NaNo Excerpt
Nov. 8th, 2007 04:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kiyakotari
Upping your wordcount tip #217: Have a character perform a complex (or simple!) procedure and explain all the steps.
I'd especially appreciate observations about the dynamic between Darryl and Abigail, and what thoughts it gives you about their relationship and how it might be defined or working. I'm playing with a couple different sets of cues here, some of them conflicting and some of them very similar but subtly different, and I want to know if it's coming across.
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Abigail notices, as they’re walking up the hallway to her hotel room, that Darryl is moving a bit awkwardly. It’s not really obvious, but she’s spent the better part of the last ten years or so of her life observing him, and she likes to think she knows him pretty well by now. As soon as the door to the room shuts behind them, she reaches out and grabs his shoulder, turning him to face her, then puts her hands on her hips.
“Shirt off.”
Darryl looks at her for a long moment, then shrugs out of his jacket. It falls to the floor in a crumpled heap of black fabric around his ankles. He raises his hands to the neck of his shirt and slowly pulls it off, drops it on the carpet.
Abigail looks at his torso critically. There are wide bandages wrapped around it, and she can see the fading remains of impressive bruises at the edges of those, going up his sides like some kind of infection. His left shoulder is red and purple, lightening to yellow around the limits of the injury. There are a few scrapes and cuts, but nothing really serious. Like the cut on his face, they’ll all heal without scars - they’re too shallow to leave a permanent mark on him.
Abigail walks over to him and puts one hand on the bandages, pressing against them, and Darryl’s breath hisses softly in protest - his hand darts up from where it dangled relaxed at his side, moving faster than she can see, and he grabs hold of her wrist. “Stop that.”
“Just checking the damage, hun.”
Darryl snarls softly and lets go of her hand, turning away and walking over to the sofa. He sits down on it. “Cracked ribs, one maybe a bit worse on the left side. It’s inconvenient, but not incapacitating.”
Abigail rolls her eyes and goes over to the closet, opens it up and pulls out one of her large rolling suitcases. She opens it up and reveals a huge metal box, reinforced on the corners. The thing takes up nearly the whole suitcase, which is lined with foam padding. It's all shiny chrome and brushed aluminum, and a wide nylon strap connects the ends, hanging down limply as she carries the box across the room. She sets it on the sofa next to Darryl. “I don’t have many doses of carbon nanotubes left, and I’ve only got one bag of the protein for them. We’ll have to get more.” She opens up the box as she speaks, putting on blue rubber gloves from a small box nestled in one corner, then pulling out a syringe. The needle she fits onto the end of it is at least five inches long.
“I picked up some supplies while I was traveling. Not that, but just some…incidentals. They’re in my coat pocket, sealed sterile injectables. Single-use.”
Abigail, filling the syringe from a small glass bottle, snorts. “Pillaging public medical supplies again, Darryl?”
He shrugs.
“Alright, give me skin.”
Darryl stands up and tugs the Velcro ends of the bandages free and unwraps himself, dropping the strips of the elasticized cloth to the floor, then turns toward her.
“Where do you want to do this? It’ll probably be easier if you’re laying down…let’s go over to the bed.” Abigail leads the way, throwing back the covers and gesturing for Darryl to get settled. She sets the syringe, a roll of medical tape, and a small heap of cotton balls and foil-packeted disposable alcohol wipes down on the night stand, then goes to grab the desk chair.
Darryl walks over to the bed and kicks off his shoes, then lays down, stretching out on the fine white cotton sheets. When Abigail turns back and looks at him, against that pure backdrop, the bruising seems even worse.
Abigail walks over, snaps her fingers, and the lights in the room come on. “Want to be able to see what I’m doing.” She smiles up at him. “Wouldn’t want me to miss and have to go again, would you?”
“Not particularly.”
She sits down in the chair and picks up the syringe, taps it to get the air bubbles up into the needle then squeezes just a little bit of the contents out. “Right. Here goes. Want a topical anesthetic?”
