apocalypsehowcomm | Event - Material Goods

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Event - Material Goods

Material Goods

➥ By Hook or By Crook

Photo of a white delivery truck waiting outside a building. There is a caucasian driver just visible inside.
(cw: potential for violence, criminal activity, bombs/bomb threats, injury, incarceration, police brutality)

It's not difficult to identify the crates marked for Things of Beauty. They're colorful things, some might even say garish. Whoever chose them has a particular sort of taste, and it seems to be stuck somewhere in the 70s. They're stacked up on one of the docks, waiting to be loaded into delivery trucks by burly dock workers who look alternately annoyed by the hideous crates and disturbed by something about them. Anyone stopping to eavesdrop will hear one of them mention that he heard the crates murmuring. The concerns will be dismissed quickly as they move to load up the trucks, though.

The boat that's brought these over seems… confusingly small, like it's something local, rather than anything international. Getting onto the ship, itself, would be impossible during the day, and it seems to leave after having dropped off the boxes, heading out of port and off to places unknown. Anyone checking the ship's name–The Tarabroo–will quickly find it's not a ship that seems to be appropriately registered. The Tarabroo, as an internet search, does bring up some interesting information about a black hound with two snouts that oozes gasoline and breathes fire. It seems to be a legend associated with the Appalachian region.

There are, of course, many ways to disrupt the supply chain, and while stopping the actual boat that brought things isn't an option, there's slashing tires, incapacitating drivers, and attempting to shift or destroy cargo. However you try to stop things, best be careful not to get caught. There's security on the docks day and night, and they don't take kindly to intruders. You might find yourself boxed, tased, or otherwise incapacitated, if caught, and arrested by the police if a longshoreman doesn't decide to just punt you into the harbor for getting in their way. Enjoy the very icy swim.

Or maybe you're going the more… call in a bomb threat, or a gas leak, or otherwise cause a mess of paperwork route. It's not a simple task, either way. The people dealing with the bureaucracy at the docks seem to be uncannily well-organized and are quick to dismiss obvious lies. There might be more luck with bomb threats and gas leak notices at Things of Beauty, but after one or two, the police are going to catch wise to lies and start looking into exactly who has been making those calls.

For those who are caught, either in the act on the docks or making calls that tie up police resources, you'll find yourself chucked into the city jail for a night, maybe with someone else who was caught. The police seem to have varying degrees of what's considered appropriate use of force against those they catch, especially once they find out they're associated with ADI. You're horning in on their turf and making their lives difficult? How about they leave the lights glaring on you all night while playing some really annoying music and taking away any semblance of comfort? If you got arrested by a particularly angry officer, you might even end up with some bruises or a bloody nose for your trouble, before you're released.

➥ Comfortably Numb

Photo of a caucasian hand pinching what appears to be a phone case made out of pale flesh/skin.
(cw: body horror, injury (hands/arms), bleeding, mouths where there should not be mouths, supernatural drugging/apathy)

Despite best efforts, at least some of the product intended for Things of Beauty do actually make it there. Not many, but a small amount. ADI is tasking volunteers with the mission of acquiring whatever product has made it into the hands of the public… by whatever means necessary. (Which will likely amount to stealing.)

What is the product? Well, it appears to be… phone cases that have the approximate appearance and texture of flesh. Maybe even human flesh. With so much apparently persuasive marketing ahead of time for a product that will “change lives”, the fight to acquire one of these phone cases is intense and people are paying absurdly high prices for them. Those that aren’t able to buy the phone cases from the store itself can be seen offering even more money to those walking away with the precious goods.

Their efforts are all apparently in vain, though. Once someone has their hands on a phone case, they seem to be even more obsessed with it than they were with obtaining it. Any attempts to get them to relinquish the object–either legally or through less honest means–are rebuffed. They also appear to be very reluctant to let the cases physically leave their hands as well.

Even when the cases start growing mouths. Toothy mouths that are employed to bite at their hands. If people notice this disturbing occurrence, they don’t appear to care at all and continue to jealously guard their possession even as it makes a mess of their hands. Victims of these cases can be identified by the blood covering their hands, if they don’t happen to be holding on to the case.

