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paradisalogs2014-03-20 10:12 pm
reiks) wrote in paradisalogs2014-03-20 10:12 pm
Entry tags:
oo1; ow.
Who: Harry Monmouth, and you. No- no, not you. You.
What: Clinic adventures. First challenge: stairs.
When: March 18th, early afternoon.
Where: Third floor stairwell -> clinic.
Rating: PGish because mention of blood and war wounds.
He remembered being a very young child once, barely taller than his father's knees, and discovering the great and overwhelming challenge a simple flight of stairs would be. Following that, there was the memories of dreading losing his foothold and tumbling down to the floor below. But yet, there was also that sense of incredible accomplishment upon having reached the top, and declaring his victory loud for all to hear. Ha! Foolish stairs, they were no match.
That was going up the stairs, as a toddler. Going down them was never nearly as much effort, save for the occasional bruising upon landing. But now, years later, having barely rested from an exhausting and vigorous battle only to awaken in terribly unfamiliar surroundings, it seemed like stairs as a whole were going to be his downfall. Swords? Spears? Men with fiery grudges against their monarchy? No, England's crown prince was going to meet his end at the bottom of a single flight of stairs, having slipped or tripped from his own stupidity, and everyone will mourn and laugh at the same time.
Alas.
Hal was determined not to go down without a fight, however. Not just yet. His shoulder ached heavily, the wound from his opponent's spear (completely unfair move by the by,) still fresh and barely healed over, leaving a dark red patch on his loose and considerably muddy shirt. Harry Percy's sword still stung his upper thigh, making the journey down the stairs even more difficult. But he'd heard a mention of a clinic on the ground floor, and it would be the ground floor rather than right next to the bedroom he'd woken up in. Nonetheless, it would be wiser to seek aid first, before trying to figure out exactly how this had all come to be in the first place.
Not that he wouldn't still make an ass of himself in the meantime, of course. Pain, blood loss, and exhaustion were starting to make him feel dizzy. He barely made it halfway down the first flight, one hand braced against the wall for balance, before losing his footing for just a moment and bumping his shoulder against another passerby.
"Oh--!"
A right fool he must've looked, but all Percy's fault, the scoundrel.
"Do forgive me, terribly sorry," Hal apologized quickly with a sheepish grin and short wave before continuing his attempt to make it safely down the stairs. With any luck, he'd make it to the bottom without tripping over his own feet.
What: Clinic adventures. First challenge: stairs.
When: March 18th, early afternoon.
Where: Third floor stairwell -> clinic.
Rating: PGish because mention of blood and war wounds.
He remembered being a very young child once, barely taller than his father's knees, and discovering the great and overwhelming challenge a simple flight of stairs would be. Following that, there was the memories of dreading losing his foothold and tumbling down to the floor below. But yet, there was also that sense of incredible accomplishment upon having reached the top, and declaring his victory loud for all to hear. Ha! Foolish stairs, they were no match.
That was going up the stairs, as a toddler. Going down them was never nearly as much effort, save for the occasional bruising upon landing. But now, years later, having barely rested from an exhausting and vigorous battle only to awaken in terribly unfamiliar surroundings, it seemed like stairs as a whole were going to be his downfall. Swords? Spears? Men with fiery grudges against their monarchy? No, England's crown prince was going to meet his end at the bottom of a single flight of stairs, having slipped or tripped from his own stupidity, and everyone will mourn and laugh at the same time.
Alas.
Hal was determined not to go down without a fight, however. Not just yet. His shoulder ached heavily, the wound from his opponent's spear (completely unfair move by the by,) still fresh and barely healed over, leaving a dark red patch on his loose and considerably muddy shirt. Harry Percy's sword still stung his upper thigh, making the journey down the stairs even more difficult. But he'd heard a mention of a clinic on the ground floor, and it would be the ground floor rather than right next to the bedroom he'd woken up in. Nonetheless, it would be wiser to seek aid first, before trying to figure out exactly how this had all come to be in the first place.
Not that he wouldn't still make an ass of himself in the meantime, of course. Pain, blood loss, and exhaustion were starting to make him feel dizzy. He barely made it halfway down the first flight, one hand braced against the wall for balance, before losing his footing for just a moment and bumping his shoulder against another passerby.
"Oh--!"
A right fool he must've looked, but all Percy's fault, the scoundrel.
"Do forgive me, terribly sorry," Hal apologized quickly with a sheepish grin and short wave before continuing his attempt to make it safely down the stairs. With any luck, he'd make it to the bottom without tripping over his own feet.
no subject
Apparently not all the time, though.
Brock grunted irritably when he was... walked into... and shot this dude a strictly unamused glare. "Yeah, right. Watch where you're going, pal," he muttered, then continued up the stairs.
no subject
"My apologies," he repeated as he righted himself, not wanting to disrupt the stranger. Hal didn't often meet people much taller than him, so this was certainly impressive, but intimidating at the same time.
"Congratulations," he added as an afterthought with a friendly pat to the man's arm, before continuing his efforts to make it down the stairs in one piece.
no subject
Okay, that's... weird? Brock had been perfectly happy to just let this dude stumble off and do whatever business he was doing, but, uh. That seemed to be dangerously close to condescension, and Brock stopped on the stairs, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling.
"Okay, what's your problem," he said flatly, turning around.
no subject
"I've no problem, stranger," he explained, smiling despite being out of breath. "Mere envy, 'tis all. I imagine, were I of similar stature to yourself, the spear may not have made more than a dent."
whoa i lost this notif, sorry
Brock had to take a minute to actually figure out what the hell this guy was saying, squinting slightly as he stared at him, but then he realizes that the last bit wasn't some dumb metaphor.
"Wait, did you get speared?" he said, moving back down the steps. "Just now?"
no worries, it's pretty ancient by now
"Aye, my friend," he answered, pausing his laborious journey to turn on the stairs and lean against the railing for support. "Though not just now. The day before this was quite the battle, and we were most certainly victorious. But even the victors have their scars to bear."
no subject
"Yeah, well, that's gonna be a lot more than a scar unless we get you to the clinic. C'mere," he said, moving down the steps and offering his arm for support. "I'd carry you, but that's kinda..."