over the comms that Star had been injured, which meant Grace was needed, and their captain would need to figure out a new plan of attack now that their bounty had slipped away. It's not always like this, Grace was tempted to try to explain to her brother as they made their way down a back alley close to Moxie's (always a good place to look for a shady character, even if there were no leads directly tying the drug dealer they were hunting to the locale). But she bit her tongue; there was no point making excuses, she'd started to realize. If she tried to say this is the way things usually are, no doubt something would spring up to directly prove her wrong, and Eugene — Lionel — would be left with just another seed of doubt sowed. Distracted, she nearly tripped over the obstacle in her path. It groaned when her foot collided with it, and Grace drew a sharp breath as she looked down in surprise to see the crumpled body as her brother stumbled into her from behind. Blond hair was matted and dark with blood, she realized as she dropped to her knees, medic instincts taking over without hesitation. Whoever had done this had meant to kill. "Easy," Grace murmured, reaching down to touch one curved shoulder, to turn him on his back. His face was almost too swollen to recognize, if she hadn't been staring at his photograph all day. "Can you hear me, Georg?" He groaned again, as if an attempt for words had been intended, but all he could manage were simple sounds. "What the shitting hell…" came Lionel's troubled awe from behind her, taking in the extent of their bounty's injuries. Injuries was too light a word. The man was barely recognizable. The newest member of the B52 was standing behind his sister, looking down with revulsion at the bloody mess they'd been hunting. "Who did this?" His question was a demand, utterly futile as Grace didn't know and Georg couldn't speak, but he couldn't help it. Shaking her head, Grace reached for the beaten man's wrist to check his pulse. It was faint beneath her fingers, but the beat was steady; he was stable, for now. He would survive long enough for them to get him to a hospital. "Someone else must have been after him, too," she sighed. "Can you keep watch and make sure they don't come back?" Reaching into her bag for a bottle of water, she set the rim carefully to the bounty's lips. "It's okay, Georg. You're safe now. We're going to make sure you get help. Drink." He refused with sealed lips out of instinct, though the desire for something to soothe his throat overrode the urge to fight, and he allowed it, soon enough. Lionel's eyes had widened at the request, mouthing make sure they don't come back at his sister's back with exaggerated hand gestures that were questioning more than defiant. As if baffled as to how he, a druglord without a weapon, was going to protect them from whoever had utterly destroyed this man, he guessed without blinking. With his eyes, he guessed. So they roved over the possible entrances, leaving the hard work to Grace. It didn't matter that Georg was a criminal, or that he didn't trust her. It didn't even matter that she was here to take him into custody. He deserved to be treated like a human being, as much as any member of her crew. Patiently, she let him drink, then rinsed her hands with water and carefully ran them down his chest and sides, over his head, checking for breaks or swelling, anything that felt wrong. He was a mess. The scans were bound to be ugly. "Don't worry, Georg," she murmured with a smile of reassurance, thinned by concern, "I'll take care of you. My name is Grace and I'm a medic. Just hang in there, alright?" The bounty in her hold sighed; what choice did he have? Shifting, she sat down on the dirty, bloody pavement and cradled his head in her lap. Then she looked up, catching Lionel's eye, and mouthed the words: tell the crew. Now there was something he could do. |