Darryl shakes his head. “It’s not the skin that hurts, and you don’t have anything in the kit that will help much with the rest.”
Abigail nods, leans over and pushes and prods her way along the bruise until she finds one of the breaks, feeling the slight give under the skin that tells her it’s a complete fracture, not a partial one. The spot is a bit swollen, and Darryl tenses slightly under her fingers.
“That would be number one,” he says, unnecessarily.
Abigail reaches over and grabs one of the foil packets, tears it open and pulls out the alcohol wipe inside. She swabs Darryl's skin with it, then goes over her own gloved fingers, just for good measure. She lifts the syringe, lines the needle up with the rib - just to the side of the break - and slides the metal into him. She meets resistance when she hits the bone, but these needles are reinforced, strong, made for this. Darryl closes his eyes, his hands curling into fists. Abigail depresses the plunger just a bit, her other hand rising to touch his shoulder. “Relax. It’s harder if you’re tense.” She moves the hand over from his shoulder to the nightstand, picks up a cotton ball and pulls the needle out of him. Presses the cotton ball quickly over the blood that wells up.
Darryl brings his hand up without having to be told, putting his fingers over the cotton ball and pushing down on it. “I am relaxed.”
Abigail grabs the medical tape, pulls out a short length from the roll and tears the strip off, tapes the cotton ball in place. “Sure you are.” The banter is stupid, really, but it helps distract him from the pain. He's understandably irritable.
“Fuck you.”
“Love you too, hun. Alright, ready for number two?”
Darryl’s response is more of a grunt than a word, but she takes it for agreement, and picks up the syringe again.
All in all, she sticks the needle into his bones nine times before she gets all the fractures. It uses up the entire syringe of nanotubes in their aqueous solution. When she finally sets the needle aside for the last time, Darryl is even paler than usual and breathing heavily. She pats his shoulder. “You were lucky - none of them were displaced, and only two were complete fractures. It shouldn’t take long for them to heal, maybe a week and a half, two if you’re hard on them. Longer if you re-injure, of course.”
Darryl nods, not speaking, and Abigail sighs. She caps the needle, then goes and throws the syringe in the trash - there’s no sharps box in a hotel room, and part of her training screams at her for ignoring that basic bit of protocol, even after all this time. She pulls an IV catheter out of her box and slides the needle of a single-use syringe up inside the tube, grabs a length of rubber, and returns to Darryl’s side. Wraps the rubber strip around his right bicep and pulls it tight, knots it. It takes only a moment for her to find a good vein in Darryl’s arm, swab the spot with an alcohol wipe, and set the needle firmly in place. She secures it with tape, then carefully pulls the plunger on the syringe out. The catheter tubing fills with blood, and she slips the syringe free of it. "Hold that for a minute, will you, hun?"
Darryl reaches across his body with his left hand and put his fingers over the tubing. He holds it in place until Abigail tapes it down.
Abigail goes back to her box and grabs a short, telescoping metal pole with a couple of hooks on one end, a small infusion pump bolted to the middle, and a clamp on the other end. She also picks up some tubing and two clear plastic bags, one fairly large and one very small. She extends the metal pole to its full length and locks it in that position, then fastens it to the nightstand, hangs the bags on it, and hooks up the tubing to the small bag. Darryl watches her though half-closed eyes as she runs some of the liquid in it through the tubing until saline solution dribbles out of the end of the line, then feeds the tubing through the infusion pump. She switches the tubing over to the larger bag, then goes and gets another syringe. She fills this one with more saline solution from another little bottle, taps the air out.
"You're not very organized today,"" Darryl says dryly as Abigail leans over him, wiping the end of the IV catheter with an alcohol pad and then flushing the blood out of it with the syringe of saline until the tube is clear again, prepping the line.
"You have your own personal doctor. I wouldn't complain about the service if I was you."
