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Post by Bogwoppit on Mar 10, 2008 9:56:44 GMT
 Mark had actually been holding his own quite well, and had managed to shoot a few Orcs of his own, when Gypsy had been hit by something and had gone down. He immediately tried to run to her aid, but three more of the monsters had descended upon him, pushing him back into a corner as he tried to shoulder his weapon again to shoot them. He saw Gypsy get up, and relief surged through him. Even though she was the soldier and he was the civilian some old fashioned sense of chivalry still had him wanting to protect her. He shot one of the Orcs, but another was too close, and he raised his rifle to fend it off, but then it was gone. Opening his eyes which he hadn't even realized were closed, he looked up to see Thrace finishing the last Orc off. He had opened his mouth to thank her, all animosity forgotten in the heat of battle and the need to survive, but her words brought him up short, and his expression closed off immediately. "Yeah, I guess I will," he stated blandly. Soldier he may not be, but nevertheless his masculinity felt subconsciously threatened by a woman trying to get him out of harm's way, especially when the woman was Katee. "After all," he continued, bitterness rising in his voice, "she wouldn't notice if you were gone, but she'd miss me." With that he turned, not even noticing Gypsy standing behind Thrace, and walked away, not back inside though. Instead he went to the battlements and looked over at the decimation which lay beneath. The enemy had all but been wiped out, only a few Orcs and Uruks, and one lone creature on a black horse remained now, and all but the horseman were retreating. "Round one to us," Mark murmured. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Mar 10, 2008 11:14:22 GMT
 Mouth was furious. Sauron's so called soldiers were pathetic, those weak Men had some sort of new weapon that could blow up twenty Orcs at a time, and Mouth was starving! He hadn't eaten anything decent for three days, and when he was hungry he got ratty. The battle raged for a while, and several of his Orcs managed to get inside the stronghold, but it soon became obvious that the enemy was stronger, and Mouth eventually pulled back to a safe distance to watch. They seemed to have some sort of weapon that could kill without actually firing anything. They aimed the long black things, and there were loud sounds, and the Orc they aimed at fell to the ground dead with black blood pouring, but Mouth never actually saw anything leave the weapon. Very interesting. Finally there were no more than ten Orcs and a handful of Uruks left, and Mouth yelled at them to retreat. Not that they needed any encouragement. The Uruks would have gone on fighting but the cowardly Orcs were running away even before he gave the order. Grumbling to himself, he wrenched his horse's head round and kicked it into a gallop, easily out-running the stragglers, one of which he stabbed with his sword to eat later. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Mar 10, 2008 11:36:12 GMT
 DJ was fighting on adreniline, the rush as always spurring him on to feats of strength and endurance of which one would not think he was capable seeing him with his head bowed over a weighty tome as was usual. He killed Orc after Orc, Uruk after Uruk, and even managed to bring down a troll with only a minimum amount of help from the Gondorian soldiers. He lost three men, but most fought with the hearts of lions, and soon the city was clear of the enemy. Clapping a couple of the men on the backs he began to walk back up to the top level, P-90 slung casually over his shoulder. A small scream alerted him to a problem, and he frowned, turning away from the other men down an alley into the depths of the city. He could hear grunting, and a few crashes, and as he came out into another street he saw a huge troll lumbering towards a small figure crouching against a wall. "Hey!" he yelled, and the creature turned. DJ raised his gun and shot, but his ammunition ran out after only a few rounds, and he dropped the P-90 on the ground to pull out his beretta. The troll hesitated, brushing at the bullet wounds in his side with one huge paw as though they were mere fly bites. It bellowed at DJ, rushed towards him and knocked him to the ground with one swipe, then turned back to its original target. DJ was dazed, and shook his head, blinking blood out of his eyes. His hand gun had skittered away, and he lifted himself to his knees to crawl towards it, wincing at the pain that flashed thorugh his limbs. Christ those things were strong! He picked up the pistol, flicked the safety off, and got to his feet to run crouching across the street. As he ducked around a broken cart he saw who the girl was, and for a second froze, eyes wide in disbelief. "Mari!" he breathed, and winced as hit his shoulder into the wall to brace himself to shoot. "Hey, over here you bastard!" he yelled, and the troll stopped again, looming over the girl as he turned his head. "Run Mari!" DJ shouted, and at the same time fired at the creature's massive head. The troll was jerked back by the first shot, but Mari's movement made him reach out to grab her, pinning her to the wall so that she could not get away. DJ yelled again wordlessly and shot, aiming high so as not to harm her. Two, three, four bullet holes bloomed on the trolls hideous flesh, and finally it sank to the ground, its massive arm falling against Mari and preventing her from moving. DJ stared at the disgusting mass for a second, before lifting his eyes to look at the girl. "Mari," he called again, softly this time, and ran to her aid. He dragged at the troll's rotted clothing, and finally managed to get the thing away from her. Then he pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly, kissing the top of her head without a thought, heedless of the blood running down his face, or the bruise already welling on his cheekbone and threatening to close up one eye completely. "Are you hurt? Did it hurt you?" he asked, pushing her away at arms length to peer down into her eyes. He was filthy, bruised and battered, uniform torn and dirty, a far cry from the man she had met that morning. But he looked every inch the soldier that he was. |
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Post by Pinkie on Mar 12, 2008 11:25:34 GMT
Thrace didn't expect thanks. For the simple reason that she would have claimed she only came to his side because she didn't want Molly to be alone and she knew that Mark was the best parent for her. It wasn't because she didn't want one of her own to be slaughtered, it wasn't because she thought she was better able to throw herself into a fight without worrying over whether she'd survive or not, adn it certainly wasn't because she still had any feelings for Mark. That would be like saying she had feelings for Lake. It was just laughable, the blonde told herself. However, when Mark turned to her, his wonderfully sincere eyes changing from appreciation to bitterness. "Yeah, I guess I will, After all, she wouldn't notice if you were gone, but she'd miss me." Too fucking low! Thrace blew out a bitter laugh at Mark and shook her head, watching him away. "Fuck you." she muttered to herself. The worst part of it was that he was probably right. Molly knew her mother, even if only a little and only on set days of the year. And whilst she was good for her, whilst she was as sweet an angel about everything, Thrace was still wracked with an inordinate amount of nerves when it came to seeing her little girl. She always feared failing her somehow, she feared hurting her. And secretly she feared the little girl picking up any of her mother's habits or mannerisms which Thrace knew to be bad. Mark was so much more suited as a parent. But he didn't need to rub it in her fucking face. Thrace pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead and rubbed, groaning. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Calvin looking at her with an indescribable expression. The blonde's shoulders sagged and she looked at the younger woman darkly. "What?" she snapped. Calvin gave a superior shrug of her shoulders and turned, heading off in teh direction Mark had gone. Thrace frowned and turned on her heel, hoping and praying there were a few more of those orc bastards to slaughter because if there wasn't then someone was going to end up with a black eye before the night was out. Possibly Lake. That thought made her groan, recalling all too vividly the night before. Well, maybe tonight she'd get revenge on him, maybe tonight she'd pull the sheet from under him and leave him off-balance the way he had doen to her. The fucker deserved it. Trotting the last few steps towards the dying battle, Thrace saw West just wiping the grip of his pistol which he had obviously skulled some orc with. She went up to stand next to him, the battle dying all around them. Breathless, the blonde narrowed her eyes at the last vestiges of fighting near them. "Kawalsky is still outside the walls Sir, not seen him come back in yet. Calvin and M... Llewelyn are gone back inside. Lake and DJ were fighting near the East wall last I saw. That Elf took out a bow and arrow and started laying down some pretty impressive air cover from up top..." Thrace pointed upwards where the enigmatic male could still be seen standing, bow at the ready. Oh a shit mother she might have been, but in this theatre Thrace excelled. She was a natural leader if she could just get over her ego and temper. Of course she had learned from the very best, Joe West. Squinting at the position of the sun and glancing down at her watch, the blonde turned her hazel eyes to West and shrugged, giving him a half-hearted impish grin. "One-nil the humans?" |
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Post by Pinkie on Mar 12, 2008 11:55:38 GMT
