Евгений Борисович Волгин (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
colonelcrotchgrab) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
smash_logs2010-12-18 12:11 am
colonelcrotchgrab) wrote in smash_logs2010-12-18 12:11 am
Entry tags:
Medicine is an indifferent thing.
Who: Volgin and those who don't know better. Mostly Raikov, who, in contrast, knows better.
What: Villains have to heal too.
Where: Final Destination City's Pokemon Center (December 13th - 14th), moved to Final Destination City's Hospital after
When: December 13th -- December 19th (Volgin leaves at 3 am on the 20th)
Warnings: You should be familiar with the gripings of a pained electro-Commie by now.
December 13th - 14th:
They were not sure what to do with him.
They were lucky enough to have a specialist that mostly worked in the care of electrical creatures within an arm's reach to brief the emergency team on the proper grounding and handling of a patient in critical condition but still carrying current. Raikov cooperated, told the woman what he knew about his artificial electrical biology, and she listened intently. Volgin found himself being quickly put under.
The massive Soviet took the whole team on site to carefully lift onto the stretcher and take him away.
The hospital and the specialist spoke; it was an interesting, uncommon case, especially when they confirmed that this was not a shapeshifted pokemon or some other thing (or that was what basic preliminary observation and probing yielded). The city's Pokemon Center agreed to stabilize and hold the giant until proper facilities were set up at the Hospital. It was a peculiar but not unusual union, just as the pokemon and their penchant for assuming human forms. As sense went, they had the equipment on hand to deal with such a case. A surgical team from the hospital re-approximated a surgical floor and set to work properly cleaning and stitching the man up, human treatment with equipment from the Pokemon Center's supplies, a sign of the state of the species line.
Not to mention, not many places had non-conductive needles, insulative bandaging, among other things, on hand.
It was an odd sight in itself, among the eerie silence of injured creatures, to have the unconscious Colonel among them, curled up on the large grounded stretcher meant for Electivires and Magnezones. The team was diligent, regardless of the monstrosity of the man in their care; they took no time in sending over the appropriate antivenins and pumps. They put him on a ventilator. It was a challenge, a bragging right, a fascinating story to share at a fancy dinner at the end of the day.
Volgin's blood content resembled a toxic soup. They pumped his stomach, a major surgery of his chest (internal burning and bleeding, some cracked ribs). Hours of work in the name of the impassivity of medicine. Still, one said he would not make it through the night. He was in amazing shape, but age was age.
It was a wait and see.
The heart monitor indifferently recorded the slow, rhythmic beats that morning.
After that, past the tension, he remained there, unconscious the entire time, the cocktail of drugs half-lidding his eyes white.
The morning of the 15th - 20th:
They moved him and finished what they started a few days ago. Mechanical examinations had to be done with care regarding what they knew about Volgin's internal implants. Raikov guided the hand of a rubber-gloved doctor to feel out the electrical channels of the roots of the artificial nervous system in each limb.
The specialist was fairly interested in him.
Eventually the interest had died down, and the buzz of another new unusual patient overtook the break room chatter of the partially suspended thunder giant on the tenth floor. This left Volgin alone, fortunately, whatever loose clutches he had on the conscious world met with the gawking, idiot eyes of passersby.
He ignored them, thinking only of one person. He waited for him. He wanted to see him again. He used his good leg and gently rocked his suspension, his mental eye tracing over his snowy features.
Hell's demons could take over his medical care, and with some of the cocktails he had been receiving, sometimes they distorted that way, but it was all worth it when Ivan came into the room.
Of all the rage he could have simmered in, of all the acts of destruction he could plot, of all the fantasies of combing his fingers across bloody pokemon hides, it was all he found himself thinking about instead.
The drugs worked well.
What: Villains have to heal too.
Where: Final Destination City's Pokemon Center (December 13th - 14th), moved to Final Destination City's Hospital after
When: December 13th -- December 19th (Volgin leaves at 3 am on the 20th)
Warnings: You should be familiar with the gripings of a pained electro-Commie by now.
December 13th - 14th:
They were not sure what to do with him.
They were lucky enough to have a specialist that mostly worked in the care of electrical creatures within an arm's reach to brief the emergency team on the proper grounding and handling of a patient in critical condition but still carrying current. Raikov cooperated, told the woman what he knew about his artificial electrical biology, and she listened intently. Volgin found himself being quickly put under.
The massive Soviet took the whole team on site to carefully lift onto the stretcher and take him away.
The hospital and the specialist spoke; it was an interesting, uncommon case, especially when they confirmed that this was not a shapeshifted pokemon or some other thing (or that was what basic preliminary observation and probing yielded). The city's Pokemon Center agreed to stabilize and hold the giant until proper facilities were set up at the Hospital. It was a peculiar but not unusual union, just as the pokemon and their penchant for assuming human forms. As sense went, they had the equipment on hand to deal with such a case. A surgical team from the hospital re-approximated a surgical floor and set to work properly cleaning and stitching the man up, human treatment with equipment from the Pokemon Center's supplies, a sign of the state of the species line.
