Loki took one last look at the pitiful collection of supplies, everything arranged to be within easy reach. He picked up the first scalpel and cut.
For all that the blade was flimsy, it was pleasingly sharp. This, he had no reason to shy from. He'd slid a dagger through enough bellies and in between enough ribs. Though this was different in that he was trying to be careful, precise, and avoid damage rather than cause it. That was what made it a challenge. Healing of any sort was always far more difficult that hurting or killing.
Thankfully, it also meant that he was not one to shy at the sight of blood, because there was blood. There was one small frission that ran through his belly knowing it was the blood of a friend, and he ruthlessly cut that emotion off and did his best to proceed clinically. He'd do neither of them favors by allowing himself nervousness or hesitation.
And it was a bloody business indeed. He had to cut through skin and muscle, pausing to soak up blood with the sponges, to cauterize a large vessel he'd accidentally nicked - that required a quick glance at the anatomy book - to prop the wound he'd made in Soma's side open with the metal tools he'd acquired from the operating room earlier.
That was only the beginning of it. He was soon smeared with blood to the elbow despite his best efforts to be careful. He had to pause and stitch another blood vessel, clumsily but good enough for now. Then finally he'd cleared the way to her stomach, around and under the ribcage. He carefully palpated the organ with his fingertips, feeling something hard inside it - that made him suck in a quick breath.
Well, he'd seen that drawing. He now knew it to be true.
Carefully, he cut the smallest possible incision, using a pair of forceps from the suture kit to retrieve the little object. He dropped it on the desk, to be examined later. After all, getting to the horrid little thing was only half the battle. The more difficult half was getting back out.
He could feel the beating of Soma's heart, no delicate flutter, but something powerful and vital so close to his hands. This, he thought, was true power. He could stop it, that endless rush of blood. Perhaps should, out of concern for his own purposes. But he found he didn't want to; if anything there was the strange urge to protect that vital force, keep it going. She was, after all, the first person who had been willing to trust him in quite some time.
Right now, that trust was worth far more to him than a slight leg up on his deal with Landel. There would be other nights. And in a way - and sometimes he damned himself, for always thinking of these multiple angles even in his rare moments of trying to be even the slightest bit selfless - it would be to his advantage as well, to see Soma safely through.
Loki used up all of the suture kits in stitching, first her stomach, then the layers of muscle, the few blood vessels he'd had to clamp off, and finally skin.
Sweat was rolling down his forehead when he finished, pressing a generous wad of gauze against her gory side. Any sounds Soma had made, he'd tuned out until now, not wanting his concentration broken when he was attempting to do something so foreign and delicate. He glanced up at her face. "Are you still with me?" he asked, voice muffled behind the makeshift mask.
no subject
No turning back now.
Loki took one last look at the pitiful collection of supplies, everything arranged to be within easy reach. He picked up the first scalpel and cut.
For all that the blade was flimsy, it was pleasingly sharp. This, he had no reason to shy from. He'd slid a dagger through enough bellies and in between enough ribs. Though this was different in that he was trying to be careful, precise, and avoid damage rather than cause it. That was what made it a challenge. Healing of any sort was always far more difficult that hurting or killing.
Thankfully, it also meant that he was not one to shy at the sight of blood, because there was blood. There was one small frission that ran through his belly knowing it was the blood of a friend, and he ruthlessly cut that emotion off and did his best to proceed clinically. He'd do neither of them favors by allowing himself nervousness or hesitation.
And it was a bloody business indeed. He had to cut through skin and muscle, pausing to soak up blood with the sponges, to cauterize a large vessel he'd accidentally nicked - that required a quick glance at the anatomy book - to prop the wound he'd made in Soma's side open with the metal tools he'd acquired from the operating room earlier.
That was only the beginning of it. He was soon smeared with blood to the elbow despite his best efforts to be careful. He had to pause and stitch another blood vessel, clumsily but good enough for now. Then finally he'd cleared the way to her stomach, around and under the ribcage. He carefully palpated the organ with his fingertips, feeling something hard inside it - that made him suck in a quick breath.
Well, he'd seen that drawing. He now knew it to be true.
Carefully, he cut the smallest possible incision, using a pair of forceps from the suture kit to retrieve the little object. He dropped it on the desk, to be examined later. After all, getting to the horrid little thing was only half the battle. The more difficult half was getting back out.
He could feel the beating of Soma's heart, no delicate flutter, but something powerful and vital so close to his hands. This, he thought, was true power. He could stop it, that endless rush of blood. Perhaps should, out of concern for his own purposes. But he found he didn't want to; if anything there was the strange urge to protect that vital force, keep it going. She was, after all, the first person who had been willing to trust him in quite some time.
Right now, that trust was worth far more to him than a slight leg up on his deal with Landel. There would be other nights. And in a way - and sometimes he damned himself, for always thinking of these multiple angles even in his rare moments of trying to be even the slightest bit selfless - it would be to his advantage as well, to see Soma safely through.
Loki used up all of the suture kits in stitching, first her stomach, then the layers of muscle, the few blood vessels he'd had to clamp off, and finally skin.
Sweat was rolling down his forehead when he finished, pressing a generous wad of gauze against her gory side. Any sounds Soma had made, he'd tuned out until now, not wanting his concentration broken when he was attempting to do something so foreign and delicate. He glanced up at her face. "Are you still with me?" he asked, voice muffled behind the makeshift mask.