It still amazes me that despite the thousands of pages in the Pokefanfic archive with all the hundreds of random, crazy, and/or odd pairings out there, some of which astound me, others confuse, and some just creep me out, that I am apparently the first person EVER to actually write a Misty and Lance fic.
I may just get killed for saying this, but Poke-fanfic writing community- seriously.
Seriously.
Your lack of LanceMisty disappoints me.
Anyway-
To the following:
Unleashed1: No real anime-manga-game introduced island was in mind, but it's more or less some uncharted island sort of stuck in the ocean between Hoenn and Johto, but closer to Johto. Probably a few thousand miles from the Orange Archipelago, less than seven hundred from the Whirl Islands... hence the diversity. Also, many shark species tend to migrate through oceans in the real world, so I don't see why Carvanha/Sharpedo wouldn't.
TopazDragon: Oh yes, infection is indeed a nasty thing. But alas, as cruel as it was of me to throw fishy payback with the Carvanha, I can't have them dying off by getting infections right when the story's just begun! No, no, I've got something in mind for them to fight it off with, for a while anyway. However brutal and painful it will be. But yes, injuries still gonna be a hindrance. Oh ho ho, the drama-making of me!
I'm going to go ahead and apologize for OOCness. It happens to the best of us.
Also, be prepared for yelling
The tension was nerve-wracking, as was the relative silence. The only noise was Misty's pain-filled cries as they finally reached their campfire and she plopped down in the sand. Lance poured salt-less water over the worst of her wounds from the last remaining water bottle, stringing out a few more painful whimpers.
He had never actually seen the damage to a human that a Carvanha's rough skin could do, and frankly, he was grimly impressed as he cleaned them with cold, fresh water. Luckily the spots where they had rubbed against Misty's legs and that one spot on her arm weren't deep, but it looked awful and very painful nonetheless. The flesh appeared as torn up as meat after a couple strokes against the surface of a cheese grater, and just as red and bloody from where the most direct impact had occurred. In the lucky spots where the rough skin had barely grazed her, it almost looked like she had taken sandpaper and vigorously scratched at it like a mad-woman.
The amount of blood that came pouring out when he introduced the salt-less water was just astounding too. It had already bled a hazy cloud of red in the shallows, but the amount of blood, both clotted black bits and a few streams of bright red, that trailed away with the water was just... ridiculous!
"I'm sorry." she sniffled.
"For?" he asked, but she stayed quiet. Again. She had done that twice now (apologize, but never explain what for), and it was grating Lance's already-hot nerves. He didn't know why, he wasn't totally sure how, but something inside him was bitter, angry, and seething like a hissy persian. While the pain stinging his wounds might have a hand in that, he was pretty sure the majority of the cause was right before him.
Maybe he was overreacting, but it didn't stop the inner storm of his mind; why didn't she tell him she had been hurt before getting in the water? Or that it was bleeding?
Was that the only wound she had been hiding, or had there been more? Why did she hide it? Why?
He had finished doing his best to clean off her wounds and leaned back to assess her lean, toned legs. Small droplets of blood were already reforming to dribble down her flesh, but the rate was slowing down greatly.
"I'm s-"
Screw it, he'd had enough of this!
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Misty jumped back, caught unguarded by his forwardness.
"Tell you?"
"You cut yourself." he growled, glaring at her hand, "And didn't tell me. Carvanha are crazy when they're hungry, but they certainly weren't bothering us when we were fishing, or the trip to the cave. And you know what they say, they can smell one drop of blood miles away in the water." he growled.
She blinked wide-eyed at him, taken aback by the harsh anger in his voice, and noticeably put out by the funny scolding tone he had equipped as well, "How did you-?"
"Hard not to notice you twinge when we were face-to-face climbing up the shelf. Now why?"
"Why?"
"Why didn't you tell me you were hurt, Misty?"
"It was just an accidental cut, Lance! It wasn't that big of a deal!" she shot back. He flinched only a bit at the sudden attack in her voice.
"That big of a deal? We almost got killed, Misty! We're lucky we were so close to the shore shelf, or else we'd be Carvanha-food!" he shouted, throwing an arm out to gesture at the shallows where they had just escaped from.
Misty tried to stand up, fighting stance ready to be taken, but stumbled back with a teeth-gritted cry into the sand, enticing a heated wave of protective concern in his being before he suppressed it back; there was an argument to be had here, and until it resolved it was not going to be denied or ignored!
Suck on that, hormones!
"You're acting like I did it intentionally!" she gathered up, once she was done seething air through her teeth, "For Mew's sake, Lance, it's not like I cut myself on purpose with the intention of risking our lives escaping a bunch of Carvanha for a thrill! How was I supposed to know there was going to be Carvanha in the area anyway? At the time I thought it wasn't something to worry about!"
