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Post by kat44 on Feb 29, 2012 2:06:47 GMT -5
Sometimes work was easy, and sometimes work was hard.
Sometimes work was just plain bloody awful.
Ivey always found it hard to see her patients in pain, but usually she could get over her emotional responses to help those in need, but just then there wasn’t much to keep her mind off of things. Just an hour or so before she had had to witness the tragic death of a child. It hadn’t even been in her ward but the Healer on duty was busy and Ivey was needed. A child had come in with injuries so bad that he barely looked human; Ivey had known that she had the ability to save him, or at least, she thought she did. But minutes after his arrival the young boy died, leaving Ivey with an aching heart and a hell of a lot of work to do.
Almost immediately after the death of the poor child Ivey had been needed again, no rest for the woman who lost a patient, none at all. Her next patient was a man, just over her own age, who had gotten into an awful fight, nobody knew what happened or why, just that he needed to be fixed up pretty badly. His skin was in ribbons and it took Ivey and two other Healers forty five minutes to stop his bleeding and heal his broken bones. Now he lay resting in the room where he would wake up next, healthier then when he had entered. Of course, it would be impossible to completely heal the man, his wounds were partially healed and wrapped in layers of gauze.
Ivey took the moment of silence to sit down in the chair next to the man and put her head in her hands, it was the first time since the little boy had died that she was able to think about it. However it was only seconds later when Ivey stood again, eyes slightly glassy but her composure much more professional. She smiled softly then, looking down at the sleeping face of her most recent patient, he would hopefully be waking up soon and he would need water.
Ivey left the recovery room briefly to grab a glass of water before heading back. Normally a Healer would heal their patient and leave to take a break, Ivey tended to wait until they woke up, she liked to know how they were doing.
Her colleagues let her, knowing that the young Irish girl’s presence alone could calm some people right down and help begin a different sort of healing, the healing of the mind. Ivey didn’t actually know her own effect on people; she just smiled, spoke comforting words, and aided however much she could.
Ivey’s eyes drifted back to her sleeping patient, he looked peaceful, but after the beating he’d had she wondered what his mental state would be upon awaking, she kept her wand hand free just in case. She had had to stun a patient or two in the past.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 29, 2012 2:26:52 GMT -5
Isaac didn't dream often. And when he did they were terrifying, nightmares and memories merging into one and keeping him awake even at his most tired.
This one was no exception.
He was fifteen again, running for his life through the woods, sobbing after leaving his father's body with that...that beast and now trying to get any sort of help he could find. Back then he may have thought that he would be able to, but his aged mind now told him there was no escape.
And then the werewolf was there in front of him, teeth digging into his upper arm and pressing down with a sickening crunch. He screamed, for the first time in his life willing himself to shift so he could protect himself, but through his sleep-fogged mind he knew he would not. Because he never got what he wanted in his nightmares.
The werewolf let him go, dark brown eyes--human eyes--glared down at him with far too much malice to be sane.
"Let me die," Isaac begged, his body alight with pain.
It growled at him, leaping through the air, and before he knew it he had changed too, his vision incredibly sharp, the bright red blood standing out among the other dull colours of the forest even more. He snarled, knowing full well what was happening but not being able to control his own body. Scrabbling at the other's throat, struggling to get a good grip, he let out a surprised roar as the scenery around him began to change. No longer was he fighting the werewolf; now he was perched above his father, looking into his glazed, lifeless eyes.
He screamed, the noise perfectly clear in his head but coming out as a terrible snarl instead.
And then he was awake.
Struggling to sit upright, he cried out in pain and looked around the room wildly. As the dream began to dissipate memories of what had happened washed over him, and for a single horrible second he wondered if anyone had seen him in his shifted form. No, he told himself. If they had, they would have left him behind.
He was attached to about three machines, and with a growl--a growl too wolf-like for his own comfort--began trying to disconnect himself. His hands were shaky and not able to function as well as he needed, and he let out a sigh of exasperation fell back on the bed and took in his surroundings.
His breathing nearly stopped when he saw a slight girl sitting on the other side of the room. Immediately filled with panic all over, he stared at her in horror. How much had she seen? Did she know? His breathe became shallow as he went over all of the horrible situations that could take place if she did.
