"Vahka," he replied. Bella's conversation was an ice-breaker, he knew that much, something to fill the silence, a substitute for words of genuine comfort and insight beyond anyone's reach. He appreciated them regardless. "You've...probably heard it on the announcements. He's killed a few other people."
He looked up from his hand - still bleeding heavily, probably vulnerable to a nasty infection if he lived longer than a few hours - and spotted his own bag, a short distance away, having been hit by the shockwave of the explosion and carried several feet. He climbed to his feet, wincing as he absentmindedly placed too much pressure on his good ha-his injured hand.
Well, now he had two fucked-up hands to deal with.
"Sorry I got...angry with you...after Paisley," he muttered to Bella, each syllable measured and deliberate, trying to maintain a stoic expression as he looked over to her. When he turned his head away, he allowed the grimacing and the wincing to return.
He walked over to the bag, noticing Zoe approach Vahka's body. He gave her a polite, almost formal nod, not bothering to conceal his pain and torment as he had with Bella - he'd always respected her back at Whittree, considered her someone worthy of spending time with, even if they weren't exactly the closest friends in the world, but all that meant shit now.
Having reached the bag, careful not to place weight on his injured hand and not placing any on his bad hand out of habit, he clumsily descended to a kneel. He opened it, and put his bad hand in, immediately withdrawing it after a sharp sting of pain. A small cut on one of his stumps. He looked inside. The jar of baconnaise had been smashed open, its half-finished contents everywhere and little shards of glass mixed in with them.
Grinding his teeth to try and dull the small jabs of irritation as the little bits of glass scratched and stabbed, he shoved his bad hand back into the bag, pulling out the first aid kit. It was filled with lots of little things with labels that he didn't understand, things that he was sure most of his fellow students would not comprehend in the slightest.
He took out a bandage, and was about to apply it when he remembered wounds needed cleaning. With a sigh, he popped an Ibuprofen - he knew what they did, he wasn't a hermit and he trusted the drugs - and took out the saline solution. He was pretty sure this was the right thing. He poured it all onto his hand, biting his lip to try and stifle out the inevitable cries of pain from the stinging and burning. Pleasantly relieved when that pain didn't come - it was one type of pain he wasn't looking forward to on top of everything else - he wrapped the bandage around his hand, biting off the end with his teeth.
The biting the bandage was a little flourish to look tough, to be honest.
He returned to the two girls after a quick bite to eat and a few moments of quiet contemplation.
The next few hours went by with surprisingly little conversation. They were mainly just gathering up supplies (replenishing food stocks and first aid kits, in a vain hope that they'd last long enough to need them) and dealing with the bodies. Yagmur was largely focused on what he was doing, keeping himself to himself as much as possible, not knowing if that relative solitude was deliberate or accidental or even just imagined.
Michael probably got treated with the most respect. His death, unlike Regina's, had not been instant, it looked like, and he'd left an intact corpse behind. He'd been rested on the ground, placed so no-one would trip over him if running through the Ice Palace but not hidden out of sight, with a convenient piece of nearby tarpaulin placed over him. They tried giving the same respect to Regina, but it proved too impossible a task, and so another piece of tarpaulin, larger and thicker, was draped over the largest remnants of her body.
But there was some conversation. Most of it was just simple questions and statements: asking if that noise was a new arrival in a few brief moments of worry, wondering if anyone was in the mood for a spare Slim Jim, a casual "are you okay?" or two if someone seemed to freeze in thought for a few seconds too long.
Some of it was idle chit-chat, an attempt to distract themselves from the harsh realities of what had happened and get to know each other a bit better. Yagmur even tried explaining his life philosophies and his enjoyment of certain TV sitcoms, but his heart wasn't in it, and his explanations were hasty and superficial at best.
Then the announcement happened, but before Yagmur could process the names - his own name coming up for one - the danger zones were listed.
((Yagmur Tekindor and Bella Bianchi continued elsewhere.))