Actual RP will be done in 3rd person, not first. this is just how it came to me while i was writing it
I woke, blackness staring back at me.
The first thing I noticed was pain, a dull throbbing thing in the center of my abdomen, an awareness that made itself known with a muted red glow behind my eyes that beat with the same rhythm as my heart. My hand raised, trembling, to press against it, to tiredly fight the pain down behind the pressure of my grip.
It was stayed, however, by a sudden grasp 'round my wrist. Panic. I tried to sit up, and another hand pressed lightly between my breasts, more than enough to hold me down, more than enough to stay my movements in my weakened state, but still very gentle, very careful.
The voice that came to my ears was smooth, buttery, with steel amidst it's warmth. The accent was Russian, harsh Russian, with no pretenses about it, and decidedly male. "Do not move. Your stitches could very well pop, and you'd not want to have to be sewed up again."
Had his hands not stilled me his words would have done the trick alone. Vague, but becoming sharper were the memories locked up in my weary mind. I'd been torn open, yes, I remembered that. Schrapnel. A bomb? I couldn't remember. But when I'd woken up I'd been alone save for him. he was the enemy, that much was certain by his USSR uniform, the red cross on his arm making him out to be a medic.
He'd told me not to move, and he'd set to work on me. He'd explained that he'd found me, alone, in our fox hole. Alone...he had ben alone too. Both sides had been...had....
He'd taken me back to his tent. He wasn't sure how I was still alive. I'd begun to infect...he'd reopened me up, and bile and pus and black blood had poured out. I'd been awake. I'd screamed, wailing until I'd passed out.
Yes. Until now.
I opened my eyes. The light was dim, but still painful. My head hurt.
He came into view, hair short, but telltale blonde, near a pale face. A scar ran across his left eye, but had missed the pale blue orb inside. It, and its twin, were looking at me, sharp, birdlike. "Awake?" he asked as his large, lean frame moved toward me. I couldnt help but wonder how he'd managed to become a medic. Someone with his size and strength should've been out on the field. Fighting. "Good...We've not got many rations here, but I've some water for you. you've been out three days...if i move you slowly we can get you into a sitting position."
he moved as he spoke, and hands slid under my arms as he stood behind me. Gently, carefully, he began to slide me upward. Pain, god so much, how was I alive? Pillows propped behind me, at least four, then one under my head as he settled me against the wall and slid in front, hands on his thighs, crouched somewhat to study my face. "breathe. Deep. Not shallow like that. You'll pass back out."He was not unkind, but very succinct in how he spoke. He'd seen a lot of this one would think.
I tried to do as he instructed. Slowly the pain abated, and then I was breathing normally again, at least as normal as I could between clenched teeth and a throbbing headache under my brow. A small canteen was brought to me, and fingers touched my chin. "Come now. Drink."
I did, very slowly. As much as I wanted to gulp it down, as thirsty as I was, I didn't want to risk sicking it up, and popping a stitch. Still the water tasted so good that It took all my resolve to not suck every drop from it's metal confinement.
He moved away a moment later, seemingly pleased. I noted the stubble on his chin and the bags under his eyes. He was tired. Had he stayed up with me? Or had he taken guard post, protecting his tent against....
Screaming pain in my head. A hand flew up to press to it, and immediately I wish I hadn't. Strangled sounds, throaty, desperate. They were mine, and the Russian was there to grab my arms and carefully force my hand back down. "NO sudden movements, American. Your stitches. I had to sew up your entire abdomen. You look like you've been autopsied. PLEASE be still."
Dimly I heard him, and I started to quiet, aware that tears were running down my eyes, half in pain and half in bewilderment. I spoke, and even to me my voice was misused and horrid. "What happened? Were is everyone? What -happened-?"
He slapped me.It wasn't hard, but it stung, and it quieted me down. I was angry for all of two seconds and then grateful, sure the high, bright look of hysteria had fled my eyes. His own stared, watching, calculating, and then carefully he let my hand go.It dropped slowly back to my lap.
Wordless, he stood and moved to a small table, where he produced a couple asprin, and brought them to me.
I swallowed them, was given more water, and then he spoke.
"I don't know. I was here, working on some of my own wounded men. There was a light...and a smell of ozone and burning...things flew around...and then silence. No one was here. the ground outside is scorched...I thought at first it was a weapon of ours...something secret, but no one has come, not from my side, not from yours, not for at least a week. I found you outside three days ago alone. I thought you were dead....but you were the only body out there. So I checked and you were breathing. I brought you back here. I don't know how youre still alive but I did my best to keep you that way. So don't ruin my hard work."
"I'm your enemy you know."
"And you Ruskies are evil."
"So are you Americans, I hear."
"...no one has come?"
"Well then...'s nice to meet you."
He grinned, just a little, and patted my arm. "I'm Pitor. It's nice to meet you as well...."
A space, intended for my name. I opened my mouth to give it. Shut it. Frowned. "I...don't remember."
"You've had head trauma.That's why the headache. It'll probably come back to you." he smiled again though there was bitterness to it. "And if you don't, you can always make a new one up...I dont think it really matters what we call ourselves anymore."
I frowned, brows knitted. He shook his head and stood, moving to the radio. Turning it on, he picked up the talkie and pressed the button. Something in russian was said by him twice. He waited. There was no response.
"None with your american radio either...I walked to your camp and tried it. No one is answering us. On -any- channel. There's no banter between other people either. The music stations are dead...everything is. either our towers are down everywhere...which could be...or there are no people there to man them."