Least I have chicken...? [Active]
Character(s): Sheik, Lightning
Content: Lightning would rather not help, and Sheik would rather not be helped. They fight crime.
Setting: somewhere in the general vicinity of City-Hall-I-guess-ish
Time: late evening/night, after this
Warnings: Some blood. Sheik pulled the whole damn room at once, so.
She'd had worse.
There was a time when that wouldn't have cut it, as an excuse. When Impa had been injured in their flight seven years ago, there had been a young princess there, eager to heal her, only to have her hands slapped away. I've had worse.
It was undoubtedly true, of course, but it wasn't a good reason. Neither then or now. In reality, there was simply more danger in getting help than in putting up with the wounds.
So Maleficent had her share of mindless minions, too. Not unlike him, in that respect. Useful to know, but she should have anticipated it.
"Wisdom... huh."
She'd managed to get away, at least, but not without a few parting gifts etched in red against the blue of her clothing. Her left hand, stained, pressed tightly against the base of her neck. The claw had missed the vein, or she'd be dead. Probably the wound would be minor if she'd dodged it by another half-inch.
Part of her was glad Impa wasn't here to see this. That there were ten, or thirty, or a hundred of them shouldn't have mattered. You're getting sloppy.
This should be far enough. Sheik sat heavily against a shadowed wall far enough from the nearest streetlamp, and keeping her left hand clamped on the wound, she began unwinding the bandages on the right with her teeth. They hadn't come out of the fight unscathed, either, but they'd stop the bleeding. Any worse and she'd leave a...
A spot of red against yellow jumped out at her, and it took her a long moment to decipher what it was. The yellow was the light from the streetlamp, its reflection off the sidewalk. The red was a half-formed footprint.
... Shit.
Content: Lightning would rather not help, and Sheik would rather not be helped. They fight crime.
Setting: somewhere in the general vicinity of City-Hall-I-guess-ish
Time: late evening/night, after this
Warnings: Some blood. Sheik pulled the whole damn room at once, so.
She'd had worse.
There was a time when that wouldn't have cut it, as an excuse. When Impa had been injured in their flight seven years ago, there had been a young princess there, eager to heal her, only to have her hands slapped away. I've had worse.
It was undoubtedly true, of course, but it wasn't a good reason. Neither then or now. In reality, there was simply more danger in getting help than in putting up with the wounds.
So Maleficent had her share of mindless minions, too. Not unlike him, in that respect. Useful to know, but she should have anticipated it.
"Wisdom... huh."
She'd managed to get away, at least, but not without a few parting gifts etched in red against the blue of her clothing. Her left hand, stained, pressed tightly against the base of her neck. The claw had missed the vein, or she'd be dead. Probably the wound would be minor if she'd dodged it by another half-inch.
Part of her was glad Impa wasn't here to see this. That there were ten, or thirty, or a hundred of them shouldn't have mattered. You're getting sloppy.
This should be far enough. Sheik sat heavily against a shadowed wall far enough from the nearest streetlamp, and keeping her left hand clamped on the wound, she began unwinding the bandages on the right with her teeth. They hadn't come out of the fight unscathed, either, but they'd stop the bleeding. Any worse and she'd leave a...
A spot of red against yellow jumped out at her, and it took her a long moment to decipher what it was. The yellow was the light from the streetlamp, its reflection off the sidewalk. The red was a half-formed footprint.
... Shit.