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[center][sub][sub][sub][sub][sub][img]https://i.imgur.com/DHKvx27.png[/img][/sub][/sub][/sub][/sub][center][color=2e2c2c]Soup Kitchen   ·   Late Afternoon   ·   In collaboration with [&.Exit][/color]Soup Kitchen   ·   Late Afternoon   ·   In collaboration with [@Exit][/center][/sub][/center][/color][quote][color=2e2c2c]_[/color]
[color=white]Red. Vasra’s eyes opened to a scene of chaos. A red miasma surrounded her. She heard screaming. It sounded far away. She saw blood running down her arm. A moderately deep cut, she noted, falling into well-practiced medical detachment. Splinters of wood were lodged in her skin. She couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel it at first. Then the sounds came rushing back. And then the pain. A torrent of panicked voices. Terror, anger, and violence. For a moment, she felt the pain coursing through her, biting into her arm, tearing at her throat. She fought the panic. Her fingers shook as she pulled out the splinters that she could reach, pain giving way to fresh adrenaline. She hissed, grabbing hold of her arm, tightening around her torn flesh, feeling the blood pool between her fingers. She fumbled for her bag, withdrawing a bandage. Two quick loops. A tight pull that sent her head spinning and her knees buckling.

She felt far away. She heard only a roaring current. A strange feeling. A connection. Around her. Below her. Everywhere at once. Vasra couldn’t place it. She couldn’t identify the deluge. She could hear the water. She could feel it. She could hear it whispering. She could taste the spirit water in her medical bag. She could sense the power contained inside of the bottles. She could discern so much. Too much. She was a drop. She was a drop in the ocean. Losing herself to the vastness, she could not move, and she could not act.

Her thoughts returned in roiling whirlpool of emotion and recent memories. Sonam. Her patients. Spirit Water. She remembered why she had headed to the Soup Kitchen, why she had come. Sonam! Where was Sonam!? Scrambling to her feet, Vasra looked around, colliding with a broken table top as she tripped on a prone figure. Sonam, alive, clearly conscious, Vasra noted as she felt a hand grasp her outstretched hand.

"Don’t move, Sonam," Vasra said, her hands darting over Sonam, gently touching, shifting, and checking the extent of the other woman's wounds. There were several. A laceration over her left eye, it would leave a scar if they didn't use some Spirit Water...the beginnings of a string of deep bruises across her entire right side, and a deep cut on her right leg. The lack of pronounced pupil dilation, suggested that Sonam had not suffered a concussion. Sonam was fine, under the circumstances, having weathered an explosion she was more than fine. Her own arm was- She was fine. They were fine. They had been lucky. They had been lucky and now they had to help. They had to act.

"What the hell was that, Doc?" Sonam began, struggling to stand up, she leaned against Vasra as the doctor gestured for her to move slowly and helped her stand. A hand slipped and brushed against Vasra's arm. Her face whitened and Vasra let out a heavy breath as the pain stabbed her. It was a rush job. She would have to redo it later. She had to keep moving. She couldn't stop. They couldn't wait.

"Woah! Hang on, Doc, you're wounded. just wait-"

"I’m fine, Sonam, it’s nothing, just a couple of splinters. You’ll be fine too. Some moderate bruising and a couple of new scars, but you won’t need stitches. I’m sorry, but I need your help, regardless of your present condition. We need to get the wounded out of here. We can’t be sure the building is safe. There are too many of them. We can't wait for any help."

"Right, sure, let’s get to it," Sonam said, sounding less convinced that Vasra would have liked. But she listened. She knew Vasra better than to try to stop her.

The pair had only just reached the closet victim, when fresh screams of pain and more shouting echoed through the debris strewn warehouse. Vasra could see a familiar face, the son of her patient, contorted with unexpected rage. The boy was clearly wounded, blood streamed down his face. She had no time to act before he lurched at a wounded woman, striking her in the face with his blood soaked hands. She saw the young daughter of her patient, his sister, rushing after him, despite her equally obvious injuries. Vasra cursed beneath her breath and ran towards the commotion.

