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Daine probably could have begged the day off, if she'd really wanted to. Mithros knows Saturday night had been awful, and the weeks leading up to it hadn't been much better. It's left everyone in the farmhouse shaken -- especially Lyall and Biffy. Maybe she ought to be there when they wake. It wouldn't hurt their peace of mind.
But neither of them will be up until only a little after her shift ends, anyway. And part of her likes the idea of just having a normal day, even if they still have to force the normalcy a bit. It'll do her good to work. More importantly, it'll do the People good. They need her, too, and she can't justify letting them down on little more than a whim.
It ends up being a busy shift. There are a few cases that they've held onto until she could get there, the better to have them sorted instead of merely patched up and rescheduled for a handful of check-ups. She mends a bone or two and clears up a handful of infections, and before she knows it, four hours have gone by and Dr. Molina is insisting she head home before she gives herself a migraine. Daine could probably argue that point, but the sun has gone down. Best to head home.
She's nearing the Park when she hears a distant screech of tires and a thud. She barely registers the sound before a sympathetic flare of agony burns through her hip, and she stumbles with a gasp. It's only thanks to a well-placed rubbish bin that she's able to stay mostly upright, and she clings to it, her head spinning. Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith, she's dislocated her hip.
No, she realizes a beat later. Someone else has. The car struck a dog; it's his pain she's feeling, loud enough that her mind can scarcely tell the difference.
She grunts quietly as she forces herself to straighten, then starts to limp towards the accident.
But neither of them will be up until only a little after her shift ends, anyway. And part of her likes the idea of just having a normal day, even if they still have to force the normalcy a bit. It'll do her good to work. More importantly, it'll do the People good. They need her, too, and she can't justify letting them down on little more than a whim.
It ends up being a busy shift. There are a few cases that they've held onto until she could get there, the better to have them sorted instead of merely patched up and rescheduled for a handful of check-ups. She mends a bone or two and clears up a handful of infections, and before she knows it, four hours have gone by and Dr. Molina is insisting she head home before she gives herself a migraine. Daine could probably argue that point, but the sun has gone down. Best to head home.
She's nearing the Park when she hears a distant screech of tires and a thud. She barely registers the sound before a sympathetic flare of agony burns through her hip, and she stumbles with a gasp. It's only thanks to a well-placed rubbish bin that she's able to stay mostly upright, and she clings to it, her head spinning. Mithros, Mynoss, and Shakith, she's dislocated her hip.
No, she realizes a beat later. Someone else has. The car struck a dog; it's his pain she's feeling, loud enough that her mind can scarcely tell the difference.
She grunts quietly as she forces herself to straighten, then starts to limp towards the accident.
