The broken clock is a comfort

Ghita Marino · 04-25-2010, 01:56 AM

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Set at the mansion - living room
Because I suck, Ghita's appearance may change - just how her injuries are being treated (like whether her leg has something to help heal or whatnot). She's too proud for painkillers though, so her attitude won't change. :3
Wc: 872

As had been her habit for the past few days, the slender Optime form of a wolfess lay across the couch, her head and top half of her back resting on a few pillows as her legs spread out with half a foot to go before reaching the end. Pride had dictated the fae's actions as she first awoke on the same couch, her Lupus form small, broken and fragile-looking at the time. Forcing herself to shift despite the pain that lanced through her ribs, leg, and head, Ghita had gained hands and feet through the transaction, Jazper being as kind as to bring down her sarong that she now had wrapped around her chest. A blanket from her mate's room lay on her slender waist, extending down to cover her legs and feet, hiding the pillows the supported the mangled leg she'd sacrificed.

Bringing her right hand up to adjust her makeshift 'bandage' around her ribs, the bruises would have been obvious as the collage splashed across her body, if not for the layer of velvet dust-coloured fur. Long, thin hair had been secured in a loose ponytail, streaking down her right shoulder as gently as a river. Long strips of cloth had been used to stop the bleeding on her paws, the fae miraculously escaping with few scratches overall. Ghita's tent-like ears drooped slightly, the silver earrings weighing one ear down more than the other by only a few centimeters as her eyelids fluttered, hiding turquoise optics that dictated her pain.

Continuously throbbing, three points on her body gave her no rest. The lump on her head from the beams of wood had swollen quickly, the mane of hair she possessed the only thing that hid the ugly deformity from the world. Luckily, Ghita had evaded a concussion, but that didn't mean that her head felt any better for it - the room had the tendency to spin when Ghita wasn't expecting it to, causing the fae to weather the discomfort for minutes at a time. Two cracked ribs - the middle two - possessed a lightning-like pain of their own, a mere echo of what discomforts her leg spoke of. Broken at the knee, the bone had been badly cracked; but the proud fae had so far refused any kind of pain medication.

Dragging herself through the six weeks of expected healing time would be hell enough without having to spend it in a semi-conscious drugged state. By now her litter had grown large enough to not need attention constantly, but even so, her ebony angel would have his paws full with the rambunctious pair. Truth be told, if Ghita's leg hadn't been broken, but her arm, the mother would've screwed over the pain in her ribs and head and walked on anyways - the humiliation of being confined to the couch was too much to bear at times. Lying eagerly not three feet away from the woman was a sizable stick that had been retrieved for her - something the woman could use to hobble around to relieve herself outside before returning to her temporary home. One of these trips had happened just recently, the woman finally having finished settling herself in comfortably. She looked almost natural, as if three bones hadn't suffered at the hands of Old Red.

Even so, Ghita wasn't entirely stoic. Not even a month ago had found the same woman hobbling back to her home, the deep cut on her chest causing rivers of crimson to flow down her pelt. Cambria had tended to her then, the auburn child's 'magic' antiseptic having cut deeper into the scratch than the older fae had expected, letting a vocal protest echo around their ears. But now an almost arrogant sense of pride had settled over her, Ghita absolutely refusing to let others fully into her pain. The top part of her walking stick had been gnawed down to a sharpened tip, ivory teeth leaving their mark when the pain got extremely bad for her.

Forgoing the physical pain - that she could take and gladly would for the younger members of her pack, the sense of uselessness and boredom had been terrorizing her, keeping her more awake than the pain at times. Ghita was a nomad at heart, a huntress through and through - and all of those parts of her identity required her to be able to move freely, something that her leg threatened to put an end to. The thoughts kept stabbing at her like daggers, tiny whispers wondering if Ghita would ever be able to walk, to run again the way she used to.

Giving a grimace to no one in particular, the fae let out a soft, hissing sigh gently enough to eliminate the added pain that breathing usually brought. Rubbing her forehead with the same slender hand before letting it fall, all the fae prayed for was sleep, the silent release from the world she had been introduced to. Images of the failing barn had stayed far away, knowing better than to plague the veteran with mind games, leaving not a single regret behind. What mattered was that everyone who had entered Old Red had made it out alive and relatively well.

"speech will go here but this isn't part of the rp"

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