Although his official patrol of the island had finished shortly before, Kennedy did not cease to make observations of his environs or of the people frequenting them. The sight of the mad young girl careening down the path had brought a smile to his face, marveling at her inexplicable joy. But when she had fallen -- as, truth be told, Archie had feared and suspected she would -- the smile was as quick to leave his features as his feet were to carry him to her aid.
"Hello," he replied in the same good cheer, though he did take note of the blood dampened trousers. "You seem to have taken a tumble. Are you quite alright, miss?"
Closing her hands and then opening them again, she winces slightly at the sharp pain that springs forth. Pain is not something that she is unfamiliar with, but the shock and the lightness in her head makes it feel slightly different.
She laughs softly taking care as she pulls at the fabric stuck to her knees. Another wince before she looks back up at him. "Aye, indeed I did fall quickly," Miranda answers. "But I do think that I shall be quite alright. Thank you though, for asking after."
She appeared dazed to Kennedy, unlikely a consequence of the fall as he did not see her strike her head. Having not noticed anything amiss with the general populace on that day, he had to assume it was entirely physical and not magical in origin. Perhaps just a bit too much exertion or personality.
"Well, do let me see if I can help, won't you, miss?" Archie asked as he took a knee before her. "Or determine if we should bring you to the clinic for them to clean you up. I'd hate to leave you too soon and find I should have been helpful later."
It is not Miranda's nature to refuse an offer so kindly made. It is the opposite of what she wishes to do. Stopping when she wishes to be going, but he is a stranger who stopped to ask. Plucking at the fabric, she considers what he says.
Nodding slightly, she gives in deciding that fighting is both rude and unneeded. "Twould be most kind of you, but if thou art on your way, I do not wish to slow you. That would not be good at all."
It was by chance Alistair was in the area, trying to get Duncan away from a tree a monkey he'd been chasing had run up moments before. Convincing him his prey was gone was of little importance when he saw her fall. He headed over with haste, and when he saw her hands, he chose to kneel beside her instead of help her up.
"Are you alright?" he asked with a frown, the expression deepening upon noticing the blood on her clothing as well. It didn't look too bad an injury - one that would be healed in a moment had magic still existed here - but that wasn't the point. "You're injured."
Tracing one raw and reddened palm with the index finger of the opposite hand, Miranda nods. There is a slight frown on her face, one that turns into a wince the moment she presses too hard. It is a simple injury, one that shocks her more than anything else.
"I shall be fine," she assures him, looking up from her hands to give him a smile. "Twas the surprise that got me and the shock of coming to a stop so quickly."
"Falling is a shock, I agree. I do it all the time," he said with a quiet laugh. He stood only when he saw her injuries weren't serious, though he still kept in mind he'd want to try to get her to clean them out. Holding out his hands, he waited for her to take them. "Let me help you up, at least."
"Are you in possession of such little grace?" Miranda asks, genuinely curious as to what his answer would be. Alistair is not a small man nor a terribly young one. He is not old either, but she figures that he must have been tall for a long enough to have grown used to it. Even Caliban had been able to move with an artfulness that even when clumsy struck her as being dangerous.
Taking his offered hands she carefully gets to her feet. "Thank you, for offering aid. I do appreciate it."
It's said as flatly as humanly possible (there's a joke to be made there) and although Russell realizes that it's supremely unhelpful and less than eloquent, it's the first thought that crosses his mind. He hasn't tasted blood in three months, and while he isn't about to exploit her injury, it takes him a moment to shake himself out of his reverie.
He seems almost guilty when he does (guilty about feeling guilty), kneeling quickly and reaching out to take one of her hands in his to see how badly she's injured herself. It occurs to him that he has no real reason to care, but it seems like the thing to do. He isn't, at least, just going to pass by.
Miranda nods, closing the fingers of her free hand over her palm, pressing the pads of her fingertips into the raw flesh. Immediately her hands spring open once more and she winces slightly.