"Terrible bedside manner, too," murmurs Darryl.
I'd especially appreciate observations about the dynamic between Darryl and Abigail, and what thoughts it gives you about their relationship and how it might be defined or working. I'm playing with a couple different sets of cues here, some of them conflicting and some of them very similar but subtly different, and I want to know if it's coming across.
----------------------
Abigail notices, as they’re walking up the hallway to her hotel room, that Darryl is moving a bit awkwardly. It’s not really obvious, but she’s spent the better part of the last ten years or so of her life observing him, and she likes to think she knows him pretty well by now. As soon as the door to the room shuts behind them, she reaches out and grabs his shoulder, turning him to face her, then puts her hands on her hips.
“Shirt off.”
Darryl looks at her for a long moment, then shrugs out of his jacket. It falls to the floor in a crumpled heap of black fabric around his ankles. He raises his hands to the neck of his shirt and slowly pulls it off, drops it on the carpet.
Abigail looks at his torso critically. There are wide bandages wrapped around it, and she can see the fading remains of impressive bruises at the edges of those, going up his sides like some kind of infection. His left shoulder is red and purple, lightening to yellow around the limits of the injury. There are a few scrapes and cuts, but nothing really serious. Like the cut on his face, they’ll all heal without scars - they’re too shallow to leave a permanent mark on him.
Abigail walks over to him and puts one hand on the bandages, pressing against them, and Darryl’s breath hisses softly in protest - his hand darts up from where it dangled relaxed at his side, moving faster than she can see, and he grabs hold of her wrist. “Stop that.”
“Just checking the damage, hun.”
Darryl snarls softly and lets go of her hand, turning away and walking over to the sofa. He sits down on it. “Cracked ribs, one maybe a bit worse on the left side. It’s inconvenient, but not incapacitating.”
Abigail rolls her eyes and goes over to the closet, opens it up and pulls out one of her large rolling suitcases. She opens it up and reveals a huge metal box, reinforced on the corners. The thing takes up nearly the whole suitcase, which is lined with foam padding. It's all shiny chrome and brushed aluminum, and a wide nylon strap connects the ends, hanging down limply as she carries the box across the room. She sets it on the sofa next to Darryl. “I don’t have many doses of carbon nanotubes left, and I’ve only got one bag of the protein for them. We’ll have to get more.” She opens up the box as she speaks, putting on blue rubber gloves from a small box nestled in one corner, then pulling out a syringe. The needle she fits onto the end of it is at least five inches long.
“I picked up some supplies while I was traveling. Not that, but just some…incidentals. They’re in my coat pocket, sealed sterile injectables. Single-use.”
Abigail, filling the syringe from a small glass bottle, snorts. “Pillaging public medical supplies again, Darryl?”
He shrugs.
“Alright, give me skin.”
Darryl stands up and tugs the Velcro ends of the bandages free and unwraps himself, dropping the strips of the elasticized cloth to the floor, then turns toward her.
“Where do you want to do this? It’ll probably be easier if you’re laying down…let’s go over to the bed.” Abigail leads the way, throwing back the covers and gesturing for Darryl to get settled. She sets the syringe, a roll of medical tape, and a small heap of cotton balls and foil-packeted disposable alcohol wipes down on the night stand, then goes to grab the desk chair.
Darryl walks over to the bed and kicks off his shoes, then lays down, stretching out on the fine white cotton sheets. When Abigail turns back and looks at him, against that pure backdrop, the bruising seems even worse.
Abigail walks over, snaps her fingers, and the lights in the room come on. “Want to be able to see what I’m doing.” She smiles up at him. “Wouldn’t want me to miss and have to go again, would you?”
“Not particularly.”
She sits down in the chair and picks up the syringe, taps it to get the air bubbles up into the needle then squeezes just a little bit of the contents out. “Right. Here goes. Want a topical anesthetic?”