Gypsy was limping a bit - a piece of shattered wood had penetrated her thigh, not too deeply, but enough to let her know it was bloody there. She hadn't let it bother her too much, just pulled it out and went on her lonesome way, fighting these unnatural beasts. She was good at it, the way one who plays video games were good at fighthing. She had the skill but none of the natural pizzaz that someone like Katee Thrace would have. If things didn't go the way she thought they should, it took Gypsy a while to compensate where Thrace would have figured it out on the spot. That was how she had gotten seperated from Mark in the first place. A large arm had swiped across her front, painfully crushing against her stomach and sending her sprawling into a wall. Her head had lolled agonisinly on her neck but she had managed not to bang it. It took a moment for her to gather her senses and when she did she couldn't see Mark. Panic swelled in her, failure threatened and she got to her feet, fighting as best she could to get through the melee until there -- she saw him. Well she saw Thrace. Gypsy ran up behind the blonde woman, looking around her shoulder at Mark but he didn't see her. She heard the words they spoke to each other, she wasn't sure she was meant to be but the meaning was clear enough. She'd miss me... There was a history then between these two. And quite possibly a 'she'. A girl, a child. Wide, troubled brown eyes watched Mark walk away, looking every inch his 30 odd years. It was painful to see him so cut down. Gypsy looked up at Thrace but said nothing. She stepped around the blonde and went after Mark, up onto the battlements. The Elf was up that bit higher again, raining arrows down to cover the retreat of the soldiers. Gypsy's brown eyes were rivetted to Mark's face, to the deep lines of concern that marred his forehead, the laughter lines about his eyes looked much more like sadness now. Sucking her upper lip in between her teeth, Gypsy hobbled over close to him an turned her back, leaning against the battlement wall, holding her p90 away from her bruised stomach and looking sideways at her friend. "There's more to you than meets the eye, huh?" she said in her normal, light tone. It wasn't a joke or mockery, it was serious. A lopsided grin started on her lips though, her eyes softening out of concern and into relief that he was still alive. Her left hand came away from her rifle and she tentatively placed it on Mark's forearm, sliding it down to his hand. It felt and looked awkward. Not because it was him, but rather because it seemed to be a continuation of whatever had gone on last night, unintentionally a continuation, "I ...overheard, I wasn't eavesdropping or anything. Just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time?" she hazarded, hoping Mark wasn't annoyed that she wasn't just pretending not to have overheard. It wasn't her nature to do that. Gypsy liked to be as upfront with things as humanly possible. So long as it didn't involve her own marriage. |
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Post by Pinkie on Mar 12, 2008 12:14:19 GMT
Terror immobilised Mari. She stared at the looming figure of a troll, of all things, coming towards her. She was so scared she couldn't even scream. The terror lodged in her throat and she gaped up at the hideous beast, cowering back into the wall, wishing it would move backwards instead of pinning her there. A terrifying clatter started to rattle around her and the troll was distracted, wiping at his side. Mari sobbed and tried to dip her head, tried to hide herself, but her body would not move. She just crouched by the wall on her hunkers, looking upwards, terrified. When she heard a disembodied voice order her to run, it seemed to do the trick. Loose limbs flailed and she rose to her feet, about to make a dash to the side but the troll's deathlike grip about her waist stopped her. Mari cried out in terror, feeliing like she was either going to be sick, faint or die at any moment and she was pretty certain that being sick or fainting were the least likely options. The grip about her waist was crushing her, stopping her from breathing. Her head began to swim with hazy images, her eyes beginning to roll back in her head. It felt like they were going to pop out of her head so tight was the creatures grip. She was entirely unaware of DJ's heroics until the troll's grip loosened and he slumped forward. But the arm still rested over her, pinning her now to the ground. She was able to breathe but each pained breath gave her a lungful of foul, rancid troll. And then, when she was about to give up completely, the arm was moved off of her and she looked up with teary eyes into a familiar face. His name shot to her lips without any effort, considering she had only met him that morning. "DJ!" Mari sobbed as he gathered her into his arms, away from the troll. She didn't have time to throw her arms around his shoulders so quickly did he pull her to him. Instead she was squashed against his chest and she gripped the front of his jacket tightly in her little fists, crying fitfully. "Are you hurt? Did it hurt you?" The young servant was nodding her head emphatically to his questions though in truth her wounds were superficial. A scrape on the heel of her palm and up her wrist was probably