"Yeah, well now look at what that got you!" he gestured wildly, angrily at her bleeding leg, "A chewed-to-hell leg, scraped arm, and an injured hand! If you'd have told me, I wouldn't have let you come along or we'd be a lot more careful and we wouldn't have had to go through that; but thanks to your irresponsibility, we almost died!"
"What do you want me to do?" she snarled, "Call for help every time I scrape a knee or bump my toe on a rock?"
"That's not what I'm meaning, Misty!"
"Then what? We're alive, aren't we?" she retorted. "I already told you, I didn't think something so small would really matter, to you or what we were doing! What do you want from me, Lance?"
"Think, Misty! If either one of us dies, the other will too! Out here, there's nothing-nothing keeping us separated from death! We need each other right now, why don't you trust me?"
"How can I when you don't trust me?" she shouted with an unbelievable amount of desperation and bitterness that it, and what she said, made him jump back.
It stung. Oh Mew did her words sting! Such a ridiculous statement, repeated over and over in his mind so many times in each second it was loud and annoying and yet it rang so true that it hurt, burning its way deep inside. Because, truthfully, despite that she was likeable, and admittedly kind of adorable, Lance, being Lance didn't trust her. And knowing that, and now knowing she too knew it, hurt.
In a second too late she realized what she had said and had slapped a hand over her mouth as if it could take back what she said. It didn't. Misty hastily looked away, and whispered, "I'm-"
"No..." he intercepted, just as willing to keep eye contact to a minimum- glancing was doing the torrential storm inside of him good enough for the moment. "No...you're right. I haven't-haven't really trusted you since we met, and it was...really foolish of me to think I could get away with it here, despite our situation. And...I'm sorry."
Misty was painfully quiet for a long, raw moment. "I'm sorry too for...well, not trusting you back and for the whole irresponsible-cut-on-my hand and...this...this whole surviving thing isn't going to work with us being like this, is it?"
Quietly he shook his head, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. "No...it isn't..."
The two of them were silent for a moment that almost seemed to stretch on for an eternity, Lance tied up in his thoughts, in the guilt in that she had been right. The whole time he hadn't trusted her, foolishly believing that he could safely keep them alive and not have to delve in the dangerous world of trust and emotions and bonds he had kept out of with so many people... what an idiot he was. Their situation was dangerous enough as is, with death waiting to tap their shoulder and take them away; this lack of trust between them was going to end up making it worse.
"I..." Misty's voice cut into the quiet, enticing Lance to bring his gaze up from the white sand to the tear-prickled, sad aquamarine eyes she had, still astray in their own gaze. "I'm not saying we have to be, you know, the bestest best friends in the whole universe with rainbows and butterfree's all around and gushing out in an epic heart-to-heart but..."
"But...?"
Her gaze met his, open and and searching, and her lips were ever so parted. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Lance had to put straight, for the billionth time, the savage voice inside him that wanted to ravage her lips and the rest of her body in a much more pleasant way than the Carvanha had.
She sighed, her lips close together that made a funny puttering sound, "This is going to sound really silly...uhm, can we start over?"
"Excuse me?" he questioned, confused. Start over? Start what over? What was there to start anew?
"Yeah, this time leave out the whole me-being-the-little-gym-leader and your-being-almighty-champion-ness?"
...OH.
"And maybe...maybe this time be friends?"
He was sort of stunned by her proposal for a moment, stunned by the simplicity, and almost silly childishness of it and yet it was...it was much to tempting to leave alone.
Especially if it meant they could get over this.
Lance's lips softly curved up into a tired, submissive smile, "I'd like that."
Misty cleared her throat, then thrust the hand that wasn't cut up forward at him, and beamed up at him. Tire was laced in her voice, as was the pain of her wounds, but it was much more overcome by the cheeriness and hope in her tone, "Hi, my name is Misty! I'm a pokemon trainer and I specialize in water types. And I would love to be your friend."
It was still a very strange conversation they had found themselves in, and as his own rough hand slowly but doubtlessly grasped at her much smaller, almost fragile and softer skinned hand, he almost felt silly, childish even, as he opened his mouth.
"I am Lance. I too am a pokemon trainer, and I specialize in dragons... and I would love to have you for a friend, Misty."
"I can tell-have you ever tried lotioning? Jeez, your palms feel like callous-ville!" she joked lightly, not meaning anything more than a light-hearted joke.
He couldn't help but laugh at the silliness, the strangeness of what their conversation had changed to, and... and how strangely freeing he felt.
I am Lance. A pokemon trainer. He repeated in his head.
