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[gidge]

PICK YOUR POISON
PIC PROMPTS / TFLN / RANDOM SCENARIO
HAN SOLO velocities	BETTY MCRAE bombsheller	RIVER TAM subsulcus	RIVER TAM (AU) comprehender
SIMON TAM vest	BRIA THAREN exulted	NADINE CROSS bridaled	GU JUN-PYO toddler
available on special request: veronica sawyer, benjamin linus, imani, maria deluca, mushu, poseidon, niccolò machiavelli, malik al-sayf, chloe

Comments

[vest]

Simon frowns for a moment at her arm, at the blood, as if it has now personally offended him by virtue of being ridiculous.

"Well," he says, gently prodding the undamaged skin near the wound, "they weren't traditional enough to so something like poison the blade or use it well. How's your pain level? Do you want something while I work on it?"

Just like that, he's away from her side and going through cabinets, pulling out supplies as he plans a post-visit treatment regimen in his head. There should still be some antibiotics in the storage locker, and maybe enough of the gels to send her back with a container.

[warranter]

"Amateurs," she scoffs, tone light.

Just saying: she could definitely do better. It's not bragging if it's true, of course.

"Pain level's fine, just get on with it."

Which is what she always says, more or less. Khlyen's training left her with a high tolerance for pain, for one thing; Simon isn't exactly swimming in medicines for another. She can take it, which is good enough for her.

[vest]

For a moment, brief but there, he considers arguing the point. Insisting. But he's treated Dutch before, and he's already completed his inventory of his painkillers.

With a curt nod to himself, he makes his way back over to her side with a tray of supplies and starts his work. Cleaning, stitching, treating -- not the most complicated thing he's ever done, and he's done this particular medical song and dance on a seemingly endless loop since he started his work here. The movements are sure, he knows this by rote, but his mind wanders.

Silence, also, is weird. Though maybe that's just because it's Dutch, and not some anonymous patient of unknown moral standing that he'll never see again.

"We haven't seen any of you for a while. Have things been going well?"

[warranter]

They know this routine, both of them: Simon with his medicine, Dutch with being treated. She's a shit surgeon herself, much more frequently on the other end of things.

(Meaning: being examined. Also meaning: causing injuries, relative to taking them.)

Things have been going strange, if Dutch is being honest, ever since D'avin came into her life -- and back into Johnny's. It's one thing after another, between the things that were done to him in the military and Khlyen's reappearance, the mysteries of the RAC and Level 6 that have been dragging them in, the shitshow that's been the state of Old Town.

But Dutch wouldn't call herself honest, and Simon's got enough on his plate.

"Peachy keen," she says, light, tosses him a playful smile. "What about out here? Place like this, you can't be bored."

[vest]

'Peachy keen,' gets an unimpressed and skeptical look, but Simon doesn't press for more information. They've been out of contact for enough time that things either are going fine, or they're bad enough she doesn't want to talk about it.

He's dedicated his life to his sister, a girl who frequently doesn't want to talk about it. He knows the drill.

"Oh, you know," and where her tone had been light his is a little flat in its sarcasm, distracted, as his main focus remains on treating the wounds in front of him, "Never a dull moment in the exciting career of underground stitching services."

She walked in on him doing inventory for probably the tenth time that week. The adventure.