[ to Caroline's good luck, or perhaps Laura's lack of it, any detail other than that of her own rising pain levels is mostly beyond her reach for now. pain on this scale is a new return, something she's not felt in a long while, and along with being faintly delighted it also just fucking hurts. ]
I don't know. Maybe? I've never broken a hand before. Hurts like fuck to move. [ although - actually, it doesn't have to, does it? at least not on the surface. they're indoors now, nobody's eyes around except those who'll understand what they're seeing when the blue glow creeps through the fabric of her shirt.
there's a visible easing of the tension in her face if Caroline turns back around to see it. just a little more room to breathe, sensation faded to manageable levels. lifting her hand with the other she slowly opens out her fingers, watching the blood squeeze out through split knuckles but able, at least, to hold those fingers open of her own volition when she removes the support. ] Maybe fractured? I can move it. Just hurts to try.
[ the scent of blood fills the air like smoke, thick and choking. she's hungry, and laura is bleeding — it's too much, and she's been too greedy lately. what little restraint she had has ebbed away, replaced by complacency and hunger; it takes all of caroline's effort to wrap one slim hand around a metal post on a set of shelves, squeezing tight until the edges begin to press into her own hand.
it's only the scent of copper coming from her skin that startles caroline out of her reverie. her own blood bubbles up, dripping splish splash one two onto the concrete floors.
gross. but. also practical? caroline holds out her hand, a jerky, unrefined motion that's as thoughtless as it looks. ]
I need a cup. A — a measuring cup, something.
[ laura just stares at her, because that's the normal reaction, and so caroline naturally flies back into her normal whirlwind of activity, rustling with her unblemished hand through shelves and bags and boxes until she finds a cap from a children's medicine container. holding the cap up to her skin, caroline flexes her now-bleeding palm until an ounce or two fills in; only then does she replace her outstretched hand with the cap itself, a proffered dose. ]
Here. It'll, um. It'll help you. I know it sounds weird, but it's. It's a weird thing, I don't know, I figured it out after the dreams? I bled on somebody in a dream and they got better, and I guess it works here too? Somehow?
[ that sounds plausible, right? probably not, but it's caroline's knee jerk lie. please note: she is a horrible liar. ]
[ it might almost be plausible except Caroline's been weird in the lead up. and then there's the other evidence... or lack thereof. Laura looks from cap to Caroline, gaze skimming over her chest on the ascent.
not particularly observant until somebody's offering her a capful of their blood. no sign of a glow. not through the fabric, not sneaking out of her neckline.
looking convincingly off-put is, gladly, not a hardship given the circumstances. ]
You want me to rub it in? Drink it? No offense, but either way that doesn't seem very hygienic.
[ what this is she doesn't know. and she can wait to ask for now, get to the answer a quieter way that doesn't require her to spit back at Caroline's kindness. if she's lying, there must be a reason. ]
[ she sounds more certain about that, at least, but it's a certainty that doesn't come with as little time as passed between the dreams and now. it's not a sudden realization, but rather, something caroline knows, the same way she knows her name or that her hair is blonde.
again, she holds out the cup, a little more urgently this time. ]
I promise, it'll make you feel better.
[ because if laura doesn't, caroline doesn't know what she'll do. she can still smell the other girl's blood in the air, she can still feel the greedy hunger bubbling up, the zeroing in on her heartbeat through all her senses. ]
[ see, that's - questionable, too. because she said she bled on somebody, sounded almost theatrically unsure of the how or the why that carried over, but she knows this? and despite the certainty there's something ragged around her edges, the urgency not quite matching up to the need.
her hand's busted. it's not a matter of life or death.
she reaches out, accepts it with her well hand, instinct more than anything. it feels wrong to leave her hanging like that, kindness desperately offered. but she doesn't bring it up to her mouth, looking down at it for a few seconds and back up at Caroline with a vague guilt around the downward tug of her mouth. ]
Look— I've done a lot of weird shit in the last few months. I think I've had my fill.
