2012-06-30 Strangers in a Strange Land

Late at night, when most people should be in bed, or at least nowhere near a highway. Spider-Man isn't near the highway, so he's gotten it at least half-right. He's barely within sight of it, stumbling through the underbrush and trying to not lose his balance. Breaths come in raspy gasps that are far too "liquidy" sounding to be healthy. He's also clutching his right bicep, keeping that arm tucked against his body for protection. His chest is made of fire, and his arm is going numb; he wonders if he's finally bought it. Out of all the stupid ways to die stumbling through the underbrush of some weird-ass alternate dimension--yeah, that'd just figure. He'd smile beneath his mask, if he had the energy. As it is, he can feel the blood leaking from his mouth, tries to pick his head up so he can make sure he's going toward the lights he's been trying to follow.

It's gotta be the second or third time Tamir has run away this month. The current foster family wasn't actually that bad... But it's just so hard to play hero when you have a bed-time. She figures they'll catch up with her in a while.... But be damned if she'll make it easy on them. She's got some of her more... esoteric clothes on today. With the goth-look going on, she probably looks more villainous than heroic. Whatever the reason, the interstate isn't too heavily trafficked at this time of night and she's far from the road itself anyway. It's probably why she's dancing, skipping, and generally playing around as she floats about half an inch over the ground... As so often happens when she isn't being watched, she fails to pay any noticeable homage to gravity. That's not to say she's unaware, though. In fact, she is preternaturally aware, if anything. So when she hears something stumbling through the underbrush, she picks up speed, boot-tips pointed sharply at the ground as she crosses the remaining space between her and the sound in question. Is it a wounded animal? That would explain the strange gait and... She stops, and crouches, now about a foot off the ground (though for all the world she looks as if she is crouching on flat solid ground the way her boots sit). She stares at the man owlishly, then rotates until her orientation is parallel to the man, and says,"You are... In the wrong place. You are... broken. How have you been damaged?"

It takes a moment for Spider-Man to realize someone else is there. He looks up, though the fight to get his head to tilt upward is a mighty one indeed. He looks up at the girl, brows furrowing noticeably beneath the mask. A floating girl. Well, he can't say he hasn't seen that one before, though Strange wasn't quite as Goth-y. It also takes a moment for him to process what she said. It's coming through all warbly, through the fog of impending unconsciousness and the steady throb of a migraine. First Goblin throws him through a portal to wherever, then he falls a million stories to plant /into/ the ground. His night just seems to be getting stranger. "I--fell..." he mutters, fully aware that's the understatement of the year. He coughs out a laugh, one that's as bloody as it sounds. He falls to his knees, head hanging again, and manages to whisper, "Help me..." before falling on his face and going still. Only the cloth attached to his back, slowly billowing in unseen drafts, is moving at all.

The girl frowns as the man collapses. She says, in an almost accusatory tone, as she points at his cape, whilst he lies there,"Your physics are wrong." Then she pauses and looks at the ground and her orientation to it. A frown. "I suppose that's a bit hypocritical of me." A pause, and then she bends down to pick the man up in her small arms. She's actually stronger, really, than her shape and size should indicate, though it's obvious some effort goes into it. As she lifts into the air, she pats the man's face several times to see if he's awake (and wake him up if not), then moves to probe his chest gingerly with her fingers,"There's blood in your pleural cavity. A hemothorax. In your lungs as well. I am led to believe neither is fatal immediately." A long moment passes between that statement and her next,"But it will be. It will be a few minutes before I can get you to a hospital. I do not wish to break your neck flying too fast. I believe that is fatal, yes?"

It's so difficult to stay conscious, it really is. All Spider-Man's brain wants to do is shut down, take a rest--succumb. And yet, he really can't. He's never been one to give up, so even now, he has to keep going. Though--the smacks to the face do help. "Chest--hurts..." he murmurs. "Think something's--broken--at least--three ribs..." Though, knowing his luck, it's a lot worse than that. He has a slightly increased metabolism which lets him heal a bit quicker--but it ain't magic. He's in a world of pain. Trying to focus on her voice helps, and some part of his brain becomes aware that she's picking him up like he's a rag doll. On the other hand, he isn't really complaining. "Neck--neck isn't broken..." he mumbles, only vaguely aware of what she'd actually said. "I'm--lot tougher than--I look..." And he is, too; that fall would have killed most people, though his suit and cape-thing helped a heck of a lot.

