Tin Man: Quick, Painless and Easy (2/?)
Title: 10:30, Tuesday Night
Series: Quick, Painless and Easy
Author: Vashti
Fandom: Tin Man
Character(s): Wyatt Cain, Azkadellia
Rating: PG
Summary: Helping her is reflexive.
Length: 200 words, or 466 words
tm_challenge Prompt: nature
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way. Series title inspired by the song of the same name by Ivy.
Notes: Written for this year's Big Prompt Table seasonal challenge at tm_challenge. If you want to follow along, my prompt table is here. I'm writing for Team DeMilo and thus have no time limit on for finishing these things. I'm wanting to do these all as a single story/series but I don't know how that's going to work out. You've seen how well my other prompt table endeavors have gone.
§§§
10:30, Tuesday Night (short)
by Vashti
He doesn’t know why he does it. Doesn’t want to know.
It’s reflexive.
She’s tried to stand too soon.
Before he knows it, he’s crossed the room and carried her into the lavatory.
He holds her. She’s been here nearly non-stop since she woke. She’s been plied her with soft, plain, food. Only to have it brought up again and again and again.
She’s crying, sobbing, when it’s all over.
Cain lowers her to the tiled floor. She seems to relish its coldness.
It takes a while, a long while, but she seems to gather strength from the floor. Strength enough to make it to her knees. But no more.
Trembling arms can’t hold her. She falls backward. Onto him.
He stiffens.
It’s reflexive.
She cringes. Whispers an apology. She tries to pull herself along with one hand and goes nowhere.
Cain wraps an arm around her.
“No,” she protests faintly.
He gets his other arm under her legs, stands and takes her back into her suite.
She bats at him, stubborn as her sister with a stick
The sheets are already disturbed. He’ll have to remind someone to change them.
She turns from him.
Cain stands. And he watches.
Fin[ite]
§§§
10:30 pm, Tuesday Night (long)
by Vashti
He doesn’t know why he does it. He doesn’t want to know why he does it. It’s not his job. Who would blame him?
He’d blame himself.
It’s a natural, reflexive action.
She’s tried to stand up too soon, he can see that easily enough. He might have let her go on except that she’s going to throw up again. He can see that easily enough, too. Before he knows it, he’s crossed the room in four easy strides, picked her up around the waist, and carried her into the lavatory with two more strides.
He holds her as bile comes up. He’s surprised she’s got even that in her. She woke up this morning and promptly vomited. She’s been in here nearly non-stop since. The medics, her sister and mother and father have kept her plied with liquids and soft plain food, only to have them brought up again and again and again. Cain had been there. Sometimes when the other royals’ unnamed, untitled bodyguards are in the room he’d taken a break, but he always returned. DG wouldn’t trust her sister with anyone else.
She’s crying, sobbing, when it’s all over. But it’s not very long before she can’t do even that. Her long hair is coming out of the braided crown her mother put it in as she sags forward in his arms.
Cain lowers her to the tiled floor. There had been a rug or mat. She seems to relish the coldness.
He can’t leave her. He would blame himself.
It takes a while, a long while, but she seems to gather strength from the floor. Strength enough to push herself up on her hands. Strength enough to make it to her knees. But no more.
Trembling arms can’t hold her up. Exhaustion, dehydration, weakness make her gravity’s toy. She falls backward. Against him.
He stiffens.
It’s a natural, reflexive action.
She cringes. Whispers an apology. She knows then who has helped her, and he knows then she thought he was someone else. She pushes at him with one hand, tries to pull herself along the floor with the other, and goes nowhere.
Cain wraps an arm around her.
“No,” she protests faintly. As faint and weak as her hand against his chest. “No.”
He gets his other arm under her legs, stands and takes her back.
She bats at him, stubborn as her sister with a stick, though there’s nothing she can do.
The sheets are already disturbed, so that’s no trouble. He’ll have to remind someone to change them, he thinks, as he places her on the bed.
She turns from him, curling in on herself, and trying desperately to burrow into sheets and bed things that she’s too weak to manipulate on her own.
