Meg Masters (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
putuporshutup) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisalogs2013-11-04 10:28 pm
putuporshutup) wrote in paradisalogs2013-11-04 10:28 pm
Entry tags:
Forget the hearse 'cause I'll never die [Closed]
Who: Meg, Cas, & Dean
What: Patching her up after she gets shot by Silva
When: Nov 1st, some time after midnight
Where: Castiel's room A.K.A. Switzerland
Rating: R for Meg and Dean cursing like sailors and probably graphic descriptions of don't-try-this-at-home surgery & possible related nudity, F for Feels, and A for Angst, B for Bitching, P for Pain, S for Soap-er-natural drama
Meg trudged through the castle towards the clinic, dreading every second of it. She wasn't loving the idea of what lay ahead of her - dramatic reactions, explaining why two clean shots to her chest that were still bleeding profusely hadn't killed her yet, and trying to act like this didn't hurt like a bitch so people would just leave her alone afterwards.
She knew she'd feel better just getting the bullets out, but they were too deep to try to dig out herself without making the inevitable scars that much worse. Not only was she 100% stuck with this meatsuit, she was fond of it, and she'd rather keep it pretty, thanks. Priorities. Speaking of that, maybe she'd grab a shower first.
She laughed a little as she passed a mirror in the hall - she looked like some twisted low-budget Carrie remake that took place during a Christmas pageant. The moment passed all too quickly when she began coughing up blood that dripped down her chin and neck and she looked down, glaring at the ruined costume. Next time she went charging in after a psychopath, she'd be sure to wish up a bullet proof corset for underneath her gown.
Whatever the bullets were lodged in made breathing feel like her chest was being ripped apart. Her own blood was still flowing freely from the wounds, seeping down the front of the dress and mingling with the smear of Silva's. The halo hung sideways and its glow had faded. Red splotches spattered the feathers of her wings and flecked her pale skin.
It damn well couldn't come anywhere near actually killing her, but this was certainly slowing her down more than Meg would like to admit. She took a bad step thanks to her spinning head and swimming vision, barely catching herself before falling flat on her face. She slammed her fist against the wall, venting pain and frustration in a mumbled string of obscenities as she pushed off and kept walking.
Her delusions of grandeur about changing and showering before going to get help were fading fast. The blood loss was hitting her and she felt weak and dizzy as she practically fell out of the elevator on the seventh floor, cursing again as it set in that she really should have just sucked it up and gone straight to the clinic. She needed help, and she needed it soon if she didn't want to be found passed out in the hallway looking like she'd been shot to death. Nobody needed to see that. She couldn't help chuckling again, consequently coughing and sputtering, clutching her chest and wincing in pain.
She really only had one choice here. She loathed the idea of Cas seeing her like this, but his room was right there and she knew perfectly well that he would want to help her. She looked longingly at her own door as she passed it and stumbled towards his, steadying herself against the door frame as she knocked.
"Cas? It's Meg. Open up.
...and don't freak out."
What: Patching her up after she gets shot by Silva
When: Nov 1st, some time after midnight
Where: Castiel's room A.K.A. Switzerland
Rating: R for Meg and Dean cursing like sailors and probably graphic descriptions of don't-try-this-at-home surgery & possible related nudity, F for Feels, and A for Angst, B for Bitching, P for Pain, S for Soap-er-natural drama
Meg trudged through the castle towards the clinic, dreading every second of it. She wasn't loving the idea of what lay ahead of her - dramatic reactions, explaining why two clean shots to her chest that were still bleeding profusely hadn't killed her yet, and trying to act like this didn't hurt like a bitch so people would just leave her alone afterwards.
She knew she'd feel better just getting the bullets out, but they were too deep to try to dig out herself without making the inevitable scars that much worse. Not only was she 100% stuck with this meatsuit, she was fond of it, and she'd rather keep it pretty, thanks. Priorities. Speaking of that, maybe she'd grab a shower first.
She laughed a little as she passed a mirror in the hall - she looked like some twisted low-budget Carrie remake that took place during a Christmas pageant. The moment passed all too quickly when she began coughing up blood that dripped down her chin and neck and she looked down, glaring at the ruined costume. Next time she went charging in after a psychopath, she'd be sure to wish up a bullet proof corset for underneath her gown.
Whatever the bullets were lodged in made breathing feel like her chest was being ripped apart. Her own blood was still flowing freely from the wounds, seeping down the front of the dress and mingling with the smear of Silva's. The halo hung sideways and its glow had faded. Red splotches spattered the feathers of her wings and flecked her pale skin.
It damn well couldn't come anywhere near actually killing her, but this was certainly slowing her down more than Meg would like to admit. She took a bad step thanks to her spinning head and swimming vision, barely catching herself before falling flat on her face. She slammed her fist against the wall, venting pain and frustration in a mumbled string of obscenities as she pushed off and kept walking.
Her delusions of grandeur about changing and showering before going to get help were fading fast. The blood loss was hitting her and she felt weak and dizzy as she practically fell out of the elevator on the seventh floor, cursing again as it set in that she really should have just sucked it up and gone straight to the clinic. She needed help, and she needed it soon if she didn't want to be found passed out in the hallway looking like she'd been shot to death. Nobody needed to see that. She couldn't help chuckling again, consequently coughing and sputtering, clutching her chest and wincing in pain.
She really only had one choice here. She loathed the idea of Cas seeing her like this, but his room was right there and she knew perfectly well that he would want to help her. She looked longingly at her own door as she passed it and stumbled towards his, steadying herself against the door frame as she knocked.
"Cas? It's Meg. Open up.
...and don't freak out."