bakerstreet | minor injury meme.

minor injury meme.

You or your meme partner has been hurt, but don't worry! This time around it's not that bad. You can still limp your way out of this mess.

INJURIES.
1. Sprain/strain. How did you screw up walking?
2. Broken bones. Simple fractures still hurt.
3. Cuts. Hopefully one of you has a sewing kit.
4. Burns. Location, location, location. Let's pray this one isn't on your ass.
5. Concussion. No, they're most likely not holding up fifteen fingers.
6. Other. I'm not a doctor.

HOW'D IT HAPPEN.
1. Stupidity. You did this to yourself.
2. Accident. Is an unintentional attack still an attack?
3. Attack. Don't lie, you deserved it.
4. Other. It's probably still your own fault.

WHERE'D IT HAPPEN.
1. Home. Did you remember to invest in a first aid kit?
2. School/Work. This should be excellent for getting you out of doing stuff!
3. Outdoors. Predators like the smell of blood. Clean up asap.
4. In the water. Hopefully there aren't any sharks!
5. Other. Like a hospital. That'd be handy.

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[Can be either role.]

[Lucifer marched into her room without so much as a knock or a by your leave. He was noticeably annoyed and he used that bit of a surprise to let his eyes flick over her, taking it all in before he stood there, hands on his hips looking like a put out housewife.]

I'll have you know, Detective, I'm not the least bit fond in finding out my-- you have been injured because your offspring took it upon herself to call me to 'come help mommy get in and out of her shirt so she stops crying about not being able to'. What in the bloody hell have you gone and done to yourself?

[It was inevitable that she get hurt on the job eventually. Chloe didn't shy away from pain; it was something that came with being a cop, a possibility she'd been trained to handle. That didn't make it any less unpleasant or downright embarrassing to deal with, considering it was such a stupid injury. She'd been standing in front of her mirror, attempting to (slowly) change the bandages covering up both of her hands when he'd just waltzed in like he owned the place.

She closed her eyes and sighed. She would need to have a talk with Trixie about using her cell phone without asking later, but for now she had him to deal with.]

First of all, you need to seriously stop breaking into my house. Second, there has been absolutely no crying-- [Well, maybe some tearing up in frustration BUT that was neither here nor there.] --and I'm fine. It's just a minor accident.

[She was cradling her hands out of sight from him, but he might've gotten a glimpse of the bloody bandages she'd been peeling off a moment before.]

I thought I was welcome in this home, not that it matters as the aforementioned small person let me in. Your eyes are red. There was some crying and-- Bloody hell, woman, what have you gone and done to your hands?

[He'd caught sight of red. Red was a lovely color and normally he didn't mind it. Not even when it was blood. But seeing it on her reminded him all too vividly of the last time, when she'd been lying there, blood splattered up her neck, her life bleeding out of her and him helpless to do anything. The way it made his stomach clench was not pleasant, and like anyone who was emotionally stunted, he directed that at her.]

Minor how, mm? What, did you drop your ring in a blender and decide to go fishing for it while it was still on?

[While she knew that he was just concerned for her and appreciated the sentiment, it was hard not to roll her eyes a bit at how dramatic he was being. Honestly, it's not like she was dying.]

Calm down. It's not nearly as bad as it looks, and I'm sorry about Trixie. She really shouldn't have called you over here like this. She knows better.

[She'd been doing her best to make her injury seem as small and unthreatening as possible, trying to avoid showing discomfort or pain in front of her, but like usual, Trixie saw way more than she let on.]

I was at work last night with some other cops trying to make an arrest. Our guy resisted, there was a scuffle, I fell and landed on my hands in some broken glass. That's all.

[He strode into the room now, kicking the door closed behind him. He wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't going to yell more, and while he professed a dislike or lack of caring over Trixie, he didn't like knowing she was hearing adults bickering. She'd heard it from her parents enough and, while most certainly not her father, he was... someone in her life. Odd as that was.

Besides, this was between him and her mother. He stopped in front of her and held out his hands, that pissy little look still on his face, though there was a tightness around his eyes, that lingering fear still there from when he'd heard that quiet voice tell him mommy was hurt.]

