Welcome.
"[Wonderful -- I was already going to try my best to heal you anyways, but now I have more motivation.]"
Cephelia gently takes out a piece of rubber, setting it between your teeth. You bite down on it. She barricades the door with a cabinet, moving quickly and quietly, before returning to your side. Her form slowly shifts, returning to her preferred form. Long fingers gently peel away your bandages, revealing your ruined chest.
"{You're going to scar from this.]" She murmurs, sadly, examining the injury.
"[What? We don't scar--]"
"[Wounds that scar our minds scar our flesh. They alter our baseline. I'm assuming you're having trouble with your arm, as well?]"
You flinch, and would feel your stomach drop were it not sitting out like this.
"[I'll help you fix that too. Not now. This is going to hurt, so I'm taking your armor off. You have to allow me to work your physical form. We cannot work on each other's body with yielding our wills.]"
...
She's right. It does hurt. Cephelia starts by melding the flesh of your thoracic cavity back together, slowly, painfully. Where there is no organ, she instead uses a mesh of black fibers, pulled away from a dark black block. With the first part of her task nearly done, she reaches over, turning on the oxygen pump until you begin to choke and cough, then, quickly seals the cavity. You do note, after several, painful, probably bloody coughs that you breathe easier now.
Coils of the carbon twist themselves around, filling in the spots where your bone is missing, capping them off, or holding them together with great chunks. The empty space where your sternum is filled in the same way, replaced by a plate of black carbon, her fingers tracing slowly as sweat beads on her forehead-- and until blood drips from her nose.
Cephelia slumps, looking down at your exposed and reconstructed rib cage. Rising, she finds a surgical mask, slipping it on over her face. She takes a few deep breaths, then gets back to work. She teases muscle fibers together the best she can, replacing it with carbon fiber where necessary, sealing it over your exposed bone until you're left with a patch of black, shiny mesh across your chest. No more gaping hole, no more bandages holding in your organs -- replaced by a surgical mesh of carbon fiber.
"[Thank all the Gods we don't get normal infections -- you'd be out of luck.]"
She pulls the tubes from your mouth and nose, and you cough and sputter -- but can breathe on your own again. Rising is still difficult, as she was unable to replace the muscles with anything, but you are no longer tied to those infernal machines. Cephelia helps you sit up, swaddling your chest in a bandage when you do. "I need a break, Pheobe." She murmurs, settling into her chair with a tired smile. "Don't exert yourself -- the mesh can tear."
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Topic: McCreary's Planet -- (FINISHED) (Read 259020 times)