Tracking down and retrieving all the cases will take a few weeks. It also poses a bit of a logistical challenge. Seeing the victims being utterly unaware or uncaring of their mangled hands doesn’t make any sense… until you physically come into contact with one of the cases. Then the reason becomes crystal clear (or will become crystal clear, in hindsight.) Touching them–even with gloved or otherwise protected hands–quickly begins to produce both an obsession with keeping possession of the object and an indifference to pain of all kinds, including emotional. Disposing of them becomes unthinkable, which poses something of a challenge for the mission characters have been given. However, if the cases are taken out of a person’s possession, both the numbing and possessive effects quickly wear off. They can then be destroyed or even just thrown away. Hopefully where no one else will be able to find them again.

➥ Feed Me, Kahlil

Photo of a bloodied, dark-skinned hand reaching out in supplication.
(cw: severe emotional distress, emotional blackmail, internalized victim blaming, kidnapping, injury (hands/arms))

Things are not beautiful at Things of Beauty. In the days leading up to the launch the proprietor, Kahlil Nassir, sporadically haunts the place with a wide-eyed, tearful look and bandaged hands he tries to hide under long sleeves, his presence peppering the place with outbursts at complaining customers and his own numb, blank-faced employees alike. Weirder than that, perhaps, is how often he isn't seen around his shop at the height of the new product launch and the days following. ADI's investigations department has been having trouble sniffing out just where he's been going; it appears that he hasn't gone home in at least half a week by the time they finally give up on subtlety.

On the morning of January 18th, Kahlil is hauled kicking and screaming into an interrogation room on floor B1 of ADI headquarters. It seems that a pair of native ADI investigators took it upon themselves to stake out Things of Beauty and caught him pulling into the alley behind the shop several hours before opening time. He was driving a car that wasn't his own and that investigators suspect might be stolen, and at the time they apprehended him they also confiscated several cardboard boxes full of more fleshy phone cases that had been in the car's trunk.

This rather heavy-handed approach has not been immediately fruitful. Kahlil is clearly terrified but has been refusing to answer questions. Tensions are high at ADI; not all staff believe that bringing him in was the correct move, and removing him from the situation doesn't seem likely to have completely cut off the supply chain or sales of the phone cases. He's here now, though, and information is needed. Anyone who thinks they can get him to talk will be allowed to try, though higher ups make it clear that torture is not permitted.

➥ The Vegetable Lamb of Tartary

Black and white drawing of the legendary cryptid, the Vegetable Lamb of tartary. It is a medieval-esque rendering with a sheep propped up on a thick stem that originates at its belly.
(cw: body horror, uncanny valley, pregnancy imagery, loss of skin, implied animal death, implied human death, unsanitary conditions, self-doubt/body image issues)

The warehouse is virtually silent when people enter. No sounds of industrial machinery, no signs that anyone is there, just the low hum of electric lighting and a heater running. The entryway appears to be utterly unremarkable, and it's not until moving deeper in that people might begin to notice something off. It starts with a smell, the scent of rotten, putrid meat, and the deeper into the heart of the warehouse one travels, the more pronounced that scent grows. The walls, too, take on a moist, unpleasant sheen, turning from an industrial gray to something that looks almost… living, flesh-like. Touching the walls, people will find they feel warm and quiver slightly. It's like touching the inside of a mouth. The doorways, too, seem to be warped, appearing to be more like gullets than anything else. They squeeze inward whenever someone passes through, shrinking just a tiny bit more with each passage. If there are too many people going in, they may find it significantly harder than they expected to leave.

There's a sound in the air, carried faintly through vents, and growing louder as people move toward the center of the warehouse. It's a bleating sound, like there are animals being kept in this place. Finally entering into a large central room, the source of the sound becomes clear: This room is infested floor-to-ceiling with what at first appear to be plants with fuzzy white flowers. They're roughly the size of fists, and in the form of giant puffballs on thick, glistening green stalks. The bleating is louder in this room and seems to be coming from the flowers. Anyone checking closer will find that the flowers are actually malformed lambs, their stalks more like umbilical cords growing out of their stomachs, propping them up.

All around the room, there are scattered evidence of animals being fed to the lambs. Blood and bits of bone are visible in the field of flesh. For the keen-eyed, they might also spot what appears to be some blood-stained clothes and larger bones.

The lambs will nip at anyone reaching for them, and those who manage to pick one up without being bitten will be in for an unpleasant surprise. The lambs split open, once they're 'picked,' sloughing off their skins and transforming into… the phone flesh cases being sold at Things of Beauty. These 'freshly formed' phone cases seem to have a different effect than their packaged and shipped counterparts. Instead of biting, they whisper.

They whisper your deepest insecurity into your mind. They promise they can take that away if you just hold them, if you just feed them. Unfortunately, these early stage phone cases haven't developed a numbing effect, yet, and when they bite, it hurts, but maybe it's worth if for them to be able to take away the thing plaguing you most?