the worst of it. She would have a bruise on both her hips from where teh troll had held her against the wall, but other than that she was just dirty and scared. However, after having such a relatively sheltered life this was so traumatising for the young woman. She looked up into his face when he pulled her away from him, her hands still clung to his jacket like a limpet. His face was bruised, there was blood everywhere. Mari threw her arms around DJ's shoulders now, practically crawling into his lap and sobbing into his shoulder. "I thought I was going to die!" she cried, her face turning to his neck so she could speak without having a mouthful of jacket, "He was so strong, he wouldn't let go! I wasn't even fighting, I was just trying to get back inside! And you're hurt. Your eye, and your head and this is horrible!" Mari squeeked the last of her sentence against DJ's neck, her wet face leaving a trickling silver patch of tears on his grubby skin, some of the blood trickling from his forehead brushed against her nose but she didn't notice. Right now she was incapable of anything constructive be that moving to safety or describing where she hurt because in her mind she hrut all over. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Mar 19, 2008 14:58:16 GMT
 Eledhwen shot many an Orc during the battle, the adrenelin lending her bow a deadly accuracy, and by the end she could honestly say that the people of Rohan had been well represented. She even caught one or two of the Gondorian soldiers casting her admiring looks as she shouldered her weapon and headed back down towards Major West. She hoped to convince the man of the need to take her with them on the next part of their quest, as she feared the Elf would render her worthless now, and she was not prepared to be left behind now that the end of her own journey was in sight. But even as she descended the levels she could still feel her hand tingling where Haldir had grabbed hold of it. His touch had been light, not hurting her at all, but she had been quite unable to free herself from his dreaded touch. Far from being cold and alien however, his skin had been warm, soft, not caloused like the hands of the Rohirrim, but neither were they unused to work, that she could tell all from that one touch. There was vast strength within him, and she had been at once terrified and yet fascinated, wanting to pull away and yet needing the contact to last forever. It was a strange compelling feeling, one she did not wish to repeat. Or did she? Why then could she not get the image of him out of her mind? Looking at her with love instead of contempt, touching her with desire rather than necessity. She shook her head, disgusted with herself, and saw West and the woman, Thrace, standing just below her. She joined them, and listened quietly until Thrace stopped talking, nodding to her politely. She did not wish to make more enemies, if, that was, Haldir was an enemy. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Mar 19, 2008 15:07:05 GMT
 West was, on the whole, very well satisfied with the outcome of the battle. They had successfully driven away the enemy, and from the looks of them they would not be returning for a second round any time soon. He wiped the butt of his beretta on his pants leg and wrinkled his nose in disgust at the viscous black blood and stench of dead Orc. He glanced up at Thrace as she began her report, listening carefully as he holstered his pistol. As she spoke the young girl, Eledhwen, approached, standing quietly to one side. West couldn't help but notice the way her dark eyes were drawn upwards when Thrace mentioned Haldir, and he sucked at his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I should say so," he grinned at Thrace as she finished. "Good work Lieutenant. Let's go start damage control. Any civilians hurt?" His thoughts flew to Elendur as he mentioned civilians, hoping that she was alright. She would be though, as important as she was she would be well protected by the Steward's guards, along with the old man himself. Still, he decided to look for her as soon as he could get away. He turned to begin the long walk back up to the seventh level, touching Eledhwen lightly on the shoulder for her to accompany them. He had seen her shooting, and had been very impressed. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Mar 19, 2008 18:29:56 GMT
 DJ blinked again to get the dripping blood out of his eye, then straightened up, lifting the almost childlike figure easily into his arms. "Come on," he said, "let's get you inside and to a healer." Stepping over the outflung arm of the troll he strode towards a flight of stairs, and began the long climb upwards to the Houses of Healing, where he knew the girl would be well taken care of. He felt like a homecoming hero as he carried her small weight without effort, P-90 slung across his shoulder instead of swinging against his chest to make it easier. He smiled down at her as he walked, and tipped his head down to his shoulder to try to wipe some of the blood away from his cheek. "I bet I look a complete sight don't I?" he smiled crookedly, his English accent more pronounced with fatigue and the situation. "Don't worry, we're made of strong stuff." |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Mar 19, 2008 18:36:55 GMT