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Post by kat44 on Feb 29, 2012 19:13:00 GMT -5
Sitting down, waiting for her patient to wake, Ivey thought. She thought of what the parents of the lost child would think of her and the healers she aided. She thought about what the man beside her had done to get some badly injured.
Ivey thought so much that she was staring off into the distance, eyes unfocused, when her patient awoke.
What woke her from her reverie was the cry of pain and subsequent growl that sounded suspiciously feral. She looked up, about to smile, when she saw him trying to rip off what was keeping him alive, or rather, what had been keeping him alive while he slept. Ivey jumped up, grabbing the man’s shoulders and forcing him down, back onto his bed - it was difficult, he was a strong man, even when injured. “Lie still, you’re in St. Mungos,” she said, her voice soothing and a small smile on her face in an attempt to keep him calm. She noticed that he had frozen, his breathing shallow and quick.
“Calm down, are you all right?” Ivey asked, her Irish accent very apparent in her concern.
It seemed that the way was going to get no easier; that was how it was at St. Mungos, an easy day was usually followed by a bad day, and a good week followed be an awful day. At least, that was how it was for Ivey. She wouldn’t complain though, not when people are in need of care and kindness and a smile is more welcome and healing then any poultice.
The man she was currently watching had obviously had major trauma in his life before and now was panicked as a wild cat in a cage.
Ivey took the glass of water from beside the man’s bedside table and held it up silently. Perhaps he was thirsty?
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Post by Deleted on Feb 29, 2012 22:48:00 GMT -5
Deep down, Isaac knew that the girl meant him no harm. Her smile was kind and her voice soft, and on any other day he wouldn't have minded her gentle--though surprisingly firm--touch, perhaps even taken comfort in her demeanor. And appreciated the glass of water she offered. But currently he wasn't thinking with reason, and his mind all but screamed at him to get the hell out. He felt his breath coming faster, and he stared up at her with frightened eyes. His heart felt like a hammer in his chest, and his brain pumped a constant stream of panicked thoughts into his head.
runrunrungetoutgetoutgetoutrunrungetoutgetout
With a panicked gasp he shoved her with his shoulder, hearing the glass shatter on the ground, ripping the IV out of his hand and the breathing tube from his nose. He reeked of blood and dog and death--though maybe that was just his hypersensitive nose, and it was but a faint trace still clinging to his skin and hair. He maneuvered to sit up, freed from the machines that were keeping him hostage, but pain ripped through his body and he couldn't do much.
He gritted his teeth against a shout of pain, the noise turning into a loud, hoarse groan that was almost a growl instead. Panting now with sheer panic, he resorted to trying to shy away from the woman, sinking back into the bed behind him and looking at her with wide, frightened eyes. Calming, though distraught energy poured from her like waves, and he momentarily allowed himself to relax in her presence.
But his mind got the best of him again, the thoughts breaking through the barrier with even more force than before, louder and more desperate.
GETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGEOUT
He didn't dare blink, didn't dare close his eyes, not when he was so vulnerable like this. Instead he kept them glued to that of the woman, all his senses on fire. St. Mungos wasn't horribly familiar to him, but he'd been there once or twice before. He knew how to get out should anything arise.
Something warm and wet spread across his stomach and he suspected he'd opened a wound in his panic, but he didn't look down to see. His eyes were beginning to feel slight discomfort and his his muscles were tensing on themselves, but he didn't change his position or blink.
He opened his mouth to say something to her, anything, but nothing came out.
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Post by kat44 on Feb 29, 2012 23:22:46 GMT -5
Usually patients waking up from a bad injury were panicked, unsettled, and sometimes distraught; but nothing could have prepared Ivey for the sudden changed from unconscious to raging, wild, utterly instinctual panic. The look in the man’s eyes was pure terror and Ivey knew that she should have seen his attempt to escape before he came even close to trying.
His panicked gasp was all the warning Ivey had before her patient shoved her back, knocking the glass to the floor where it shattered, the pieces flying through the air like a billion miniature stars. A strangely calm thought came to her suddenly, why did I bring a glass cup? The thought was there for only a moment before reality came crashing back and Ivey felt pain in her left hand, a small slice from shattered glass was there, but Ivey didn’t have time to think of that. Her patient was literally ripping everything out of himself, trying to escape with a force that would have awed her if she hadn’t been worried for his health.
