Of all things to ever happen to him, Eduardo never actually thought he would be able to say that he broke his leg trying to save his girlfriend from evil toys
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Olive has no reason whatsoever to feel guilty. She could have guessed, sure, that the amusement park would turn out to be a disaster one way or another, and okay, she was kind of surprised when no one got hurt on the rides like that lady who allegedly stood up on the Matterhorn at Disneyland and got decapitated, because that seems, at times, like the island's idea of humor, but it's not like it would have been the first time the island changed without a hitch, according to all she's heard and seen of previous events. And it's not like it's her fault either that the stuffed animals she won and had won for her all came to life and tried to kill her, and she can't be blamed if she screamed some when they did. She's pretty sure she could have managed on her own, probably, maybe, all things considered, but the help was still is deeply appreciated. As for the fact she found a way to bar her door at night and still does after all these months on the island, well, she won't apologize for that one, even if, ironically, the danger came from
( ... )
Eduardo can't do anything but grin when Olive walks in, nothing but fond even from the distance that his leaning back against the armrest requires. For his part, he doesn't blame her for the situation at all, and not just because they couldn't have known that the toys won when the island transformed into a carnival were going to come to life and be evil. Her screaming, her keeping the door locked, all of that is perfectly reasonable, in his opinion, and he never would have left her there on her own, no matter how capable she might be (probably more than he is, now that he thinks about it, but some instincts he just can't help, and he's wanted to protect her since the night she stumbled onto the beach). So he wound up with a broken leg because of it. Truthfully, it's little more than an annoyance, and all things considered, if given the chance, he'd have done the same thing all over again. It would be worth it
( ... )
Olive gives a little gasp, playing at being scandalized by his answer, and grins. As far as she's concerned, it's the right answer. She likes his work ethic, really, and his focus, but there's no harm in just goofing off from time to time (or more often than not, in her case, she thinks). When he's laid up with a broken leg and there's ridiculous TV to watch, it's practically a necessity.
"I'm good," she says. "Overheated and exhausted, but good. And classes were fantastic. Just across the board. My Italian accent, eh, is not so great, but I'm working on that, and I think it's getting better. And God, you should have seen self-defense this morning, it's amazing. Annie, Hermione, Miranda, they're gonna scare the crap out of any guy who tries to hurt them, you should know that. Especially Annie, my God, she is lethal. It's kind of terrifying. Terrifyingly awesome, but... terrifying. How are you holding up?"
"Holding," Eduardo answers with a shrug, which really is, in his opinion, the only good way to describe it. He does feel frustratingly useless like this, when he stops to think about it, but it's made up for when he puts it all in perspective. Of all causes to break his leg over, there are none better, and if that means getting through a month or so like this, well, he'll live. At least he's never been the overly physical type anyway, though a little more upper body strength would probably have helped where the crutches are concerned. Grinning back at her despite everything - she's a much better distraction from the pain in his leg than all these TV shows - he lets out a short laugh. "I'm glad classes were good. Even if the self-defense one sounds pretty horrifying."
"What the fuck's this?" Chris asks as he takes a seat on the arm of the couch where Eduardo's sitting, pointing at the television. He still doesn't think he's all the way sober yet, but he can't be blamed, really. His mate's birthday being invaded by toys come to life had called for a few drinks and pills. It's all been good for keeping his mind off of other stuff, though.
It takes him a lot longer than it should to notice that there's anything off about Eduardo, though.
Eduardo is about to answer the question about the TV show (he doesn't know what it is, not having been paying enough attention during the opening credits, except that it's pretty amusing) when another comes, one that, he thinks, is a little more important. It isn't something he's given much thought to, actually, that people are going to have to be told about this. For a moment, he's almost apologetic for the very fact of that, but he shrugs it off easily enough. Yesterday was hectic and his mind's been elsewhere; remembering that people won't automatically know about what happened has been buried under several other things, and that's probably understandable
( ... )
“Wait… you mean you jumped through a fuckin’ window? Jesus. That’s mental.” He laughs though, at the idea of it, his eyes focused on the cast for a second. Maybe he’s lucky that he came through the whole thing without so much as a scratch on him.
Chris blinks, then frowns, realizing he hasn’t seen Olive since all that happened.
“Olive’s alright though?” Chris reckons she probably is, since Eduardo doesn’t look too shaken up about any of it.
It probably is mental, Eduardo isn't going to deny that much. It's just that it was also necessary. He could've stood at her door for however long, waiting for her to try to get through, but there'd have been no way to determine how much damage could be done in that time, or if she would even be able to make it through at all. Given the choice between getting hurt himself or having something happen to Olive, he'll take the former each and every time. That doesn't mean this couldn't have been avoided, but he'd still do it again if it came to it.