"Aye." Another nod as her wince fades back into a smile. The pain is not so much, not really. It is the surprise more than anything that has bothered her. She did not expect to fall, much less to catch the attention of someone when she did so. His show of concern is one that she finds to be sweet.
"I moved to fast, thinking less and feeling more. I suppose that twas destined given the spirit behind it."
"Shh, don't -" he whispers a little too late, brow furrowing as he sees her fingers curl into her palm. A small part of his consternation, although it's nothing that he registers now, has to do with the thought that if he ever falls, he's going to bleed, too (not that he didn't before, but the point still stands). And the injury isn't going to go away at the taste of a little blood. His concern now is a bit of a a redirection of that anxiety. Mortality still isn't something he's really come to terms with
( ... )
Falling is something that she has done before. Her childhood had been full up with the usual tumbles and falls. There had been scolding and worries and more than a few tears. This fall feels much like those, for while it has been a great many years since she has fallen in such a way there is a familiar feeling to it. Miranda has earned her grace, worked for it and it seems that like a good horse it shall start to run off if she does keep it penned
( ... )
Had it not been for the smile on her face as she passed him, deer-fleet, Francis would have wondered if the girl was being chased. Something in the way she moves reminds him of another running girl, and then, unbidden, of a night of torches and pursuit; of a voice, harsh and lovely, singing in Greek.
Seeing the girl go sprawling to the ground brought him back to the present before such memories could take--as they always do--an unpleasant turn. Francis rushed over to where she had fallen. "Hello," he replied, surprised at the incongruity between her calm greeting and the blood beading on her palms. "Do you need help?"
Breathlessly Miranda nods pausing for a brief moment before shaking her head. It does not speak well that she cannot decide which she it is that she wants. Does she wish for aid or to be left alone? It is not in her nature to turn down help, though she knows better than to rush into accepting. What would her mother think of her, needing to be rescued?
Gently she touches the scrape on her palms with the fingers of another, wincing slightly at the blood and letting out a slight gasp. "I do believe that perhaps I might. Tis not an injury that is great or grave, but perhaps," she shrugs looking up at him once more. "I did not expect it."
"Such things rarely are expected," Francis agreed, with a small smile. He pulled out his handkerchief and knelt on the ground next to the girl before taking one of her hands in his and dabbing gently at the scrapes. "It must have been quite a shock--you looked so happy, running."
"Aye, I do suppose so. Thus is the nature of them, is it not?" Miranda nods her hear slightly, eyes carefully darting between his face and the hand that he is touching. Another quiet gasp, which leads her to clench her teeth together and promise herself to utter nothing more unless it is what she wishes.
"I was happy. I found myself filled with an almost lightness."
"Oh, hello?" Eduardo echoes, letting out a short, nervous laugh. He'd come running when he saw her trip, just near enough in coming from the opposite direction to recognize her, but the smile and the greeting are the last thing he expects when he gets there. Exhaling slowly, he shakes his head a little, crouching by her side without waiting for an invitation, his mouth set in a frown. She does seem to be mostly fine, no serious damage done, but that doesn't stop him from being concerned, especially not when he catches sight of the darkened fabric over her knee. "Shit, Miranda, you're bleeding, are you alright?"
"Aye, indeed, hello," Miranda repeats back at him with a slight now. She feels warm, a bit overly so but running and the heat has that way on her. Tenderly closing her upstretched palms, she winces slightly at the sharp stinging pain. Her eyes squeeze shut for a brief moment as she opens her hands once more.
With great care, she reaches out to touch the knee. The fabric is ruined but perhaps there is someone who can help her mend it fit to be seen. It does not seem right, the dash of blood against a pattern of stars. "This is not the greatest harm to ever have fallen upon me. I did not expect it, that is all, truly." A deep breath as she stays her hand. Looking away from it she turns away finding herself on level with him. "Did you stop for me?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, you were hurt," Eduardo says, somewhere between self-conscious and dismissive. It had been merely instinctive, not something that he thinks is worth mentioning at all. The cut doesn't seem too bad, and the fact that she's taking it well is definitely a consolation, but he stays where he is, leaning forward a little bit to try to get a better look at it. "Are hurt. Do you need me to get you to the clinic? It's not far, I could walk you over with no problem, and we could get a doctor to clean it up."