Darryl shakes his head. “It’s not the skin that hurts, and you don’t have anything in the kit that will help much with the rest.”
Abigail nods, leans over and pushes and prods her way along the bruise until she finds one of the breaks, feeling the slight give under the skin that tells her it’s a complete fracture, not a partial one. The spot is a bit swollen, and Darryl tenses slightly under her fingers.
“That would be number one,” he says, unnecessarily.
Abigail reaches over and grabs one of the foil packets, tears it open and pulls out the alcohol wipe inside. She swabs Darryl's skin with it, then goes over her own gloved fingers, just for good measure. She lifts the syringe, lines the needle up with the rib - just to the side of the break - and slides the metal into him. She meets resistance when she hits the bone, but these needles are reinforced, strong, made for this. Darryl closes his eyes, his hands curling into fists. Abigail depresses the plunger just a bit, her other hand rising to touch his shoulder. “Relax. It’s harder if you’re tense.” She moves the hand over from his shoulder to the nightstand, picks up a cotton ball and pulls the needle out of him. Presses the cotton ball quickly over the blood that wells up.
Darryl brings his hand up without having to be told, putting his fingers over the cotton ball and pushing down on it. “I am relaxed.”
Abigail grabs the medical tape, pulls out a short length from the roll and tears the strip off, tapes the cotton ball in place. “Sure you are.” The banter is stupid, really, but it helps distract him from the pain. He's understandably irritable.
“Fuck you.”
“Love you too, hun. Alright, ready for number two?”
Darryl’s response is more of a grunt than a word, but she takes it for agreement, and picks up the syringe again.
All in all, she sticks the needle into his bones nine times before she gets all the fractures. It uses up the entire syringe of nanotubes in their aqueous solution. When she finally sets the needle aside for the last time, Darryl is even paler than usual and breathing heavily. She pats his shoulder. “You were lucky - none of them were displaced, and only two were complete fractures. It shouldn’t take long for them to heal, maybe a week and a half, two if you’re hard on them. Longer if you re-injure, of course.”
Darryl nods, not speaking, and Abigail sighs. She caps the needle, then goes and throws the syringe in the trash - there’s no sharps box in a hotel room, and part of her training screams at her for ignoring that basic bit of protocol, even after all this time. She pulls an IV catheter out of her box and slides the needle of a single-use syringe up inside the tube, grabs a length of rubber, and returns to Darryl’s side. Wraps the rubber strip around his right bicep and pulls it tight, knots it. It takes only a moment for her to find a good vein in Darryl’s arm, swab the spot with an alcohol wipe, and set the needle firmly in place. She secures it with tape, then carefully pulls the plunger on the syringe out. The catheter tubing fills with blood, and she slips the syringe free of it. "Hold that for a minute, will you, hun?"
Darryl reaches across his body with his left hand and put his fingers over the tubing. He holds it in place until Abigail tapes it down.
Abigail goes back to her box and grabs a short, telescoping metal pole with a couple of hooks on one end, a small infusion pump bolted to the middle, and a clamp on the other end. She also picks up some tubing and two clear plastic bags, one fairly large and one very small. She extends the metal pole to its full length and locks it in that position, then fastens it to the nightstand, hangs the bags on it, and hooks up the tubing to the small bag. Darryl watches her though half-closed eyes as she runs some of the liquid in it through the tubing until saline solution dribbles out of the end of the line, then feeds the tubing through the infusion pump. She switches the tubing over to the larger bag, then goes and gets another syringe. She fills this one with more saline solution from another little bottle, taps the air out.
"You're not very organized today,"" Darryl says dryly as Abigail leans over him, wiping the end of the IV catheter with an alcohol pad and then flushing the blood out of it with the syringe of saline until the tube is clear again, prepping the line.
"You have your own personal doctor. I wouldn't complain about the service if I was you."
"Terrible bedside manner, too," murmurs Darryl.
