forwardmomentum: (i compile a list)

[personal profile] forwardmomentum 2017-09-19 03:08 am (UTC)(link)
The smell of iron and leather brings back a wave of sense memory, tangled in the scent of blood, and her eyes -- they take hold of him even more firmly, seizing up his chest. He has no choice but to return that look, that intensity reflected in his eyes but wholly his own. If she had any doubts about him and his intent, if she trusts his eyes, she'll see that he holds none. Miles draws in a breath to rein it in and he holds up a hand, clearing his throat as she presses the sharp edge of the sword against the pilot.

"If I meant you any harm, I wouldn't have invited you onto my ship. And I think we're past the point where that's necessary, eh?" He waves that hand at a couple of his officers, who step forward. "Chang, Tate, take this man to C deck, will you? I'll be along to deal with him when I'm done here." Not to holding cells -- Miles isn't sure what, exactly, the man has personally done wrong, and besides that, the Dendarii sure as hell aren't law enforcement unless someone else is paying them to be. If the man will consent to a little fast-penta interrogation and exonerate himself of any real wrongdoing, Miles will just have him dropped off at the next hub and let him sort himself out.

"You three," he says, turning his attention on the med techs, "get anyone in critical condition on float palettes and take them to sickbay immediately, and unless the fleet surgeon is wrist-deep in someone else's torso, she is to put aside whatever else she is doing and get in the OR. You can tell her that the orders come from me directly. Everyone else, escort the rest of the crew to sickbay and tend to them."

He looks back up at their leader, looking like she's just stepped out of a damned holovid, and he doesn't offer her his arm, because that'd be too damn Barrayaran, but there's an air of slightly displaced courtesy about him nonetheless. "If you're not in critical condition yourself, I'd like to escort you personally, Manikarnika."
mahalakshmi: (• am I making sense?)

[personal profile] mahalakshmi 2017-09-24 09:26 am (UTC)(link)
None of her crew moves until she has finished taking him in until she has taken all that he has to give before she turns back, lifts her hand to direct them forward. The words flowing quick and in Hindi. Directing them with an ease of familiarity that once she has given permission, they move forward to the crew that has stepped up to help them.

Which the one stiff nod she gives back to Miles follows along the same, as she sheaths her sword. Her other hand curling over her abdomen where the blood flows still. Her gaze on him still, but it hazes a little, the pain back, now the edge has worn off. The tight pain working her jaw tense as by slow steps, she limps towards him. "At your will, Admiral."
forwardmomentum: (fixed with parcel tape)

[personal profile] forwardmomentum 2017-10-03 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)
Miles finally gets a decent look at the stomach wound on her and winces slightly, holding a hand out for her to stop. Ye gods, the woman stops for nothing, does she? Remind you of anyone, boy?

"On second thought," he says, tilting his head toward the med techs, "I think I might reassess you into that critical condition category. Er, how long have you had that stomach wound?"
mahalakshmi: (• Who's a heretic now?)

[personal profile] mahalakshmi 2017-10-09 09:44 am (UTC)(link)
A lack of technology that extends long past just the archaic chainmail and plate. The helmet and swords. The only thing that seems to be holding her together was linen bandages below her hand when she pulls away a little to look at it, underneath her armour. "A day, at most."

She hasn't looked at it, she realises, she hasn't stopped for the three days that came before it too. It's... well it is bad, isn't it? A ribbed open line to sensitive places that are just ready for infection. She feels bloodless, suddenly, waxy under her brown complexion. "Forgive me, Admiral I think..." she sways, half a step more, she realises, she might collapse. That won't do. Not for a Queen, not for the Rani of Jhansi who - massacres innocents and slaughters the helpless and - "... I think I meant to say more, to you."

The ground, suddenly seemed, closer to her, than it really ought to be, and the lights of the docking bay, a solar spin of Jhansi's three moons swinging back and forth. He wouldn't mind if she laid her head down, would he - just about anywhere would do - this corridor would do, just as well. As she slips forward the rest of the way down in front of him. To knees and the topple towards the ground that seems as sure as earth turning.
forwardmomentum: (you think this is about drugs)

crawls back from the dead

[personal profile] forwardmomentum 2017-10-18 02:07 am (UTC)(link)
Miles does not, to his credit, try to catch her. The urge does spring up like a kneejerk reflex, but a broken arm probably wouldn't cushion her fall much, and then...he'd have a broken arm. But he does still lurch forward even as he barks at a med tech catch her. Something about her reminds him so fiercely of home that it's jarring, touching his mind in a place he generally keeps tucked in the back when he's with the Dendarii. Something fierce and earthy and terrifyingly raw. He wonders if they've ever even heard of Barrayar. He also wonders, just a little bit, how badly this is going to come and bite him in the ass later.

He's there when she comes to in sickbay, still in his gray dress uniform with his rank insignia. By now he looks a little more wired than before, courtesy of a few extra cups of coffee to keep him through the late hours.

"You had a bit of a fall there," he chirps in vast understatement. "And a hell of a stomach wound. I put my fleet surgeon on the job. I wouldn't recommend trying to move just yet."