She's a child. They do as they please. And she felt that someone needed to take care of you. In a moment of clarity, she realized she wasn't capable of it and called someone who was. Now give me your damn hands so I can see how bad it is.

[Because while whatever it was they had between them was new, he still knew her. Knew she'd downplay it, just as he'd play up any of his injuries to get pity and babying out of her. She was a woman in a man's world, fighting every day to be taken as seriously as her male colleagues. He understood she couldn't show weakness in front of them, but... he wasn't them.]

[She swallowed when he moved to shut the door behind him, intently watching his face as he did so. That was... thoughtful of him. Her and Dan used to get into arguments so often that she would - as ashamed as she was to admit it - oftentimes not even think to try and shield Trixie from it anymore. Not that her and Lucifer were in a fight, but she didn't want to worry her daughter anymore than she already seemed to be.

And even though she knew he disliked kids, she couldn't help but let a small smile touch her lips as he defended her from a future scolding. Shaking her head, she gently held out her still mostly bandaged hands to him, palms up.]

I already saw the medic last night. They got all the glass out and cleaned me up, so as long as they don't get infected, I should be mostly healed up in a week or so. I mean it, it looks worse than it really is.

[She couldn't help but repeat herself from earlier, because she knew he wouldn't be happy with what he'd see under her bandages. Most of her cuts were shallow lacerations lining her fingers and edge of her hands. She'd landed in one spot so most of the damage was maintained to the point of impact. But there had been one larger piece of glass in particular that had sliced right into the fleshy portion of her palm, reaching all the way across. They'd bled a lot, and they looked angry against her skin, but they were minor. Considering she could've landed on her face had her reflexes not kicked in, she'd take it.]

Edited 2016-06-01 01:52 (UTC)

[He plucked at the bandages, not looking up at her for fear he'd see the other part of him peeking out. That part that wanted retribution for her injuries. That part that would be visiting whoever she'd caught to have a nice little chat about why men don't hit women or cause them to fall onto glass.

When he got them undone and looked at the mess of stitches and red, angry wounds, he felt a very strong urge to punch someone in the face. Repeatedly. If Malcolm had been handy, he would have enjoyed that very much. Even though he was livid, furious with whoever had caused this, his hands were incredibly gentle as he touched her wrists, lifting her hands to take a look at how bad the damage truly was.

As she said, it wasn't that bad. It looked worse than it was and he knew that it likely felt worse than it was as well. Hands. So many nerve endings in hands and fingers and she'd gone and sliced them all up. Idiot woman.]

Infection might come more quickly if you're tearing stitches trying to do things you can't. Why don't you have a nurse come help you until they heal? Or are you that bullheaded?

[She could tell he was furious. An angry Lucifer was something she's become quite adept at identifying, especially when it came to his face and the tension around his eyes. She could see the light crease between his brows as he examined her, could hear that deathly quiet tone of voice, usually so light and mischievous, that spoke of a vicious temper, an almost righteous kind of rage she still didn't entirely understand.

Still, he was being unbelievably gentle, as she knew he would be. That didn't stop her from mentally rebelling at his suggestion, already knowing he wouldn't be interested in hearing her dissent. Sometimes we don't always get what we want.]

I'm not doing anything I can't. I'm on leave for the rest of the week and they're letting me take work home, most of which is just writing reports on my laptop anyway. I don't need a nurse to do every little thing for me.

[Perhaps she'd been struggling a little with changing her bandages and clothes, but she refused to be dressed by a stranger. She wasn't completely inept, just a little impaired for a very short while.]

You do if it requires you to use your hands. Some damage can be irreparable, Detective. You should be aware of that. How good of a shot will you be if you damage the nerves in your hand and can't pull the bloody trigger. It's your hands, Detective. You need to take care of them. Much like the rest of you. It'd help if you didn't get injured in the first place, but clearly you can't seem to help it.

