Savannah James (savannahjames) wrote in oblivionrp, @ 2009-04-01 18:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | pyrrhus, pyrrhus and savannah, savannah |
Just like a circus~
Who: Savannah (Solo Post)/Savannah, Pyrrhus
When: Around 3 PM
Where: Triage-Deck G, Savannah's Room-Deck F, Pyrrhus's Room
Rating: NSFW
After over twelve hours in triage, Savannah was thoroughly bored. There was no sign of CJ, Samantha, or Jesse, and although she knew CJ was just fine and probably asleep (lucky jerk), having heard neither hide nor hair of her siblings was more than a little worrisome. Unfortunately, the nurse seemed to prefer Savannah remain in bed, where she could keep an eye on her and administer more drugs if necessary. Nurse Gloria claimed she would be released as soon as a responsible third party arrived, but Savannah rather doubted it.
They had given her something to keep her awake, and the drug was, sadly, doing its job quite well. Although they had given her some mild pain killers as well, she still ached from her collision with the walls and numerous people and objects in the Cult of Dionysus. But it had been twelve hours without a word from either member of her family...and there were some things a girl just couldn't wait any longer for.
At some point, one of the housekeeping staff had brought in her purse. It was intact: money, her fake ID, and, most importantly, her cell phone. Of course, the thing had to be dead. She couldn't even get a dial-tone, nor would the display give her anything more than a few warped lines. Assuming that it, too, had been crushed, Savannah quickly gave up trying to dial her siblings' numbers.
The nurse watched her like a hawk. Savannah already had two escape attempts on her record, and Nurse Gloria seemed determined to make her the ward's special project. Savannah had just been considering making a third attempt when an opportunity presented itself to her. Gloria's attention was drawn away by another nurse, this one a tall man with a black eye. He held a chart in his hand. By their hushed tones and the frown etched on her severe face, Savannah guessed something serious had happened. This was confirmed a moment later when, without even a glance over her shoulder or a word of warning, the large woman trotted towards the other end of the triage unit.
The girl wasted no time in throwing off the thin, scratchy blanket and lowering herself to the floor. Pain shot through her at once, despite the comfortable, drug-induced numbness in which she drifted. Her ankle throbbed stiffly; it was only sprained, but it had swollen up to a bloated, angry ball. Bruises were forming on it already, a webbing of purple and green that snaked up her thigh like some bizarre tattoo.
With a gasp, she leaned back against the cot she had vacated, causing more pain joined in the chorus from her right side. Her entire hip was one large purple bruise. Where the bruise ended, a large, stitched cut began. The doctor had pulled a shard of glass from the wound, and, although he thought the glass had broken cleanly, he warned her there could still be slivers in the wound.
Oh, and there was the concussion too. Any sudden movement or intake of breath seemed to send the world spinning. Once again, she had effectively accomplished this state, and she was forced to remain where she stood a moment. Chin against her chest and eyes closed, she waited for the feeling to subside. It passed quickly this time, and Savannah straightened.
Her dress had been ruined between the battering and the nurses. Presently, she wore only scrawny cloth dress that was meant to constitute clothing. Though Savannah's tiny form practically drowned in the dress, thereby successfully securing her modesty, she still felt uncomfortable in the white and blue-striped outfit. To compensate, she wrapped the equally thin blanket around herself and took a step.
It took every ounce of will she possessed to keep from falling. Her arm came down heavily on her cot again as pain lanced through her. The thought occurred to Savannah that she should sit down, let Samantha and Jesse come to her. Another agonized step confirmed that she definitely had no business going anywhere. Nevertheless, somehow, Savannah placed one foot in front of the other and continued on.
Something, an instinctual part of her, knew something was wrong. Though close with her twin, Savannah and Samantha had never shared the rumored bond between twins. Of the two, Samantha was more sensitive to her intuition, but Savannah had never had any time for it. Even now, despite the feeling of dread which threatened to overwhelm her, the girl gave it hardly any thought. She knew Samantha and Jesse were fine, as surely as she knew she, herself, had survived this unfortunate incident. But she had to be sure.
Savannah's progress was pitiful. It seemed her swollen ankle hurt a little less by the time she had reached the door. It would swell up later, much worse, but, for the time being, it seemed willing to support her frail weight with only continuous complaint. Whether it was her determination to find her sister, the medication, adrenaline, or simply her body's natural ability to shield her from the pain, Savannah had soon graduated from a crawl to a steady, limping gait.
Her first stop was their suite on G-Deck. Persephone's Spring looked desolate, abandoned. "Samantha?" she yelled as she stepped inside. "Jesse? Anyone?" Her optimism regarding her siblings conditions deteriorated a little as she surveyed the empty room. The damage was not bad here. The tree still stood upright, as did most of the furniture. A lamp lay smashed on the floor, and the drawers of the vanity had been flung open. A few small items littered the floor -- the TV remote, the nail polish Savannah had used for her toes, and Samantha's book. Almost everything else seemed to be in place.
Her next stop was Jesse's room. Fortunately, his room was immediately beside her own and connected through the living areas. After her journey to her own room, she looked forward to sitting down beside her siblings -- yes, even Jesse. As if evidence of their presence, the door was slightly ajar between rooms. Certain she would find them, Savannah swung open the door with another holler. "You could have at least come to visit me, assholes!"
The silence of an empty room greeted her. His room seemed just as abandoned as hers. A few personal items were scattered around the room, although whether Jesse had left them that way or if they were victims of the storm was impossible to say. Savannah stared at the empty suite, her heart, ever optimistic, beginning to wither in loneliness and a haunted sort of worry. As she explored the empty suite, her concern only increased.
It twisted in her stomach, knotting into a living thing of darkness. It worked its way into her body, netting itself over her heart and rising to lodge in her throat. Her struggle against the darkness, against the fears and dark thoughts, was carried out in complete silence.
Fate once again lifted her in its embrace, bringing her attention to a detail she had almost missed in her frightened, confused state. Wedged against the corner of the couch lay a pair of cell phones. The pink phone, easily recognized as Samantha's, was closed and locked, but the other phone, a simple black Motorola flip-phone, was open. Face-down, it made a little protective tent over Samantha's phone. It beeped quietly in warning.
For some nameless reason, the sight terrified Savannah. It could be a simple thing: perhaps, they had accidentally left their phones in the room. The thought attempted to soothe back that darkness and only succeeded in temporarily leashing it. Savannah wanted to find someone, anyone, to hold her hand or to pick up the phones for her. From the recesses of her mind, the leashed beast whispered seductively, encouraged her to creep closer. Unsteadily, she leaned down. The plastic of the phone was cool and smooth against her fingertips as she gently lifted Jesse's phone. It beeped again, sounding a little weaker this time.
With a pounding heart, Savannah turned the phone over. The battery icon flashed in the corner, red and angry, and the words DROPPED CALL...309-248-2852 hung in the center of the screen. The phone almost fell from her fingers as a sob tore from her throat.
The number belonged to Jessie, Jesse's beloved daughter. If he had been on the phone with her when the storm picked up, there was no way -- not a chance in hell -- he would left the phone anywhere until he had had the chance to call her back. Jesse was an asshole, but his daughter was, for him, the whole world.
For Savannah, it was almost as definitive as seeing a body.