(no subject)
In an unfamiliar kitchen sat a woman, worse for wear and with a cooling cup of tea held between her palms. She'd run a comb through her hair, tied it back from her face, splashed a bit of water on her cheeks to wash away the smudge of mascara around her eyes, and she'd changed out of her bloody shirt, but otherwise, she'd done little to improve appearances.
She had more important things to worry about.
The doctor-- a kind, jittery young man with ridiculous hair -- had told her the baby was just fine, and even though she was wary of this whole bloody situation, for now, she could do nothing but believe him.
There were things to deal with, thoughts to sort out, both lingering from Wales and problems so fresh and new she hardly knew where to start. The worst of it, by far, was that George hardly knew her. They'd been through so much together, and now... Now they were back at the start.
It could be a blessing, maybe, in the long run, but in the moment, it seemed like an obstacle so insurmountable that the two of them would never be what they once were. And there was that simple revelation that on the nights of the full moon, she'd have to make no special preparation. No traipsing off into the woods, no chicken, no bag packed, no cold fear that this time would be the night she hurt someone. Killed someone.
George had been wrong. There was a cure, it just happened a bit differently than they'd imagined.
Huffing out a quiet laugh to herself, Nina pushed a fallen lock of hair from her eyes, taking a sip of cold tea and wrinkling her nose at the bitterness. Right then, she allowed herself two more minutes of sitting 'round feeling sorry for herself, then she'd pull herself together and move in the only direction that wouldn't turn her into a self-destructive waste.
Forward. Toward what? Well, that was where things got a bit fuzzy.
[[Timed to this evening, after the dinner rush. She's only been on the island a few hours, but everything's more or less been explained. If you want, you can assume that if you're especially close to George (canonmates or girlfriends/girlfriends of friends), you've already been told that she's here. Open to all. ST/LT always welcome.]]
She had more important things to worry about.
The doctor-- a kind, jittery young man with ridiculous hair -- had told her the baby was just fine, and even though she was wary of this whole bloody situation, for now, she could do nothing but believe him.
There were things to deal with, thoughts to sort out, both lingering from Wales and problems so fresh and new she hardly knew where to start. The worst of it, by far, was that George hardly knew her. They'd been through so much together, and now... Now they were back at the start.
It could be a blessing, maybe, in the long run, but in the moment, it seemed like an obstacle so insurmountable that the two of them would never be what they once were. And there was that simple revelation that on the nights of the full moon, she'd have to make no special preparation. No traipsing off into the woods, no chicken, no bag packed, no cold fear that this time would be the night she hurt someone. Killed someone.
George had been wrong. There was a cure, it just happened a bit differently than they'd imagined.
Huffing out a quiet laugh to herself, Nina pushed a fallen lock of hair from her eyes, taking a sip of cold tea and wrinkling her nose at the bitterness. Right then, she allowed herself two more minutes of sitting 'round feeling sorry for herself, then she'd pull herself together and move in the only direction that wouldn't turn her into a self-destructive waste.
Forward. Toward what? Well, that was where things got a bit fuzzy.
[[Timed to this evening, after the dinner rush. She's only been on the island a few hours, but everything's more or less been explained. If you want, you can assume that if you're especially close to George (canonmates or girlfriends/girlfriends of friends), you've already been told that she's here. Open to all. ST/LT always welcome.]]