[Semi-Open, Arrival] Dreaming Wide Awake

[oyedeng]

WHO: Naomi Nagata, James Holden, Amos Burton, a Rescue Crew and OPEN
WHAT: A woman falls out of space and onto Thedas. Some damage is incurred, some recovery time is needed, some reunions are happening. Also: Space resident's first exposure to snow.
WHEN: Covering arrival, quarantine/recovery and first steps in a snowy Kirkwall
WHERE: Wounded Coast, Riftwatch Infirmary, Kirkwall
NOTES: If you want to continue any CWs for description of/discussion of injuries sustained, pain suffered, Holden being a sap

At first, there is nothing. She floats, as she has done all her life, when the ring gate decelerates everything in an instant, and Naomi is knocked out cold.

Her dream is a simple thing. To stand aboard the Rocinante, to hug Alex, to touch her forehead to Amos', to hold Holden close. To tell them all she has to say, and to be welcomed back.

Instead, she comes to when she falls, thin body impacting on hard ground, vision flooding with flickering green, and beyond... the horrifying sight not of metal, not even of the darkness between stars... but of a grey, cloudy sky.

[ ooc: Closed and Open Prompts in comments below. If you'd like to do something else or discuss handwaving/continuing TDM threads, feel free to shoot me a message: inkcharm or Discord: inkcharm#4573.

Please also take a gander at Naomi's Permissions/CWs/Opt-Outs as well as her Info post. ]

Comments

[elegiaque]

Having broken off from the rift long enough to have knocked that nearest demon back off its ... feet? (Sure, feet. And several feet back, at that.) —with a percussive blast from her gloved hand, Gwenaëlle squares her shoulders and braces herself as she lines up with Tony to reconnect. The effort is lessened, spread across the two of them, and considering the force the two of them specifically bring to bear it's not quite as much a struggle as it might have been without a third, fourth or fifth hand.

Not that it looks fun. It's not a process that allows for anything like multitasking, and while Gwenaëlle can hit hard—she isn't built to withstand much, reliant mostly on whoever else is around and sheer fucking luck to stay on her feet while closing a rift instead of killing whatever's around it. There's a reason that she quite likes closing rifts that are near trees that she can climb into and use for cover,

so it's for the best that she and Tony don't take as long now as they might have, if this had been a few years ago.

(A few years ago, and she'd never have walked into this scenario; she'd have known, quite rightly, that she wouldn't have walked out of it again alive.)

When the rift takes the remnants of its spilled out guts with it, she pivots to Amos and Naomi: “This is one of yours?”

She sounds French. She sounds posh. She still looks like a sexy pirate, that wasn't a hallucination.

[innerharbor]

Two thoughts run through Amos' mind, enough to distract him from the rift, the fight, everything. Succinctly translated from mind to mouth, they are:

"Yeah. Fuck."

He bends down to check over Naomi, huge fist open in gentleness, fingertips barely touching her pulse. He pets her forehead, trying to comfort like one would an animal, because how do you comfort someone dying? And that is what she's doing.

Amos nearly rips the crystal off the leather thong around his neck, speaking into it-- "Cap. We got someone incoming to med bay. Prep them for sudden re-pressurization and other high grav damages. It's the Belter you think it is. She's gonna be okay."

And with that, he scoops Naomi up like she barely weighs anything (to be fair, she really does) and looks over his shoulder. "She's dying, Princess." Welcome to your new nickname, Gwenaëlle. "You keep track of the Professor, yeah?"

Because Amos is planning on booking it and hoping for the best, here.

[oyedeng]

It's a little unfair, Naomi thinks, as she's gathered up like she's hardly a burden, that her clearly dying mind would conjure only one member of her family up for her. It's nice to see Amos again. She'd have liked to see Alex and Jim, too. Especially Jim.

Cap registers, somewhere through the pain, like a tether to keep her from floating away, because something in her understands bone deep that when Amos says 'Cap' he means 'James Holden'.

Naomi tries to hang on to some shred of consciousness that understands Amos to be much too solid to be a figment of her imagination. She's a dead weight in his grip, breath a faint, wheezing sound as she tries to curl her fingers into the fabric folds of his clothes, tries to will herself to reach out and grasp at what she didn't know she needed to come back to for months.

It wouldn't be fair to them, Naomi thinks in quiet defiance of the darkness closing in on the edges of her vision, to die before she made it back. Her head hits Amos' shoulder a little too heavy, and she tries to tell him that she's coming back, but she's pretty sure the strained rasp of her voice doesn't get further than his name before she's choking on any other words she might have mustered. Beneath the fragile dome of her ribcage, her lungs and heart strain to keep operating against the brutal pull down the well, and it's all she can do to cling to some semblance of awareness, rolling eyes sliding over the people behind Amos without fully registering them - she'll recognize them, later, most likely, when the haze of pain doesn't do its best to blur them out.

[propulsion]

Well this was a bust.

Tony is shoving the thaumoscope into his satchel and should probably be gathering up the sensors, but instead he's moving at a fast clip towards where Amos is gathering up a whole woman in his arms. If and when Gwenaëlle looks to keep track of him, Tony is coming in hot, furiously trying to understand the situation as fast as possible.

"What happened?" he barks, boots sliding in field mud as he approaches. "She get hit by something?"