wildmage_daine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wildmage_daine) wrote2018-10-29 10:39 pm
wildmage_daine) wrote2018-10-29 10:39 pm
Entry tags:
October 29th, 2018
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.
no subject
"And I'd carry you over the shoulder," he says with a playful look, smirking around his cup of coffee. "Like a bag of potatoes. Nothing romantic."
He regrets the choice of word the second it's past his lips, but there's nothing that can be done about it beyond taking a sip of his coffee and moving on as though he hadn't said anything.
Because he hadn't, right? Right.
no subject
There's no reason to feel as if he's just shut a door in her face.
She gives her head a slight shake, recovering her smile. "Goddess forbid," she returns in an undertone, eyebrows raised primly. "I can't imagine anyone at the farmhouse would be impressed by you leaving me in a heap on the doorstep." Her cheeks are prickling, but she lifts her chin and arches her eyebrow.
no subject
Should he have said it was romantic? Was that the right thing to do?
No. Right? He wasn't trying for anything right now. Even if...
Not the point.
He scrubs at his own cheek, then chin, hiding his own prickling skin with a show of thoughtfulness.
"Least of all Kitten," he says with a faint grin. "I know how to behave in order to save my skin."