[open] general hospital: envy edition

[thereneverwas]

WHO: whoever
WHAT: infirmary catch-all for the envy demon shitshow
WHEN: yknow
WHERE: The Gallows infirmary
NOTES: injuries, gore, all that you'd expect

[Throw in your healer toplevels or your injured characters dragging themselves in. Go hog wild. Live your truth.]

Comments

[armd]

She's actually pretty impressed that all he's doing is breathing about it and holding himself still, because this is a particularly tender spot to be getting a needle in. The wound is protesting already, blood welling up. She's got that rag handy and dabs with it, smears a bit of that paste over where she's been with the needle to soothe it. Shhhh stop bleeding.

Distractions are probably helpful.

"Yeah, that sounds right." Richard did not seem, overall, like an extremely common kinda guy.

"I went there," she adds. Her stitches are good, quick and neat, well practised. Settling into the work. "To where you're from. When we were going to all those different places in the Fade. I nearly got my face chomped off by a man with a snake head, it was fucking scary. Richard helped me kill it."

[charmoffensive]

Ow. Ow. Ow. Owww. Ow-wwuh.

Is what he is thinking, his gaze settling hazily on Abby's shoulder. It would be extremely embarrassing for him to pass out, he reflects, so this motivates a hard blink and a tuning back into the things she is saying as flop sweat prickles cold at his hairline, down his back.

"It was strange being home," Loxley offers, an added strain to his voice. Breathes in, out, continues. "Home-ish. The face chomping is certainly part of it."

But she is skilled, and sure. No sudden too-deep stab, no complaint to issue. He fidgets at the hem of his drawers in a semi-self-conscious fashion, making certain the fabric is sitting right for the sake of decency.

"I understand that yours has its own monsters."

[armd]

Abby nods, unsure if he's even looking at her; his response has that far-away sound of somebody muscling through pain to deliver it. It was strange being home. Maybe she should have been happy to be back in a place she knew or relieved, some positive response, but she was stressed out the whole time and barely slept. Too worried somebody was gonna walk off and get lost, come back bitten.

(Later she realised that's how she always felt back home, that living in the Gallows has been more relaxing by far and enjoyable; a sobering realisation.)

"I know." He didn't say anything about the pain but he doesn't have to. "I'm nearly done."

She completes another stitch. He's mucking around with his drawers, fidgeting, she can tell out of the corner of her eye but she doesn't dare look. "Yeah. They were face-chompers, too. I guess we have a lot in common."