Yesterday, 12:49 AM
Artie walked into blackness. Klingon genetics were superior to Humans, but not unfortunately, in the ways of eyesight. The smoke stung her eyes until tears filled them and ran down her face, and she struggled to keep her eyelids open, let alone see anything with her eyeballs feeling as if they were burning. She felt strain on her chest, but was confident that her breath would hold; what good would having three lungs be, otherwise? Her eight-chambered heart thudded at an increased pace, and she felt her pulse through her thickened skin.
All that, and she could not see to save her life, much less anyone else’s.
She moved carefully, pretending it was deliberately, and tried to identify the things that her hands, arms, and feet brushed up against. She squeezed her eyes shut to try and ward off the burning and stinging, and her right foot bumped, causing her entire form to stumble. Ending up in a three-point landing, Art felt a body, unmoving and, when she pressed a hand to their chest, also not breathing.
Crouched on the ground, the smoke was lighter here, but just barely. Without meaning to, the CSO took in a small bit of air with her nose, sending black smoke into it, along with the sharp tang of iron-heavy blood. Fumbling and groping around, Art grabbed the as-of-yet-unidentified person under the armpits and began pulling.
They were moving at a perpendicular angle, Art knew that much. She wondered how long it would be before they came up against a bulkhead, and then, whether that bulkhead was still there or not. There was no way of telling her comrade’s condition, but she knew she felt the flames burn through her uniform, and she could only hope that it was combustion fire, not plasma.
When a person experiences burns from an ordinary combustion-type fire, it is typically diagnosed on a graded scale: first degree, second degree, third degree, and as the fallen officer most likely had, fourth degree burns. Injuries from plasma fires are assessed similarly, though the intensity and radiation increases the severity of the injuries.
Artie knew that the person she was pulling was most likely already dead.
Though in her mind she knew she was now clear of the flames and the billowing smoke that was still reaching outwards, she continued to pull the fire’s victim far from its clutches. Reaching the bulkhead she knew she was eventually headed for, Art allowed herself to collapse, landing on her rear end, her hands slipping from the arms of the victim.
Her appearance could be described as “singed”. The orange-and-black uniform was burned through in patches, showing her light-brown skin that was reddening and bleeding with blisters and burns. The dark-brown hair, usually in a tight bun while on duty, was now half-fallen, and though her lungs were clear of smoke, Art found it hard to breathe as the skin around her ribcage was taught with the damage that the inter-woven fire had caused. The sclera of her eyes shone brightly through, in stark contrast to the darkness covering the rest of her body.
So, she sat, somewhat-panting, surveying what she had just left behind.
Wait a minute.
“Where’s Cassidy?” Art rasped.
==Tag Alden and Beinn! Tag GM: Who did Art pull out? What is their condition? And, how much of her burns are normal v. plasma?==
All that, and she could not see to save her life, much less anyone else’s.
She moved carefully, pretending it was deliberately, and tried to identify the things that her hands, arms, and feet brushed up against. She squeezed her eyes shut to try and ward off the burning and stinging, and her right foot bumped, causing her entire form to stumble. Ending up in a three-point landing, Art felt a body, unmoving and, when she pressed a hand to their chest, also not breathing.
Crouched on the ground, the smoke was lighter here, but just barely. Without meaning to, the CSO took in a small bit of air with her nose, sending black smoke into it, along with the sharp tang of iron-heavy blood. Fumbling and groping around, Art grabbed the as-of-yet-unidentified person under the armpits and began pulling.
They were moving at a perpendicular angle, Art knew that much. She wondered how long it would be before they came up against a bulkhead, and then, whether that bulkhead was still there or not. There was no way of telling her comrade’s condition, but she knew she felt the flames burn through her uniform, and she could only hope that it was combustion fire, not plasma.
When a person experiences burns from an ordinary combustion-type fire, it is typically diagnosed on a graded scale: first degree, second degree, third degree, and as the fallen officer most likely had, fourth degree burns. Injuries from plasma fires are assessed similarly, though the intensity and radiation increases the severity of the injuries.
Artie knew that the person she was pulling was most likely already dead.
Though in her mind she knew she was now clear of the flames and the billowing smoke that was still reaching outwards, she continued to pull the fire’s victim far from its clutches. Reaching the bulkhead she knew she was eventually headed for, Art allowed herself to collapse, landing on her rear end, her hands slipping from the arms of the victim.
Her appearance could be described as “singed”. The orange-and-black uniform was burned through in patches, showing her light-brown skin that was reddening and bleeding with blisters and burns. The dark-brown hair, usually in a tight bun while on duty, was now half-fallen, and though her lungs were clear of smoke, Art found it hard to breathe as the skin around her ribcage was taught with the damage that the inter-woven fire had caused. The sclera of her eyes shone brightly through, in stark contrast to the darkness covering the rest of her body.
So, she sat, somewhat-panting, surveying what she had just left behind.
Wait a minute.
“Where’s Cassidy?” Art rasped.
==Tag Alden and Beinn! Tag GM: Who did Art pull out? What is their condition? And, how much of her burns are normal v. plasma?==