entrancelogs | the party don't start til...

the party don't start til...

Who: Annie and YOU GREAT PARTY GOERS
Where: the beach, near the docks.
When: saturday the 14th, starting at 5pm
Rating: M (or R?) just to be safe~
Summary: Annie's sick of every event being awful, so why not make her own event?? Yeah??? JUST COME PARTY YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO
The Story:

Behold! The world's most thrown together invitation to the most thrown together party that Annie has ever thrown. You probably got one if you live in the mansion. Or spend any time there at all. They were posted on doors, shoved under them, and even, in some special cases, rolled up and put into fruit baskets and left at the entrance to the caves. But anyway.

Come one, come all!

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[Oh.

There is a decent amount of blood, isn't there? She opens her mouth to protest, but finds she can't really form one against what he's instructing her to do. So she settles up against him as best as possible and applies pressure to her injury using his shirt. She's got a feeling it's not going to do much for very long.]

Can you make it?

[She's a bit worried about that, even through the fogginess in her head.]

I can walk, if I need to.

[He rolls his eyes at her, though she can't see it.]

No, you bloody well can't walk. Doctor's orders.

[His worry is evident in his voice; she's losing blood quickly enough that he's not sure he can make it back to the mansion in time.]

[D'Artagnan's been doing his best to get people safely off the beach and back up to the mansion since the moment that-- thing-- found its way up into their party. For once he's without his sword, so he doesn't risk confronting the thing on his own. He's hardly surprised, of course, to find that Clara's thrown herself at it. They always were a bit of a reckless pair, weren't they? In any case, the last time he'd looked, Clara had been fine.

That's hardly the case now.

He rushes over, fairly certain that the remaining people are smart enough to find their way back on their own, and if they're not, well, then they may just deserve what's coming to them.]

Are you in need of--

[It's not Owen that makes him falter, or even the sight of them together. No, it's his hand over the dressing, and all the blood. That's not good. That much blood is never good.

He moves to her other side, pressing his hand over hers, making eye contact with one then the other.]

Tell me what you need.

[Owen's glad to see D'Artagnan offering to help; between the two of them, they ought to be able to get her back to the clinic quickly enough.]

Take her legs and make sure to hold her as steady as you can while you're carrying her. Clara, you just keep holding pressure, all right? Remember what I told you about first aid?

[And now D'Artagnan is here, and it's the three of them hurrying back toward the mansion. She's just grateful for any help at all, really, so she puts a smile on her face and nods in response to Owen's question. Both of them.]

Having a bit of trouble remembering anything right now.

[But she keeps pressure on the area, and flops her head over to rest up against Owen. ]

Things'll be just fine.

[This is said entirely for her own benefit.]

Yes, of course they will.

[D'Artagnan follows directions well enough, but he has to admit that they must look a little ridiculous, all hurrying toward the mansion. He and Owen aren't the largest of men and-- Look, he's just saying, they could've asked Athos or Aramis to help them and it would've been less of a struggle.

Which isn't to say that Clara's too large for them to handle, no, not at all. She's quite petite, very much what a woman should be and-- oh, look at that, there's the entrance to the mansion. The doors are open, thankfully, and they make it to the stairs. Dieu, what he wouldn't give for an elevator. Even a manual one.]

How are we doing?

[Hey, he's just trying to keep Clara talking. He doesn't really expect her to remember anything at a time like this.]

[Owen pauses at the foot of the stairs, eyeing them with a bit of trepidation.] All right so far. We just need to get her up to the clinic. [Which is only one flight of stairs, luckily for them.]

Doing just fine.

[Without raising her head, she holds her hand up and gives a thumbs up, which drastically decreases the amount of pressure she's applying to her midsection. Of course, she's feeling a little drowsy and like she just wants to rest for a few days straight now, so she probably wasn't applying that much pressure anyway.]

Probably could walk myself the rest of the way, if the two of you weren't making such a great transport right now.

