Dr. Maxine Myers, M.D. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
abelmedic) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2015-04-20 04:36 pm
abelmedic) wrote in entrancelogs2015-04-20 04:36 pm
so I'm glad I got burned, think of all the things we learned
Who: Maxine Myers + You
Where: Undisclosed 1st floor location, and later the clinic
When: 4/17 onward
Rating: PG-ish? Maybe some cussing.
Summary: Catch-all for the fallout of Maxine's run-in with Dean. She's off her feet for a day or two. Even if she'd rather not be.
The Story:
[April 17th]
Afterwards, it's hard to remember even parts of the attack. Encounter? She remembers shooting first (insert inevitable Star Wars reference by Sam Yao, probably), but in the aftermath of the attack it's hard to think of even that. Even after she comes to (more or less, the waking world a hazy and fearful half-understood thing even before she tries to comprehend the unoccupied room she'd been hidden away in), she just knows that she hurts everywhere, and wants to sleep, and is deeply resentful of anyone who would keep her from that.
[April 18th onward]
She'll admit, after that - in a place without modern hospitals, technology, or surgical options, she's really, really glad that magic is an option. Especially when it comes to head trauma.
That isn't to say she's all better. She hadn't wanted to be all better. She hadn't wanted her brain to tell her one thing even while her eyes were telling her another. She's had enough of that for one lifetime. So she still looks unmistakably roughed-up, smoky-brown skin purpled dark with bruises apread across her neck and one cheekbone. But though her eyes are sleepless and heavy, there's a hardness in them too. By the afternoon of the second day after the attack, she's back in the freshly-warded clinic, shotgun back in its holster in the footwell of her desk.
She's had worse try to scare her into hiding. Even when death was something very permanent, it hadn't worked.
Where: Undisclosed 1st floor location, and later the clinic
When: 4/17 onward
Rating: PG-ish? Maybe some cussing.
Summary: Catch-all for the fallout of Maxine's run-in with Dean. She's off her feet for a day or two. Even if she'd rather not be.
The Story:
[April 17th]
Afterwards, it's hard to remember even parts of the attack. Encounter? She remembers shooting first (insert inevitable Star Wars reference by Sam Yao, probably), but in the aftermath of the attack it's hard to think of even that. Even after she comes to (more or less, the waking world a hazy and fearful half-understood thing even before she tries to comprehend the unoccupied room she'd been hidden away in), she just knows that she hurts everywhere, and wants to sleep, and is deeply resentful of anyone who would keep her from that.
[April 18th onward]
She'll admit, after that - in a place without modern hospitals, technology, or surgical options, she's really, really glad that magic is an option. Especially when it comes to head trauma.
That isn't to say she's all better. She hadn't wanted to be all better. She hadn't wanted her brain to tell her one thing even while her eyes were telling her another. She's had enough of that for one lifetime. So she still looks unmistakably roughed-up, smoky-brown skin purpled dark with bruises apread across her neck and one cheekbone. But though her eyes are sleepless and heavy, there's a hardness in them too. By the afternoon of the second day after the attack, she's back in the freshly-warded clinic, shotgun back in its holster in the footwell of her desk.
She's had worse try to scare her into hiding. Even when death was something very permanent, it hadn't worked.
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"Is he still out there?"
no subject
"Yeah, he is."