interpolation | patch you up

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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.
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[It was only a matter of time before Fiona slipped up. She's nowhere near close to perfect and, while she likes to think herself a great con-artist, she has plenty of moral hang-ups that she ought not to have that get her cornered at the worst of times. But the only way out was up, and the only way up was family politics.

Family politics involved a lot of...contact sports. Guns, knives, fists. At the end of the day, Fiona isn't a killer -- not really. She's totally capable of it, but its never her default and only a last resort.

So its become more common to see less and less of her, sometimes for days after she's been in a rough scuffle. She's not one for being fawned over or pampered, and the sting of injury often reminds her that she's still mortal. No matter how many times she might scrape away by the skin of her teeth, death could always be just a misstep away.

Tonight, its late when she's opted to return to Lilith's Crossing -- its done purposefully to make it less likely that she might run into someone on the long trek back to her room. She's nursing something at her side, but thanks to her attire, it makes it difficult to see exactly what the problem is.

But, as usual, tight body posture would give her away.]

[ He's out and about at the oddest fucking hour, not because he's looking for any sort of trouble, but because he can't sleep. The sisters had apparently thought a punishment consisting of almost-drowning a fellow captive would be an appropriate thing to put on display, making them all watch, and that had set off the familiar nightmares in Toreth's mind all over again. Fucking bitches. He didn't even particularly care about the person who had been tortured, only cared that he had been subjected to the flailing and gargling, the sight summoning back memories of how he had thrashed and fought but it hadn't helped. Water had filled his lungs, his pulse had stopped...

So maybe it's that very sobering recollection that has him not immediately making a derisive or teasing remark at Fiona when he sees her form in the hallway. The lack of a comment means that he gets the chance to observe her while he's unseen for longer than he usually would, and it only takes a few seconds, really, for him to notice that there's something wrong with the way she's walking. Her gait's all wrong, hand clasping at herself.

It's all very familiar. He sees the wounded all the time, or used to, and even if he didn't, it's staggeringly obvious. That it's night time means that she's trying to sneak back, then. Either that or she had only just sustained the injury. Well, bad fucking luck if she's trying to sneak.

He hesitates for only a few more seconds before he's striding over to catch up to her, deliberately taking loud steps so that she isn't caught by surprise. ]

Fiona.

[Damn it.

She manages not to swear out loud when she picks up on footsteps behind her, coming to a very short and straight stop when the voice registers. He will probably hear her exhale loudly through her nostrils, a clear sign that yes -- she had been sneaking. There's probably only one other person she would have wanted to been caught by less, and that was Rhys.

So as to not look suspicious, she doubles back just enough to force herself straight, carefully keeping her wrist out of view with clever positioning. It doesn't hide any of the bruising near her neck or her slightly swollen lip, or the smudged makeup where she had been hit.]

What?

[ Her response is far too casual for the state of mess her face is currently in, which is a fairly good indicator of the fact that she's completely used to this sort of thing. Well, she is a con-artist, and who knows what the fuck she's been up to around here. Toreth certainly doesn't.

There's still a flash of surprise at how fucking beat up she looks, though, even if the sight should come as no surprise to Toreth if he thinks about it too much. That's a nasty-looking beat-up on her face and along her neck, let alone whatever had happened to her side. His eyes fall on where she had been clutching just a few moments ago, an indicator that he hadn't missed it. ]

Jesus fucking Christ. [ And then: ] Don't fucking 'what' me, what the hell happened?

[ He moves in closer, mostly to examine. He's iffy about offering help. Mostly because it's Fiona, and he's certain she'd rather fight him in her current state than accept any help. Still, she looks awful. ]

[She doesn't make any effort to fight him when he approaches -- she'd lose with a broken wrist, and she's not about to embarrass herself like that. Even if he's seen the problem, she keeps it where she's hidden it out of pride. But Fiona does stay standing straight and gives him another sort of deadpanned stare when he tries to show concern.]

Don't worry about it.

[There's a lack of an aggressive or proud note in her voice, but she does avoid looking him in the eye when she says it, glancing down at his hands instead for intent.]

Edited (icons pls) 2015-05-10 17:38 (UTC)

[ Christ, she's stubborn. Toreth shoots her a fairly unimpressed look at that, especially because there's no fervor in the way she's speaking. She's usually quite adamant and passionate about Toreth fucking right off, although she's surprisingly diplomatic about how she phrases that sentiment most of the time, given how much he antagonizes her. ]

We're going to play that game, are we?

[ He remains still for a few seconds, and then, very tentatively: ]

Come on. My room's closer.

