𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫

— 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲

Spartan-III | Spartan-IV Trainer | Aloof | Woefully impulsive | 6’2” | 6’6” armored | Demolitions Specialist | Overachiever

#HaloRP | #MVRP | #ᴇʟᴜᴠᴇɪɴ

wrist, Ripley made a weak attempt to reach the cast. There was no risk of them actually getting to it, not between Reigh’s intervention and their limited mobility.

“Why?” Their voice was hoarse, and little more than a murmur despite their best attempts. What had happened was slow to come back to them. They remembered the berserkers who had jumped the two of them, but the memories of the Chieftain had yet to catch up with them.

Despite Reigh’s hold on their —

despite their best efforts, but a Spartan would still hear them just fine. With both hands they had grabbed onto the head of the bunk, and had started to pull themself into a seated position.

It was entirely unfortunate that Ripley had only recently dragged themself to bed, and was in no shape to get up at a reasonable pace. By all rights they should have still been on a hospital bed — but they had fussed enough to be sent to their own quarters.

“It’s unlocked!” Their voice was weak —

remained unaware of Reigh being seated right beside them.

avoid the lights, the Spartan began to lift their arm in what was supposed to be a stubborn act of removing the cast. Only, their arm would not raise nor bend enough for them to reach the cast. They attempted the act again with their other arm to the same result.

During it all, Ripley had —

were stiff, everything felt hazy, and somehow they still felt sore.

When first their eyes opened, Ripley had to squint and adjust to the light. In trying to turn their head, they discovered not only was their neck incredible stuff, but it had been encased in a cast. Still squinting and trying to —

Hours more passed before Ripley began to stir. Entering consciousness felt like slipping into a dream thanks to the cocktail of chemicals being pumped through their system. Even with the extreme amount of painkillers Ripley was on, they were able to immediately tell something was not right. They —

|| And now: some very very late replies

|| Thank youuuuu

|| Today I am a year older, and to mark the occasion I will try to get to replies on Ripley to give them attention because I miss them

began seep out and form a pool around their head.

Upon any inspection by Reigh, Ripley would remain unresponsive. Their breaths were shallow and ragged, and their vitals corroborated their critical state.

By the time the Chieftain was dead, Ripley remained an unmoving, crumpled heap of armor on the floor. The auxiliary shield generator on their chest was shattered and caved in, and would occasionally spew sparks from its broken lens. From beneath their dented helmet a steady stream of crimson had —

|| Reminder that: cutest ONI gamer

m i s e r y

|| I am guilty of saying “hammer time” in reference to Ripley getting crushed by a gravity hammer almost every time I’ve brought up or thought about it happening

Had Ripley not been so drugged up or exhausted, there was a high chance they would have been giddy. Instead they just shut their eyes, hummed quietly, and murmured a near unintelligible “thank you.”

It would not take them long to pass out again. They had been on the cusp of sleep since waking up.

in next to my end table.” At least then they would be able to distract themself with movies or games during the times they were awake.

be comfortable and wear their binder, which was a minor yet compounding discomfort. It took them a few moments to think of anything they could have retrieved which would not be objectionable.

“Top drawer of my dresser… Or on top of it, I don’t know — is my personal pad. Charger should be plugged —

Hearing Silvia was up for a promotion had Ripley turn their head to look at her again. They refrained from any congratulations when hearing how Silvia viewed it as annoying.

“Well…” There were many things Ripley wanted for comfort that they had to do without. Broken ribs meant they could not even —

against their not-too-comfortable pillow, they sighed lowly and fixed their attention on the ceiling. “I hope you’ve been well, at least.”

Ripley was warm to the touch, though that was nothing new. They ran warm even while idle. What was new was a subtle, constant trembling. Either it was just their body reacting to the physical trauma and healing, or to the myriad of drugs being pumped through their system.

Leaning their head back —

“I wasn’t meaning to.” With a wince they turned their gaze to look at their left arm. The scabs weren’t anything that would scar or ruin their tattoos, though they still hated the way they looked — not that it was a priority concern. “First few days after the surgeries I didn’t know where I was.”

“Wish they’d tell me… When I’ll stop being hooked up to all of this.” Ripley gestured to all of the IVs and sensors hooked up to them. At one point Ripley had kept tearing them out whenever they woke up, leading to a collection of scabs and bruises along their arms.

“Am I?” Their voice was hoarse and quiet, and almost immediately breathless. For a moment they closed their eyes, only to reopen them when they felt the threat of passing out encroaching.

“The food,” they started, pausing to breathe, “suggests I’m in hell.”

her, even if their expression did not yet show it. While they fought to find enough breath to say anything, they gently squeezed Silvia’s hand in greeting.

Despite all of the painkillers being pumped through their system, Ripley felt as though from their waist to their chest they had been gutted — which was not too far from the truth.

They could barely move their head, but they managed to turn just enough to look at Silvia. It was a relief to see —

Ripley hasn’t been conscious much since all of the surgeries, but all of the machines they’re hooked up to show they’re still alive at least.

Give them a few hours and they’ll begin to stir, and within the first moment of consciousness whimper.

But —