lucetilogs | DRAFT LOG #2: The Battle Game!

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DRAFT LOG #2: The Battle Game!

Who: Everyone on the draft
What: Fighting bad guys!
When: Today (after 12PM) to the 19th, in the evening
Where: The Mining Facility
Summary: It's an underground mine! And the Malnosso want you to kill and capture all the bad guys! Oh, but don't let the rocks fall on you. That could hurt.
Rating: B for BLOOD. Seriously. People are going to die. People have already died. We're not going to make it out of here. We're all screwed, it's Game Over, man!

Everything you need to know is listed here and also this way. If you haven't signed up yet and want to be on this draft, then go do it and stop being lazy!

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[ rubbing alcohol! she's so proud.

or she would be proud if she wasn't so on edge. ]

There.

[That's that one.

He looks at her, those too-pale eyes focused on hers.]

And that makes me as good as new. I think I'm about ready to hit the tunnels again. Thanks, really. I appreciate it.

[ she moves to stand... ]

Your leg.

[Not letting that go. Not yet, at least.]

Is fine. My leg is fine. Seriously. Do I need to dance a jig just to prove it? I can make it extra Irishy. This jig. Somehow. Anything to win brownie points.

God in Heaven.

It will hurt no worse than wrapping your arm did. What is your great objection?

[ oh. stephen. you just opened the lid on a whole can of emotionally unstable worms. ]

W-well, you know when...you know when someone means an awful awful lot to you and you did certain things with that someone and to do those same things with someone else would somehow...that it's somehow really difficult?

Impossibly, even?

[He stops and sighs.]

To do those same things with someone else would feel like a betrayal.

[It's a statement, not even a question.

He knows that sentiment far too well, the look on his face says.]

Then, you see, if I let you get too doctor-happy with my me? It'd be a lot like going behind my last doctor's back. And he was...[ like a brother to her. ] He's a very good doctor. Not that...God, not that you're not.

Just...it'd be like cheating. On him. Medically. Does that even make sense?

[ not really. bones would, of course, have wanted her to be treated. but buffy had never really had a doctor/patient relationship with anyone before bones. her...feelings were very complicated and wrapped up in that familial connection. that care and protection. ]

If the pain changes, tell me at once. At once.

Am I clear?

[And it seems... that is all he will say on the matter, beginning to put away the bandages he has left from wrapping her arm.]

[ a sigh of relief. buffy's shoulders sink and a great deal of stored tension floods out of her system. ]

O-of course. Right away. ASAP. Pronto-er than pronto. I...

[ she reaches for his arm. ] Thank you.

[He sighs at the touch to his arm.]

I'm not looking to replace anyone, Buffy. I just want to see those whom I call friends looked after. If it gets bad, let me tend to it. As a stand-in, not as any sort of replacement.

[He swallowed, meeting her eyes.]

I've lost enough enough. I know what it is to not want to see anyone fill that spot.

I won't try.

[ half on impulse, she reaches for his chin. just holding the tip between her thumb and her index finger. thoughtful. ]

I'm the first to admit that I've got hangups. [ she tilts his face. aha. there's the scratch she thought she had seen, earlier. ] But maybe they're not...insurmountable. Just really really daunting. For the time being.

My dear. [He leans forward, managing a slight smile.] I understand. Forgive me for pressing so. I... misunderstood, when I was doing it. I have lost dear friends, and I know it... takes time.

If it was worse? Then, yeah. In a heartbeat, I'd let you get your grubby little doctory mitts all over my leg. But it's already gonna be closing up.

[ letting bones patch things that didn't need to be patched? it had been a secret sign of trust and love between the slayer and the doctor. giving that away to someone else so quickly and readily felt abhorrent. ]

You're cut, you know. And I don't think you've got mystical healing on your side. [ she taps the edge of his jaw. ]

A minor wound, I assure you. Shallower than either of yours, dear.

But you're no Slayer. Come on then. If I have to get one of mine cleaned out, you'd better do the same for yourself. I'd hate to see you play hypocrisy with your Hippocratic oath.

Very well. I'll see it cleaned, but you will agree with me, my dear, that it is far too shallow to require bandaging.

What? Not even in the service of looking ruggedly handsome?

[ and just like that, she was back to teasing. buffy brushes a fingertip experimentally over the scratch before withdrawing her touch completely. ]

[Stephen is far too used to being touched and touching. He doesn't even tense as the hand nears the wound.]

I don't believe those words suit me, dearest. [He chuckles quietly.] Far more appropriate for my Jack, I should think.

I'm afraid I've gotta admit that I'm pretty sure your Jack's just as much not-my-type as I'm apparently not his.

[And that? Only makes him laugh. A quiet, reedy sound.] You're one of few women, then. [And because he can't help but ask the question.] And what is your 'type,' my dear?

[ her turn to laugh. her eyes drop and she tangles her fingers together on her lap.

this? this is a nice breather. ]

Four out of five cases would say that my type of man is a man who's out of his time.

[As he draws out his cloth and rubbing alcohol and pulls the bowl of water nearer, he motions for her to continue.

It will make it easier-- the sting of the new stuff he uses but hasn't yet adapted to himself-- to have conversation while he cleans the wound.]

The first one -- the first serious one? [ a nostalgic affection colours her voice. as over and done with as she and angel are, she can't help but love him with some corner of her soul. ]

He was born in the mid-seventeen hundreds. Oh. Get this -- you'll like this. Irish.

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