[ Because he isn't going to risk one of the sisters creeping up on them, or whoever Fiona had just scuffled with. ]

[He'll likely notice her jaw go tight with slight offense, like she's preparing to tell him off for trying to baby her before she glances down the opposite hall and decides against it. The sigh out of her nose is softer this time, but its there all the same as she turns to follow Toreth toward his room.

The charade is over, so its not difficult to see her swollen wrist and her torn and bloody sleeve once they're walking together. The blood doesn't seem to be her's at first glance, at least.]

Why are you even awake?

Edited 2015-05-10 18:14 (UTC)

[ It's his turn to stiffen up slightly, the tension across his shoulders noticeable especially because his body is turned towards her, assessing her injuries as they walk. The question's agitated him, but he tries not to let it show, even if the circles under his eyes are pretty evident, even without close inspection.

He shrugs, forcing himself to let go of the tightness in his body. ]

Who cares? What the fuck were you doing that you ended up like that?

[ Redirect. Redirecting is easier, especially when the question is entirely genuine, Toreth taking in the state of her wrist and sleeve, and that blood, fuck. ]

You sure gave somebody a run for their money. The question is, did you do that literally, or figuratively?

[The redirect would've been thrown out the window if he hasn't been smart enough to ask the question the way he had. She scoffs very lightly, which ends up hurting and making her wince just a little.]

Can't talk about it, but I try not to let anyone get the wrong idea about me.

[Like that she was a good girl who couldn't fight. She didn't necessarily want to fight all the time, sure, but you couldn't let anyone know that on Pandora. Why would things be different here?]

Got ganged up on anyway.

[The Maeve would likely let her have it later for embarrassing them. She should've known not to go to the same house twice, especially alone.]

Yet you managed to get out pretty well-off.

[ More a statement than a question, and he sounds slightly impressed. Her wounds are bad, sure, but they don't quite look like ones sustained by somebody who's been ganged up on and gotten the shit kicked out of them.

He finally looks away from her only when they've reached his door, and he goes through the motions of unlocking it, letting himself and her in. He waits for her before he moves to closes the door behind them. Very casually: ]

Work for the sisters?

I'm really good at running away.

[That's about where she goes silent, focusing on keeping her wrist still when she moves in after him. With light, its much more obvious that the fight was not as clean as it looked. The red shade of her jacket his most of the dirt and grim, even if her white patched pants hadn't. It still doesn't look like anyone managed to do more than get some punches in and maybe a few swings of a weapon.

The bruise on her neck is telling as to how they got anything at all.]

Yeah.

[ He locks the door behind them, more for peace of mind than anything. He doubts anyone's followed Fiona if she's made it this far in her shape, but it's a good habit to have, anyway. A good habit used by him to stop Fiona from getting into his room, actually. He almost laughs, but instead just shakes his head, reaching for the light switch and shit.

It doesn't look, at first glance, like she has a whole lot of open wounds, but the scuffle she's been in is apparently way worse than he had previously thought. ]

Christ. Are you working as their fucking attack dog, or something?

[ He runs a critical eye over the state of her neck, then nods towards the chair by the vanity. Because fat fucking chance he'll let her have the comfort of the couch. She's a mess. ]

Not exactly. I'm just popular.

[A line she's used more than once, and one she isn't afraid to use again and again.

At first, it looks like she might refuse the chair. Truthfully, she'd rather be back in her own room wrapping her wrist and sleeping off the rest. She could've showered in the morning, and nobody would be any wiser to her nightly runs. But seeing as he's shut the door and she isn't going to be able to fight him to open it, she drops her ass in the chair a bit heavily and leans back.]

Its better if you don't ask questions.

Mm. True. I'm not going to lie for you if push comes to shove.

[ Seeing as she's deciding to stay put and plop herself down, Toreth feels it's safe enough to go in search of the little first aid kit hidden under the bed. It hasn't gotten much use with all the good behaviour he's been on, and so it's fairly well-stocked when he pulls it out, bringing it over to place on the vanity.

Another brief look at her, and then he goes back to opening up the kit. ]

It's going to be better for you if you're honest about all your injuries. [ The wrist is an obvious start, and so he pulls out a roll of bandages to begin with. He pauses. ] Want a drink while you're here?

Is that a bribe or a threat?

[She says nothing more about her injuries other than her gentle inquiry. It seems like she might even ignore his question altogether before she lets her head rest back tiredly. Now that she's stopped moving and sat down, she aches all over -- a dull sort of ache that's almost as relaxing as it isn't.

Let it never be said that Fiona didn't have a bit of thrill seeker's blood in her. Maybe with a side of masochism.]

Make it a double and I won't argue.

[ He relaxes when she agrees to the drink, because that means they're going to be getting somewhere after all. He'd been expecting a struggle at every step of the way; bullying to get things done. He's used to that, at least. This is infinitely better, though.