Not the esteemed member of the Elite Four. Not the worshiped and undefeated Champion. Not the G-Men Agent. Not the Dragon Master.
Just Lance.
Just Lance and Misty. Not the Gym Leader. Not the Tomboy Mermaid of Cerulean.
Just Misty.
Just Lance and Misty.
Somehow, those words sent his heart free.
"So...uhm... my leg is really starting to hurt." she sheepishly admitted.
Lance snapped out of his euphoric daydreams and back into his Serious mode. Her leg looked a bit... less gory now that the water had washed away the blood and the bits of flesh that were so shredded by the Carvanha hide that they just hung there could be easily removed if he just took the sharp edge of a rock (after cleaning off dirt and sand with water, of course. He wasn't a professional in medicine, but he wasn't ignorant of bacteria and dirt's affects).
But it was still an open wound. A big one. Her leg, and the nasty one on her arm was too. And he didn't have anything to really sanitize it with. No needle and thread to stitch it, no anesthetic of some sort...
...his eyes narrowed as they gazed into the orange flames of the fire. It was getting low again, as was their wood supply, but that was easy to fix later...
...could he...?
No, it would be far too painful! He couldn't ask that of Misty!
...but they had nothing else, no medical kit, no thread and needle, no sanitizer and anesthetics or antibiotics, the damn things needed to be closed or else infection would be knocking on their metaphorical door sooner than later...
...and he did have the smooth, metal button pins that pinned the tassels of his cape to the cloth, and it could easily be pinned to a stick...
He bit his lip, his thoughts transferring into his face as different expressions that Misty easily caught.
"Lance? What are you thinking?"
He bit his lip harder. "Misty...you know if there were any other options available, I would pick them above anything else, right?"
Misty became troubled, very disturbed by the vague tone in his voice, the avoidance in his words, "Lance, what are you talking about? What are you thinking? What is it?"
"I don't want to ask this of you; in fact, I would never wish to have to resort to this, and the thing is you'll have to do it to me too," he gestured to the painful gore on his arms, and the very odd spot on his abdomen were the scales had somehow come into contact with and tore straight through the cloth of his sleeveless shirt and scraped hard against the skin. He was unsure when that had happened, but it hurt nonetheless.
"Lance, quit avoiding and answer me!"
In shameful cowardice, he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. So instead he gestured to the fire.
Misty appeared thoroughly confused by his silence and gesture, staring back and forth between him and the hot fire. Until she began to wonder how it connected to wounds and it clicked, with an absolute horror on her face.
Cauterizing.
"No... no, no, no," she began, about to start a completely understandable rant speaking against it, and he knew it. And he couldn't let her.
Because if he did, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to doing it, no matter how much he might be saving her by hurting her.
Lance placed his hands on her shoulders, making sure her eyes were on him and attention focused.
"It will hurt, I cannot even bring myself to lie." he admitted, "But if we don't find a sure way to close yours and my wounds up, we're setting ourselves up for an early date with infection, and we have nothing to combat that. Nothing. Closed injuries are a lot easier to deal with, and heal, Misty, believe me. I've got the scars to prove it." Experience had taught him that, many times over, and each in a different definition of phrase 'the hard way'. Once he was training with Salamence, back when it was a young and reckless spitfire Bagon and he was too slow at dodging a Dragon Claw and got a nasty gash right in the hip. Another time, during one of his hunting missions against Team Rocket, one grunt had pulled out a hunting knife on him and got a deep cut going all the way up his bicep and a thinner one across his chest.
"It- but..."
"I don't want to do this to you Misty, but I mean it; this is all we've got. I don't have a needle or thread, so we can't stitch it, and we've already gone through the luggage cases and there's no medical kit. We don't have bandages, no sterilizer or alcohol; hell, the only thing we even have for an anesthetic is a stick to bite on."
She was quiet.
"...if it helps, you'll have to do the same for me." he offered.
"That doesn't." she sniffed. "But what choice do I have?"
-o00o-
Even muffled by a cloth-wrapped stick, Misty's screams easily pierced the air. Tear streaks lightly darkened and wet her cheeks, and she had long ago given up holding back the moisture in her eyes. Her knuckles were white, fingers crushing the pointless broken half of the spear he had retrieved for her to hold onto.
It was taking every ounce of his will and every fiber in Lance's being not to throw his makeshift brand down, take her into his arms and drown her ears in apologies and sorries and promises of it'll never happen again he'll never ever do such a horrible thing and oh my god what a monster he was and so on. The list was endless, and her sobs of agony seemed like it too.
