interpolation | patch you up

Patch You Upshipping meme

Let's hope you're not squeamish. Even if you are, you're going to have to power through it, because your crush, significant other, lover, or fellow practitioner in romantic tension has been battered and bruised. The degree of severity, from a minor scrape to a life-threatening injury, can vary, as can the reason - they may even be hurt because of you. If that's the case, you have all the more reason to tend to their wounds with your own two hands.

No one can take care of them like you can.

Bust out the bandages, even if they don't want you to worry over them or can't believe that anyone would. Though it's not your intention, if you're genre savvy, you may know that your best Florence Nightingale may be the final push if you're not together-together.

That's assuming if you both don't pass out from botched first aide before any of that happens. Don't forget that a kiss to make it better is critical!

Comment with your character, preferences, and the role you'd like to play - the injured or the attending. Also, would you like a pre-established relationship? One just on the cusp of becoming realized? Etc?
Reply to others.
Thread.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ As soon as he feels her arm relax, his grip loosens. Loosens enough that he's not hurting her, but he's still holding her to make a point. He's already made enough of a point, he thinks, showing that he doesn't really mind inflicting pain, just in case she didn't believe it before.

Wryly, in regards to her little attempt to -- he doesn't even know what she was attempting -- do whatever: ]

I thought you said you liked a little pain. Maybe you don't like it as much as you thought after all.

[He's trying to file her, she's certain of it. Unfortunately, its working. Fiona cranes her neck just a little like she is trying to hold herself back from replying. Her eyes drift shut, and she exhales a breath through her nose.]

You-- are such a pain in my ass.

[Tame, compared to what she had wanted to say. She leaves her wrist limp in his grip and stares upward with just the barest hint of disdain.]

Are you going to let go of me, or are you going to do something with it?

[She twists her wrist enough that she can wrist half-painted fingernails on Toreth's own wrist. If she plays coy, he doesn't get the satisfaction of a rise out of her, and that's totally worth it.

It distracts her from feeling itchy.]

[ Big talk. It's a win-win situation for him, really, no matter which way it goes, and so he just grins. How far is she willing to go with this? He'l give her points for playing it extraordinarily cool.

His voice drops down, low and easy. ]

I'll do something with it if you ask me to.

[Not very far, judging by how she grumbles when he provides his answer. She won't beg for it -- she'll reinjure herself before it comes to that and she has a feeling that Toreth knows that.

Asshole.]

I don't think so.

[And regardless of how he chooses to retaliate, she will again lull her wrist up (or lean in whatever direction necessarily) to bite at his wrist in return.]

[ This time when he feels her move he makes an attempt to let go of her, dropping his grip on her entirely. Her other hand -- the one she has over his -- isn't injured, so he doesn't hesitate to jerk his hand free and away from her, leaning back.

Christ, but she's like a feral animal, though. Was she trying to fucking bite him? He shoots her an incredulous, exasperated look, muscles tense in case she decides to try anything else. ]

Don't like being on the back foot, do you?

I would've thought you'd have figured that out by now.

[She seems pleased with his reaction, maybe just a touch more smug than she has any right to be. Considering her wrist is in a splint, she doesn't push her luck with pursuing him -- but judging by the way she shifts her weight onto her hip on the bed, she'd been thinking about it.

Whiskey will do that to a person.]

You've got a vast reserve of knowledge on me now, you know.

[More than anyone else did -- she's a little too buzzed to be mad about it right this second, but its a fact nonetheless.]

[ He doesn't relax, even if his gaze remains cool, leveled at her. In fact, because she looks so smug, he decides to run his eyes over her body, almost pointedly. Up and down, resting for too long on the more provocative places before he bothers to answer her. ]

Does that make you uncomfortable? [ And then, as an aside: ] The shirt looks nice, by the way. Maybe you should hold onto it.

[He gets his glances without repercussion for once, no doubt due to the fact that she's practically swimming in his shirt on top of the alcohol doing its job. The compliment gets her to glance down at herself briefly, but her eyes blink upward after only a second of observation like some programmed defense mechanism.

She adjusts her hat with one hand, and peels back a bang with the same hand once its in place.]

Uh, its like sixteen sizes too big. It looks like a tent.

[ Alright, so it's hardly a functional thing to wear day-to-day. There's a very slow grin, though, even despite her dismissal of the article of clothing. ]

Not form-fitting enough for you, is it? Think of it as comfortable sleepwear.

[She raises an eyebrow like she means to counter his argument, but looks instead to glance down at herself one more time.]

Yeah, alright, I can give you that.

[Fiona reaches for her hat again, taking it off briefly to consider the sleepwear get-up--

But it lasts for about three seconds before she pulls it back over her head. She's too attached, even if the baggy shirt wrecks her look.]

I'm sure you have sixty more anyway.

Is that an admission that you're going to hold onto it, then?

[ He reaches for the glass he had set down, finishing its contents before he stands. The moment's been broken and so he lets off on the pressure, going back to how casual he was earlier, muscles relaxing just a bit. ]

[She watches him suspiciously and pulls her knees a bit closer when he stands. Her shoulders relax, and she opts for silence in regards to his question. He'd complimented her when there was nothing to compliment, she knows how the game is supposed to work.

But he's walked away. That's not how its supposed to work. Was it the splint? Did he feel sorry for her all of a sudden?

With the alcohol traveling through her bloodstream, she gets stuck in her thought loop and forgets to answer him at all. Her focus stays between the front of the shirt and the edge of the splint he's fashioned.]

It's not as fun when you just give things to me.

[--wait, that's not what she had wanted to say at all.]

I mean--yeah. I guess I will.

[ He's silent for a long moment, considering her with just the barest hint of a smile. Christ, alcohol can really do things, can't it? She's certainly an easier one to pick off after a few drinks, but does he want to pick her off right now, is the question? Keeping allies in a place like this seems slightly more important than reckless fucking. Though, of course, the two aren't mutually exclusive. ]

Try not to sound so fucking forlorn and think of it as a one-time thing. It won't happen again.

Right. Yeah.

[Gosh, she's starting to get dizzy. Though she can't remember exactly what she just said, some part of her is obviously slightly mortified by it. So Fiona pauses and gets herself to stand without falling and immediately heads for the door.]

Well I'm just--going to go then. Won't happen again.

[The last part is said in a scolding tone, like it had been her point to make in the first place, before she swings herself out of the room via the doorframe. She'll make it back eventually.]

patch you up

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject