foolishwren | 46. Prose (Voice/Action) (Sunday evening)

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Current Location: Goldenrod City

46. Prose (Voice/Action) (Sunday evening)

_{[ooc: Hey guys! Like most tl;dr stuff I post, THIS IS OPTIONAL READING so feel free to completely skip over it, although those with characters in the hotel are also free to say that they saw Heather leaving her hotel room with a really, really dark expression. She will not be deterred or particularly receptive to any attempts to engage in conversation. If you would like to, however, here's some appropriate listening material.]}

ERROR: NUMBER NO LONGER IN USE. beeeeeeep.






ERROR: NUMBER NO LONGER IN USE. beeeeeeep.






ERROR: NUMBER NO LONGER IN USE. beeeeeeep.

Heather's thumb hovered over the 'Connect' button, but didn't press it again. She'd already done it about fifteen times, hoping to hear something else, but she'd already known that the message wouldn't change, no matter how many times she called. The truth was that it wasn't even a surprise, no matter how much she wished it could have been, nor how much she simultaneously dreaded and expected it.

With each passing day, she had known it more and more.

Hearing this now was only a confirmation.

The last nail in the coffin.

He was gone.

It had been evening when she'd gotten it in her head that hey, it had been a few days since the last try. Maybe she should try calling Dad up again. It wasn't that she was actually expecting a result-- it had been an entire month since she last heard from him, after all.

I've got a lot of catching up to do, he had said. I can only imagine how much I've missed.

And that had been it.

But when that hideous dial-tone and automated message came buzzing out of the speakers on Heather's PokeGear, it was as though something very heavy had slid down her throat and settled somewhere low in her stomach, lying there like a bowling ball. Or a big rock.

It wasn't too late in the day, but the early winter evening had already crept in, turning the sky outside to that deep ocean blue and bringing lights all over the city to life. Still, Heather's hotel room was dark, lit only by the lights outside, shining from the windows of other tall buildings. She had been reaching for the bedside lamp as she had been dialing the number, and when the message turned on, her hand had stopped, then slowly returned to her lap.

So this was it.

After a month of waiting, he really was gone.

... so you're not mad? was what she had asked him, and she'd never gotten a reply. Maybe now she'd never know.

The decision she'd made to finally stop hesitating, to actually try to appreciate this strange second chance she had, was made too late. Just like everything else decent she'd ever done.

Oh boy, Mason. You sure did blow it this time. You haven't changed at all.

She swallowed, hard, trying to push down the lump in her throat.

Just the same as ever. You never do appreciate what you have. Not till it's too late. Well, now it IS. Are you happy?

She snapped the 'Gear shut with a click and stood up. It was an automatic motion-- and it hardly even felt like she herself was the one doing it. Shoving the 'Gear into her pocket, she grabbed up her recently-discarded coat and yanked it on, buttoning it up with fingers that hardly felt the metal.

As she made her way to the door, there was a sharp whine and a cold wetness in the palm of her hand as a big moist nose was shoved into it. She looked over her shoulder sharply and was met with Cujo's wide-eyed stare and hopeful wagging tail. Walk? Walk? WALK??

"... No, Cujo. Stay," Heather said, her voice feeling thick and sounding even thicker as she shoved his snout back and turned to the door. He made a few wuffling sounds and tried to latch onto her sleeve playfully, like he always did when they were about to go out. A hasty intake of breath rattled the cords in Heather's throat in a surprisingly growl-like fashion and she yanked her arm upwards, hissing at him through gritted teeth. "I said STAY!"

The Growlithe let go with a startled woof and shrank back, bushy tail sinking between his legs.

Heather did not stop to glare further. She clamped her mouth shut and opened the door, slamming it loudly behind her as she went out into the hallway, leaving silence in her wake.

After a couple moments, the orange dog crept forward and pawed a little at the closed door, a high-pitched whine shuddering out of his throat and piercing the dark blue quiet. When his scratching proved fruitless, he curled up on the carpet. All right... he would wait.

~*~

The cold was the kind that hurt.

It nipped sharply at her face, bare hands, and the gaps between her coat's buttons as she left the hotel's lobby and strode through the snow, breath steaming in front of her. She didn't know where she was going. Maybe that was the point. There weren't many people out tonight, leaving the sugar-glazed streets bare. That was fine with her. Familiar faces were not something she wanted to see right now. The bitter air was creeping through the fabric of her jeans, making the material stiff and sinking into her legs as she walked, and her boots skidded and squeaked in the snow, but she ignored it all.

Her crooked path took her down streets and alleys that she didn't even notice-- the wind was already yanking moisture from her eyes and scraping at her cheeks like an incorporeal cheesegrater, reddening them. She could have been walking for fifteen minutes or it could have been an hour-- but by the time she stopped, it felt like no time had passed at all, the journey was such a blur. Her feet, numb-toed and aching from the cold, had brought her to a secluded alley, lined with the occasional trash can and walled in brick.

Snowflakes lit up like neon on the lights above the back-doors (shut, of course), and her breath was coming out in deep, shapely puffs of vapor with each labored exhalation that came out of her open mouth, which she wasn't bothering to close. She probably should have been shivering, but that leaden weight in her stomach was anchoring her whole body down, it seemed. Looking around with watering eyes, she saw no one around that could interrupt or stop by with well-meaning concern. Good.

Letting out a shuddery breath, she leaned against the brick, hearing its rough surface catch on the fabric of her coatsleeve and scuff it in a rich cacophony of breaking thread. The frosty air nipped painfully at her ears-- she'd left her hat behind. Oh well, whatever. Too late to worry about that now. Not that she was worried. There wasn't any room for worry in her head.

You're STUPID, girl, you're so goddamn stupid. That chance was practically GIFT-WRAPPED and you just sat there for months and DARED the universe to take it away again.

How can you even feel sorry for yourself?

You practically spread your arms to the sky and yelled HEY, I'M NOT GONNA DO SHIT WITH WHAT YOU GAVE ME! HAHA, PSYCH! MIGHT AS WELL TAKE IT BACK!

You stupid, stupid kid.

Heather turned her forehead to rest against the wall-- hard enough that she could feel the rough grain of it scraping her scalp.

Sad wasn't what she was right now. Sad was what happened when Grandpa died or your best friend moved away.

Shame.

That was what that leaden weight in her stomach was. The lump in her throat and the growing tightness in her chest, too. Good, old-fashioned, guilt-tinged, hot, sick shame.

Gritting her teeth, Heather pounded a fist helplessly against the wall, her shoulders hunched.

"You stupid, stupid..."

But the sentence died in her throat with a tight squeak, because words just didn't do it this time. Somehow, they made it hurt worse. Wasn't letting any of that pressure out-- just emptying her lungs and somehow making it tighter.

The butt of her fist hit the wall again with a feeble smack as she stood there, every muscle tensing to the point of pain. Had to get it out, somehow. Couldn't show her face back around anywhere unless it had come out-- that was just how she knew it had to go. Go off somewhere by yourself and have a good cry or something and then once it's over, you can go back to battling on through whatever it was and nobody would be any the wiser unless you told them.

But talking wasn't working.

It hurt too much, and it was the kind of hurt that Heather wasn't good at dealing with.

Throat tight, she drew her fist back-- far this time-- and let fly.

Her bare knuckles met the brick with an explosion of hot pain that she could practically SEE painted on the inside of her eyelids.

Her fingers tingled and stung as she pulled away-- and then slammed them into the wall again.

And again.

Now with the other hand.

And again.

Now both at once.

And again.

And again, harder this time.

Something popped in one of them-- and crunched in another-- but she kept going-- each swing more and more vicious until she was muffling a howl with each new blow, eyes shut tight and raspy, sobbish snarls ripping their way out of her throat with the exertion.

Finally, she just couldn't do it anymore.

Sagging against the wall with her clenched fists resting above her head, Heather just crumpled, her chest heaving in and out and her breath floating away into the night.

There were tears streaming down her face now, although the heat was sucked out of them long before they could finish rolling down to her chin.

She didn't dare look at her hands-- she could feel the swollenness of the fingers and the bite of the cold where the skin had broken and turned to a nasty, meaty mess. They probably looked like ground hamburger. She didn't want to see it, even though she knew she'd have to look eventually, so she just kept her head pointed straight down at the floor of the empty alley and panted as though she'd run a dozen miles, gulping in lungfuls of the frigid air even though it made her wheeze.

She couldn't stay here all night, she knew.

She had to go back.

Had to face the reality of the situation.

The leaden weight had lessened, but it had been replaced with a sickening sense of embarrassment, one that crawled through her hotly and made the prospect of lying awake in that bedroom by herself, not sleeping, just mulling over and over on her own pathetic behavior, absolutely unbearable.

Gingerly, she removed one arm from the wall and dipped her swollen, bloody fingers into her pocket to withdraw the PokeGear.

Otacon. She wanted to talk to Otacon-- but no, this wasn't-- she couldn't. She could hear his voice, plain as day, talking to her right before he left-- he'd told her to call him if she needed ANYTHING-- day or night. Well, she needed something all right, but... no. Just... no.

He had also told her, months before, to take advantage of that incredible, blessed chance she'd been given-- a second chance to be with her father. Something he'd have given the world for. Had she followed that advice? No. And that was why she was here right now, standing by herself in some alley with pulverized roadkill hands. She couldn't call him. She couldn't face him. How could she look him in the eye and tell him that her father was gone, and that it was her own damn fault that she hadn't taken advantage of his presence here sooner?

The sobs between breaths grew shuddery-- the cold was starting to creep in now and her shoulders were shaking.

Flipping the 'Gear open, she brushed over the keypad with a pained frown that was rapidly becoming a tearful grimace.

She was halfway through dialing up Snake's 'Gear when she stopped, swallowing hard and squeezing her eyes shut. No... no, he didn't even know. Didn't even know that her father had been here, or even that she HAD a father. And if she went to him, she'd need to explain... need to say why she was upset. Not because he'd ask her, but because... Heather Mason didn't cry for no reason-- not to other people. And she didn't want to explain.

Wasn't even sure she could explain.

Snake wasn't her only friend here in Goldenrod. No, she was lucky, she was fucking lucky-- a lot of her friends were here. Good friends. Ones she trusted-- ones who she probably wouldn't even mind seeing her in a silly weak moment like this.

But they didn't know, either.

Hardly anybody did, because she'd told so few. Kept it a secret. Her embarrassing, shameful little secret.

Otacon was one. He was gone. She wasn't even sure if she'd get to see him again in person any time soon, and how could she expect his sympathy? He would give it, of course-- but somehow that would just make it worse, because she knew that this was one thing she did not deserve it on.

James was another-- but he was in Azalea, and sweet-hearted thing that he was, the thought of blubbering to him over the phone made Heather's stomach curl in shame.

Nobody here. Nobody here who she could go to in person-- have a conversation that WASN'T still, ultimately, physically by herself.

... Except for...

Heather straightened up, drawing in a long, watery sniff and reaching up a throbbing hand to wipe away the now-icy tears that were lingering on her face, leaving trails of cold in their wake, and clumsily punching numbers into the keypad with the thumb on her other.

There was one other person who knew that Harry Mason had appeared in Johto-- one other person who knew about Heather's reluctance to make her identity known to him. A person who had been in the same situation himself-- from the opposite end.

And he happened to be staying a couple floors above Heather's own room at the Goldenrod Hotel.

[Audio-- locked to Phoenix Wright.]

_{[Her voice is punctuated by gasps-- she's out of breath and wheezing. Her voice is hoarse and there's weird gaps between the words, like she's struggling to put them together.]}

I-- ... P- ... Phoenix?

Uhm.

Are you-- ... are you there?

I gotta-- ... can I talk t'you?

It's.

Uhm.

It's important...

_{[ooc edit: thank you so much for your lovely comments, guys. I can't even begin to describe how much I appreciate ALL of them. I'm screening them to cut down on clutter, though! ILU!]}

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[Her hair is still damp from the melted snow; when she leans on him, he can feel the nip of the cold water uncomfortably through his thin dress shirt, but, really, it was the least of his worries at the moment. He rubs her shoulder, gently but firmly, not put off by the constant jerking of them as she sobs.

One of the responibilities he'd found that his job had given him was to be the shoulder for people to cry on. More or less, anyway. It was always how he'd interpreted "be there for your client", and while it was sometimes hard to do through the thick glass walls of the detention center, Phoenix would always try. Just being there, he found, helped put his clients at ease, even if they were busy worrying about him most of the time.

This was no different. This was somebody that had needed someone, anyone, and had chosen to come to him -- granted, he was her only real choice when context was taken into account, but it didn't stop him from feeling just a little bit touched. She continues to cry, her breath halting spardically and her words cut into little pieces, little fragments. He sighs, quietly, his grip around her shoulders tightening ever so slightly.]

It's never as simple as that.

[Phoenix was lucky -- through Maya, he could see Mia whenever he needed, both in court and out of it, and it eased the pain of her death considerably, even if speaking to her through her sister was rather...awkward, to say the least.

"Thank goodness," he'd thought, "Now I can tell her the things I meant to, before she passed away."

...it was staggering, what was still left unsaid. Phoenix came to Johto without ever really telling Mia anything, and...what would he do when he got back home?

He didn't know if he was scared. It didn't really matter either way.

His grip tightens around Heather again. He hopes that what he's doing is enough.]

_{[Phoenix is a credit to his profession-- the chances of Heather spilling her guts to any OTHER lawyer? Doubtful. Extremely doubtful.]

[As for why she had gone to him-- well, yes, he WAS her only choice-- well. The only choice she had wanted to consider, anyway. But there was more to it than that... For some reason, despite all instincts to the contrary, despite the fact that-- well, she STILL had gotten to know him largely because she had punched his lights out (and then kicked out whatever was left)-- there was just something innately trustworthy about him. Something that overrode even Heather's ingrained paranoia (ironically instilled in her by her father-- for good reason). And besides that... well, he understood. He had gone through the same thing ... sort of. Maybe not exactly. ... But she could tell he understood.]

[She didn't reply that time-- just continued to shudder and wheeze, her whole body tensed and curled in on itself like a little pillbug. Considering just how supremely out-of-character it was for tough-as-nails, often-overconfident Heather to be looking so vulnerable, it might have been funny (in a sort of cruel way) were it not for the circumstances. She's leaning on him like he was some kind of lifeline. She didn't often need one besides herself, but-- well, nobody's invincible. And tonight she's anything but. No matter how much she didn't like breaking down in front of anyone, all she can think when his embrace tightens is that right now, she'd rather be here than alone in her room, curled up in bed and staring without seeing at the wall. Which was where she would have been, if she hadn't called. The breakdown'd had to have happened sooner or later. She supposed, all things considered, that she was still lucky, even now.]

[Eventually, the sobs start to trail off, fading from the out-of-control hitching gasps into deep, shaky breathing, and the scrawny, hunched shoulders under Phoenix's arm stop tightening spastically like coiled springs, although their owner is still curled into a near-fetal position, one knee to her chest.]

[She's quiet for a few moments-- ... and then those shoulders shake again, this time with a low, sheepish (and still a little teary) laugh as she lifts one end of that towel to swipe at her eyes.]}

.... W-we have gotta stop meeting like this...

Edited 2010-12-14 14:59 (UTC)

[He waits patiently for Heather to calm down, giving her far shoulder the occasional comforting rub, his eyes locked on the slowly reddening towel in her lap, occasionaly flickering up to stare worridly at the top of her head before wandering back again.

He's about to wonder if he'll have to find something to tell Edgeworth to do to keep him out of the room for longer when he feels the girl's shoulders relax; he shifts a bit, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at Heather's face. Thr worry in his eyes hasn't left, but at least he doesn't look as if he's about to pass out from panic anymore.

At her comment, he actually chuckles; it's strained, of course, but mostly sincere. Hadn't those been exactly rhe same words Touya had told him, outside of Dark Cave while Phoenix had been writhing on the ground in pain?] That we do.

_{And here I was hoping it'd been a calm Christmas...}

[There's nothing accusatory or bitter in that comment -- he sounds tired, mostly. And a tad bit amused, in a morbid kind of way. December was NOT Phoenix's opprotune month of the year.]

_{[She sits up a little, finally peeling away a bit from the lawyer's side, drawing in a deep breath and turning her head to wipe her cheek off on one of her shoulders.]}

Sorry... didn't mean to add to the holiday stress...

_{[She doesn't feel ashamed of having needed a shoulder to cry on-- she knows it's only human. But being a little embarrassed about it is human, too, and she ain't immune to it. Especially since Phoenix had probably seen her like this a lot more than she really cared to display to any one person.]}

I promise, I w-won't make a habit of this... d-despite evidence to the contrary, I don't actually freak out and cry buckets all over people like a depressed Looney Tune often...

_{[That self-deprecating tone that always lay in her voice (even when she was bragging, half the time) was back. At the very least, maybe it would be a relief to Phoenix to see that despite the obvious hurting that she was still going through, she hadn't lost her snark.]}

[He's relieved to see her more calm, but he doesn't move his hand from her shoulder.] Don't worry about it.

[He has to chuckle again at that, and this time, the relief is obvious in his voice when he adds;] It's fine. Just do whatever you need to do to feel better.

...aside from punching walls.

_{[As emotional as she can get (and still is...), Heather rarely breaks down for long. It's not a trait that's particularly conducive to survival in Silent Hill; she had grown out of it in a hurry back then. Even now, she's not dry-eyed-- or even completely relaxed (the occasional deep, shivery tremor still runs through her body, probably not visible but Phoenix can feel it under his arm)-- but she's visibly pushing down the hysterics, forcing herself back into composure.]

[She sits up straight (although she does nothing to shrug out from under Phoenix's hand) and lets out a wet cough, shaking her head like a horse shaking flies from its ears.]

[His remark gets a quiet laugh that's a little like a sob (but nearing the territory of a chuckle), and the corners of her mouth fight their way upwards a little bit from the tugged-downwards position they'd been forced into.]}

Hheheh... I uh, I don't do that often, either. Promise.

_{[She inhales deeply, before finally withdrawing one of her hands from the bundle with a wince. It... doesn't look much better than before, but-- ... well, at least the bleeding's started to stop...]}

I should, uh.... I should put some disinfect and on these, and um-- ... _{[She trailed off there, staring straight ahead for a second, her mouth dipping briefly back into grimace territory before simply turning into a straight line, her lips sucked inward.]}

.... I think I totally tracked dirty snow on your couch with my boots.

[Of course, hypersensitive that he is, he can tell that's she's trying hard to keep herself calm -- which is why he doesn't plan on letting go of her anytime soon.]

I hope not. I don't think your hands could take it. [Speaking of which...he gives her hand a worried look when she withdraws it from the blanket, shrinking away instictively. It looked even more painful than it did before, if that was even possible. He shivers.]

E-er-- [Leaning over from behind Heather, Phoenix gropes around for the bottle of disinfectant in the first aid kit, grabbing it and a swab of bandages and...eying them apprehensively.]

...I can help, at least. [No, you're not going to dissuade him this time, Heather. He does not like the idea of letting an injured girl patch herself up.

At the snow comment, he...glances at the couch and, indeed, there's snow caked on the fabric. His germaphobic instincts ping, but he shakes his head, deciding that he'll worry about some other time.] I'll clean it up later.

_{[She appreciates that. As much of a loner as she is, she likes hugs. Hugs are nice. And to be entirely honest, the only person she got them from back home now was Douglas. She appreciated those, too, but-- it was really nice, having more than just one friend to get them from.]}

I can take care of it, really...

[She bends her fingers experimentally, wincing as it sends twangs of pain through the raw flesh.]

... Or, I... I guess a little help wouldn't hurt.

_{[She awkwardly bundles up the towel, holding her hands stiffly in front of her like the fingers were fused together, trying not to jostle them too much. The open air on the wounds hurt. As she does this, she also sheepishly lets her leg slide back down to rest on the floor, where... the boots will just melt more snow into the carpet. Nice.]}

Edited 2010-12-14 23:34 (UTC)

[Phoenix...is actually far more used to being on the recieving ends of hugs, rather than being the one giving them. Maya's constant tackling from the behind included. He has to finally pull his arm back, though, when she asks for his assistance. He manages to restrain his "I told you so" look, at least.]

Alright. [He nods, swallowing a bit.] What can I do?

_{[ooc; YEAAAHH SHORTEST REPLY YET]}

_{[Heather's more or less used to being the giver of them, as well, so-- ROLE REVERSAL?!]

[She gives him a grateful nod.]}

Just-- uh... if there's disinfectant...

_{[She sounds drained, but she's there enough to at least walk him through what needs to happen-- although chances are that she'll just interrupt him at times and do it herself because her impatience and stubbornness didn't go away just because reality had hit her like a ton of bricks tonight.]}

[SO IT WOULD SEEM! Wow, Heather, way to create a chain emotional reaction with this guy. Seriously, he is going to be drained as all hell tomorrow, just you wait.

He nods, holding up the bottle for Heather to see.] Yeah, right here...

[He hesitates a bit before un-capping the bottle, folding a square of bandages and pressing them to the top. He sort of knew how to disinfect wounds, but...]

So I just...press this to the wound, right? [He holds the now-damp bandage as if it might bite him, shifting slighly on the couch so that he wasn't in an uncomfortable position.]

_{[She'll feel baaaaad. Not that she doesn't already...]

[She nods as well.]}

That's the gist of it...

_{[Holding up one of the pulverized hands, she shrugs and offers him an awkward, sort of forced smile.]}

Don't pull it away if I flinch, I'm manly and I can handle it.

[Don't worry, Heath, he doesn't blame you! I don't think it's even possible for him to blame anyone, actually...oh, him.

He swallows again and nods at her words, gently -- very gently, because that's just how Phoenix is -- uses his free head to steady her mangled one. The feel of her raw flesh is weird, a bit replusive, almost, but his only reaction to that is a bit of a shudder. He's supposed to be the one comforting her, after all--]

A-alright.

[There's one more pause, in which he adds;] If it hurts too much, though, just...let me know.

[And then, keeping both his and her hands as steady as possible, he begins to dab on the disinfectant.]

~~_{[Phoenix, stop saying things that could be taken horribly out of context.]}~~

_{[Heather's not too fond of that torn, throbbing sensation pulsing through her fingers, either-- but she knows it will heal. It's BAD but if they take care of it, it will heal. She'd had worse than this in Silent Hill, after all. Patched up things she thought for sure would kill her, just with dirty, half-empty first-aid kits she'd found stashed away in forgotten nooks like they'd been hidden there by the world's most medically-inclined (and forgetful) squirrels.]

[This was bad, and it hurt... but it'd get better.]

[She hissed when he started to dab on the disinfectant, but held still-- .... well, for a moment, anyway. After tolerating a few of those ginger dabs, she reached up with her other hand and just closed her fingers around the disinfected bandages, pressing them onto the skin.]}

Rgh, it hurts worse when you dab it on all slow like that...

_{[... Well, not worse, it was just... somehow harder to tolerate.]}

S'there any ice around here?

_{[It's okay, EVERYTHING sounds bad out of context.]}

[Phoenix's job had him constantly running into dead bodies. Ergo, one would THINK he'd be pretty good with this kind of thing, huh?

...well, really. When someone's dead, they're dead. He knows he can't help them, so, while he's always had this weird, sick feeling when being around corpses...he can handle it fine.

Injuries, though? THOSE, he knows can be helped. And with his pathological helpfulness, it's hard NOT too -- even though he ends up panicking, because injuries can lead to death if he isn't careful...

Really, it's just a recipe for disaster, but he's handling it remarkably well!

He's startled when she reaches up to shove the bandages against her skin, wincing a bit.]

S-sorry. [GUESS WHO NOW FEELS LIKE KICKING HIMSELF IN THE BALLS.

When she asks for ice, though, he immediately perks up.]

Yeah, we have a feezer -- once second. [After making sure Heather has hold of the bandages, he gets to his feet and trots into the kitchen, before he pauses and glances behind him.]

Er--do you need it in ice packs, or...?

_{[DON'T FEEL BAD, PHOENIX. Heather's not trying to scold, she's just... snippy.]