Ivey gasped in horror as he tried to sit up to leave his bed, she could see his pain, feel it as if it were her own. As the man sank back like a terrified animal into the pillows Ivey caught sight of the blood that was slowly seeping through the bandages he had covering his entire torso like a second skin. Once again she heard him growl and wondered in her subconscious whether he was even sane, or even human.
Knowing that she needed to be extremely careful and calm, Ivey lifted her hands in a gesture of friendship, holding them out, palms facing the ceiling. “I don’t want to hurt you, but would you let me fix your wound please?” she asked, her normally calm voice shaking a touch. She hoped that he would let her, she was not going to let him die on her watch, of anyone else’s for that matter. As per usual, Ivey had already become attached to her patient like a mother to a child in need of love.
Cautiously, using every ounce of her will power, Ivey reached forward with a forced steadiness, her soft hands beginning to undo the bandages around the man’s lower torso where blood was pooling. As she did so, she hummed an old, lilting Irish tune in the hopes that the music would calm him.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 1, 2012 2:29:27 GMT -5
Isaac flinched, audibly and visibly, when she brought her hands to his stomach. His breathing didn't slow and his heartbeat threatened to burst out of his chest, but he didn't try to get away again. Fear seemed to grip him like a giant hand, made of ice with electricity buzzing steadily through it. Pain pulsed in his stomach, but he did not notice it. He knew he was acting irrationally, that something so trivial did not warrant such a reaction, but he couldn't help himself. Hissing in a breath as she began to undo his bandages, when she looked up at him and smiled, all he could see were feral, dark brown eyes and a sadistic, canine sneer. His breathing hitched, and he stopped moving altogether.
It was the nerves that he always had after changing mixed in with the distressful events of the night before. He knew that, too. But his instinct always won out over his mind, and he sat perfectly still as she started to hum.
His mother had sung to him, when he was younger. She would sing him old Norsk songs, about brave warriors and lovely women and nasty trolls. For a second he was back in the bed he had as a child, too tired to struggle but not wanting to sleep, a fever burning at him from the inside out. His mother had stroked his head and sung until he had finally drifted off into sleep. And then he was back, watching the woman work on his bandages. With a shaky breathe he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the raw pain on his stomach, and tried to compose himself. It wasn't easy, and his instincts screamed at him for allowing her such access to him while he was so defenseless. Comforting himself with the knowledge that even in his current state he was still more powerful than most and was not in any immediate danger, he opened his eyes once more and made an effort to slow his breathing.
It occurred to him then that he had no recollection of what had happened. He knew that it was awful and gruesome, something that would be better to avoid, but he was genuinely concerned. What if he had hurt someone? He let out a wheeze of distress at the thought.
"What happened to me?" he finally managed, his voice sounding raw and rasping even to himself.
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Post by kat44 on Mar 2, 2012 0:10:12 GMT -5
Ivey’s patient’s flinch was definitely noticed and from then on she took her time, being extra cautious. She slowly unraveled the bandages from the man’s torn stomach, eventually getting to the blood soaked skin beneath. Soon, she had cleaned up all of the blood and was ready to heal him again. She dropped some essence of dittany on the wounds and they closed lightly again, looking much the same as they had before being ripped open. The man was re-bandaged and soon looked nearly good as knew.
During the process of wrapping him back up Ivey had noticed his fearful eyes and tense body, she knew that she had to back off as soon as he was fixed up. However, once she was done, she stepped back, but continued to hum softly to her patient, noticing his breathing beginning to slow and his eyes becoming clearer.
When her patient asked what happened to him, Ivey smiled a bit once again, but inside she was beaming. He was lucid enough to ask a question, that was good progress.
“I don’t know much. What I do know is that you were found unconscious and on your own, severely injured and loosing blood. You were brought here and I was one of three Healers who worked on you until it was safe for you to be left alone” Ivey wished she could know what had happened to him, she hated having to reply with a half answer. It made her feel insufficient, as if her help wasn’t enough.
“My name is Ivey by the way.” She said softly, eyes bright. “Do you remember your’s?” It was standard issue to ask the newly awakened patient questions to check his memory, Ivey could only hope that the man was able to answer them.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 2, 2012 0:49:01 GMT -5
"Isaac," he breathed, his voice barely audible. He remembered that much. Almost never did he have ID on him when he shifted, he supposed. He didn't keep much of anything on himself, to be perfectly honest. Over the years he had gotten better at staying reasonably close to home, but the odd time where he found himself kilometers away with nothing but tattered clothes it was a bit difficult.