"She's fine," he answers, nodding, grateful and visibly so. "One of the, um, unicorn horns scratched her leg before I got to her, but other than that, we managed to fend everything off alright." He lets out a laugh. "Jesus, it still sounds crazy to talk about."
Over the past week, Mark's come to a conclusion about the island. One that he should have come to long ago, really. Which is that it is a pain in the ass. There's no rhyme or reason to it, Mark's long studies unearthing only the vaguest of correlations between departure and networks, one that tells him everything that he expected in the first place- that people with more friends on the island tend not to leave as quickly, that the weight of a contact from the island or one from home doesn't seem to vary so much based on origin as it does based on how close people are (it seems so obvious, to put it into words). That children also seem to anchor adults on Tabula Rasa, that spouses rarely last long without one another, that there are a select few people, the Day One circle, who seem to be the island anomalies
( ... )
"You brought food," Eduardo says in lieu of a greeting of his own, grinning at both Mark and what he's carrying. It's an instinctive enough response now anyway, smiling when Mark walks into the room, but circumstances call for it now, too. Just getting everything he'd need to do work over here is difficult enough, but managing food while on crutches is practically impossible; he would have to go somewhere and eat there, and that would be a lot of unnecessary walking. This saves him a hell of a lot of trouble, and the fact that it's Mark who thought to do so makes it mean all the more.
It's the same, too, with the offer that follows, Eduardo nodding in response as he gestures to the other side of the couch, for Mark to take a seat. "And thanks. I'll definitely keep that in mind, I'm still figuring out just how much I can do on these things. So how's everything?"
At Eduardo's gesture, Mark crosses the remaining space of the room, seating himself down on the couch and pulling out the bag of food- boar burgers, fries, but also a large tossed salad in a bowl and more than a few pieces of fruit. It's easy to forget to eat well, sometimes; being in Palo Alto was different, where more people seemed health conscious on the whole, where the pace of everyday living was slow enough for people to make such choices without losing too much of their day. It was as easy to find a sushi bar as it was pizza and burgers, and so the decision always ended once a customer decided to step into the restaurant, taking it from there. The Winchester, however, provides any number of choices, and while Mark's tendency is to grab the burger out of reflex, he's also ordering for Eduardo. A little balance is necessary
( ... )
"About a month," Eduardo answers, reaching into the bag of food to grab a couple of fries. In a minute or two, he'll pull everything out to eat properly, but that requires changing positions, and to work up the motivation to do so isn't quite that instantaneous. The weight of the cast alone makes wanting to move a hell of a lot more difficult than it would otherwise be. "Which means I'm pretty lucky, actually. Leg breaks can take a lot longer, most of the time. I guess it's because there wasn't that far to fall." Really, the whole thing could probably have been easily avoided if he'd been just a little more careful, but beyond the ways in which he blames himself for that, he can't bring himself to regret any of it. Of course he was in a hurry. He had every reason to be, and he'd have been a pretty shitty boyfriend otherwise, even if those few seconds wouldn't have made much difference
( ... )
I knew I picked the wrong person to dress up as, on Halloween. I should have dressed up as me. As Spider-Woman, and spent the entire day way more on edge than I did.
Not that I wasn't on edge, once the whole demon toys thing started hitting the fan, but I clearly didn't respond early enough. Not that it's likely that I would have been there ahead of Eduardo, because naturally he is, but I still feel like there's more I could have done.
No one's dead, though, this time. So that's nice.
It's just someone else with the injury instead of me, and that doesn't seem right.
"The valiant hero rests in triumph," I declare, as a way of covering all of this, putting my hands up to frame Eduardo between them. "I hope the Times is going to adequately convey your action hero-ness."
"Please, I'm sure they have any number of better things to report on," Eduardo says with a short laugh, shaking his head, though he can't help grinning at Jessica even so. "With killer toys all over the island? There's got to be something more interesting than 'guy climbs in window to try to save his girlfriend and gets a broken leg for his trouble.' Maybe someone more capable of kicking demonic toy ass. Or with something more to show for it than their leg in a cast."
He was never going to be good for very much, and never lost sight of that at the time, either. Still, to have been of any use at all, he can't help but think it was all more than worthwhile. A broken leg is nothing. What matters is that Olive stayed safe. "But I'm glad to hear that you, ah, think so highly of my attempted heroics."
"Hero Boyfriend Saves Girl Despite Injury," I say, sweeping my hands in front of me as the banner. "Okay, that's not great, but I don't write the headlines. Everyone's safe and sound, that's something to show for it. Well, sound except for your leg. How's that feeling?"
"It, you know, it hurts," Eduardo says, shoulders lifting in an easy shrug, not quite dismissive, but close to it. It really fucking hurts, actually, but it's less noticeable when it's propped up and he's been still for so long, and he has no reason to complain about it. "But it'll be fine. It's not even that bad a break, I'll be out of the cast in a month or so."