[That pulls a laugh from D'Artagnan, and he tightens his grip as he starts up the stairs, carefully. He's glad it's only one floor up.]

I'm sure you would. I don't know why you'd want to give this up, though. Two strong men, carrying you around? I'm surprised it's not how you travel all the time.

Careful, or else she'll have both of us acting as her manservants while she's recuperating. [Well, Owen's already accepted that as his ultimate fate, but D'Artagnan can still escape.] And we'll have to carry her around the whole time in addition to waiting on her hand and foot.

[They manage to make it up the stairs, and Owen nudges the clinic door open with a foot.]

Just on one of the beds here is fine.

[She laughs at that. Something short and soft, but still humored all the same.]

Oh yes, I'd so love having people do everything for me like I'm incapable of doing it myself.

[Her eyes roll as she's set down on one of the beds in the clinic, and the second she feels her back make contact with the cozy surface, she relaxes and drops her hold on the shirt that's pressed up against her. It's soaked with blood anyway, entirely useless.]

So tell me, Doctor. How bad is it?

[She makes eye contact with Owen then, smiling a little. She knows it's not good, but it's also not as bad as it could be. She'll be just fine, in his hands. She's sure of it.]

[His good humor's gone as quickly as it came, but he manages a small smile at Clara. Not that she's paying any attention to him, obviously, which is fine. He'd certainly be more concerned with the person who was going to save his life.

He takes the shirt away from her and sets it on the counter, backing away toward the door.]

I'll leave you to it, then.

Thanks for your help, D'Artagnan. [He glances up at him, giving him a tight smile; Owen knows how awkward this must be for him, but he's bad at expressing things like appreciation.

And then he's glancing down at Clara's abdomen. It's not quite as bad as he thought; the bleeding is at least sluggish now, and he moves away to start gathering supplies.] Plenty of stitches, I think, and consequently bedrest - not the enjoyable sort, I'm afraid, but the kind where you can't exert yourself because you really don't want to rip your stitches.

You can -

[Clara turns her head to ask him to stay, but she doesn't know if that would make things more awkward or not. So she falls silent and turns her eyes to the ceiling instead, nodding slowly to what Owen's telling her.]

Right. Didn't get enough staying in bed after coming back here. Great I get to do it all over again.

[Owen starts scrubbing his hands and forearms in the sink, trying to ignore the fact that it's Clara's blood swirling down the drain, then dries his hands and pulls a pair of latex gloves on.]

Maybe you ought to run away from scary things with giant fucking needle-sword arms next time. Just a suggestion.

[Judging by his tone, he's not exactly happy with her actions.]

[She tries to sit up at that point, even though it hurts and causes things to gush. She doesn't care, she wants to fix him with a look.]

So sorry for attempting to figure out what the hell was going on! Also? I don't walk away. Not from danger, not when people I care about might be the ones hurt instead.

[And judging from her tone, she's not happy with his not being happy. It's just a lot of unhappy tension up in here now, and she isn't quite sure how to get the message across that she'll always choose to be the one that gets hurt instead of him, or anyone else she cares for.]

Edited 2013-09-17 05:48 (UTC)

[He fixes her with a stern look in return, pressing her back down firmly.]

If I even have to do a sodding blood transfusion, Clara, I am going to be really pissed off. You could have died, all right? You still could die if I don't stop this bleeding.

[He thinks of Tosh for a moment, shot and bleeding out while he didn't even know, and it hurts. He's seeing Clara there in the Hub in his mind's eye, while he rages over the communicators, and that terrifies him.]

You were fucking defenceless, Clara. That thing could've run you through in the blink of an eye - it nearly did - and I- I wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing while you died there on the sand.

[His voice cracks towards the end, and his hands tremble as he fills a syringe with local anaesthetic and injects her carefully.]

[She scowls as she feels the tiny pinch of the needle, but knows he's being gentle with her despite being emotional. She knows she's worried him, and while she doesn't like the thought of dying, she's resigned herself to the fact that it will probably happen to her eventually.]