[She leans back as he gets up, resting (or bracing?) her back against the back of the couch while she weathers the burn of the disinfectant on her wounds. Teeth gritted, she nods a little.]}

Be best in a pack, yeah... th'skin's busted pretty bad but the swelling's what kills...

_{[And of course she means that in a purely figurative sense... not literal. Thankfully.]}

Alright.

[He gropes around in the drawers for anything he can use to put ice in -- before he finally remembers that hotels usually come with bags in the ice buckets, duh. Sighing exasperatedly at himself, he quickly walks over to said bucket, pulling out some of the bags and returning to the freezer to fill them with ice.

He makes one last stop -- reaching into the bathroom for another towel to wrap the ice in -- before returning to Heather's side, settling back down on the couch and holding out the bundle to her.]

_{[She's discarded the now-stained bandages and was picking gingerly at the clean ones-- she wanted to bind those up before she had to look at them any longer. But given the general lack of mobility in her fingers right now, this might be something she needs his help with.]}

Thanks... Once they're bandaged, I'll put it on...

_{[She cursed as the roll of bandages fell out of her hands and bounced onto the floor. >8( FFFFFFFFFFFFF]}

[Oh, for the love of...

He sighs, setting the ice down on the couch and reaching down to pick up the roll of bandages.]

Heather, I think this might be the single worst thing to attempt with those hands of yours. Let me help.

[He gestures for her to hold them out, unraveling a strip of bandage from the roll. HE'S GOT THIS, HEATHER.]

_{[S-SIGH. Heather doesn't like not being able to do things for herself, but-- well, she DID come to him. So, with an expression that was somewhere between 'pout' and 'ow', she held out one had for him to bandage.]

[THERE, SEE? SEE? SHE IS CAPABLE OF GOOD BEHAVIOR.]}

[Thankfully, bandaging is the one thing about injuries that Phoenix can actually do RIGHT. After all, how many times had he had to bandage Maya's hand after she'd burned it on hot water while heating up her instant ramen? Or when she'd pricked her fingers while trying to learn how to sew so she could make a plush toy for some cousin he now knew to be Pearl?

Sure, he'd never had to doctor and injury as bad as this, but...there's a look of nostalgia on his face as he begins to bandage the first of Heather's hands. And, as with everything else, he's predictably gentle about it -- at least this time he knows to go quickly.]

_{[Heather waits patiently (even if she has a hard time sitting still sometimes, like a kid in the backseat of a car), and... surprises herself by actually relaxing a little as he works. It still hurts, but... it's obvious he's done this before. Probably helps that HE'S a little more relaxed, too. Tensions build off of each other sometimes.]

[The tender look on his face prompts a sort of tentative smile of her own.]}

... D'you do this often?

[He can tell she's realxing, and there's another swell of relief in his chest as he continues to patch her up. He'd been trying extra hard to quell his own panic for this very purpose, and is pleased to see that it's actually doing some good.

At her reply, though, he glances up from his work, looking a bit startled.] Huh?

[It takes him a few seconds, but his expression quickly falls back into that affectionately nostalgic look, and it's obvious that he's not even the least bit aware of it.] W-Well, uh...sort of. [He resumes bandaging, the reminiscense never far from his face, in the form of a little half-smile.] Maya was always getting herself hurt back at home. Little things, I mean. Getting her fingers caught in the door, burning herself on hot water...

[A shrug.] Sometimes, it was hard to tell if I was looking after a seventeen-year-old or a seven-year-old. [A warm, genuine chuckle.]

Heh... sounds like she must've given you some gray hairs.

_{[... SORT OF LIKE HEATHER IS DOING ACKSHULLY. At least Maya didn't go out and punch walls.]

[When he's done bandaging, she flexes her fingers a little, experimentally. Ow-- still hurts. But it feels a little better. Probably just the placebo effect, but it matters. Looking all that blood and bruising just made it hurt worse.]}

She's definiately a handfull. [It sounds like he doesn't really mind, though. He IS rather fond of the girl, after all.

He reaches over to place the bandages back on the endtable, reaching for the ice he'd gotten earlier and holding it out towards her.] I, uh...I didn't wrap them too tight or anything, right?

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