[He was still furious, thinking of how good it would feel to hear and feel cartilage break under his fist as he smashed it into someone's face. Her hand was bad, but it could be worse. He finally lifted his gaze to hers when he didn't feel like his would flare red. He sighed, trying not to let the rest of his very righteous indignation be directed at her.]

You need help, Detective. There's no shame in that. It's more shameful to cause yourself undue harm and pain out of stubborn pride. Trust me, darling, this is a subject I'm very familiar with.

[She kept quiet as she listened to him, eyes flickering across his face as he made his point. He wasn't wrong in that she did need to be careful and take care of herself, but she didn't entirely agree that simple tasks would irrevocably harm her. She should probably avoid driving for the next week or so, and would need to baby her hands more than usual, but that certainly wasn't something she needed a professional for. Or at least that's what she told herself.

Perhaps some part of her just didn't want to feel like a burden. Especially over something so minor. She couldn't stop the small flare of irritation at his jab about her being unable to keep herself safe, but it died down almost as soon as his ire seemed to ease, leaving resignation behind in its place.]

Fine, alright, I get it. You've made your point perfectly clear, Lucifer. And I appreciate your concern, I really do, but you can stop scolding me anytime now.

I will when it seems it's actually sunk through that thick head of yours.

[He looked around, grip still light on her wrists.]

Well? Where's all the things you need, mm? The lotion or salve or whatever medical goop needs to go on to prevent that nasty infection? The new bandages to put on these mangled mitts of yours? How am I to do my job with no tools, mm?

[She carefully moved to extract her hands from his so she could take a seat on the bed, motioning behind her with a tilt of her head.]

Bandages and ointment are sitting on the dresser right over there. They gave me some pills if I have any pain, but I'm good without those for now.

[A sigh as she situated her hands, keeping them slightly elevated. Might as well try for some humor.] You know, if you think this is bad, you should really see the other guy.

For now, I suppose. You'll take one before bed and that's the last I'll hear of that.

[He went over to the dresser, picking through what she had before bringing it all over to the bed. He arched a brow at her, mouth opening to shoot back something scathing about how it wasn't funny at all, but he stopped himself. He knew what she was trying to do. Heaven knows he did it enough himself, but he'd never had anyone try it on him before. Normally he was the one trying to make light of a nasty situation. There was a moment where he thought about the fact that he was annoyed enough to need calming, then at her for trying it. He settled with a hum for a moment as he picked out the ointment and brought a hand over to start daubing it lightly with it.]

Oh, don't worry, love. I will. When I'm done here.

[Was that a threat? To the guy?

...

Probably.]

[Muttered under her breath:] Yes, Mom...

[She blinked at his lackluster reaction. Alright, so her joke wasn't funny. She knew that. It'd been a poor attempt at injecting brevity into the situation, and he obviously wasn't in the mood for it. Even so, his shortness with her was a bit... startling. She figured he was upset, but not this upset, considering he was usually the one to crack jokes at awkward moments. She fell quiet then as he dabbed at her hand, her mouth only curling into a small grimace as her wounds reacted to the new sensation.

His next words set alarm bells off in her head, though. Her tone carried a note of warning in it.]

Lucifer... he's already rotting in jail. Don't.

Edited 2016-06-02 05:55 (UTC)

Don't what? Teach a man how one should treat a woman? It's a lesson he apparently sorely needs.

[As much as his words were terse and clipped, he was as gentle as one could be as he tended to her, carefully smearing nasty smelling ointment on one hand before he reached for the bandages to start to wind around it.]

I taught him plenty of that on my own, trust me. I don't want you to get involved. The last thing I need is being out of commission and dealing with you being charged for aggravated assault.

[She barely glanced at her hands as she spoke, already know he'd do the job right caring for her. She was focused on his face, at trying to read him so she could figure out how to approach this.]

They'd have to catch me doing anything first.

[Implying they wouldn't. And he could ensure that. A quick slip in and out when no one was looking. He wouldn't kill the man. Not for just harming her -- even if a part of him really wanted to. But terrify him beyond all reasoning? Look at what he'd done to the last man to lay a hand on her. To the one who'd almost ended her life.]

