you turn my ocean deepest blue (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
interjection) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2017-03-28 08:34 am
interjection) wrote in bakerstreet2017-03-28 08:34 am
Entry tags:
So many pieces to put back together
shipping meme 
|
[Either role, both shipping and gen welcome!]
( can start as gen, and we can just see where it goes... all things considered, between these two. and for a chance of pace, Samara's injured during mission & they're stuck somewhere where Normandy can't fetch them for a while? feel free to PM if something doesn't work, etc. )
It was equal parts adrenaline, pride, stubbornness and simple physical toughness that kept Samara up throughout the mission. Too many enemies, and one blast she did not manage to shield against. It hit her squarely in the waist and ribs, burning straight through the uniform and skin and flesh. A nasty wound, no doubt. It made her double her efforts, but eventually they were all forced to retreat regardless — Shepard's orders, and bound by her Oath, she obeyed. Worst of all, they had to split, with the enemies tearing right in between them. Shepard went one way, hopefully to safety, and herself and Thane had to retreat — quietly — in the opposite direction.
It helped, too, that a thresher maw decided to join the fray. And thresher maws did not discriminate, their victims any living or simply moving beings in their vicinity. It bought them time to escape without being followed. Between rocks and the foreign, and very, very sparse, flora of the planet, and into an abandoned pirate base. The same one they had just left, moments earlier, before running into an ambush. There was nothing of interest inside anymore, but that meant there were no enemies anymore either. For the time being, it was safe.
With the door secured behind them, Samara attempted to contact the Normandy, but communications were shot. Either fried or scrambled by the attacking Collectors. Before she could say as much, however, she stumbled, weakness and pain finally catching up. Was it not for the nearby crate, she would have fallen. For the first time in a long, long while.
"I cannot reach Shepard, nor the Normandy," that stumble? It didn't happen. Samara straightened with some effort, speaking calmly. "We are on our own."
It was equal parts adrenaline, pride, stubbornness and simple physical toughness that kept Samara up throughout the mission. Too many enemies, and one blast she did not manage to shield against. It hit her squarely in the waist and ribs, burning straight through the uniform and skin and flesh. A nasty wound, no doubt. It made her double her efforts, but eventually they were all forced to retreat regardless — Shepard's orders, and bound by her Oath, she obeyed. Worst of all, they had to split, with the enemies tearing right in between them. Shepard went one way, hopefully to safety, and herself and Thane had to retreat — quietly — in the opposite direction.
It helped, too, that a thresher maw decided to join the fray. And thresher maws did not discriminate, their victims any living or simply moving beings in their vicinity. It bought them time to escape without being followed. Between rocks and the foreign, and very, very sparse, flora of the planet, and into an abandoned pirate base. The same one they had just left, moments earlier, before running into an ambush. There was nothing of interest inside anymore, but that meant there were no enemies anymore either. For the time being, it was safe.
With the door secured behind them, Samara attempted to contact the Normandy, but communications were shot. Either fried or scrambled by the attacking Collectors. Before she could say as much, however, she stumbled, weakness and pain finally catching up. Was it not for the nearby crate, she would have fallen. For the first time in a long, long while.
"I cannot reach Shepard, nor the Normandy," that stumble? It didn't happen. Samara straightened with some effort, speaking calmly. "We are on our own."
[Witch to the rescue. She's not exactly sure how the man got injured, but it doesn't matter. He's hurt, and she knows that she can help. Plus, there's the little fact that she's not quite sure he's human, so dragging him into an ER might not be the greatest idea.
Despite her witchy instinct, she's not sure what he is. It's why, when she takes him home and sets him up on a fold out bed she reserves for guests, she places a ward around him to protect her from harm. Should he mean her no harm, he should be able to exit it. Should he have any ill intent? Well. He won't be going anywhere any time soon. She sits, waits for him to wake, Hagrid stretched out at her feet, seemingly non-plussed by the new addition.]
Despite her witchy instinct, she's not sure what he is. It's why, when she takes him home and sets him up on a fold out bed she reserves for guests, she places a ward around him to protect her from harm. Should he mean her no harm, he should be able to exit it. Should he have any ill intent? Well. He won't be going anywhere any time soon. She sits, waits for him to wake, Hagrid stretched out at her feet, seemingly non-plussed by the new addition.]
