07.29.3013: A Helluva Welcome Home
Summary: Ashleigh has just returned home only to then discover her uncle has been hurt. She goes to see him at the hospital as does Anabethe.
Date: 29 July 2013
Related: None
Anabethe Ashleigh Flint 


ICU - Hospital
(RP room was used - just imagine an ICU room in a hospital)
29 July, 303

It's only been little over a day or so since Flint was carted into the hospital, in armor and all. To say that he looked like a bag of smashed ass is a bit of an understatement. What used to look like Aggressor armor has been turned into something that looked like a lump of dented and bloody plates as it had to be stripped off piece by piece in an effort to not make the situation even worse. After that was done, Flint was carted off to surgery, with a laundry list of things to fix. All in all, he spent over ten hours in the surgery room, still unconscious as the time as he was brought in.

Being set in a private room and put in the critical condition ward, he's currently on oxygen tubes and other IVs have been put into his arms, giving fluids and antibiotics to fight off whatever infection from combat, surgery, or a combination of both may of cost. And the painkillers, don't forget about those.

With Flint having been hurt when he was means he'll undoubtedly have missed the rumors of his niece's return but she sure as hell did not miss the one of his being injured, the news spreading pretty fast among the Granthams once her mother was notified. As much as she tried, it took her the better part of the day after his getting stomped and the resulting injury to get freed up and by the time she made her way to the hospital… to say that she was not in the mood to deal with rules and bossy nurses would be stating the obvious. A fight almost had to break out before they allowed her to enter his room where the younger knight is now.

Occupying a chair, the fiery-haired woman is currently half-way through round three of prayer, her eyes held firmly to Flint's face, doing what little she can to help.

Flint looks worse out of his armor. There's not much in the way of unbruised skin on him that hasn't been bandaged. And there's a injury report next to his bed that nurses check over periodically. Contusions, a concussion, broken ribs, left hand, shattered right femur, right tibia, left scapula broken, internal bleeding, bruised liver, and uneven heartbeat. Magically, his armor was able to keep him alive long enough to get him to the hospital before it failed, but probably the worst injury on that chart reads as a broken spine, something which the doctors didn't seem to hold much hope that he'd walk anytime soon. Or at all for that matter.

While Ash has been praying, the only sounds to accompany her is the rhythmic sound of his weak breathing and the beeping of the machines that keep track of his vitals. But, eventually, ones is swollen eyes tries to open, which is accompanied by an unpleasant sounding soft groan.

Ashleigh's words die on her lips, the pleas to whichever of the Six she hopes will hear her faltering before she falls silent entirely. It is the grunt that gets her to hush as does how she notices he's trying to look, the swelling getting her to wince. "You sure know how to welcome a family member home," comes a half-tease, half-chide. It's spoken in the emotionless tone Flint should recognize as hers, Ashleigh doing nothing to try and add false joy to her voice.

Rising, she takes the few steps it takes to reach his side of the bed, her face tightening. "You're not supposed to get hurt," she whispers, her grip on herself tightening as does her brow and jawline when she grits her teeth afterward. This has her shaken - the severity of Flint's wounds causing her as much pain as Zayne's death did five years ago - and she has no idea how to handle this.

There's not much response, but Flint does respond to the voice, only slightly. "I'm not…dead, am I?" The way he says, sounds like it's almost a disappointment. There's a cough, or at least, a pale imitation of once, which only makes him whimper slightly. "Okay..so my ribs are broken." he grunts, trying to catch his breath. His right hand, one of the least damage limbs of his body, slowly reaches up to move his oxygen mask from his face. "Ash. Can barely see you."

"No, you're not dead, Uncle." He very well might wish he was, however, especially when he learns about his back. Lesser men have been driven to wishing for death over a lot less. A hand lifts to cover his, Ashleigh's gentle attempt at stopping him from removing the mask that's providing him very much needed O2. "Don't take it off. Please." She tries to smile even though Flint says he can't really see, although she doesn't know why. "Mother's worried."

"Makin Marah look bad, eh?" Flint tries to joke, but again, he needs to learn that can't laugh right now. "Being dead would probably be preferably to…ugh, right now." Ash doesn't have to try too hard to prevent the mask being taken off. "Can't hardly talk with this thing…on." It's hard to talk, have to breath more. Then there's a flicker of awareness in his eyes, darting down, then up again. The heart monitor starts to pace. "Ash. I can't feel my legs. Why the fuck can't I feel my legs?" he asks, voice on the edge of panic.