He hurt, and he wished he could remember what had happened. Usually he did; he supposed it might have been shock that was keeping it from his memory. He would have to find that other werewolf, Brendan, after, and ask him about what happened.
Realization hit him like a brick, and he felt the air driven from his lungs. Brendan had been the one that did this. They'd had an argument about the future of werewolves, and about creating a pack, and they had fought. The day before their change. They had still been fighting that day; it was the only explanation.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Isaac let out a groan of pain and exasperation. He swore that if he ever saw that conceited son of a bitch again he'd tear his throat out. If he didn't do the same to him first, though. Brendan had years more experience than he did, and it was Isaac's first fight with another werewolf.
He was tired. Exhausted, actually. The ordeal had drained a great deal of his strength, and it was painful to breathe. But he kept himself conscious anyways, his eyes glued to Ivey's face as she she smiled again. Her expression was bright, but the canine instinct in him was greatly upset by the showing of her teeth in her smile. However passive that instinct was at the time, he couldn't help but to shrink back ever so slightly.
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Post by kat44 on Mar 2, 2012 9:19:51 GMT -5
Isaac was a nice name, unique in England, rather like Ivey. She said so before bending down to pick up the glass pieces that came from the glass of water she had dropped because of Isaac’s panic. The floor was wet, a pool of water with large and small chunks of glass. Soon, the large pieces were gone and the floor was swept clean with a broom and mop.
“You are thirsty.” Ivey said, a statement, not a question. He would be after whatever happened to him. “Let me go grab you another glass of water.
Something Ivey realized as she left and grabbed a glass of water was that whenever she smiled, Isaac would tense up or shrink back. Over the years of caring for nervous patients she had come to recognize what she was and wasn’t supposed to do around them, apparently there was no smiling aloud in Isaac’s room.
There were nothing but glass cups at the water fountain and Ivey frowned as she realized that the same exact incident could occur again. Ivey sighed, pushed open the door, and entered Isaac’s recovery room with the water. After what had happened last time she put it on the side table in the place where Isaac would be able to reach without discomfort, and Ivey could stand far enough away to not get cut my flying glass if he just so happened to break it.
That reminded her; the last incident had caused her to cut herself and she looked at her left hand to see a cut that was still bleeding ever so slightly, how had she not remembered? Shaking her head at her own ignorance, Ivey put some Essance of Ditany on it and the small wound became a red, half healed slice.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 3, 2012 21:07:04 GMT -5
Watching Ivey as she walked away, Isaac allowed himself a few moments rest as he closed his eyes on her back. The scent of blood hit his nose, not his own, and he opened his eyes to see where it came from. It smelled like Ivey, and when he saw the slim cut on her hand he wondered momentarily if he had done that to her. In his human state he would not infect her with his curse, but the thought of him biting someone else was terrifying nonetheless.
She turned back to him and his eyes were immediately back on hers, watching her every move and the intentions laid out perfectly on her face. She should have been frustrated--he was proving himself to be a very trying patient--yet there was no trace of it on her features. Instead, there was just gentle calm. He envied her control of the situation.
As she set the glass of water on the table, Isaac's eyes flickered down to the wound on her hand. It was too neat to be a bite, but he knew that he had something to do with it. Maybe when he had knocked that glass out of her hand. Sheepishly lowering his head somewhat, he turned his gaze to her hand.
"Sorry," he mumbled, the words impossibly quiet. He was not a loud person, and though he was quite reserved he spoke with certainty and authority. He guessed there was a first for everything, however.
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Post by kat44 on Mar 4, 2012 15:18:11 GMT -5
Isaac’s mumbled ‘sorry’ made Ivey happier than she had been all day. His tone was quiet, and Ivey had barely heard it. However, now that she had she felt a little less like he was just another crazy patient and more like he was someone she would talk to.
“Don’t worry, you panicked so really it wasn’t your fault.” She responded with a half smile before grabbing the glass of water from the bedside table again and holding it out to Isaac.
“Here, try not to break this one.” She joked lightly, offering the glass her patient on the bed.
Now that he wasn’t so panicked and instinctual he seemed a different man, hopefully he would stay that way. It had been a hard enough day already.
OCC: STUPID SHORT UGLY POST!!!!