I had to look up how people reacted to bites in Buffy. Then I cackled.
whichwitchisit
- 2017-04-06 01:40 (UTC) - ExpandHee hee. It varies from person to person, obviously, but... hey. Git 'er done.
idolpire
- 2017-04-06 01:42 (UTC) - Expand[ most likely the one needing to be nursed but could be the nurse, too. ]
[ It's no surprise that Egil ends up coming down with a cold, with the amount of stress he's been handling lately -- and Jericho feels almost entirely responsible.
He spends an inordinate amount of time mindlessly reading labels on medicine boxes. They all seem to have the same basic ingredients and boast the same promises, and once he finds himself filling in catch phrases before he's even read through them, he tells himself he can't avoid being in the same room as Egil for much longer. He doesn't want to be apart for so long, but he gets the distinct impression that his presence is largely unwelcome. He bears the responsibility for that, too.
This is one of the smaller places they've frequented; there's very little room to actually be alone when the studio is almost completely open, and on top of that, there's one bed. It's big enough for two, but he's bypassed it completely in favor of the overstuffed armchair that still manages to leave a crick in his neck each morning.
Words between them have been kept to a minimum. Jericho doesn't feel like speaking, and yet spends most of his time trying to come up with something to say. Something that might make things right or offer the smallest modicum of comfort. But he feels the cavernous space keeping them apart despite the size of the room, the trust between them like dirt beneath his feet. Useless.
Now, he only speaks out of necessity. He sets a steaming mug, lemon-scented and sweetened with honey, at the bedside table, looking at the lump beneath the blankets. ] Egil. Drink this.
He spends an inordinate amount of time mindlessly reading labels on medicine boxes. They all seem to have the same basic ingredients and boast the same promises, and once he finds himself filling in catch phrases before he's even read through them, he tells himself he can't avoid being in the same room as Egil for much longer. He doesn't want to be apart for so long, but he gets the distinct impression that his presence is largely unwelcome. He bears the responsibility for that, too.
This is one of the smaller places they've frequented; there's very little room to actually be alone when the studio is almost completely open, and on top of that, there's one bed. It's big enough for two, but he's bypassed it completely in favor of the overstuffed armchair that still manages to leave a crick in his neck each morning.
Words between them have been kept to a minimum. Jericho doesn't feel like speaking, and yet spends most of his time trying to come up with something to say. Something that might make things right or offer the smallest modicum of comfort. But he feels the cavernous space keeping them apart despite the size of the room, the trust between them like dirt beneath his feet. Useless.
Now, he only speaks out of necessity. He sets a steaming mug, lemon-scented and sweetened with honey, at the bedside table, looking at the lump beneath the blankets. ] Egil. Drink this.
[ definitely the one needing a nurse lbr ]
Khloe Zhwan | Final Fantasy XIV | Fandom OC | OTA
the_fractured_heart
2017-03-28 03:19 pm (UTC)(link)
[A foul mouthed, tomboy, catgirl Dark Knight. She's prone to fighting so she's most likely the injured party, but I'm also open to having her be the healer.]
[ Probably the one needing some help. ]
[Either she took a pounding in defense of a colony, or perhaps she dragged a survivor out of a bad situation and had to care for them on her ship for a while. Happy to take it as far as you like!]
[ Up for a friendly alien nursing her back to health? ]
[[ooc: She's probably the one being nursed after getting in over her head somehow.]]
[Leave it to this guy to take in a strays... very likely after finding her way outnumbered by a rival gang. He tries to be tough and badass and but can't help doing dumb hero crap and trying to help. Not the best at actually providing medical attention beyond basic first aid, but he can give her a place to crash and recuperate!]
[I would love for Tim to be the pissy patient, sick or injured, crosscanon/medium A-OKAY!!]
(If DCTV is fair game want a Thea Queen? I do change up the whole bloodlust mess but she's canon through the 4 show crossover.)
[ probably the one nursing, but i'm good either way! open to cross-canon, too! ]
((Probably the one doing the patching))
[The one being patched up]
[Do you mind OCs? I don't have too much put together yet.
It could always be something AU-ish set while Prompto is out on his own.]
It could always be something AU-ish set while Prompto is out on his own.]
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