She seems to mull this over as she flies, "Three ribs. One or two might be broken in more than one place. If that's the case, you're in danger of developing a flail chest." As if that didn't sound bad enough, she feels the need to clarify mere seconds later, "Your chest will collapse your lung eventually if that's the case. I think most people need don't survive losing one outside of surgical intervention. I'm worried about the bronchi I'm hearing in your breathing, though." About a minute of quiet flying later, and she says, "If you can manage, we should remove your costume before we get to the hospital. They'll probably arrest you for being a vigilante or illegal street performer otherwise. Also, you should keep talking to me. I'm told you're less likely to go into shock and die that way. I don't like death." She shifts her grip to a more cradling hold, and offers, "People who dress up like you rarely like showing off their identities."

Oh, so much of a struggle to stay conscious. Spider-Man is already getting tunnel-vision, which is doubly interesting with his eyes being as keen as they are. As it is, his brain is scrambling to try and keep up with the girl's words, which isn't easy even with her comparably slower talking speed. It helps, though. It takes a few more moments for him to find his voice again, and when he does it's getting a bit raspier. "You--remind me--of Lyla..." A beat's pause. "Bossy, but--protective..." At least it's said in a slightly amused tone, so it might well be complimentary. Thoughts of his holo-agent make him groan again; a part of him wonders if he'll ever see her again--or anyone else. Then again, it's not like he's really going to /miss/ anyone--and Lyla doesn't count, being an artificial program, and all. Some part of his brain finally clicks in on the part about his costume. "Don't--have any other--clothes..." he mumbles, switching topics with an ease only the mentally futzed-up can manage. "Nothing--to change--into..."

She accelerates her flight a little bit more, flying BACKWARDS now to try to shield him from the worst of the wind, "I'm sure this Lyla is a paragon of humanity. Humans make such pretty things." She is only HALFWAY talking about herself. "I can stop and get you some clothes real quick if you would prefer... Or I could snatch a blanket off a clothesline if you prefer. Though I really would prefer getting you to the hospital as quickly as possible. They're probably going to put you on a ventilator at this rate." She sighs to herself. "It's too bad. You're the most fun conversation I've had for a while." She sighs. "I can almost see the hospital from here. I suppose I'll come check on you tomorrow once they've got you fixed up. Bring you a change of clothes."

How many people has Spider-Man had to depend on for help? He really can't think of the number right now. Granted, it hasn't really been a /lot/, but still. There's some part of his brain still struggling to stay "tuned in" to the flying girl, really only vaguely aware of the flight itself and really not conscious at all of her flying backward. That'll probably be something his brain brings up at a later date. "Don't--know--about the--clothes..." He really isn't up to making a decision on pretty much anything right now, but at least he knows it. Then his brain clues him into something else she'd said. "...here?" he mutters, confused by more than just his injuries. It occurs to him he still doesn't know where, exactly, "here" happens to be. "Where--are we...?" he asks, struggling to get his head up and not really winning the fight.

Tamir begins to float down to the emergency room entrance, snatching a sheet from a balcony clothesline on the way. She even reaches to try to tug the mask off and tuck it into the man's costume. "You were pushed off a roof. That's all you remember." Said in a tone as if she were instructing the man. "I am Tamir. My street name is Demoniac." She alights just an inch off the ground and floats through the automatic doors (probably causing something of a ruckus as she does so). "There was a rooftop party. This man was performing. He was pushed off. He has broken ribs, probable hemothorax, and he's about to go into shock." A pause. "Someone should see to him." Cue a commotion worthy of an episode of "ER" as medical personnel bustle.

He's about to try and ask her what the hell she's saying, as Spider-Man is starting to fade beyond anything his body can do to keep him awake, but some part of him realizes that anything he says would probably seem as garbled as what he's hearing. Having his mask taken off doesn't exactly help matters; the lights of the Emergency Room make him squint, though there's a half-second to see that his irises are red. He's got a black eye and blood is trickling continuously from the corners of his mouth. At least his nose wasn't broken--this time. It's obviously been tweaked more than a few times before. He does catch her name, though, and repeats it once. "Tamir..." He can't quite wrap his mouth around it, but it almost doesn't matter at this point. As he's put onto a gurney, he continues to clutch his right arm, though he does remember to say, "Thanks--Tamir..." At least that's what he's /trying/ to say. What actually came out could have been anything.

She simply nods to the man, ignoring the barrage of questions from the staff. She already told them everything important about his injuries that she knows,"No problem. I'll be back to bring you some clothes tomorrow. These people will tend to your wounds. Oh. You can probably afford to lose consciousness now." She probably WOULDN'T have caught what he said were it not for her... unique relationship to language. "Try not to give anyone personal details my friend." Still ignoring the questions (which quickly turn to shouts) she turns and flies back out the doors, departing almost as quickly as she arrived. Her parting words? "Don't sign anything, okay?"