I think you're forgetting a very key fact here, which is that I'm a part of that 'they'.

[He was incredibly important to her, yes, but at the end of the day, she would have to do everything in her power to uphold the law. She couldn't just knowingly allow him to stroll in there and harm someone, especially for her sake. She did remember what happened to Jimmy, far more than she liked to talk about; she'd seen the way he slammed his head into the glass before she'd blacked out, had glimpsed that brokenness in him when she went to go see him after. She's seen him throw someone through a window. Hell, she's seen him miraculously lift someone over three feet off the ground with his bare hands in a fit of rage. And while she understood anger, she needed him to understand that this wasn't how she did things. Not how they did things.]

Not if you're here, tucked safely in bed.

[He couldn't quite manage a smile at that, finishing the wrapping on one hand and moving to take the other to start applying ointment to it.]

You can no more control me than I you, Detective. All I can promise is that I'll not kill him. I wouldn't go that far.

I'm not trying to control you, I'm trying to reason with you.

[Her irritation began to slowly bubble up again, because now he was putting her in a difficult position. Why couldn't he just deal with things like a normal person? Oh, because he was the 'Devil'. Right. She didn't pull her hand away from him entirely, but her fingers began to curl in over her palm to make it harder to apply the ointment. If he was going to be difficult, then so would she.]

See, that's your problem, Lucifer. You say you wouldn't 'go that far,' but simply not killing someone doesn't mean you're not already crossing the line. You're not above the law just because you don't like it.

Man's law is made for Man, of which I am not, therefore, it doesn't apply to me. Would you throw a lion in a cage for eating a gazelle? No. And I'm not killing him, Detective. I'm punishing him. That is what I do, after all. It's been my entire purpose for ten billion years. I'm incredibly good at it. Asking me not to punish the wicked is like asking you not to...

[He snapped his mouth closed, pursing his lips as he kept himself from finishing that. He gave her an exasperated look as she intentionally made it more difficult for him to put the ointment on her, waiting with remarkable patience for her to uncurl her fingers so he could get to them. Doing it himself would cause her undo pain, and that was something he couldn't do.]

And you call me immature... open your bloody hand.

Wow. You are unbelievable. You really can't see past your ego and notice just how arrogant you sound right now? You're really going to compare a wild animal chasing prey for food to you getting... what, petty revenge? What good will that do? Contrary to your belief, you do not have the right to decide who gets punished and how. 'Man's law doesn't apply to me'? There's that God-complex rearing its ugly head again.

[She shot him a glare as if to dare him to finish that sentence. And while she knew she was being petulant, he'd struck a nerve somewhere, and she found herself far less willing to indulge him in his want to tend to her as her patience ran out. If he was going to act this way, she would rather deal with it herself. She'd choose the hassle over it any day. She carefully tried to extract her hand from his grasp, her lips pulled into a thin line.]

Or what? You'll punish me?

I've told you once, Detective, I've no such thing. And yet you insist on flinging His actions at me, as if I've any say in the matter.

[He didn't let go of her wrist, but he was still careful as he held it, meeting her angry gaze with one of his own.]

Contrary to your fantasies, you're not as bad as you like to think you are. Certainly not bad enough to require my punishment, though I'm certainly thinking about taking you over my knee. Even if I might get distracted-- would you bloody well hold still and open your bloody hands?

Everyone has a say in their own actions. And you know, for someone who keeps railing against God, you've certainly got the high and mighty act down perfectly.

[Did he-- really, Lucifer?]

Seriously? Why is everything always a joke with you?

[She struggled a bit more against his hold to no avail. While normally she wouldn't have any issue getting out of his grip, the stitches made it difficult to maneuver without harming herself. Didn't stop her from trying.] Let. Go.

Chloe Decker | Lucifer

... SURPRISE!

why hello there o/

I slipped and tagged you by accident.

Uh huh. Suuuuure

Totally by accidental on purpose. >>

If that's what we're calling it now.

Maybe we are...

WELL, IN THAT CASE... fine. :P

GOOD! ;)

:) ♥

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