#nightmdic

elliot sits on the edge of the medical bed, angled uncomfortably as blood seeps from his face, dripping onto the medic's clean floor. it fucking hurts. the last time he was in a medical situation like this, it'd been in prison. now, with his lip busted open, his eyebrow split and a cheekbone protruding from his flesh, the crimson-faced villain ( literally ) waits for treatment as he can barely hold himself upright. the medic isn't doing this out of the goodness of her heart. he holds an intimidating knife up to her ribs where it shakes unsteadily. he's unstable, after his loss. don't test him.

send in " what's the verdict? " to hear what aisling's dads (stanley and richard) think about your muse! ( ACCEPTING! NO PRIOR INTERACTIONS NEEDED! )

" i told you we should've taken him to see marie. " stanley hasn't stopped pacing once since they got into the hospital. richard has to admire the obstinacy of his beloved; his early efforts to manually guide his husband to sit down were met with an almost elasticated resistance of his legs, knees bending, then straightening instantly to resume a strict pace of the room. nearly mechanical in how perfect it was; seven paces, turn on the heel, seven paces, turn on the heel, five tiles covered and nearly worn down to the foundations below.

" stanley, baby, he would've been a stubborn bastard with her, too. "

" you think she would've let him? " stanley's eyebrows lift over the dark frame of his glasses, pacing uninterrupted, instead increasing in velocity as new anxieties rise to his mind.

" point taken. " richard concedes, abandoning the magazine ( a 2015 edition of vogue ) and rolling his shoulders back as he leans forth on his knees. " but that's why she's so busy, right? not many can boss those stubborn heroes around like she can. "

" exactly; who else could handle anthony, huh? my god, they'll charge us extra just for the mental stress of dealing with him... marie would've had him fixed with just one look! and she'd have seen him in less than nine hours, too-- "

" baby. she's got so many coming to her these days, she probably might need the nine hours. the cost of being exceptional, right? plus, we both know she'd do anything to make sure people weren't turned away. "

stanley can't help but nod at that. richard takes his chance, and pushes himself into the relentless path of stanley's pacing. this time, he stops, and accepts the firmly loving embrace that pulls him into the seat next to richard, secured with little more than a hand to the knee. " she has a heart of gold... i worry about her, you know. "

" i know. "

" even though i keep taking everyone to her clinic before we ever consider the hospital, i just... w-we really should make her a care package. she'll make herself sick, working like this... maybe we can invite her to the lake cabin this year? give her a break? "

" would she take us up on it? "

" ...i don't even know what would happen if she took a vacation. maybe if she took on an intern? "

injury/injured starters

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ​ ┈⌯⁍𖦏 He stands before her with blood oozing out between his gloved hand, in slow pulses. Gunshot through and through on his side. He could usually stich himself but this was too deep. Too much. He barely scraped out of the fight. He didn't have time to die in some alleyway he had too much to do.

So that's how he found himself in the night clinic holding a pistol to a doctor's head and wheezing through gritted teeth. ❝ 「 Fix this. NOW. 」 ❞ It's barked lowly. He has no time to debate. He's bleeding out. Hood tilts the barrel to the side and fires a shot into the wall before returning the muzzle to her forehead.

   he didn't think that the ride on the ship he had stolen would be , uh , five stars ––– but he didn't think that , in a universe that was completely empty , would have such turbulence .

   and he had dealt with turbulence in that damned fucking ocean .

   at some point , in the middle of being thrown around against wall after wall , does he realize that he might have entered a whirlpool of sorts ; without a full set of arms , it's hard to find something to grasp upon and hold onto for long , and without the lights of the stars , one could assume that it's hard to navigate in complete darkness and emptiness . . . hence the whirlpool ( maybe he should have given it a little bit of thought , before just leaving that moon without a plan ––– this was still better than being in a prison cell or in that iron cage , though ) .

   there's a pause , and he can finally breathe a little , trying to stumble back up . . . and then the ship hits something , hard .

   he can't remember when he came to , but he can feel the high temperature next to him . looking to the side , he sees the ship burning . ah , shit . . . that's the last thing he needed . getting up is difficult ( not only due to the lack of needed aid , but also the dizziness . . . he is sure he is bleeding again , too ) , walking is even harder ––– and then he is just walking aimlessly , with his head throbbing at all times .

   said pain does not go away even when he understands , after perhaps a couple of seconds too long , that he has a woman talking to him . although , thankfully , even with all the pain in the world . . . he has the common sense of backing away , not trusting right away .

“that’s true,” she concedes as she blows a stray bit of auburn hair out of her face, having come loose from its ponytail, “could’ve gone a lot worse.”

hands settle on her hips as she surveys the situation, giving her heart a moment to slow from its jackrabbit pace. once she stops feeling it push against her ribs, winnie turns to supply marie with a warm smile.

His apartment is no place to take anyone — and he was deeply relieved that hers was closer, even if he doesn't like being in unknown territory.