HF: Lionel Only - only HFers allowed

[Laraqua]

There was light and sound. There was pain and misery. There was movement, a giant surge, a leap, coiling and springing, then settling and more pain. The point of contact was yards ago. The world keeps spinning. Light and sound. Screams. Wails. Light and sound. All about it falls. How did it come? Sound and fury. Something cackles, crackles, screeching overhead. A giant whump. All around, his vision starts to clear. His ears ring. He can't hear. Everything dull and light.

Roll Luck. On a success, take 1d4 damage and find yourself in a surviving doorway, surrounded by rubble. On a failure, take 1d8+1 damage and find yourself pinned beneath the rubble.

[Mr. Handy]

Lionel finds himself buried under a pile of rubble, his body and mind in agony. His injuries were bad, but they could have been much worse. Feverishly, he tries to dig himself out. "Help!" he manages, weakly.

[Laraqua]

A fellow appears in the smoke and dust, holding a handkerchief to his lips as he clambers across the rubble and body parts. It's hard to make him out in the gloom particularly when he shines his shuttered torch across the way. "Wait 'ere, mate, and I'll go get us some 'un."

[Mr. Handy]

"Thank you, sir!" calls Lionel, finding his voice again. "I'm a doctor! I can treat my own injuries as well as help anyone else who's hurt." He tries to reach the medical kit strapped to his thigh so he can treat his wounds and stop the bleeding. What's going on here? he thinks, collecting himself. One second we were in the cinemaplex, and the next...I must have gone back in time somehow. Could whatever happened have torn asunder the very fabric of space and time? Did the others come back with me, or am I alone? Already he is formulating plans. Very, very long range plans. Perhaps there's a way to return to my own time, but with the world in the state it's in now...My God, I've just been given a golden opportunity! If I can discover what caused that disaster and find a way to prevent it, I can make sure it never happens! If I can lay the groundwork first, then I could return to the present if there's a way. If there isn't, I'll have to live out my life in the past. I'd have to be pushing 130 to make it back to my time that way, and I'll be lucky to make it to 90. That means...I'll never see Sarah again...but perhaps I can survive until she's born...at least I know she's safe...

Tears flow down Lionel's cheeks, but then he comes to a realization. I can change other things that will happen over the next 65 years or so, avert so many tragedies, both global and personal! My parents are alive, right now, each fighting the war in their own way! In a few years, my younger self will be born. I can pass the torch to him eventually, so he can carry on when I've lived out my years. And Beatrice! She'll be born a few years after I am, and with the knowledge I have I can save her! My heart won't be broken, and Sarah won't have to grow up without a mother. I can prevent Lyle from ever meeting Sarah and spare her all the agony she endured. That would save his life too, even though he doesn't deserve it. And maybe, just maybe, I can save the entire world from its terrible fate.

I remember! I remember everything! All the world events of my lifetime, the key to changing history for the better. And the outcomes of major sporting events! If I'm to succeed at this quest of a lifetime, I'll need to amass wealth and resources. Gray's Sports Almanac. Heh. He recalls the innocuous seeming book of facts from Back to the Future, Part II that had set all of history on its ear. I also know what to invest in, and when. Yes, I can do this! I can reshape the world into one that's safe for Sarah to live in. I must write all this down when I get the chance. First, though, first I have to stay alive...

[Laraqua]

"Yeah, I found a messenger boy to go get some," says the warden, braving the rubble with a tea cup in his hand as incendiary bombs fizzled and fell from the sky. Several hung from their parachutes from the trees and one came perilously close to the rubble. The warden fell once, bruising his knee, but got up cheerfully and kept ambling over, wincing once or twice when a bomb fell close by.

"Ooh, that don't look too good. You a doctor from the Mercy Cross?" he asks, taking a seat next to Lionel. He notices the first aid pack and its distinctive red cross. "Ooh yes. Y'mind?" He passes Lionel the tea cup, pressing a canvas bag filled with something heavy (history roll) beneath Lionel's head to lift him up a bit. He then takes out the bag. "Bit unusual, eh? Fancy a smoke? Cigarette? Cigar? Never liked 'em myself but I keep 'em on hand for folks like you."

[Mr. Handy]

[OOC: Wow! I'm on one of my lucky rolling streaks!]



"I don't smoke either," says Lionel, "but that tea would hit the spot! Thank you. Yes, I'm from Mercy Cross. The name's Lionel Carpenter." Stick to the truth as much as possible, he thinks, accepting the tea and sipping it. That way I don't have to keep a million lies straight. There's something familiar about that bag, something my father once told me. I'm glad I still have that paramedic's kit. It was top of the line in the 21st century, and now it's well ahead of its time. My mobile phone won't work with no cell towers, but the technology it contains is priceless.

Lionel opens up the medical kit and expertly bandages his wounds. "Physician, heal thyself, eh? I think it looks worse than it is. Most of the damage seems to be from shock. Scalp wounds also tend to bleed even when they're superficial, as this one is. Yep, good as new! Now, if I can get out from under this rubble, we can see if there's anyone else nearby who needs my help."

[Laraqua]

The warden's gas mask containing canvas bag makes for an uncomfortable pillow.



"Is this the fellow?" asks a blonde woman (another History roll to recognise her as from the Women's Volunteer Services - basically, they dabble in everything). She clambers across the rubble with little more grace than the warden and does it all twice as bravely. "Hello, doctor ... it is doctor, isn't it? You're mighty good with that odd first aid kit. I'm Anna. I know it's not the done thing to use first names but I'm a firm believer in the camraderie caused by being familiar, particularly when one is buried in rubble. Now, let's get you out of there."