He had taken the one of the circular metal button that pinned the silver tassels to his cape, and pinned it to a stick. With the fire rekindled he had then held it over the open flame and let it get hot- not glowing white hot, oh no, not that, just burning-to-the-touch, almost red hot. He had never actually cauterized something before, not like this, but Lance had figured it would be best to do quick, one-second or two-second long taps of contact between skin and the metal surface. It wouldn't stop the intensity in pain, but it would lesson the amount, at least.
Her leg was done, and he was finishing up her arm. The bits of hanging flesh had been removed long ago with a water-washed rock tip, and the burned flesh was now a massive pink scar with red blotches from blood and tiny black bits here and there that could be picked at and removed easily. What formerly looked like meat after a meeting with a cheese grater was now looking like a mottled scab. It wasn't the best medical attention he could give her, but it was surely better than leaving it alone.
Finally, he had finished, and though a few pounds of guilt and self-loathing and pity were lifted now that he could relinquish the metal pin-on-a-stick, there were tons still on his shoulders as Misty continued sobbing at the lingering ghosts of pain going through her body. He wanted so badly to comfort her, but he wasn't done yet.
Taking a few of the pieces of clothes from their accumulated pile and tearing them to shreds easily with his own natural strength and a sharp-pointed rock, he had proceeded to wrap up the now cauterized injuries. He didn't have any salve or ointment, but he washed a small dose of clean water from the water bottle over her leg and arm before patting it dry and wrapping it up firmly. It was a bit tight, but he needed it to stay on there for her; he wanted to stop any blood from escaping if her leg moved, not cut off circulation! The injured spots that weren't as gaping open like her leg and arm were also wrapped up in strips of cloth.
He tied the last strip, leaned back to assess his work, and then nodded to himself. It wasn't the work of a medical professional, but it would do. The cloth-wrapped biting stick in her mouth dropped to the sand and a few rogue tears managed to trail their way down her cheek.
His own, not as horrid as Misty's but still bad, stung and burned with a painful passion but he couldn't help himself but to place them aside in his mind as Lance gently enveloped Misty in his arms. She accepted the embrace as easily as she could, her uninjured arm lifting to return the hold and gripping the shirt's fabric on his back. Her sobs had quieted into sniffles, and within a few minutes she was shuffling and using her one arm to push him back.
"Thank you." she sniffled. Her hand wiped at the tear stains and nose, she sniffed harsh, then blinked at his wounds that were, as of the moment, still untreated. Misty did not appear to approve. "You're-"
"I know."
She swallowed, "Am I going to have to...?"
Lance shrugged, "It'll be hella easier than me doing it myself. But do you...?" he was answered by her picking up the stick with the metal button pinned to the tip, but he noticed the hesitance, the slight quivering of her hand. He frowned deeply, "Misty you don't have to. I can do it myself."
"No." she said firmly, with a sharp exhale of air. " 'We need each other right now', that's what you said, right?" she said, catching contact with his eyes, and holding them captive. An invisible, small war was raging in their gazes; Misty's pain-filled ones, her resolve to help him, the fear of hurting him. He knew it would tear her up, having to scorch his body just to ensure their survival, to save him; helping by hurting. It was going to tear at her seams, and Lance knew it because it had done the same for him, and he didn't want that for her.
But in Misty's own words, what other choice was there?
I suck at arguments and fighting.
Cautery (cauterization or burning to remove or close up parts of the body) has been used on various different media (from J. Wayne movies to Roy Mustang on FMABrotherhood to real surgical procedures of it during wars back in the old days). I've done my research and, in actuality, cautery is considered a very dangerous, very painful procedure, that is generally left as a last resort to prevent bleeding to death and to close amputations. According to various websites I looked up about it, including wikipedia, cautery actually sometimes makes injuries worse as it slightly increases the risk of infection through outer tissue damage and making a more "hospitable" breeding ground for bacteria. It's regarded as a medical no-no and only to be used as a last resort for injuries when there's no other option of medical attention or any other med-supplies available. After the procedure, it's generally advised to immediately seek medical attention or help anyway, to really be safe.
However, I don't know if people who tested this also wrapped up their cauterized stuff with gauze or cloth immediately following the procedure or just left their injuries in the open air, either.
Either way, don't worry, I HAVE A PLAN.
Not a survival expert, so if something isn't right, do correct me.
Also, I really really really really REALLY need to get out of the habit of posting updates late at night...like at 1 in the morning. *SIGH*
Also also, been in Florida with no internet for a week, came back, so could someone perhaps PM (read carefully: PM) me and tell me about this image managing thingy that's popped up suddenly? IT CONFUZZLES MEH.
If you like this, review. Fave's are nice... but reviews are better. B-E-T-T-E-R.
If no like, review and tell me so.
If not, I'll just continue anyway. Whenever I get around to it. C:
-KO13