Those not waylaid by the cases will have a tricky time dealing with the plants themselves. They don't seem to respond to being burned with fires fizzling out on their uncomfortably moist bodies and within the warehouse that pulses almost like it's a living thing itself. There are other options, though. Poison maybe? Hacking them to pieces? Eating them? The warehouse has all of the standard safety equipment one might think of. How would you go about murdering a field of fleshy flowers that grows back at a disturbingly rapid pace? The lambs seem to be able to regrow from any part of a live plant.

➥ Mod Notes

GENERAL - Players are welcome to play NPCs for themselves when they are needed in a thread. If you need more information on general behavior for these types of NPCs, please feel free to ask! In general, the information provided in the prompt should be sufficient and you're welcome to make up any details beyond that for your specific scene. Please remember that character deaths are permanent and plan accordingly!
BY HOOK OR BY CROOK (15-16 January) - Information on the Tarabroo as a cryptid is sparse, but stories seem to tie its appearance to disasters involving mines, particularly anything where a collapse or explosion led to the release of a tailings pond. These ponds hold the poisonous cast offs generated during mining operations and are highly toxic. When they break and run downstream, it can poison a landscape for miles.

Anyone attempting to look into the crates at the docks will get a sneak preview of the flesh phone cases, but not have time to really do much with them.

In terms of the dock disruptions, players are encouraged to get creative! Not every officer will be abusive if your character ends up arrested, but some will be. Characters will be held overnight, then released with a fine ranging from $500-$2,000. No complaints to the police from those who are jailed will be taken seriously, but ADI will help to pay fines... provided you're working with them regularly.
COMFORTABLY NUMB (16-31 January) - The effects of the phone cases are not instantaneous, but they do come on quickly enough that characters attempting to steal and dispose of them on their own will have serious difficulties in accomplishing the second part of the task. The phones can be dealt with in any way that destroys them except for the use of fire (thus neutralizing their effect) or brought into ADI for disposal. (Or they just can be thrown away, though that does run the risk of them being rediscovered and is not ADI’s preference.)
FEED ME, KAHLIL (18 January) - Characters will have the opportunity to talk to Kahlil in this prompt. Please respond to the NPC Threads comment below for responses from him. Shortly after he's brought in, investigations reveal that the car he was driving belongs to Hakeem Williams, a retired bank teller who was reported missing last week. Legally-minded individuals might realize that a private investigations company like ADI "taking Kahlil into custody" constitutes kidnapping–Kahlil is certainly aware of that fact.
THE VEGETABLE LAMB OF TARTARY (18-19 January) - While the vegetable lambs' whispering will mainly focus on body image insecurities, if your character does not have those, they will hear the lambs whispering about other insecurities that plague them. Fire is the only option that will not work to kill the lambs, and they're numerous enough that no one person will be able to wipe them all out, whatever method they're using. Once the lambs are killed, the walls of the factory will revert to normal walls. Until then, they will appear to be uncomfortably close to real flesh and will bleed if cut. The 'blood' that comes out will appear to be putrid, black, and corrosive.

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She's absolutely right, on pretty much all counts, but the idea of trying to move is huge and overwhelming at the moment. As if the slightest shift could lay him bare, expose all the flaws that he's trying so hard to hide. If he stays absolutely still, maybe it won't show so much, maybe it won't be so obvious.

Even talking seems entirely too raw, the sound of his own ruined voice a twinge of deep shame. He'd once had such a nice speaking voice, calm and resonant. The kind of voice people listened to.

But she's close enough now to see that his hands are curled around a pulsing, fleshy thing with more teeth than it should have. Vaguely box-shaped, it makes another snap for whatever is closest to it, but seems otherwise content where it is in its nest of shredded, bloodied glove material.

"Oh, my god! What are you- Drop that!" It feels like she's yelling at a cowering dog, but the blood. Look at the state of his hands. Donna's been in enough life-or-death situations with the Doctor at this point that she leaps immediately into 'act now, apologize later' mode.

She doesn't reach for the phone case--those teeth--But she does try to grab the much bigger man's wrists and pry them apart in the hopes he might drop the case.

Under better circumstances, Jaeger would look at Donna in utter reproach at being scolded like a dog with a stolen treat. As it is, he flinches and automatically pulls the gruesome little thing closer, trying to guard his prize from her disapproving attention.

