Survive Against All Odds
Sneeve. Whoever had named this planet sure had a sense of humor. It was just a shame that Brumhilda deWinter did not. She wiped her face on the back of her hand, willing the sweat and perspiration away. It didn't work though, she was still sweating.
Standing uneasy on her feet, she had just finished administrating first aide to the... Frankly, she had stopped counting after the 70th patient. When it came to refugees and war survivors, the woman was a work horse. She'd had decades under her belt in taking medical care of these sort of situations, applying medical care as naturally as breathing. More than once she'd had to improvise and perform surgery while things were blowing up around her; another thing she had grown apathetic to, being used to it by now.
It had been three years since she had been blinked into this galaxy that she still did not understand. It had taken her almost a year to realize that seven hundred had been lost, with time burying both her ex husband and their son with them. She had tried frantically at first to search for both of them, but had found nothing other than traces of other family members that had made it through, and... Well, they were all darksiders, and evil, and she wanted nothing to have to do with them.
Thankfully, since her mother wasn't around, they didn't want anything to have to do with her either. Did they even think of her on occasion? She did not know. And she did not care. Shery deWinter was gone, some of her daughters lived, and some of her father's children did too. That was more than enough to doom this galaxy into a dreadful future.
A future that, despite her best wishes, she was to be a part of.
It was only a scream that distracted her of her thoughts, and Brumhilda looked up, the needle not wavering a single millimeter in her patient's flesh. It came from a woman a few feet away, one that she had not reached yet.
Within moments, Brumhilda finished her patient up and ran to the woman, her hands gliding all over her body and her very swollen stomach. The child inside the woman was ready to come out, but it had turned upside down.
"This is going to hurt," she told the woman as she held her gaze, "but you can do it. I've helped deliver harder births than this in active war zones. I just need you to tough it out."
And without waiting for a reply, Brumhilda's little hand reached inside the woman, and she began to twist the baby around.
The woman screamed.
[member="Allyson Locke"]
Standing uneasy on her feet, she had just finished administrating first aide to the... Frankly, she had stopped counting after the 70th patient. When it came to refugees and war survivors, the woman was a work horse. She'd had decades under her belt in taking medical care of these sort of situations, applying medical care as naturally as breathing. More than once she'd had to improvise and perform surgery while things were blowing up around her; another thing she had grown apathetic to, being used to it by now.
It had been three years since she had been blinked into this galaxy that she still did not understand. It had taken her almost a year to realize that seven hundred had been lost, with time burying both her ex husband and their son with them. She had tried frantically at first to search for both of them, but had found nothing other than traces of other family members that had made it through, and... Well, they were all darksiders, and evil, and she wanted nothing to have to do with them.
Thankfully, since her mother wasn't around, they didn't want anything to have to do with her either. Did they even think of her on occasion? She did not know. And she did not care. Shery deWinter was gone, some of her daughters lived, and some of her father's children did too. That was more than enough to doom this galaxy into a dreadful future.
A future that, despite her best wishes, she was to be a part of.
It was only a scream that distracted her of her thoughts, and Brumhilda looked up, the needle not wavering a single millimeter in her patient's flesh. It came from a woman a few feet away, one that she had not reached yet.
Within moments, Brumhilda finished her patient up and ran to the woman, her hands gliding all over her body and her very swollen stomach. The child inside the woman was ready to come out, but it had turned upside down.
"This is going to hurt," she told the woman as she held her gaze, "but you can do it. I've helped deliver harder births than this in active war zones. I just need you to tough it out."
And without waiting for a reply, Brumhilda's little hand reached inside the woman, and she began to twist the baby around.
The woman screamed.
[member="Allyson Locke"]
