Lita and Adelaide, late afternoon / early evening
Lita has been working nonstop for hours now. The stream of the injured, the dying, and the dead on her makeshift operating table seems never ending. Instead of draining her, her attention becomes hyper-focused on the work at hand; one body switching out for another, the world around her fading and the only things she can see is the patient on front of her and her own two hands.
Which is why she doesn't immediately notice when the person holding her current patient's leg still starts lilting to one side like boat taking on water. The man on her table, a smaller man thickly corded with muscle with a nasty piece of shrapnel jutting from his thigh, jerks with such violence Lita almost jabs him with the scalpel. He's half out of it in shock and pain and very likely has no idea what he's doing but the sudden movement brings Lita's out of her self-imposed trance. Lita turns her attention to the ashen-faced girl that is supposed to be helping her, a cutting and authoritative barb on the tip her tongue, when she realizes the girl is on the verge of keeling over.
"Hey," Lita barks urgently, trying to bring the girl back to earth all while keeping pressure on the man's injury in such a way that it doesn't drive the foreign object in deeper. The man gives another lurching shake, his shoulder's rising up from the table and a stream of fresh blood streams out of his wound. "Hey! Girl, don't you dare pass out on me now. Do. Not. Even."
Lita looks frantically around the area for someone, anyone that can take over for the lightweight volunteer. The girl, who is eighteen if she's a day, is looking whiter by the moment and her mouth is gaping open like a fish trying to breathe on land. At the very least she might crumple up into a heap on the floor, leaving the patient's legs free to flail and do further injury to himself. At the worst she could pitch forward on top of him, very likely doing injury to herself and driving the man's shrapnel further into her body. Lita calls out for a hand but there's too much going on, too many people already with their hands full. Through the crowd, Lita's eyes search frantically for anyone that can help her. Her gaze meets a pair of eyes she recognizes and their steady, unwavering attention is like a port in the storm.
Adelaide Lansing, née Hawkins, is tending to another of the wounded but sees Lita from across the room. Lita gesticulates to the swaying girl by her side and then to her bloody hands on her patient's leg. Whatever their association or feelings toward one another are now, Lita knows there's no one she would rather have at her side at that very second.