The thought of a doctor is something that she recoils against. She does not like the smell of the clinic in the compound and has not dared to enter any of the other two. It has nothing to do with those who practice there, for she is certain that they are good at their art but she has no wish for bad news no matter the size.
Pulling her hands closer to her chest, she shakes her head wary of questions and all that could be told to her. "Nay, not today." Her voice is soft. "Everything is lovely and nothing truly hurts. I cannot bear to see this day spoilt. Not today. Please, give me that."
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"Hello," he replied in the same good cheer, though he did take note of the blood dampened trousers. "You seem to have taken a tumble. Are you quite alright, miss?"
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She laughs softly taking care as she pulls at the fabric stuck to her knees. Another wince before she looks back up at him. "Aye, indeed I did fall quickly," Miranda answers. "But I do think that I shall be quite alright. Thank you though, for asking after."
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"Well, do let me see if I can help, won't you, miss?" Archie asked as he took a knee before her. "Or determine if we should bring you to the clinic for them to clean you up. I'd hate to leave you too soon and find I should have been helpful later."
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Nodding slightly, she gives in deciding that fighting is both rude and unneeded. "Twould be most kind of you, but if thou art on your way, I do not wish to slow you. That would not be good at all."
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"Are you alright?" he asked with a frown, the expression deepening upon noticing the blood on her clothing as well. It didn't look too bad an injury - one that would be healed in a moment had magic still existed here - but that wasn't the point. "You're injured."
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"I shall be fine," she assures him, looking up from her hands to give him a smile. "Twas the surprise that got me and the shock of coming to a stop so quickly."
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Taking his offered hands she carefully gets to her feet. "Thank you, for offering aid. I do appreciate it."
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It's said as flatly as humanly possible (there's a joke to be made there) and although Russell realizes that it's supremely unhelpful and less than eloquent, it's the first thought that crosses his mind. He hasn't tasted blood in three months, and while he isn't about to exploit her injury, it takes him a moment to shake himself out of his reverie.
He seems almost guilty when he does (guilty about feeling guilty), kneeling quickly and reaching out to take one of her hands in his to see how badly she's injured herself. It occurs to him that he has no real reason to care, but it seems like the thing to do. He isn't, at least, just going to pass by.
"Took a bit of a tumble, did we?"
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"Aye." Another nod as her wince fades back into a smile. The pain is not so much, not really. It is the surprise more than anything that has bothered her. She did not expect to fall, much less to catch the attention of someone when she did so. His show of concern is one that she finds to be sweet.
"I moved to fast, thinking less and feeling more. I suppose that twas destined given the spirit behind it."
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Seeing the girl go sprawling to the ground brought him back to the present before such memories could take--as they always do--an unpleasant turn. Francis rushed over to where she had fallen. "Hello," he replied, surprised at the incongruity between her calm greeting and the blood beading on her palms. "Do you need help?"
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Gently she touches the scrape on her palms with the fingers of another, wincing slightly at the blood and letting out a slight gasp. "I do believe that perhaps I might. Tis not an injury that is great or grave, but perhaps," she shrugs looking up at him once more. "I did not expect it."
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"I was happy. I found myself filled with an almost lightness."
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With great care, she reaches out to touch the knee. The fabric is ruined but perhaps there is someone who can help her mend it fit to be seen. It does not seem right, the dash of blood against a pattern of stars. "This is not the greatest harm to ever have fallen upon me. I did not expect it, that is all, truly." A deep breath as she stays her hand. Looking away from it she turns away finding herself on level with him. "Did you stop for me?"
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Pulling her hands closer to her chest, she shakes her head wary of questions and all that could be told to her. "Nay, not today." Her voice is soft. "Everything is lovely and nothing truly hurts. I cannot bear to see this day spoilt. Not today. Please, give me that."
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