[Locked] And that's just one small fraction of the main attraction....
[[Takes place after this thread. Backdated to sometime Saturday morning/afternoon.]]
Sark wakes up with a pounding headache and feeling very much like he was hit by a car. It takes him a few moments to remember that he actually was hit by a car- or a minivan, rather- and whatever hope he'd managed to dredge up that maybe this was another lesson in why he should never, ever get drunk fades away and he promptly faceplants into the nearest surface... Which happens to be cold metal.
That might be more disconcerting than the fact that he's sore in a way that suggests bruises and he was fairly certain he had quite a few injuries from that incident. Healing angels. Well, that's certainly strange, but he can't imagine what good he'd be in anyone's hands bled out or with a punctured lung... Most people, however, don't go to the trouble of healing someone's injuries unless they either plan to inflict worse or want to impress someone.
And considering the source...
And here he thought she was just some annoying, maniacal demon with a childish streak. Anyone who carries syringes in their purse is hardly anything of the sort. Is there anyone in this bloody city who isn't targeting him for some reason? Sardonically, he wonders if maybe he should just start a waiting list. It might be necessary, at this point.
Suzie is going to kill him. Not that he can rightly be blamed for getting hit by a car and abducted, just like he couldn't rightly be blamed for turning into a sick tiger and getting abducted. ...Or maybe he can be, because once that sort of thing happens twice, you really have to wonder what the hell it is you're doing wrong.
He opens his eyes slowly, blinking in the dim light and groans as he rolls over on his back to examine the ceiling and the walls. Very small cell is the conclusion after the cursory examination. Perfect. He can think of a number of reasons why that is concerning. Either that bloody red-headed wench is insane enough to keep cells in her basement or she's working for someone.
....Perfect.
Sark wakes up with a pounding headache and feeling very much like he was hit by a car. It takes him a few moments to remember that he actually was hit by a car- or a minivan, rather- and whatever hope he'd managed to dredge up that maybe this was another lesson in why he should never, ever get drunk fades away and he promptly faceplants into the nearest surface... Which happens to be cold metal.
That might be more disconcerting than the fact that he's sore in a way that suggests bruises and he was fairly certain he had quite a few injuries from that incident. Healing angels. Well, that's certainly strange, but he can't imagine what good he'd be in anyone's hands bled out or with a punctured lung... Most people, however, don't go to the trouble of healing someone's injuries unless they either plan to inflict worse or want to impress someone.
And considering the source...
And here he thought she was just some annoying, maniacal demon with a childish streak. Anyone who carries syringes in their purse is hardly anything of the sort. Is there anyone in this bloody city who isn't targeting him for some reason? Sardonically, he wonders if maybe he should just start a waiting list. It might be necessary, at this point.
Suzie is going to kill him. Not that he can rightly be blamed for getting hit by a car and abducted, just like he couldn't rightly be blamed for turning into a sick tiger and getting abducted. ...Or maybe he can be, because once that sort of thing happens twice, you really have to wonder what the hell it is you're doing wrong.
He opens his eyes slowly, blinking in the dim light and groans as he rolls over on his back to examine the ceiling and the walls. Very small cell is the conclusion after the cursory examination. Perfect. He can think of a number of reasons why that is concerning. Either that bloody red-headed wench is insane enough to keep cells in her basement or she's working for someone.
....Perfect.