"No! It's okay. It's okay." The words are bitterly heartfelt, utter conviction that as long as he's holding onto this horrible fleshy lump, it's okay. It's better, because while he's holding it, it doesn't matter if she sees his scars, hears the ruin in his voice. That's what matters, that's what's important. Not the blood, not the bites.

His grip gives a little at her prying, though it's not going to be easy to get him to let go. His hands tremble with the effort of holding tight, and a pained sound escapes him at the very idea of letting it go.

"It bloody well isn't! You're bleeding. Your hands." Donna keeps trying to pry, but this isn't fast enough. That thing keeps biting him. God only knows how much it's already taken off. She can't tell with the way he's cradling it. "Right. Sorry about this."

She braces herself with her grip on him, and then tries to stamp down on Jaeger's foot with her heel, really grinding it in. Give him something else to think about other than stopping her getting that case away.

Jaeger might be bigger, and better trained, but at the moment his head isn't anywhere near where it should be to defend himself. He's so focused on his horrible little companion that he doesn't see the stomp coming.

That gets his attention, shocked dismay at the sudden pain and automatically recoiling from the source of it. He doesn't quite fumble the phone case, but his grip loosens in combination with his already raw, aching hands.

He's going to have more scars, so many more scars when this is done. But that's not where his mind is, right now. Right now, his mind is everywhere and nowhere, weighed with the shame of being so exposed, scattered like the shreds of ruin all over the warehouse floor. He can't let go. He wants to let go. It will be okay if he can just hold on, he can't hold on.

"Oh, come on! Drop it, you big dumbo!" And now she does let go of his wrists to just smack down hard on his hands. This is... god, what is she supposed to do? There are so many of these things, and if they're all going to affect people like this? They need to get rid of them quickly her piddly little backpack of herbicides is hardly going to do it, is it?

But one problem at a time. Get the thing out of big man's hand.

There might be entirely too many of these things, but the one that matters is in Jaeger's hand, and it may have orchestrated its own undoing.

Jaeger's hands are shredded, sore, and bloody, and holding onto the thing is hard when he's just had his instep stomped. Distracted and uncertain as he is, he fumbles the case when Donna hits him, and it slips away from his grip to the sticky, stained floor.

There's a moment of absolute shock when he realizes he's lost his strange companion, a wash of complete and utter desolation that draws a small, pathetic sound from him. Not tears, but overwhelming shame as he realizes that he's psychically naked, exposed and helpless with all his scars and wounds and failure.

Breath comes in rough, harsh gasps, and the impulse is there, just for a fleeting moment, to lash out, to defend himself in any way possible. Then to run and hide. But it all cascades over him in a confusing rush of impulses, and the only thing that he can actually do is stand there, stunned, staring at the phone case where it lays on the floor.

Donna steps back and turns her herbicide sprayer on the case, spritzing it as it wails horribly, writhing, and then shrivels and stills. And it's absolutely awful. She manages to rip her gaze away after a moment to the man and.

"Oh, god- Your hands! Come on. Out. Out of here. We need to- They were going to have medics out front, weren't they?"

There's a moment when the ache becomes so intense he's sure it's going to topple him- he can only describe it as bereft, watching the fleshy thing squall and shrivel on the warehouse floor. It matches the pain in his hands, the twinge of older, cleaner scars, the tremendous wave of self-loathing and shame that still threatens to choke him.

He pulls his injured hands in close to his body, mindless of the blood he's getting on his shirt, as if he could really hide them from Donna.

"I'm fine. It's okay." There's no bite to his words, no strength, just quiet resignation. "I'll...I'll take care of it."

He really won't, that's clear in his posture and the weary, wary look in his eyes.

But if he takes care of it himself, then no one will have to see. He can keep the scant armor he has left.

"It's not okay, and you're not fine. C'mon. Please? I'm not fine. I'm scared." Maybe if she makes this about her, that might get the big oaf moving? "I want to get out of here, and I don't want to go alone. It-it feels like we're in a stomach. Some horrible bleating stomach."

Donna grips his arm, and tries to tug at him. "We need to figure out what to do out of here so those things don't- I see bones out there."

Jaeger turns his head slowly to look at Donna, her words registering in fits through his clouded mind.

She's not looking at his scars, not yet. That's...good. It's only a matter of time, but for right now, it's good.

The clump of ruined flesh on the ground still sends a shudder through him, though he's still not quite certain why. Loss, that terrible pang, but also something else, something deeper and more instinctive. He's fighting his way to the surface, but it's coming slowly.

