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spanningyearsThere's a club in Darrow, Firetrap, it's called. Somebody thinks they're really funny.
But there's a whole theme: guys juggling and twirling and swallowing fire, drinks served en flambe...
It's just a pity that the owner's not as devoted to safety procedures as he is the theme of the place. Just maybe if he was, the place wouldn't be a smoldering pile of rubble now. It's the little details.
Logan's almost done with a 48 hour shift when they get the call that the place has gone up. It's looking like this will be the last run before he gets a couple of days off, and, not that he's one to brag about it, but he's more than a little impressed with his timing.
No, scratch that. He's definitely going to brag about it.
But maybe his head just wasn't in the right place tonight, more focused on those days off ahead of him than on the actual job in front of him when they get to Firetrap. One of the guys on the truck with them tonight gives them the all clear, says the club's been completely evacuated, only, this lady nearby is shouting about a friend of hers still being inside, while Lieutenant Diaz holds her back, tries to calm her down.
Logan's definitely not thinking. Because they've barely got the hose hooked up— he's supposed to be paired up with Jeffries— and the next thing he knows, he's racing inside without the right gear on. He gets out okay, after finding this twenty-year old half passed out in a booth near the back and dragging her out, but he's coughing, his throat and lungs practically on fire themselves as he pukes his guts out in the street.
Next thing he knows, he's waking up at Darrow General with an oxygen mask on his face, and he doesn't know which chewing out he's dreading more: the Fire Chief's, or his in case of emergency contact.
It's starting to look like his days off probably aren't going to go off like he planned.
But there's a whole theme: guys juggling and twirling and swallowing fire, drinks served en flambe...
It's just a pity that the owner's not as devoted to safety procedures as he is the theme of the place. Just maybe if he was, the place wouldn't be a smoldering pile of rubble now. It's the little details.
Logan's almost done with a 48 hour shift when they get the call that the place has gone up. It's looking like this will be the last run before he gets a couple of days off, and, not that he's one to brag about it, but he's more than a little impressed with his timing.
No, scratch that. He's definitely going to brag about it.
But maybe his head just wasn't in the right place tonight, more focused on those days off ahead of him than on the actual job in front of him when they get to Firetrap. One of the guys on the truck with them tonight gives them the all clear, says the club's been completely evacuated, only, this lady nearby is shouting about a friend of hers still being inside, while Lieutenant Diaz holds her back, tries to calm her down.
Logan's definitely not thinking. Because they've barely got the hose hooked up— he's supposed to be paired up with Jeffries— and the next thing he knows, he's racing inside without the right gear on. He gets out okay, after finding this twenty-year old half passed out in a booth near the back and dragging her out, but he's coughing, his throat and lungs practically on fire themselves as he pukes his guts out in the street.
Next thing he knows, he's waking up at Darrow General with an oxygen mask on his face, and he doesn't know which chewing out he's dreading more: the Fire Chief's, or his in case of emergency contact.
It's starting to look like his days off probably aren't going to go off like he planned.