[ here's the problem. caroline knows, if she really had to, that she could make laura drink it. she could zoom over and tip the girl's head back and get that ounce of sticky liquid in her mouth and down her throat before anyone was any the wiser. but that's extreme.
and, truly, laura's right. caroline's overreacted, let the swell of bloodlust in her head give way to kneejerk reactions. this isn't life or death, and so of course laura's looking at her now like she's the craziest person in the whole world.
and maybe she is. she does drink blood to survive.
but she's really trying to avoid the overwhelming need to drink laura's right now, and if she knows anything, it's that the bloodlust seems to take a backseat when it's her own blood circulating in someone else's veins. maybe it's hardwired in her. 'if you care about this person enough to feed them your blood, you won't want to drink theirs.'
who knows. ]
I know it's weird...
[ and on the last syllable, as her tongue touches to her teeth to crisp off the consonant, control begins to slip from caroline's careful grip. canines, sharp and white, gleam in the space revealed behind her lips; darker webbing, too, begins to solidify under her eyes. she can try to fight it, but the embarrassment of being wrong roots her attentions elsewhere.
signs she missed before go past the point of ignoring now. teeth sharpen out as she opens her lips around the words, the color under her eyes... Laura's used to weird. she's just explained how used she is to weird, too used. but doesn't mean she doesn't experience some short thrill of fear as it becomes clear that this isn't wholly about her.
suddenly, a little bit of blood doesn't seem like such a big ask.
just like that, she reaches out, takes the offering, tips back her head and drinks it down. there's the immediate grimace at the idea of what she's doing almost before the stuff's even in her mouth, but down it goes all the same.
perhaps drinking the blood she's been offered shouldn't be the immediate response to what's happening here. isn't infection passed in blood? doesn't blood work most of the magical transformations in the darker fairytales?
but Caroline has been trying to help. she trusts her enough not to think it a trick, not to overthink it. so, for the both of them, the blood goes swallowed. ]
[ blood is blood, no matter how it's offered or given. it's the stuff of life and death, messy and complicated at best and dangerous at worst; even caroline's, with its impossibly expedient healing properties, carries danger and risk in its viscosity.
(don't die today, laura, or you'll wake up craving it too.)
but as laura downs the shot like it's no more than a thick serving of cheap whiskey, the blood does its work. it stitches up laura's hand, sweeps away open wounds and realigns bones, surging immortality through the woman's body with near-magical speeds. in its wake, the scent of blood fades out, and caroline breathes a sigh of relief.
she might be like a shark, triggered by the possibility of a feed, but she doesn't want to be. there's relief in the passing of the desire if it keeps her friend safe. ]
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no subject
I don't know. Maybe? I've never broken a hand before. Hurts like fuck to move. [ although - actually, it doesn't have to, does it? at least not on the surface. they're indoors now, nobody's eyes around except those who'll understand what they're seeing when the blue glow creeps through the fabric of her shirt.
there's a visible easing of the tension in her face if Caroline turns back around to see it. just a little more room to breathe, sensation faded to manageable levels. lifting her hand with the other she slowly opens out her fingers, watching the blood squeeze out through split knuckles but able, at least, to hold those fingers open of her own volition when she removes the support. ] Maybe fractured? I can move it. Just hurts to try.
no subject
it's only the scent of copper coming from her skin that startles caroline out of her reverie. her own blood bubbles up, dripping splish splash one two onto the concrete floors.
gross. but. also practical? caroline holds out her hand, a jerky, unrefined motion that's as thoughtless as it looks. ]
I need a cup. A — a measuring cup, something.
[ laura just stares at her, because that's the normal reaction, and so caroline naturally flies back into her normal whirlwind of activity, rustling with her unblemished hand through shelves and bags and boxes until she finds a cap from a children's medicine container. holding the cap up to her skin, caroline flexes her now-bleeding palm until an ounce or two fills in; only then does she replace her outstretched hand with the cap itself, a proffered dose. ]
Here. It'll, um. It'll help you. I know it sounds weird, but it's. It's a weird thing, I don't know, I figured it out after the dreams? I bled on somebody in a dream and they got better, and I guess it works here too? Somehow?