Not to mention, not many places had non-conductive needles, insulative bandaging, among other things, on hand.
It was an odd sight in itself, among the eerie silence of injured creatures, to have the unconscious Colonel among them, curled up on the large grounded stretcher meant for Electivires and Magnezones. The team was diligent, regardless of the monstrosity of the man in their care; they took no time in sending over the appropriate antivenins and pumps. They put him on a ventilator. It was a challenge, a bragging right, a fascinating story to share at a fancy dinner at the end of the day.
Volgin's blood content resembled a toxic soup. They pumped his stomach, a major surgery of his chest (internal burning and bleeding, some cracked ribs). Hours of work in the name of the impassivity of medicine. Still, one said he would not make it through the night. He was in amazing shape, but age was age.
It was a wait and see.
The heart monitor indifferently recorded the slow, rhythmic beats that morning.
After that, past the tension, he remained there, unconscious the entire time, the cocktail of drugs half-lidding his eyes white.
The morning of the 15th - 20th:
They moved him and finished what they started a few days ago. Mechanical examinations had to be done with care regarding what they knew about Volgin's internal implants. Raikov guided the hand of a rubber-gloved doctor to feel out the electrical channels of the roots of the artificial nervous system in each limb.
The specialist was fairly interested in him.
Eventually the interest had died down, and the buzz of another new unusual patient overtook the break room chatter of the partially suspended thunder giant on the tenth floor. This left Volgin alone, fortunately, whatever loose clutches he had on the conscious world met with the gawking, idiot eyes of passersby.
He ignored them, thinking only of one person. He waited for him. He wanted to see him again. He used his good leg and gently rocked his suspension, his mental eye tracing over his snowy features.
Hell's demons could take over his medical care, and with some of the cocktails he had been receiving, sometimes they distorted that way, but it was all worth it when Ivan came into the room.
Of all the rage he could have simmered in, of all the acts of destruction he could plot, of all the fantasies of combing his fingers across bloody pokemon hides, it was all he found himself thinking about instead.
The drugs worked well.
October 17/18th - Late Night/Early Morning
The smaller Russian sat in the chair next to the bed, looking more tired than usual. Much like his Liberian counterpart, a good night's sleep was hard to get now. As soon as he drifted off, his mind was consumed with nightmares. He kept his makarov, ballistic knife, and a spare magazine with him at all times.
Raikov tilted his head back to rest on the back of the chair as he attempted to sort his thoughts. He felt somewhat disgusted with himself over his recent emotions, considering he was an ex-GRU soldier... but surely everyone had their weak moments, right...?
Time to stop beating around the bush then:
"... Yevgeny? I... .... I'm scared."
no subject
There was a brightness in the weariness. The tiniest traces of a smile.
His words were only sounds, pleasant sounds he associated with the fondest things, the fondest moments, before their meaning sunk in.
His drug addled brain took a moment to process it.
The warmth faded. He frowned.
"What is it?" His powerful voice had been burned away into a gentle rasp.
no subject
He paused, trying to remain calm.
"Then the next day, a couple Pokemon and two winged humans were beaten and tied to one of the statues... Amp was with them."
What a terrible hypocrite he was. He wouldn't have cared if it wasn't for Amp. He had grown a soft spot for the Pikachu...
"I'm afraid they're going to think that I was the one behind the other attacks..."
no subject
Then, Volgin cut the recapping Raikov off with a harsh grunt:
"Repeat that again, Ivan."
no subject
no subject
"Amp, eh?" A harsh, painful-sounding rumble of a chuckle. "A shame... A decent rat. I might have liked her."
no subject
"What if they all think I'm behind the attacks...? I can't even sleep properly at night..."
no subject
"They trained you well, didn't they?" He was trying to be forceful with what he had, feeling the weight of the surgery done inside his chest. His head slowly nodded for a moment to some thrum of the universe the drugs staining his blood had opened up to him. Something felt fastened inside of him. All of him felt patchworked together. "You ... were... are in my unit. Of course," he coughed, "you are among the best."
no subject
"Wh.. What if the whole school turns against us? We'll have nowhere to go.."
no subject
Volgin was smiling too broadly at that, the suspensions creaking as he craned his head towards the silver-haired Soviet again.
no subject
Strike a deal with the devil.
The thought unnerved Raikov. What was worse though: Dealing with an entire school against you or letting Volgin somehow get the devil to let them live peacefully?
Like the devil would ever do that. Raikov could only hope this would all blow over and everything would return to normal.
"... Are you sure it's safe?"
no subject
"If... I do not teach... I go back. That is all... they ask. No less."
His voice lightened: "You get... used to it... after the first decade." Another harsh laugh. "Years run... after that. Time... goes by quickly here."
no subject
"... Rest for now. I've taken a lot out of you with this..."
I hope this is okay?/ 15th
"..."