Inavet and T'Mir
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Inavet hisses a creative curseword, and slams the door shut, and reaches for her magic. The door to the building she's hiding in becomes to all appearances an ordinary wall. It'll take her pursuers time to find it - none of their arcanists are any good at crystal craft, from what she can tell. It won't buy her enough time, but it'll buy her some, and every second counts.

She starts trying to patch herself up while she looks for an escape route they're not covering. Blood craft's not her best, but she's gotten a lot of practice at it, lately. Enough to stop herself from bleeding out from the wound in her side (because of course it's deep) and keep herself from collapsing from exhaustion. Too slow - one of these days it'll kill her.

But not yet, she thinks, as she spots a window to an alley. Out go her magic senses - no one's alive and breathing in that alley but a cat rummaging through the garbage.

She dumps an illusion over the alley, to appear exactly as it was before she entered it. She can't get the cat right in a rush, but she doesn't need this to hold out for very long. Just long enough to get away. Song disguises the sound of the window opening and her scrambling out of it. She's conscientious enough to close it behind her. Easier than another illusion. Maybe they won't notice the blood.

Which way? Mm. One that way, two to her left, three are - oh look they found the door, she needs to hurry. She takes a right, and runs.

And comes face to face with - a snake? With a mirror for a head? What, how in the -

It's very fast. She was not expecting it. She didn't even sense it, like it appeared from nowhere, she raises her knife but she's not fast enough -

And then there is darkness.

Darkness and pain.

She'd scream, but the air's sucked out of her lungs in a whoosh. She snaps her mouth shut and flails, lashing out with something, anything - but she feels nothing around her. Nothing at all. Not even air. It's like a pressure, on all of her, but instead of pressing in it's pulling out -

Is this how she's going to die? Some Ministry snake monster thing?

Not. Likely.

She isn't the best at blood craft, but she knows enough to keep herself alive. She knows enough to snap her eyes shut and cover her nose and mouth and push magic at herself so her body doesn't shut down. It's hard - there's so much to monitor, she has no air... But she can keep herself alive. If she doesn't move and she focuses near entirely on self preservation. For - for a little while, anyway. Not forever.

Time crunch, then. Well. She was always good at those.

Her lesser crafts won't do her any good here. No way to make sound with song, no air to ignite in fire with heat, no time for aura anything, nothing to move and change with breath. Forget stone and metal, even when she's not in a crisis she's awful with both, not to mention there's nothing around for either.

But she is good at crystal, and crystal deals in light.

If she's not the brightest fucking beacon the world has ever seen, it won't be for lack of trying.

Maybe someone will find her. Or maybe she'll blind the bastards who put her here. Either way, it won't hurt to try.
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Something approaches. It's silent, in the vacuum.

The something opens up and then there is air.
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She's still and limp, and the glowing has stopped because she's focusing on live live live live-





air.

She sucks in a breath, coughs shallowly, and breathes again. She doesn't open her eyes. She just breathes...

(And fixes herself, she has not been done any favors by being flung out into deep space while injured. The wounds can wait, she focuses on getting oxygen to everywhere it needs to go and recovering from too little pressure and a multitude of other things...)
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Someone is leaning over her, applying topical ointment and bandages to her injuries.

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Well, that is about a thousand times better than what she was expecting.

She finishes with the really important repairs, and then she gets to the injuries that could kill her.

The someone might be alarmed to notice those closing up.
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The someone is alarmed. She stops with the topical ointments and bandages.

"Do you speak English?" she asks, presumably incomprehensibly, as will be, "Do you speak Vulcan?"
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It's pretty incomprehensible, yeah.

But she can tell those were two different languages.

She makes a vaguely negative sounding sound, and goes back to self repair. She's alive enough to hurt now, that's novel. Ow.
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The person gets up and walks away. She comes back with a bottle of water, which she offers to Inavet - she doesn't pour the water into her mouth, just makes it clear that this service is available.

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Inavet doesn't open her eyes. They took a lot of damage in the spacing. But her other senses (the magic ones) are working just fine. Damn being subtle, it's obvious she's been caught as an arcanist, and she hasn't been thrown to anyone nasty as far as she can tell. So she doesn't make any effort to disguise how she knows where the person is without opening her eyes.

Mouth: open. That looks like a yes to the water.
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So, water, in little dribbles.

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She is very grateful.



She is - not okay. She is vaguely ambling towards functionality. But she can open her eyes (working, healed, as if she'd never been spaced) to look at the someone.

"Hi," she mumbles.
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The slightly-pointy-eared-but-not-really-an-elf person repeats her two sentences in two different languages.

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"Mm mm," she says, shaking her head a little. She tests to see if she can lift her arm.

Nope. She cannot lift that arm. She can twitch it a little. More repair work. Hooray.
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The not-elf picks up her ointments and bandages again and makes an inquisitive facial expression.

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She makes a vaguely affirmative sound. Hey, it helps. Save her some work. Maybe give her materials to work with.

Fingers, let's test fingers, can those twitch just fine...? Oh, look, yes they can, that's nice, isn't that nice.
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The not-elf goes back to ointmenting and bandaging.

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"Thanks..." she murmurs.

She goes back to not moving. She knows what to fix. She'd like to be back up to basic functionality before she carries on further.
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Eventually the not-elf is out of things to ointment and bandage. She goes and gets something that smells like it might be food and offers Inavet a spoon of it.

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Oh this is a wonderfully smart helpful person. You are Inavet's favorite savior from horrible vacuum based death.

After about five spoonfuls of food, she somewhat shakily holds up a finger. Wait...

And then, very carefully, she sits up. She's a little wobbly, but she smiles anyway.
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The not-elf smiles back. And would Inavet like to hold her own spoon now?

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She would! Thank you helpful smart vacuum savior person.

She's still very shakey and has to pause to rest occasionally, but she's still visibly improving at what is probably an unprecedented rate.
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The not-elf sits back and watches her.

Inavet is on a floor, in a strange metal-plastic compartment surrounded by hard vacuum but filled with air, decorated with some objects of obscure purposes and also a chair in front of a window-thing that shows faint stars.
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Well that's terrifying. One hole in the wall and it's back to the vacuum. But she's in a place that's filled with air, so it's not completely awful. She's still not dead.

Eventually she is out of food. That's okay.

She stretches a little, experimentally, and then she carefully, carefully stands. Again: a little wobbly. But surprisingly stable for someone who was recently suffering multiple stab wounds followed by hard vacuum. She doesn't fall, and she doesn't look like she needs assistance.

She offers the empty food receptacle to the not-elf, and inclines her head in a 'thank you' manner. Because it's obvious they don't share a language.
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The not-elf takes the receptacle, carries it off to a little kitchenette very efficiently crammed full of arcane objects, puts it in an arcane object which makes soft noises, and then emerges into the main area again. She goes to the chair and starts poking the console in front of the chair. The air speaks, in the first language the not-elf tried; the not-elf replies to it as though she's having a conversation with it.

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That's... interesting.

She tilts her head, and she listens with song. She won't catch the meanings, but she'll catch the words. They'll stick.

(It's a trick she used for eavesdropping on government officials, but it can be repurposed.)

"Will it help you at all if I speak outloud?" she wonders. "Pinpoint my language?"
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The not-elf looks at her, but doesn't, obviously, understand.

However, after another couple of minutes, she picks up a small plastic rectangle with a window of light on one side and offers it to Inavet. She has another one; the screens show the same thing, but the not-elf says a phrase and the initial image disappears and is replaced. They have similarities (blue square, blue circle) and so do the phrases. When a few of them have gone by she gestures at Inavet and the rectangle with the blue square on it.
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