"The point is a broken arm's gonna flap around when I'm two hundred feet up," now she's slurring a little, exhaustion and pain and shallow breaths all weighing on her tongue. Neph scrapes her thumbnail idly against a clot of something drying on Hannibal's neck, maybe a bit of face cartilage pasted on with blood. "Might make it worse if s'not wrapped up and tied down."
Her eyes slide away from the gore when he moves to study her hand. He has to lift it a little, and even that small motion scrapes bone against bone. Worse, it shifts her broken fingers into the lower edge of her vision. Hannibal uses words like screws and sew and she wishes her ears hand't come back online after all. Sour saliva fills her mouth, a warning tide against the heaving queasiness in her belly. If she looks, she's gonna throw up all over Will. She might anyway, if Hannibal accepts her request.
Neph rolls her head back to look at Will instead. Worry and strain tighten his face, but there's still a little shiver of irritation when Hannibal dismisses his question. "It's the good shit," she manages a wan, upside-down smile for him. "Better'n those painkillers. Oughta fix your leg up, too. You'll like 'em."
As far as she's concerned, the elixirs and her other tools are the only reason to go back to that apartment at all. This cell of anti-mutant militants might be dead, but there could be others, and those might have Hannibal, Neph and Will all flagged too. A delayed flight response bubbles somewhere in her chest, subsumed by other priorities. But. Soon.
She refocuses on Hannibal, drawn by the pointed tone he uses whenever he's hit on some new line of questioning. "Not...not on purpose," she frowns, tries to think it through. "But f'I don't burn Pewter, I'm not gettin' back up, so some healing's gonna happen anyway." She can only hope that won't mean irreversible stiffening of her fingers, but that's another problem for later.
Hannibal nods and Will shifts so she's settled against his chest instead of his side. Neph turns her face away, free hand curling up behind his arm to grip at the back of his shoulder. She swallows another mouthful of nausea and breathes out, hard.
Empty lungs don't stop her from screaming, high and sharp, into Will's shoulder. Hannibal doesn't hesitate, but the seconds spent cracking her fingers straight one after the other are the longest of Neph's life. She bucks against the pain, but her broken arm and bruised ribs protest the flailing and shut her down hard.
She blacks out.
Not for long. It can't be more than a couple seconds, since she comes to with her hand still between Hannibal's. If he'd had time to notice, he surely would've been all up in her face. Neph pants into Will's shirt and slowly, creakily pries her nails loose. They probably went right through that cheap cotton and drew blood, but what's a little more at this point?
"Awesome," Neph croaks. "Okay. Now f-find a bottle and let's...let's do this thing."
Big words, considering she takes another thirty seconds to ease up off Will's chest. A little shuffling and one-handed propping gets her to her knees, and from there she's able to lean against an oil drum to stand. Once upright, she has to pause and catch her breath, which provides a great opportunity to study the ceiling.
The roof's corrugated metal. Held together with fat studs. She squints along their leylines and smiles grimly to herself. Nails were her first trick, and wrecking roofs her second. The squint deepens into a tired scowl and thumb-sized bolts hail down, pinging off the barrels but managing to miss Will and Hannibal entirely.
no subject
Her eyes slide away from the gore when he moves to study her hand. He has to lift it a little, and even that small motion scrapes bone against bone. Worse, it shifts her broken fingers into the lower edge of her vision. Hannibal uses words like screws and sew and she wishes her ears hand't come back online after all. Sour saliva fills her mouth, a warning tide against the heaving queasiness in her belly. If she looks, she's gonna throw up all over Will. She might anyway, if Hannibal accepts her request.
Neph rolls her head back to look at Will instead. Worry and strain tighten his face, but there's still a little shiver of irritation when Hannibal dismisses his question. "It's the good shit," she manages a wan, upside-down smile for him. "Better'n those painkillers. Oughta fix your leg up, too. You'll like 'em."
As far as she's concerned, the elixirs and her other tools are the only reason to go back to that apartment at all. This cell of anti-mutant militants might be dead, but there could be others, and those might have Hannibal, Neph and Will all flagged too. A delayed flight response bubbles somewhere in her chest, subsumed by other priorities. But. Soon.
She refocuses on Hannibal, drawn by the pointed tone he uses whenever he's hit on some new line of questioning. "Not...not on purpose," she frowns, tries to think it through. "But f'I don't burn Pewter, I'm not gettin' back up, so some healing's gonna happen anyway." She can only hope that won't mean irreversible stiffening of her fingers, but that's another problem for later.
Hannibal nods and Will shifts so she's settled against his chest instead of his side. Neph turns her face away, free hand curling up behind his arm to grip at the back of his shoulder. She swallows another mouthful of nausea and breathes out, hard.
Empty lungs don't stop her from screaming, high and sharp, into Will's shoulder. Hannibal doesn't hesitate, but the seconds spent cracking her fingers straight one after the other are the longest of Neph's life. She bucks against the pain, but her broken arm and bruised ribs protest the flailing and shut her down hard.
She blacks out.
Not for long. It can't be more than a couple seconds, since she comes to with her hand still between Hannibal's. If he'd had time to notice, he surely would've been all up in her face. Neph pants into Will's shirt and slowly, creakily pries her nails loose. They probably went right through that cheap cotton and drew blood, but what's a little more at this point?
"Awesome," Neph croaks. "Okay. Now f-find a bottle and let's...let's do this thing."
Big words, considering she takes another thirty seconds to ease up off Will's chest. A little shuffling and one-handed propping gets her to her knees, and from there she's able to lean against an oil drum to stand. Once upright, she has to pause and catch her breath, which provides a great opportunity to study the ceiling.
The roof's corrugated metal. Held together with fat studs. She squints along their leylines and smiles grimly to herself. Nails were her first trick, and wrecking roofs her second. The squint deepens into a tired scowl and thumb-sized bolts hail down, pinging off the barrels but managing to miss Will and Hannibal entirely.