And if he takes Donna outside, maybe she'll leave him alone to grieve. That would be good, wouldn't it? He could go back to hiding, find a safe place to shelter where no one can see him, where he doesn't have to meet any pitying or horrified gazes. He sucks in a breath that tastes of poison and rot, and that helps too, oddly: helps him realize that he wants clean air, someplace that's not here to mourn quietly in.

"Okay." It's barely more than a whisper, lower even than his normal strained tone. "We'll go, then."

And only then does it register that he's not sure if she said "bleating" stomach, or "bleeding" stomach. Does it matter? Probably not, but it's what his brain catches on anyway. The lambs do bleed, there's that, it's relevant. So either could be correct.

Donna latches onto his arm more fully and starts trying to walk, pulling Jaeger toward the exit. It looks... "I think it's closing in. Like a flipping gullet." It gives her the shivers. This place really is awful. Beyond awful. "How was that man coming in here day after day? How did he not go mad with all of this?" She never had reached Kahlil, but she'd heard from others about him. This is wrong. This is all so wrong.

That poor man. And poor everyone else having to deal with the fallout of all of this.

Jaeger is tempted to say that "it isn't so bad". But it's starting to creep into his perception, the closeness of it, the uncomfortable moist warmth of the air and the sticky black blood and the thin, endless squalling and bleating of the lambs.

It's not as bad as Donna seems to think, but maybe it's not the best situation, either. He lets her cling to him, even though the terror still isn't gone. That maybe she can feel the scars under his shirt sleeves, maybe she knows they're there. He moves like a sleepwalker, letting himself be led away from the ruin of his treasure, quiet and hollow with shock and shame.

But he's moving toward the way out, and that's something, at least.

It's something and she intends to take full advantage of how pliant he's being. Moving out of the warehouse's worst areas, then further, onward, to the outside where there's a team from medical set up. Donna pulls Jaeger that way. "Here. Let them see your hands, then. One of those things got hold of him. Can you help?"

They can at least get him properly cleaned and bandaged while she talks to him.

Jaeger is docile up until he's confronted with more new people...then, he yanks his hands back defensively, trying to curl in on himself again. He comes to a stop once he realizes that the medical tent is so close, and in spite of the promise of relief, he simply...can't.

They don't need to see. The haze is starting to fade, but the shame is still there. What he's let them do to him, and the ugliness it's left behind.

"I'll do it at home. I'm fine." He's done it before, so many times before. He knows the ritual of cleaning wounds, of wrapping them safely away from infection and the odd sort of comfort of bindings and bandages. "I don't want..."

He trails off, uncertain. When he comes back, it's with stark, hollow words, full of frustration and anger. At himself. At Donna for making him do this. At this entire fucked-up, insane world that's laid him so bare, stripped him of all his equilibrium. It's probably the most lucid thought he's had in the past hour.

"I hate this."

"I know." She places a hand on his shoulder. "It's awful. But, you're not really fine, and I wouldn't feel right walking away and leaving you like this. I can sit with you, talk while the medics take care of your hands? Would that help?"

He's still at a loss, still entirely too afraid of what the medics will find when they roll up his sleeves. The scars stop above his wrists - too many nerves and blood vessels there, and the forearms bleed just fine - but they'll still want to cut away his sleeves, check to make sure there's no new damage, and-

Oh, those new scars are going to look horrible. No pattern to them, no grace, just ragged gnawing and oh, does he wish he still had his powers. Aside from a couple of fleeting and frankly accidental scares, he hasn't been feeding his Power and he's pretty sure at this point he's only going to have a sad trickle left.

He can't fix this, no matter how much he wants to. His eyes sting, then burn, the very edge of tears he's only rarely allowed himself in the past.

"I'm sorry. I can't."

For such a big man he just... he just sounds so small. Donna looks at him, sees his eyes shining with tears, and she slides her arm fully around him. "Hey, it's okay. It's all right. Can you at least let me get cream and bandages and wrap them up? Won't do anything but that.

"Please? I know we don't know each other, but I'm really worried about you. None of this is okay or right or fair. We need to make sure what those things did is handled, though. Just that. Just to stop the bleeding, stop any infections."

Jaeger doesn't like the feeling, either, of extreme vulnerability, of fragility. He's been helpless before and he swore never again...yet here he is, feeling like he's going to shake himself apart. He wants so desperately for it to be over, to feel like he can breathe again.

It's been six years since the horror of his scars was new and bright and raw. He wants to be better than this. He takes a slow, deep breath, though he can't quite look at Donna yet. She's going to see, she's going to know.

