Lilly's Post
Despite Hunt's slap and other... unconventional methods of trying to bring her back to consciousness, Lilly still firmly remained in her stupor. Eventually she fell asleep fully, but the life saving measures the squad had started to take effect. She wasn't in any immediate danger of dying in her sleep. Perhaps it was for the best. Her wounds needed time to let the ragnaid do it's work, and it was unlikely that she would be able to remain calm with a gaping hole through her gut.
Evan's Post
"Ahrrghh..." Evan grunted as he set the beam down, now that Lilly had been retrieved. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Evan turned to watch the first-aid treatment. PFC Hunt had (surprisingly) already managed to drag Lilly away from the wreckage, and was in the process of trying to keep her awake and stop her bleeding. And then he kissed her.
At this point, Evan's face was a bizarre hybrid of shock, confusion and disgust. Just what the FUCK was he doing?! It seemed that Durandal had the same question, as she promptly collided with the man, delivering a shoulder check. The resulting argument was colorful and Evan would have loved to join in, but these two incompetent FUCKSTICKS were forgetting that they had someone who very well might bleed out at any minute under their care.
"Guess I have to do everything myself..." With that, Evan scrambled back to the APC to grab one of the emergency ragnaid tanks. By the time he had returned, Hunt had gotten back to trying to treat the wound. Handing the ragnaid canister to him, Evan made a remark in a rather unpleasant tone.
"Here, lover-boy. It'll probably work better than your kiss."...
Evan spent the remainder of the recovery period wandering around and lending assistance when ever someone needed help moving something. He didn't want to stick around Hunt and say any more things that he'd regret - An unusually sensible thought for Evan. As the sun started to rise and light up the crossroads (or what was left of them), Evan trudged over to the APC and turned off the headlights that they were using in the darkness. No point wasting ragnoline. Since there didn't seem to be anything that urgently needed his attention, Evan slumped in the drivers seat for a minute and mentally processed the outcome. What was supposed to be a surprise attack that swept away imperial resistance before they could mount a defense had turned into a bloodbath that left the majority of the squad wounded. What happened? What went wrong? Evan was burning up for answers, so when he saw a certain sergeant finish assisting the wounded and sit down to take a break, Evan hopped out of the APC and stormed over to him.
"Darcsen!"Evan came to a stop just in front of the man. Darcsen just looked worn out and tired as he smoke his cigarette, but Evan wanted an answer and he wanted it now. Putting one hand on his hip and pointing to the line of wounded with the other, he barked his question in a much harsher voice than he was intending.
"This was supposed to be a straight forward plan, what the hell just happened?! Half the squad is wounded, Jatmoore's almost dead, what the fuck were you doing out here?!" Part of Evan knew that things changed in the blink of an eye on the battlefield, and even simple things could turn to disaster very quickly... But another part of him wanted to blame it all on the fact that their commander was a Darcsen - a race who should never be trusted with anything other than engineering or mining. And that part was currently winning out.
Massasauga
