(no subject)
Rachel has been busy. Actually, Rachel hasn't been seen much around Metropolis. In fact, Rachel hasn't been seen much of anywhere... aside from Detroit.
She comes back to the apartment in Metropolis at night, because Tobias sleeps there, too, and would worry if she didn't. And while she's never seen him, Rachel has a sneaking suspicion that she's occasionally followed to Detroit, and watched. Even though all she's really doing there is watching, too.
Unless, you know, something happens. And she's in a position to do something about it. Things like that happen, you know.
(very often)
Sometimes, they happen a little more unexpectedly than she'd like, where she's not in a position to help someone being targeted but is actually the target. The things attacking her rarely ever know exactly what they're getting into and she's yet to deal with any serious damage from any of them. But today, one of them got lucky and surprised her. And the morphing power, while useful and incredibly powerful, is not an exact science.
Rachel has been unable to morph or demorph without reopening a four inch gash across her collarbone and chest. In her human body.
It's getting complicated. Not to keep it covered - her wardrobe has always been modest, if stylish. And not to keep it clean - Rachel is nothing if not fastidious in her appearance.
It's that she literally cannot morph until she heals and it is taking too damn long.
It's only been about two hours since she got the cut, of course. And right now, she's standing in an abandoned drug store back in Metropolis, in the back room of the pharmacy. She's stripped off her outer shirt, standing there in jeans and the top half of her morphing outfit. The gash is large and ugly but not dangerous, not when she's surrounded by bottles of alcohol and sterile bandages.
No, the real problem is... the gash is going to require stitches. Rachel has only performed stitches twice in her entire life, both times on someone else.
She's eyeballing the sealed pack of needle and thread with a deep frown. There's no way she's coming out of this without a scar.
Stupid Andalites and their imperfect science.
She comes back to the apartment in Metropolis at night, because Tobias sleeps there, too, and would worry if she didn't. And while she's never seen him, Rachel has a sneaking suspicion that she's occasionally followed to Detroit, and watched. Even though all she's really doing there is watching, too.
Unless, you know, something happens. And she's in a position to do something about it. Things like that happen, you know.
(very often)
Sometimes, they happen a little more unexpectedly than she'd like, where she's not in a position to help someone being targeted but is actually the target. The things attacking her rarely ever know exactly what they're getting into and she's yet to deal with any serious damage from any of them. But today, one of them got lucky and surprised her. And the morphing power, while useful and incredibly powerful, is not an exact science.
Rachel has been unable to morph or demorph without reopening a four inch gash across her collarbone and chest. In her human body.
It's getting complicated. Not to keep it covered - her wardrobe has always been modest, if stylish. And not to keep it clean - Rachel is nothing if not fastidious in her appearance.
It's that she literally cannot morph until she heals and it is taking too damn long.
It's only been about two hours since she got the cut, of course. And right now, she's standing in an abandoned drug store back in Metropolis, in the back room of the pharmacy. She's stripped off her outer shirt, standing there in jeans and the top half of her morphing outfit. The gash is large and ugly but not dangerous, not when she's surrounded by bottles of alcohol and sterile bandages.
No, the real problem is... the gash is going to require stitches. Rachel has only performed stitches twice in her entire life, both times on someone else.
She's eyeballing the sealed pack of needle and thread with a deep frown. There's no way she's coming out of this without a scar.
Stupid Andalites and their imperfect science.