"Stop! Stop! What are you doing!? Stop it!" Vasra shouted crashing into the young man as her arms wrapped around him. He was strong. He was stronger than she had expected. He kept on trying to hit the prone woman. He wouldn't stop. He wasn’t listening. He didn’t seem to understand. He didn’t seem to notice her. Flailing wildly, he dragged Vasra with him to the ground as one of his knees finally gave way with a sickening tear of muscle. Even with his injuries, Vasra struggled to hold him. She felt an elbow crack into the side of her head and saw new shadows as she desperately tried to stop the wounded boy.

"Please! Stop! You are hurting yourself! You have to stop! It’s alright, it’s alright, just stop fighting!" Vasra shouted, words clear despite the blows that indirectly struck her.

Sonam was the first to notice. As she recovered, she watched Vasra throw herself at the man and as her arms wrapped around the trunk of his body, things around the room moved. Bottles half filled with liquid were flung from the floor as if tossed by a ghost. Puddles of water that had begun to pool on the ground were kicked up. Water from severed pipes in the ceiling fell along a curved path for the briefest of moments. The strange occurrences only lasted for a few seconds but it was not easily missed and more than that, it was obvious to her what just happened.

She cursed under her breath and looked again at the doctor in bewilderment. By now, Vasra had locked herself onto the male in a struggle she was handily losing and although her mind struggled to process the right and wrong in the situation unfolding before her, whatever she felt in that moment paled to the idea of her friend being killed. Panic stirred in her when they both fell to ground and in a blind haste, she shoved off the floor and took a step in their direction. But something was not entirely right. As she moved forward, a force that was beyond her control propelled her. As if she had jumped forward on account of an invisible push, she was launched in the direction of the scuffle with more speed than intended and instead of coming to Vasra’s aid, only managed to rush past them and slam into the wall. She hit the ground hard, cursing loudly as pain welled up from a collision she was not expecting and as fresh bruises received more punishment. Desperation pushed her to ignore her body’s protest and find her feet again and as she turned to find the doctor, she saw the little girl run up with a fury in her eyes unlike any she’d seen in a child. Her foot swung hard in the direction of the man’s face, connecting with his nose with a loud thud and breaking his concentration on the downed woman.

[color=white]"What the fuck are you doing?!"[/color] The girl screamed. Her anger and triumph were short lived however as the man grabbed at her feet and dragged her to the ground with him. Attempting to ignore Vasra, he tried to right himself over her to pin her down. [color=white]"GET OFF ME!"[/color]

Noise. More noise. More shouting. More fighting. Vasra lost her grip on the brawling youth. Her arms burned, her muscles aching as she pushed herself onto her knees. None of it made any sense. Not the explosion. Not the strange feeling. Not the young man. He was still going. He was still fighting. Vasra noticed the pipe sticking out of his chest. The fresh blood that had appeared below his nose. The angle was all wrong. The young girl’s shouting drove away the disorientation. They were out of options. They were out of time.

Vasra looked around. She tried to spot her bag. She needed sedatives. She couldn’t find her bag. Clouds of crimson dust still enveloped the warehouse. Debris covered the floor. She watched with growing horrors as the youth kept fighting and as he made a sudden grab for his sister. Vasra scrambled desperately towards the two siblings. She picked up a half shattered table leg, holding it in her hand like a club, raising it above her head. And then she let it drop onto the floor with a wooden thunk. She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t. There had to be a different way. A better way. Vasra’s mind raced, her heart pounding against her chest as she tried to find a solution. She felt sick. She felt a sudden wave of nausea, a pain that traveled from her stomach to her head, flooding the synapses between her neurons with an ocean of feedback and sending her reeling her neurons bathed in an impossible sensation.

She heard a low noise, barely audible above the unfolding calamity. The distant sloshing of a gentle river. She felt a tug on her arms, then her hands, and finally her fingers. She didn’t think. She didn’t need to. She felt the water. She felt the water pouring from the pipes. She felt the water pooling all around them. When she moved, the water moved with her. The water was within her and she was the water. Puddles of scattered watered swelled into a small stream that raced along the floor. The stream grew into a wave as it surged forwards, gently rolling over the young girl, somehow merely dousing her with water as it crested, and broke violently on top of the young man. Enveloping him, as if alive, the wave dragged the mad teenager with it and flowed onward, smashing against the thin wall in a shuddering crash of sheet metal.
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