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Post by Deleted on Mar 4, 2012 19:44:59 GMT -5
Tentatively reaching out and taking the glass of water in his bandaged hand, Isaac allowed his eyes to wander from her face to look at what he was doing. He could feel her energy change, transforming into something more relieved, more relaxed than frustrated. Had he done that? He hoped he did; he'd been nothing but a burden to her thus far. Her acceptance of his apology helped his own mood slightly as well.
His lip twitched ever so slightly in a ghost of a smile as he carefully brought the water to his lips. Ivey had been right; he was parched. He often was the day after a change, but this time it was more so than usual. He did not drink it all, however, leaving the glass roughly a third full and with slight difficulty placed it back on the table and turned back to her.
Though he was more at ease, his mind still buzzed with fear. But fear of what? He groaned inwardly as he tried to rake his brain for any memory, clue, anything, but there was nothing. He usually remembered every horrifying moment of when he turned, but this time, he could remember nothing.
He took the time to study Ivey; to really scrutinize her. Maybe if he could convince himself that she was nothing to fear then he would be less on edge.
"You have beautiful eyes," he told her, his voice still uncharacteristically quiet. "They look kind."
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Post by kat44 on Mar 5, 2012 0:48:14 GMT -5
Ivey watched as Isaac drank from the water she gave him, relieved, he would be hydrated soon enough and that would help speed his recovery.
Ivey laughed quietly, not wanting to disturb Isaac again, but it was a laugh nonetheless. His complement had taken her completely by surprise but it was a good surprise.
“Thank you Isaac…” she said, smiling slightly, she wasn’t sure what to say to the man she was taking care of, the sudden switch from wild to complementing was a bit overwhelming, in a good way.
“And if I may, I’d like to say that you are a pretty good looking young man.” She complemented back, not flirting really, but paying him the complement he deserved.
She smiled suddenly, “If you behave and do less panicking you might be let out within the next couple days.” Ivey stated with a twinkle in her eyes, “I’ll be your healer the entire time you are here, so don’t try anything.”
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Post by Deleted on Mar 5, 2012 13:27:28 GMT -5
Isaac grinned a little sheepishly at her comment back to him, and watched her expression turn happy once more. He'd done that; he'd made her happy. Which was more than he could say for a lot of people.
But then she smiled, her teeth exposed in a show of good spirits, and suddenly all Isaac could see were canine teeth snapping at his throat, his chest, his limbs...
And suddenly his heart was hammering in his chest once more and his eyes blurred with fear. He felt himself slipping and then he was talking with Brendan, the memories from the night before finally coming back to him.
"You're one of us," the other man had spat, motioning to the group of werewolves climbing the hill of the forest. "You can't deny it. You need to embrace it. Welcome it." He'd grinned, showing his teeth as he spoke; an unspoken gesture more of a threat than a smile.
"I will never be one of you," Isaac growled back, standing at his full height. He knew that if they were to fight, he would lose. Brendan only had an inch and a half on him, but he almost fifteen pounds of muscle that Isaac didn't. And he'd seen him as a werewolf. A fearsome sight to behold, having years of experience to sharpen his abilities to a razor's edge. Isaac, however, did not.
Brendan took a threatening step towards him, forcing his back to the tree behind him. "I'm not asking," he rumbled, his voice low in his chest. "I'm telling. Whether you like it or not, you are. You're a formidable specimen, if I do say so myself. Unlike the ragtag bunch back there." He didn't need to gesture again to the pack. Leaning in close, his hazel eyes seemed to bore into Isaac's thoughts. "There's something about you. Something more...untamed. You've got anger down there in you, and anger is the best motivator."
With a growl, Isaac pushed Brendan away. "No!" he yelled, his teeth bared and a deep growl ripping from his chest. It was starting; they would change soon. He felt a pang of fear hit his gut; they were far too close to civilization for them to change...someone would see; someone would get hurt. "I'll find a cure. And then none of this--" he waved a hand between himself and Brendan "--will happen again."
"Oh, how wrong you are," Brendan rumbled, pulling himself up to his full height. He twitched, his face grimacing in slight pain. No...
Isaac felt the familiar explosion of pain rip through him, dancing on his skin as he began to change form. He fell to his knees, his fingers ripping deep gauges in the earth, seeing Brendan fall and do the same. A gutteral snarl tore through his lips, his rapidly thinning lips on a suddenly long snout. A tail that had not been there before lashed back and forth, clawed hands suddenly digging so much deeper into the ground. As he clutched his head he grabbed hold of a mane, pointed ears pressed against his hands.