He places the roll of bandages down on the vanity next to the kit, moving off to pour them both four fingers of whiskey. A few moments and he's back again, offering the glass to her on the side of her good hand. He takes a mouthful of his own drink before putting it down, the bandages back in his hand. ]

How often has this happened?

[ She seems awfully used to being injured. He gestures for her wrist. ]

[She lifts it wordlessly for him at first, flinching when she remembers that gravity exists. That's about the moment she reaches for her glass, swallowing down irritation and a bit of pride.]

Not often. I'm usually faster.

[It was just one broken bone anyway -- she's aggravated they were able to hold her down long enough to manage it, but what's done is done. She'll be off the job for a bit now. Its probably not a bad thing.]

[ He'll believe that, after seeing her in action robbing him and stealing one of those balls from right under his nose. Toreth grunts noncommittally, quiet as he -- surprisingly gently -- takes her wrist in his hand, thumb rubbing over her skin to check the injury and where it might be swelling. It'll be a lot easier if the bones are all in alignment and it's a clean break -- he isn't too confident in his ability to realign it without it being an incredibly painful process, and even then, he'd only be willing to go for a closed reduction. ]

Christ, I'll never understand you types. It's fucking nice being on the right side of the law, you know? Less of this. [ It's said fairly conversationally. ]

Different laws around here.

[The swelling might suggest otherwise, but she doesn't actively recoil any until he finds the break -- maybe she forced it back in place herself? Its hard to tell.

The reply he gives her means she doesn't have much in return for him. She isn't a thief because she ever wanted to be, it was just the only option she ever had. 29 years of stealing to eat and survive doesn't train out easy.

But the way her lip curls in reply and the way he avoids his eyes in favor of watching him fiddle with her wrist indicates that she doesn't want to talk about it.]

[ It doesn't take being an interrogator to pick up on her reluctance to talk about it. He decides not to press, trying to find something else to talk about that she might be more receptive to. Something to distract from the pain as his fingers gently press and locate the break. Clean. Clean as you can get a break, or at least his manipulations don't find anything more out of the ordinary.

One hand still holding her wrist, he shoves around the contents of the first aid kit, searching for a splint, or something as close to one as he would recognise. First aid is apparently lagging way behind here, because he doesn't find it straight away. ]

The hell were the laws like where you're from? They seem just about non-existent to me.

[The whiskey had disappeared faster than she thought it would, leaving her focused on not flinching while he tries to continue conversation. The sigh of pain comes out of her nostrils, forced but an easy sign that she really detests broken bone pain.]

You're right. They are.

[Laws, no. Rules? You learned those as you went.]

[ Mm. That explains... well, a lot about Fiona. ]

So that's why you've got no sense of privacy, is it? [ Referring to her digging around his fucking room. He pauses, locating something that he's pretty sure is a splint, and then he starts speaking again as he brings it to her wrist, holding the two together as he reaches for the bandage with his other hand. ] And it explains why you were so touchy about the ball and being called a lady. This must be some sort of lap of luxury for you in comparison, though. No?

I don't know if I'd call it a lack of respect for privacy.

[Girl's gotta eat. Bills to pay, mouths to feed. She's only a little offended by that assumption, not nearly enough to say anything else about it.

The splint doesn't really feel good -- she imagines it might be better once everything is steady, but she knows better than to bet on that.]

I don't exactly call sex slavery luxury, but everything else--I guess its close.

Edited 2015-06-27 08:30 (UTC)

Having a maid's not too bad.

[ It's a grudging concession, because of course they'd all rather be anywhere but here. Which is sort of scary for Toreth to admit, because hell, he likes sex, and he wouldn't have a problem with living the high life in return for fucking people if it weren't for the irritating power being exerted upon all of them.

Since Fiona's brought up the topic of sex slavery, he decides to ask as he begins wrapping the bandage firmly around her wrist, fixing the splint in place. ]

Are you doing a lot of that? Fucking for them. Fighting for them's one thing, but fucking? That's the golden ticket, isn't it? [ Really, he's just curious as to the who, and also what her standards are. ]

Meh.

[If it hasn't already been obvious, Fiona didn't like having things done for her. There was always the lingering thought in regards to how the makes were getting paid, but she doesn't opt to bring that up. Maybe they weren't getting paid at all.

She doubts it though.

By some miracle, she manages not to attempt to jerk her wrist from him when he opts to move to the topic she's wanted to avoid. Her teeth grind a little uncomfortably, and her eyes shift down to the bandages he's wrapping.]

Golden ticket, yeah.

[It wasn't really a secret that she was doing the bare minimum in that department. Maybe that was why the jobs were getting tougher.]

u know who i want

yesss it's going to be disgusting

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