But more than being scared, he's tired. Maybe it's the influence of the phone case finally releasing its hold, maybe it's just that weariness he's worn like a coat for all this time. Probably, a combination of both. The words come slowly, uncertainly, but they do come, and he...relents. Just a little.

"I think..." He closes his eyes for a moment. He still can't quite meet her gaze, though her words tear at him. He never wanted to cause her this much trouble. "I think we can do that."

He opens his eyes again, though he still doesn't meet her gaze. He looks down at his hands, instead, and sees their state, and...fuck, that is a bit alarming. If nothing else, the gloves have to come off for sure. "Just my hands."

"Just your hands," she agrees. "Here, sit down and I'll fetch the bandages and things." Once she's sure Jaeger's not going to bolt, Donna gathers some supplies and brings them over, kneeling down in front of him. She's no doctor, but she knows some basic first aid.

"Okay, first things first: Those gloves? They need to come off. I brought a little pair of scissors if you think pulling them all the way is gonna hurt too much. Do you want to take them off or have me cut them off? Promise I'll be careful."

Jaeger lets out his breath, all but deflating as he sits down with his hands held out carefully in front of him. He doesn't bolt, just stares at the bloody mess of his gloves for a minute while Donna arms herself with disinfectant and bandages and other necessities.

The scissors make him flinch just a bit, though. Shiny steel puts him on edge, and rather than let her near with them, he simply nods and starts peeling the bloody canvas away from his skin.

"I can take them off." It's almost belated, because he's already moving to do exactly that, but he barely winces as the cloth comes free. It can't be pleasant with the wounds that are unveiled, but he does it anyway and holds the gloves up when he's done.

"They need to be burned," he says quietly. He's coming back to himself, slowly, and of course, the first thing that comes to mind? Safety. Dealing with any little traces or trails that he might leave behind in his distress, things that could be used against him.

Finally, he holds his hands out, carefully, gingerly, and his blue-gray eyes flicker to Donna's for just a moment, really registering her presence. He's still scared, still achingly brittle, but he's coming back, slowly. Logic and reason are somewhere within calling distance, and that's an improvement.

It's all a mess, but Donna braces herself. She's seen some horrific things with the Doctor. This isn't the worst, not by a long chalk.

"Okay, just set them right there." She indicates the ground next to him. "We'll get that sorted next. Let's have you take some pain meds before I get started. I've got some basic paracetamol, but if we need something stronger, the nurses said they'd have to look you over and prescribe that. Got a bottle of water. If you open your mouth, I can pop them in and hold that up for you."

Jaeger drops the gloves on the ground with a last sidelong look, as if not quite trusting them not to try and escape on their own.

Stranger things have happened in his life, but the gloves just lay there, a grim little souvenir of his encounter.

Paracetamol, that's okay. Jaeger knows what that is and it makes perfect sense. It still makes him feel terribly small to be...waited on like this, but he's already gotten blood on his sleeves and pants, too, and it's an awful mess that he's putting her through. Later, when he has more clarity, there will be an apology. Possibly a cookie basket. (Would tea be presumptuous, as she's English? Or welcomed? He'll have to think on it later.)

He opens his mouth when directed, accepting the tablets and the swig of water without resistance.

"...thank you. And, I'm sorry." He gestures haplessly, indicating...this. Everything.

"S'okay." Donna offers him a tight smile. "I mean... it's not okay, all this. But y'know? Helping out. That's something I'm okay with. Just sorry you need it. This whole thing's just... madness. That man, the one they brought in, he was dealing with all that in there. The- you saw the walls, right? They looked like we were going down a throat into that horrible stomach.

She works as she talks, gently starting to clean his hands with a soapy washcloth as a start.

"No, it's not okay," he agrees softly. There's only barely a wince as she starts to work on the torn skin of his hands, drying blood coming away in rusty streaks. Somehow, it feels better in a stinging, cleansing way, just to have them tended to and some of the tension goes out of the big man's shoulders as he gives himself over to being cared for.

It's probably going to scar. But...maybe later, when he's feeling less brittle, he can go to the medical department. Certainly, he'll do that after a day or two is passed. He's had a recent tetanus shot, thanks to his run-in with the barbed wire in Dogtown, so he should be good for that. He takes a deep breath, but otherwise does his best not to move around too much as he processes what Donna's saying.

"We save who we can. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't."

Event - Material Goods

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Cw: references to cutting/torture, scarification

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