And then it was over. Isaac looked up to see Brendan running off towards the others, and with a roar Isaac tore after her. He dropped onto all fours to run faster, in the back of his mind knowing that he was going to get himself killed but not able to stop himself. He never was.
He hit Brendan from behind, his teeth immediately finding the other werewolf's scruff and shaking it violently. But suddenly they were flipped, Isaac being squished under Brendan's weight, and hazel eyes neither human nor beast glared down from him. Crying out as sharp teeth met his shoulder, he saw the intentions clear in Brendan's face. He was not going to intentionally kill him; merely put him in his place. And if he died, so be it. Survival of the fittest.
Brendan had much more control than Isaac did. Not enough to keep the bloodlust that consumed them all at bay, but enough to know what he was doing. And Isaac envied him for that. None of that control was present now as he let go of Isaac's shoulder, teeth dripping with blood and lips curled back in a snarl. Isaac snapped his teeth at him, wanting to tear the bloodthirsty expression from his face, but he was still pinned down under his strong grip.
He managed to push Brendan off, but had just gotten up when he was hit again. Claws dug into his torso as teeth ripped the flesh around his midsection, and pain in his wounded shoulder kept him from using that arm.
He was going to die. Had he been capable of human thought process he might have laughed at the irony of the situation, at the fact that a werewolf had given him this life, now one was taking it away. But he was not, and with another roar he dug the claws of his unwounded hand into Brendan's face and reveled in the yelp of pain the other gave.
Letting out a cry of his own as he tried to stand, pain ripping through too much of his body as he realized just how hurt he was, he didn't bother to spite Brendan further. The other werewolf leaned in close to his face, displaying astounding self-control, and growled at him. Though they were incapable of speech, Isaac understood his message clearly. He was going to leave him alive, in the knowledge that one day Isaac would return to them.
He would not.
Isaac whined, the noise high-pitched and pitiful, and felt his head slump to the ground as he began to change forms again. He did not have the energy to keep this one up.
Dirt brushed against the bare flesh of his face and his blunt fingernails dug little half-moons into his palms as he clenched his hands in agony. Brendan was lumbering off, still in his wolf form, and Isaac used his good arm to try and pull himself towards the edge of town. He let out a cry of help, feeling his consciousness begin to slip, and fell against the ground once more as he heard shouts that weren't that far off. They must have heard his and Brendan's fight and come to investigate.
"Help," he whispered, his voice no longer working.
And then he was waking up again, sitting bolt upright in his bed at the hospital. Panic gnawed at his sanity, and though not as bad as before, he still looked around in fear. His breathing was quick, though this time his eyes were rational as he looked for Ivey.
WOW OKAY UUUHH i broke 1,100 words please for the love of god don't feel the need to match that okay??? 1,100 words of stupid that really didn't need to be included ha ha ha i was bored okay
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Post by kat44 on Mar 5, 2012 20:06:26 GMT -5
Finally, Isaac was smiling, his sheepish grin indicating that he was nearly back to normal again. But then, at Ivey’s smile (she saw now that was what caused his panic), his eyes went blank and panicked once again as some sort of trance came and he lay there in a state of absolute panic, thinking of something so terrifying that he seemed to forget his pain in a moment, sitting straight up in his bed.
Ivey knew that he felt fear, and that it was her smiling that had caused whatever it was to be remembered in such a painful way. His half wild eyes search the room for something and she reached out, resting a small hand on his shoulder, trying to gently maneuver him back down into a lying position. She didn’t want him to open his wounds again.
“Shhh, Isaac, its okay.” She murmured, hoping her voice would calm him. Ivey made certain that she wouldn’t smile again with him in sight; she could use her eyes to display her emotions in any case. Whatever her smile had brought him to think of had been horrific, the expression in Isaac’s eyes told her so. She hoped that she could manage to calm him down, and then keep him calm. If he didn’t relax soon she would have to sedate him, and Ivey hated to sedate patients unless they asked for it, in which case she was perfectly fine with it.
Ivey almost wanted to ask what had caused such fear to be felt, but she knew that he might not appreciate her asking, she might lose his trust.
OOC: Well… I did about a quarter of the amount of writing that you did in that one!
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