Wichita's fortunate that all she had to deal with were other people's toys. She'd gone to the amusement park with Columbus, but somehow everything had felt eerily similar and she'd left without trying her hand at any of the games. She makes it through the crazy relatively unscathed, aside from whatever psychological damage she'll be dealing with for the next few weeks (figures), but then she overhears that others haven't been so lucky, including Eduardo
( ... )
"Lots of TV from the 70s. You know, the kind that's so bad it's good," Eduardo replies with a crooked grin, turning away from the screen only after having spoken. He can tell it's not Olive without having to look, now, which is nice, though he's not sure if it's more to do with just having gotten used to her having a lookalike (and being rather fond of Wichita) or because he's spent so much time with his girlfriend that it's so readily apparent. It doesn't really matter, though. It's Wichita who's here now, and the smile he fixes on her is completely genuine. "We're between shows now, but it'll be something epic next, I'm sure." Expression softening just slightly, he tips his head to the side. "So you wound up unscathed?"
It shouldn't be surprising, considering the kind of place she comes from, but it's a relief all the same. He wouldn't have wanted to see her hurt, either.
"Seriously? God, I used to love these. I think a part of me tried to stay home sick just so I could watch the old Charlie's Angels re-runs," Wichita blurts out, before only just realizing what she's managed to confess in the process. Something about Eduardo makes it significantly less of an embarrassment, though, and it might be in part because she looks like his girlfriend, but she also figures he's just that kind of guy, the one who won't judge her for a semi-incriminating childhood confession. She sets her duffle bag on the floor next to her feet and props both of her legs up next to his one, arms loosely crossed over her chest. "You didn't just hear that."
She glances over to him, nodding slowly. "Physically, sure. Emotionally - well, getting attacked by stuffed animals sort of falls under the category of 'severely fucked-up'."
"God, just the fact of being able to say that seriously," Eduardo says with a sigh, shaking his head. For his part, it's all still mostly surreal, something he's clearly aware happened but hasn't yet managed to fully grasp. He's not even sure how likely it is that that will change. He understands, though; to call it fucked up is probably an understatement, especially screwy even by this place's standards. He still smiles at her, though, thin but heartfelt, thumb gesturing in the direction of the screen. "This is pretty good for a distraction, actually. And don't worry, I won't hold it against you. I always loved the old shows as a kid." Granted, he could probably count on one hand the number of sick days he ever got to have, but that's just the product of a different upbringing.
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"I'm good," she says. "Overheated and exhausted, but good. And classes were fantastic. Just across the board. My Italian accent, eh, is not so great, but I'm working on that, and I think it's getting better. And God, you should have seen self-defense this morning, it's amazing. Annie, Hermione, Miranda, they're gonna scare the crap out of any guy who tries to hurt them, you should know that. Especially Annie, my God, she is lethal. It's kind of terrifying. Terrifyingly awesome, but... terrifying. How are you holding up?"
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It takes him a lot longer than it should to notice that there's anything off about Eduardo, though.
"What happened to your leg, mate?"
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Chris blinks, then frowns, realizing he hasn’t seen Olive since all that happened.
“Olive’s alright though?” Chris reckons she probably is, since Eduardo doesn’t look too shaken up about any of it.
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"She's fine," he answers, nodding, grateful and visibly so. "One of the, um, unicorn horns scratched her leg before I got to her, but other than that, we managed to fend everything off alright." He lets out a laugh. "Jesus, it still sounds crazy to talk about."
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It's the same, too, with the offer that follows, Eduardo nodding in response as he gestures to the other side of the couch, for Mark to take a seat. "And thanks. I'll definitely keep that in mind, I'm still figuring out just how much I can do on these things. So how's everything?"
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Not that I wasn't on edge, once the whole demon toys thing started hitting the fan, but I clearly didn't respond early enough. Not that it's likely that I would have been there ahead of Eduardo, because naturally he is, but I still feel like there's more I could have done.
No one's dead, though, this time. So that's nice.
It's just someone else with the injury instead of me, and that doesn't seem right.
"The valiant hero rests in triumph," I declare, as a way of covering all of this, putting my hands up to frame Eduardo between them. "I hope the Times is going to adequately convey your action hero-ness."
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He was never going to be good for very much, and never lost sight of that at the time, either. Still, to have been of any use at all, he can't help but think it was all more than worthwhile. A broken leg is nothing. What matters is that Olive stayed safe. "But I'm glad to hear that you, ah, think so highly of my attempted heroics."
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It shouldn't be surprising, considering the kind of place she comes from, but it's a relief all the same. He wouldn't have wanted to see her hurt, either.
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She glances over to him, nodding slowly. "Physically, sure. Emotionally - well, getting attacked by stuffed animals sort of falls under the category of 'severely fucked-up'."
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