The two begin shifting various pieces of masonry away until they get to the pick one. With the handy use of a nearby beam and a great deal of obvious expertise, the two manage to leverage it away from him.



"Guess that makes me Daniel," says the other fellow, then winces a little. Lionel will probably recall that Daniel was a Jewish name and anti-semitism did rage strong.



"How do you do," says Anna to the two of them.

[Mr. Handy]

Anna's uniform looks vaguely familiar, but Lionel can't quite place it. "I'm doing very well now, thank you," he says. "And thank you for your compliments. Pleased to meet you both, Anna and Daniel. I'm Dr. Lionel Carpenter." He climbs to his feet, dusts himself off, and extends his hand. "All I've got are flesh wounds, but there could be others trapped in this rubble who are seriously injured. We should search for them."

[Laraqua]

"Yes..." says Daniel, looking about at the body parts strewn through the rubble. "Hello?" He flashes his hooded flashlight across the ruins.



Anna also searches about.

Normally, the black-out would be too absolute to search for survivors without a flashlight but the brilliant light of the incendiaries kept them busy. Several men wearing Fire Guard arm bands hurried to put a few of the incendiaries inside a pub beside the cinema. The hospital across the road seemed mostly unscathed.

[Mr. Handy]

[OOC: Lucky streak's over. Rats!]



Lionel follows along with Anna and Daniel, searching the ruined buildings for any sign of survivors. I wonder if Jennifer and the others are here too? he thinks. Oddly enough, they'd be safer here than in our own time. He peers around, using the light of the incendiaries, but his eyesight isn't what it used to be. "Hello!" he calls out. "Is anyone injured?" He knows, however, that anyone who's unconscious would not be able to respond.

[Laraqua]

The three search for what feels like hours but was probably only about twenty minutes. The Fire Guard join in for a few moments before more incendiary bombs see their sandmats, dustbin lids, rakes and stirrup pumps back into action.

So far, no survivors could be seen amongst the wreckage.

[Mr. Handy]

"We've got to keep looking," says Lionel. "If there's any chance someone's still alive, we can't give up." With the increased light from the new incendiaries, his eagle eyes finally noticed something.

[Laraqua]

He sees, buried in plaster, Jennifer's ruined body, torn asunder. Her weapons lie about her - easy pickings for any who might plunder it. In a shard of glass by her head, Lionel sees a glimpse of some canine face, monstrous and twisted, torn by broken angles and cascading lines (lose 1d3 / 1d20 sanity ).

[Mr. Handy]

Lionel cries out in alarm, but keeps his head together. The sight of that hound is terrifying, but he is only mildly shocked. "Jennifer!" he shouts, kneeling beside her mangled body and kicking the offending shard of glass under some rubble so that nobody else has to look at it. He struggles to hold back his tears. "Oh, no! She was so young..." He picks up her weapons, which are well out of their time. "I'd best hold onto these until I can locate your next of kin. If we leave them lying out on the street they'll just get stolen." He puts on her backpack, slings the sniper rifle over his shoulder and straps her belt on. It holds the .45 pistol in its holster, two extra magazines in a pouch, the machete and the tazer in their sheaths, and the two-way radio and canteen. He also finds the extra magazines in her pockets and puts them inside the backpack. I can't risk these things falling into the wrong hands, he thinks. If history is going to change, it has to be through careful planning, not random accidents. They don't belong here, but then again neither do I. He closes Jennifer's eyes and stands up. "Poor girl. We need to see to it that she gets a decent burial."

[Laraqua]

"Wait, a rifle," Daniel frowns, grasping hold of it before Lionel can sling it. Opposed Strength check (his is 14) to wrench it away. "Is it foreign? Is that what it is? You'd better tell me before I blow this whistle!"



"Blow the whistle!" Anna darts for the handgun.

[Mr. Handy]

"It does look foreign, now that you mention it," says Lionel, letting Daniel take hold of the rifle. "Maybe it's one of those newfangled American things. In any case, it belonged to the dead girl. I only met her this evening, but I owe it to her to see that her family gets her belongings."

[Laraqua]

Now that Daniel had the gun, he looked at a loss for what to do with it. "Yes, erm, I see... But the Americans aren't really... I mean, how would she get a hold of it?" He looks sidelong at Anna. "German spy?" He nodded to himself. "Sure to be. But she's got odd clothing herself. Some sort of German waitor spy..."

[Mr. Handy]

[OOC: Lionel didn't just kick the glass aside, he kicked it underneath the rubble to cover it up so that nobody could see it, even him.]



"A German spy?" asks Lionel. "Well, that doesn't make any sense at all! If she were a German spy, she wouldn't wear outlandish clothes. She would wear normal clothes, the better to blend in with everyone else. And she would have been sure to carry British weapons, not foreign ones. And while German spies would carry pistols, they wouldn't tote rifles around unless they were masquerading as soldiers or something, and she certainly doesn't look the part. No, if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it's far more likely she was one of ours, or perhaps a Yank." He looks around. "Say, it's probably not safe to stand out here chatting when more bombs could fall any minute. Why don't we get to a shelter, and then we can sort this all out there?"

[Laraqua]

He slings the rifle over his shoulder with a certain amount of grace. "Well, uh, yes, uh, there's a shelter just around the corner there. One of them trench shelters, I'm afraid, concreted over, though, but pretty darn wet and miserable. Best get you out of the air, though. I'll, uh, I got to find someone to report this too... The A.R.P. Post will know what to do! Yes, uh, Anna, would you like to accompany me?"

[Mr. Handy]

"Why don't I go with you two?" asks Lionel. "I must admit that I'm curious to see how this all turns out myself, and my injuries aren't that serious. Besides, I do enjoy your company."