The spike in Flint's heart rate causes a hustle at the nurses' station and one rushes in, looking quickly at the monitor to make sure the elder Grantham's not in danger of dying on them. Between seeing he's not about to expire and the glare leveled at her by Ash she doesn't stay too long, leaving the two to have their moment without anything like interruption or whatever. "Uhm… okay. They said there's an injury to your back. They're not sure what's going on just yet and they aren't sure when you'll be able to walk…" Fuck. This is hard. But she feels it is better that he hears it from her instead of one of the doctors whose care for their patients falls along the medical and not always the emotional at the same time.

It's always a rush when the nurses rush in to make sure nothing bad is going on. One might even mutter something about Ashleigh's presence being bad for his state so early in the healing process. But they'll let her stay, if only because they don't want to deal with more than one ornery Ash Knight. So they at least give the injured one a sedative to calm him down. For all the help it does when Ash tells him exactly what's going on. It's like all the color, what color there was anyways, drains out of his face, and he slumps deeper into his bed. "I remember being on the front lines. This…big ass Hostile with a two-handed mace. Got struck on the side…as I turned around…" he shakes his head. "I felt something hit my back…then nothing." A life-shuddering sigh follows. "So that's it, huh."

Ashleigh reaches back and hooks the chair by its leg, using her foot to do so and then bring it closer to her. Even before she settles back she takes her uncle's hand in hers, her hand rough from her many years of holding a sword in it. "I am sorry I wasn't there," she offers with a sigh, her stony facade cracking slightly. "I wouldn't worry about the future, though. I am sure we can get you back on your feet and in combat before you can blink twice." Or at least she's hoping. There is technology that can help… right?

"Don't. Don't start with that shit." Flint's voice is weak, trying not to make it waver too much. "Nobodies fault. …just happens." But there's no denying that the spirit has been knocked out him. There's not much grip in his hand, but he tries anyways, squeezing back. "Seems like I've been fucking up a lot lately…maybe this is the Crone teaching me some humility…" Another raspy breath. "Feel worse for you though, Ash. You really think your mom is going to let you go anywhere when she sees me? Granted, I've always been a pain in her ass." It's hard to hold back the tears at the thought of not walking, but it's probably the shock that hasn't allowed that fact to sink right in yet. "Ugh, doctors. Should've just let me die. Think I would've been more useful in the hereafter than here in bed."

Ashleigh's mother has already put her on a short leash thanks to the Hostiles' constant assaults and she knows that Marah will try to shorten it further when she gets the report on Flint from her daughter. Ask if she cares about that fact, through. Compared to her uncle the further loss of freedom isn't even given a thought. "As if Mother needs an excuse to keep me home," she grumbles with a snort of faux-laughter punctuating the statement, a poorly made joke to try and lift Flint's mood. There's almost another joke but she stops herself short when he speaks again, his last words startling her. "You're not allowed to give up," she chokes, the constriction of her throat causing the bile that rises up to burn it painfully. "Mother and I need you… we need you, Flint."

Anabethe arrives from the Roleplay Rooms.

"She'll find a way. Even if that means quilting you into the ground." Flint manages to get out. "What she wants is an excuse to marry you off." He tries as best as he can to level a gaze at Ash. "Don't let find a way to do that. You get married only if you want, Ash. And if you have, go find a surrogate for a kid. But if you want to fight, that's your right, you got me?" The statement is made as if he won't be around later on. "Is there anything left for me, Ash? Knight that can't fight. Can't do shit but take up space. Can't…" he coughs, which only makes him squint his eyes closed from the shattered rib cage. "You've…always done fine without me. Me being gone won't change that."

"Those choices were removed from me the day Zayne died, Uncle. But don't worry. It will not happen because of guilt." Sitting in her chair, Flint's hand still in hers, Ashleigh is trying very hard to keep her shield of ice about her. But the more Flint speaks and the longer she watches him in pain the more and more it gets chipped away, leaving her on the verge of crying if she's not careful. "You can still teach, Uncle," she points out with as much of a lopsided grin she can muster. "You always did love the sound of your own voice. Teach the new squires history or about the obligations they're facing or…" Or anything, really. Ash is grasping at straws in effort to try and buoy his spirits.