[ that sounds plausible, right? probably not, but it's caroline's knee jerk lie. please note: she is a horrible liar. ]
no subject
not particularly observant until somebody's offering her a capful of their blood. no sign of a glow. not through the fabric, not sneaking out of her neckline.
looking convincingly off-put is, gladly, not a hardship given the circumstances. ]
You want me to rub it in? Drink it? No offense, but either way that doesn't seem very hygienic.
[ what this is she doesn't know. and she can wait to ask for now, get to the answer a quieter way that doesn't require her to spit back at Caroline's kindness. if she's lying, there must be a reason. ]
no subject
[ she sounds more certain about that, at least, but it's a certainty that doesn't come with as little time as passed between the dreams and now. it's not a sudden realization, but rather, something caroline knows, the same way she knows her name or that her hair is blonde.
again, she holds out the cup, a little more urgently this time. ]
I promise, it'll make you feel better.
[ because if laura doesn't, caroline doesn't know what she'll do. she can still smell the other girl's blood in the air, she can still feel the greedy hunger bubbling up, the zeroing in on her heartbeat through all her senses. ]
no subject
her hand's busted. it's not a matter of life or death.
she reaches out, accepts it with her well hand, instinct more than anything. it feels wrong to leave her hanging like that, kindness desperately offered. but she doesn't bring it up to her mouth, looking down at it for a few seconds and back up at Caroline with a vague guilt around the downward tug of her mouth. ]
Look— I've done a lot of weird shit in the last few months. I think I've had my fill.
no subject
and, truly, laura's right. caroline's overreacted, let the swell of bloodlust in her head give way to kneejerk reactions. this isn't life or death, and so of course laura's looking at her now like she's the craziest person in the whole world.
and maybe she is. she does drink blood to survive.
but she's really trying to avoid the overwhelming need to drink laura's right now, and if she knows anything, it's that the bloodlust seems to take a backseat when it's her own blood circulating in someone else's veins. maybe it's hardwired in her. 'if you care about this person enough to feed them your blood, you won't want to drink theirs.'
who knows. ]
I know it's weird...
[ and on the last syllable, as her tongue touches to her teeth to crisp off the consonant, control begins to slip from caroline's careful grip. canines, sharp and white, gleam in the space revealed behind her lips; darker webbing, too, begins to solidify under her eyes. she can try to fight it, but the embarrassment of being wrong roots her attentions elsewhere.
not a great combo. ]
no subject
signs she missed before go past the point of ignoring now. teeth sharpen out as she opens her lips around the words, the color under her eyes... Laura's used to weird. she's just explained how used she is to weird, too used. but doesn't mean she doesn't experience some short thrill of fear as it becomes clear that this isn't wholly about her.
suddenly, a little bit of blood doesn't seem like such a big ask.
just like that, she reaches out, takes the offering, tips back her head and drinks it down. there's the immediate grimace at the idea of what she's doing almost before the stuff's even in her mouth, but down it goes all the same.
perhaps drinking the blood she's been offered shouldn't be the immediate response to what's happening here. isn't infection passed in blood? doesn't blood work most of the magical transformations in the darker fairytales?
but Caroline has been trying to help. she trusts her enough not to think it a trick, not to overthink it. so, for the both of them, the blood goes swallowed. ]
no subject
(don't die today, laura, or you'll wake up craving it too.)
but as laura downs the shot like it's no more than a thick serving of cheap whiskey, the blood does its work. it stitches up laura's hand, sweeps away open wounds and realigns bones, surging immortality through the woman's body with near-magical speeds. in its wake, the scent of blood fades out, and caroline breathes a sigh of relief.
she might be like a shark, triggered by the possibility of a feed, but she doesn't want to be. there's relief in the passing of the desire if it keeps her friend safe. ]
Your hand looks better.
[ does her face?? ]