Characters: Wiccan, Willow, Tara
Content: Willow and Tara attempt to heal Billy's wound and fail :(
Location: Wiccan's place, Bryant Park Hotel
Time of Day: afternoon
Warnings: None that I can possible imagine. Stuttering, babbling and spazzing?
(
Lawl, power of three. )
Billy made his wobbly way to the door, and, steadying himself with one hand against the wall, opened it.
"Hi - thanks," he said, visibly relieved that she'd showed up - and even more visibly feverish and unwell. "This, uh, probably isn't the best first impression ..."
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She offered an arm, hoping to steer him towards some comfortable piece of furniture. "Oh, piffle. You've already won me over with your wit and witchery, this so isn't a first impression."
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"Not much witchery going on here right now," he said weakly, lifting a hand to push some hair out of his eyes - he'd have to remember to get it cut - as he looked up at Willow. "Or wit, actually. My brain feels like it got hit by ... I don't know. Like mush." He slumped forward slightly, looking away to make sure the blood wasn't showing through his jeans. It wasn't, which was good to know - not that it made him feel that much better. "I'm sorry about this, seriously ..."
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The redhead leaned over, reaching out to feel his forehead before she stopped. "Hey. Worrying about wit and apologising about me helping you are off limits, okay? We witchy types gotta stick together. I help you now, you don't try to get me burned at the stake later." Rolling her eyes at the lame joke, Willow raised her hand and wiggled her fingers, before pointing to Wican's forehead. "Uh, you don't mind? If I kinda-ineffectually take your temperature with the old fashioned and motherly forehead feel, do you?"
Mentally she was running through a list of spells that might be able to help. Of course, maybe it'd help if she narrowed down the list of what was actually wrong in terms of pains and ailments...
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"Burned at the stake?" He raised his eyebrows a little, managing a slight smile. "Sounds like a deal. I could, uh ... rain thunder down on your persecutors, or ... something, and - oh - Oh, sure, go ahead, my forehead is ... open for poking."
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He leaned back a little when she removed her hand from his forehead. "My leg," he said, indicating his right leg, just above the knee. "Here. It's kind of gross, and it's not really healing ... but I hear that's normal."
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An uncomfortable expression settled on her face before she shook herself. So not the time for the wallowing and the misery. "Can you show it to me? It might help with the treating."
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"Spandex?" Willow wrinkled her nose at him in a silly expression. "Really? What colour was it? Because it seems like it'd be really hard for spandex to be flattering." Her eyebrows inched up a little, although her eyes were still closed. "Then again, I'm not the most fashiony minded person in the world." She was verging on a ramble, but at least chattering would be a distraction while she inspected the bite with her magic. It felt... weird. Brow furrowed, she had opened her mouth to ask a little more about the crabs when there was a knock at the door ( ... )
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He could feel her using her magic to examine the bite. It was - weird, different, but it wasn't like he'd never encountered magic that wasn't the same as his own before ... still, he was trying his best not to focus on it. He'd been about to answer the question about the spandex (which was kind of flattering on some people! Really!) when Tara knocked. He watched Willow, slightly puzzled by the sudden flaily awkwardness, but he didn't ask, just smiled at Tara when Willow opened the door.
His smile froze a little when Willow introduced him, though, and he slouched a little, raising a hand in a shrugging sort of greeting. "Normally I wear pants," he agreed with a kind of resigned embarrassment.
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