Wounded Warriors [open to all Batman Rogues in need]
Alixia wasn’t sure when it actually happened. Okay, that’s a lie. She knew. She remembered that night incredibly well. The next morning, she called and screamed at the person responsible. Nothing like ruining a loonies process, that she followed like religion.
It was almost 2:30 AM, and Alixia had been in bed since 10 PM on the dot. That was thanks to her OCD, which brought on many habits. Some strange, some helpful, and some just plain old fucking annoying. In the past few years though, since living alone, it got worse. More habits and rituals appeared.
She was brutally woken by banging at her door, which made her heart leap into her throat. Cautiously checking, her heart now dropped the other way. A Gotham Rogue was outside her door, clearly injured. Any normal Gothamite would have called the cops, but noticing the injury was the end of the story for her. She HAD to fix him. She had too. Her brain was already working out the plan on what needed to be done. Clearly, he couldn’t just go to the hospital.
That was it. That night, she officially became what a certain bubbly clown called her, the Rogue Nurse. Word eventually spread, bringing her here.
Waking up again, on another random, dark Gotham night, at who knows what time, hearing the buzzer go off, indicating her door had opened. For quicker access, she left a hidden key for them to get in. Less chance of being caught.or.seen
“Who’s there this time?” She asked, pulling her sweater on over her tank top and shorts, loosely tying it around her waist.
She needed to know her currently wounded visitor, that way she knew what kit was needed. Yes, each Rogue had their own emergency kit and coded binder, so she could keep track of their visits and injuries and payments. It was also more sanitary to her that they didn’t have to share supplise from the same one. She wasn’t going to keep doing it for free, definitely not with how often they visited and the risk she was taking. The code was made so incase her job was found out, it’d look like jibberish and they wouldn’t know who she associated with.
“The plastic is down on the bed so you can come back,” She called, looking to her now shiny bed, sighing softly as she waited for her woundes friend to come in and sit. The word friend being used loosely. Atleast, it depended it was. They all got her welcome ritual anyway.