Lately, Anabethe has been spending a good deal of time stuck in the Blackspyre, studying logistics. She hasn't been on the field, and she hasn't been out in the bars. So getting out to check in on Flint in the hospital was a little easier than it might have otherwise been. Getting in was surprisingly less hard. She doesn't enter the room itself, though, instead leaning a shoulder against the doorframe and tapping one knuckle gently against it before she can intrude on a private moment.

"I know, I know, but…" The idea of Flint trying to shrug is sorta funny, given how one of his collarbones is broken, part of the shoulder simply won't move. "..this can happen to any of us. At any time. It's what we signed up for, but I think most of us probably thought we wouldn't really be around if it got this bad. The armor was better than I thought…" Take a moment, breath, don't talk so much at once. It's hard to see clearly, but Ash is close enough to get a decent picture. "Ash…hey, it's alright. I don't know what use I'm going to be but…I won't squander whatever life I have left, whatever form that is." The knock at the door gets him looking in it's vauge direction. "Could you get that? I would but…heh, well, don't think I'll be moving out of bed anytime soon."

With her back facing the door Anabethe will miss it but Flint probably will be able to catch the single tear that escapes Ash's control and rolls down the left side of her nose to then fall away and leave a wet spot upon a pants leg. "Just no more talk about how I don't fucking need you," comes hissed from clenched teeth, annoyance mingled with the sadness. She stands and makes her way to the door, Anabethe given a nod. "Hello. Please come in and help me kick my uncle soundly in his ass every damn time he says something stupid like how the doctors should have let him die and how I don't need him."

"Oh, he's doing that well?" Anabethe manages a faint smile, trying to inject a little humor into the situation, though there's something cautious about it as well. "Well, if he's good enough to wish he was dead, then he probably doesn't need to see me." For all that, though, she steps inside, chin tipping up with a brave face as she braces herself for what probably waits. "That's what men are like, though. Stub a toe and it's all over. You stub your toe, Grantham?"

Flint has looked better. Hardly a spot of unbruised skin on his body. Realistically, he should be dead, but his armor managed to hold the pieces together before he spilled everywhere over the surgery table. One of his arms, his chest, and his legs are in leg casts, but there's something about how his legs are not moving at all that says something differently. Granted, he's not moving much to begin with, save for a tilt of the head here and there. Head wrapped and eyes almost swollen shut, he glances his head towards the new voice. "Of all the people that probably shouldn't see me like this." he mutters. "Well, I'd ask you to check, because I can't feel anything past my dick. Also, it hurts to move. And breath." He tries to laugh. Bad idea. "Fuck." he chokes out. "Heh, what did I tell Nitrim? Oh yeah…life is pain, anyone who says differently is selling something."

The dire situation is draining and by the time Anabethe makes with her joke Ashleigh's reserves are utterly spent and she's back to being stoic and in better control of her emotions. A near-silent chirp sounds from somewhere on her person, mysteriously, but the one in possession of the hidden coms device doesn't have to look to know that it is her mother trying to tell her to come home. "I best return." Leaning over, Ashleigh kisses her uncle upon a cheek and then turns to give Annabethe a bow of her head. "I will have Mother call tomorrow to check on Flint's condition. Now, I hate to run…" but she does just that, just about, and the room is exited in a near-sprint.

"Well, as long as you can feel your dick, it's too early to give up," Anabethe announces cheerfully. "We'll just get you some buns of steel, send you to infiltrate the Hostiles. Or something." Despite her cheerful tone, there's some concern in her features when she sees just what his state is, walking carefully over toward the bed and leaning gently against the wall rather than risk upsetting anything on the bed. "Probably a stubbed toe in there somewhere," she says quietly, humor falling flat.

"At least I can still tell when I have to piss." Flint grumbles, taking Ash's peck on the cheek. "Go." he urges, perhaps partly in because he sees what his condition does to her. "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." he notes. Dark humor tends to be the kind on today's menu. After she leaves, Flint leans back into his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. "Probably." he agrees, but yeah, it falls flat. "Didn't think I'd be seeing you anytime soon, Bethe." This time, now that his niece is gone, he finally try to work the dumb oxygen mask off his face. "Not going to think any less of me like this, eh?"

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