I would've been back in a day's time if I had.

[Of course, she knows this isn't necessarily true, because she had been so afraid Owen wouldn't come back after his death a month or so ago. So she gets teary eyed, which she doesn't want him to see, and she flops her head over to stare at the wall instead of at him. She's hurt him enough tonight, she doesn't want to make it worse by crying where he can see.]

You'll stop the bleeding, and I'll be just fine. You said so yourself, plenty of stitches and bedrest.

That doesn't mean I want it to happen, Clara. What if-

[He cuts himself off, shaking his head. He doesn't want to voice that fear; she knows it as well as he does.]

I've told you before. The worst thing about being a doctor is that no matter how many people you save, it's never the ones who matter most. It's happened to me before, and I don't want you to die while I watch.

[Owen swallows past the lump in his throat and begins gently cleaning her wound instead, wiping it down with antiseptic-soaked gauze.]

[Her stomach muscles twitch, despite her best efforts to hold still. She wants to stop him from what he's doing and just hold his hand and sit up and hold him and tell him that she's just fine, but she figures there's a lot more to this than what he's saying right now.]

It won't happen to us. You won't watch me die.

[She knows she can't promise that, but she feels the need to have some sort of bravado.]

Saying that is practically begging fate to come along and fuck you over. You realise that, right? [He snorts as he threads a needle.] Don't know if you've been paying attention, Clara, but fate fucking me over is basically the story of my entire life. And my afterlife, too.

[It's why he's so afraid of being happy, because he knows what happens next, and he can't lose Clara. Not now.]

This is going to feel a little weird. Just take deep breaths and try to hold still, okay? [He bends down again and carefully starts stitching her up.] At least you'll get to have some really good painkillers for awhile.

[She opens her mouth to try and say something reassuring, but it's cut off by a hiss. Instead, she bites down on her lip in concentration, holding as still as possible.]

Oh yeah, just love being knocked out for entire chunks of the day. Might as well ask you to keep me in here, so that I'll at least be able to see you in any fleeting moments of clarity.

[He should know from her little injury after her return how great she is about taking any medicine at all, she just doesn't, not until the pain gets so horrible she can't stand it any longer.]

Also. Dunno if you've been paying attention, Owen, but I've got a tendency to defy fate. I'm the impossible girl, remember?

[He has every intention of shoving the drugs down her throat, because he knows perfectly well that she'll need them.]

I'll probably have to spend all my time with you anyway to make sure you're actually staying in bed. I know exactly how you are, thanks.

[He glances up at her then, giving her a tight smile before going back to work. At least he's quick and efficient about it.]

What I know is that you have no idea whether you're alive or dead back home. But all right, you can defy fate all you like, but that doesn't mean that I'm not going to be bloody worried about it. I- well, you know. I'm not likely to stop worrying about you anytime soon.

Love you too.

[She mutters under her breath, taking in a sharp intake of air as a particular series of stitches is a little awkward feeling. She's glad it doesn't hurt much worse than the injury itself, though she's certain his little injection has a lot to do with that.]

I'm going to be fine, Owen. Because of you. Promise I'll be more careful, though. It's not like I want to die, not here or back home.

[She doesn't even bother arguing against the fact he'll have to make sure she actually stays in bed, because the first chance she sees freedom, she's going to be up and moving around. Staying still for too long drives her crazy.]

[His smile this time is a bit broader and more than a little smitten, though he only allows himself a moment of distraction before he continues on with his work.]

As long as you try. [He doesn't really expect her to stop doing stupid heroic things, but the promise makes him feel a little better.] Not like you'll have much of a choice for the next couple weeks, anyway.

[He finishes his stitching and ties the thread off, snipping it with a pair of scissors before he moves on to bandaging the wound.]

the party don't start til...

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OH LOOK A DASHING YOUNG MUSKETEER

MY HERO /swoon

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