Beaten and broken, the will still doesn't break. (aka: Ziva becomes a pimpette) (Active/Open)
Characters: Ziva David, anyone who's around and feels like talking to her
Content: Fresh after the Central Park romp, Ziva's slightly injured and trying to take care of herself wherever the first aid group ended up.
Location: Wherever people were congregating after the raid on Central Park
Time of day: Backdated to a bit after the raid
Warnings: Description of wounds, Ziva's not in the best shape in the world.
While the teams entering the park hadn't found the people they were looking for, they had found something that could be used to figure out more about the situation. Ziva hadn't really got a good look at the thing the people had found, but she knew of it. She'd scrambled to get out of the park, and slowly had made her way over to where the first aid group had been camped out and where some others were.
Sitting against a small wall, Ziva inspected her wounds. A couple of cuts on her arms and stomach, plus she was covered in blood and some crab gunk. She'd taken out a couple of them with her gun and her other weapons she took with her into the park. Stopping at one of the cuts on her arms, she realized it was worse than she thought.
"Maybe I wasn't as lucky as I thought." She said aloud, using a corner of her jacket to try to clean it, only making it worse.
Content: Fresh after the Central Park romp, Ziva's slightly injured and trying to take care of herself wherever the first aid group ended up.
Location: Wherever people were congregating after the raid on Central Park
Time of day: Backdated to a bit after the raid
Warnings: Description of wounds, Ziva's not in the best shape in the world.
While the teams entering the park hadn't found the people they were looking for, they had found something that could be used to figure out more about the situation. Ziva hadn't really got a good look at the thing the people had found, but she knew of it. She'd scrambled to get out of the park, and slowly had made her way over to where the first aid group had been camped out and where some others were.
Sitting against a small wall, Ziva inspected her wounds. A couple of cuts on her arms and stomach, plus she was covered in blood and some crab gunk. She'd taken out a couple of them with her gun and her other weapons she took with her into the park. Stopping at one of the cuts on her arms, she realized it was worse than she thought.
"Maybe I wasn't as lucky as I thought." She said aloud, using a corner of her jacket to try to clean it, only making it worse.