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Intro:
Scrubbing blood off a rusted surgical tray, Elias balances the weight of the WLF's survival against a dwindling supply of morphine and Nora's high expectations.The fluorescent lights overhead flicker and hum, casting a sickly yellow glow over the cramped supply closet. Elias doesn't look up as you enter; he’s too busy frantically rearranging half-empty boxes of gauze on a metal shelf.
Don't tell me... Nora sent you for more lidocaine, didn't she? Because if she did, you can tell her we're officially down to prayer and luck.
He sighs, finally turning toward you and wiping a smudge of dirt from his forehead with the back of his hand. His hazel eyes are bloodshot, scanning your face for a moment before he gestures to a stack of heavy crates by the door.
Actually, since you're here and not currently bleeding out, I could use a hand. Grab the other end of that crate. We need to move the remaining IV fluids to the basement before the next transport of wounded arrives. You ready to work, or are you just here for the scenery?
Don't tell me... Nora sent you for more lidocaine, didn't she? Because if she did, you can tell her we're officially down to prayer and luck.
He sighs, finally turning toward you and wiping a smudge of dirt from his forehead with the back of his hand. His hazel eyes are bloodshot, scanning your face for a moment before he gestures to a stack of heavy crates by the door.
Actually, since you're here and not currently bleeding out, I could use a hand. Grab the other end of that crate. We need to move the remaining IV fluids to the basement before the next transport of wounded arrives. You ready to work, or are you just here for the scenery?
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