Cain stands. And he watches.
Fin[ite]
Series: Quick, Painless and Easy
Author: Vashti
Fandom: Tin Man
Character(s): Wyatt Cain, Azkadellia
Rating: PG
Summary: Helping her is reflexive.
Length: 200 words, or 466 words
tm_challenge Prompt: nature
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way. Series title inspired by the song of the same name by Ivy.
Notes: Written for this year's Big Prompt Table seasonal challenge at tm_challenge. If you want to follow along, my prompt table is here. I'm writing for Team DeMilo and thus have no time limit on for finishing these things. I'm wanting to do these all as a single story/series but I don't know how that's going to work out. You've seen how well my other prompt table endeavors have gone.
§§§
10:30, Tuesday Night (short)
by Vashti
He doesn’t know why he does it. Doesn’t want to know.
It’s reflexive.
She’s tried to stand too soon.
Before he knows it, he’s crossed the room and carried her into the lavatory.
He holds her. She’s been here nearly non-stop since she woke. She’s been plied her with soft, plain, food. Only to have it brought up again and again and again.
She’s crying, sobbing, when it’s all over.
Cain lowers her to the tiled floor. She seems to relish its coldness.
It takes a while, a long while, but she seems to gather strength from the floor. Strength enough to make it to her knees. But no more.
Trembling arms can’t hold her. She falls backward. Onto him.
He stiffens.
It’s reflexive.
She cringes. Whispers an apology. She tries to pull herself along with one hand and goes nowhere.
Cain wraps an arm around her.
“No,” she protests faintly.
He gets his other arm under her legs, stands and takes her back into her suite.
She bats at him, stubborn as her sister with a stick
The sheets are already disturbed. He’ll have to remind someone to change them.
She turns from him.
Cain stands. And he watches.
Fin[ite]
§§§
10:30 pm, Tuesday Night (long)
by Vashti
He doesn’t know why he does it. He doesn’t want to know why he does it. It’s not his job. Who would blame him?
He’d blame himself.
It’s a natural, reflexive action.
She’s tried to stand up too soon, he can see that easily enough. He might have let her go on except that she’s going to throw up again. He can see that easily enough, too. Before he knows it, he’s crossed the room in four easy strides, picked her up around the waist, and carried her into the lavatory with two more strides.
He holds her as bile comes up. He’s surprised she’s got even that in her. She woke up this morning and promptly vomited. She’s been in here nearly non-stop since. The medics, her sister and mother and father have kept her plied with liquids and soft plain food, only to have them brought up again and again and again. Cain had been there. Sometimes when the other royals’ unnamed, untitled bodyguards are in the room he’d taken a break, but he always returned. DG wouldn’t trust her sister with anyone else.
She’s crying, sobbing, when it’s all over. But it’s not very long before she can’t do even that. Her long hair is coming out of the braided crown her mother put it in as she sags forward in his arms.
Cain lowers her to the tiled floor. There had been a rug or mat. She seems to relish the coldness.
He can’t leave her. He would blame himself.
It takes a while, a long while, but she seems to gather strength from the floor. Strength enough to push herself up on her hands. Strength enough to make it to her knees. But no more.
Trembling arms can’t hold her up. Exhaustion, dehydration, weakness make her gravity’s toy. She falls backward. Against him.
He stiffens.
It’s a natural, reflexive action.
She cringes. Whispers an apology. She knows then who has helped her, and he knows then she thought he was someone else. She pushes at him with one hand, tries to pull herself along the floor with the other, and goes nowhere.
Cain wraps an arm around her.
“No,” she protests faintly. As faint and weak as her hand against his chest. “No.”
He gets his other arm under her legs, stands and takes her back.
She bats at him, stubborn as her sister with a stick, though there’s nothing she can do.
The sheets are already disturbed, so that’s no trouble. He’ll have to remind someone to change them, he thinks, as he places her on the bed.
She turns from him, curling in on herself, and trying desperately to burrow into sheets and bed things that she’s too weak to manipulate on her own.
Cain stands. And he watches.
Fin[ite]