 Miriel hurried backwards and forwards efficiently, tending to the wounds of the soldiers as they came in. So far they had only lost one poor man, a vicious Uruk blade through his stomach making him impossible to save. Most of the injuries were slashes to arms and torso, or arrows embedded in extremities which needed to be drawn out. Miriel enjoyed her work, but did not enjoy seeing the suffering of others, especially in times of war. It brough back too many bad memories, and this time she had the added worry of wondering whether Faramir was alright. She knew he was a good soldier, a good leader, and would fight to the end to protect his men, and because of this she worried all the more. She told herself it was the natural worry of a loyal subject over their Steward, or in this case the Steward's son as the old man himself was too frail and mad to fight, but she knew this was not the only reason she worried. She did not worry about Boromir this way, and for that she felt guilty, but Faramir was... Faramir. He had been kind to her - they were friends, or potentially so, and that was why she worried, or so she told herself. |
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Post by Pinkie on Apr 28, 2008 21:34:38 GMT
"I should say so, Good work Lieutenant. Let's go start damage control. Any civilians hurt?" Thrace followed West's lead, cocking her eyebrow at him coaxing Eledhwen to follow them. She wasn't against the woman, per se, she just preferred keeping things between them, that's all. Clearing her throat and bowing her head, Thrace frowned as she gathered the information requested from her memory. "Few sir. What you would expect. Some soldiers got crushed by the walls - few more got stuck by stray arrows." the blonde was always a little bit too flippant about civilian injuries and deaths. To her that was just the way of battle. But West had a bigger heart. He had room enough to accomodate a pang of sadness for those who had met their ends in a battle that he partook in also. Oh Thrace was affected when it was her own people - when it was her team. No doubt about it. But these people were dying for their land - wasn't that a source of pride for them? With the battle now over, Thrace was starting to analyse the stuff that had gone on before and after it - Lake, Mark... Her nose twitched in irritation at the thought of both men. Lake she wanted to thump and Mark she wanted... she wanted... The woman's jaw tensed and she narrowed her hazel eyes at her commanding officer. "S'ok with you if I go hit up a shower or something sir? I've got alien guts everywhere..." the blonde said in a rather husky tone of voice. West knew her long enough to know that that wasn't the real reason why she wanted a time out. What Mark had said about Molly really hurt - and it still fucking hurt. She had more to say to him about that and she intended on doing it before it got much later in the day. Even if it meant sitting in his room until he went back there, she was going to lay down a few ground rules if he was going to be treading on her terrain. |
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Post by Pinkie on Apr 28, 2008 21:52:22 GMT
Faramir was bleeding. It was a painful blow that he had suffered and he was certain that there were splinters of wood still in it, but he persisted in helping the injured to their feet, in covering the faces of the dead as he went. The wound on the back of his shoulder would just have to wait - until all of his men were tended to. His blue eyes scanned the citadel from a height, his body tilted to one side in pain. Such waste. Such pain and suffering. And what now? His wise eyes followed the footsteps of Haldir down below, the elf disappeared a moment and then his footsteps could be heard behind Faramir. The younger son of the steward remained still, only blinking now and then in sheer weariness. "We won a decisive victory." the Elf said. Faramir sighed, his brow furrowing beneath the curtain of his reddish hair. He shook his head and when he spoke his voice was husky - both tired and tense with pain. "We lost innocent lives.." the man said. Haldir gave a mirthless, empty smile. His unfathomable eyes looked out over the terrain. "And we will lose more before this is finished, Faramir. Be prepared." "Must it be so, Haldir? Must there always be lives lost?" Haldir did not answer this question. He placed a firm hand on Faramir's good shoulder. Boromir's brother lowered his head, shaking it sadly before giving an understanding nod. "I had hoped.... Nevermind. What must be done now?" Faramir queried, turning to face Haldir. The Elf tensed his jaw. His marble like skin seemed to glow, only the faintest smudges marred his perfection despite hisinvolvement in the battle. "We need to start gathering the Rings of Power - across all of Middle-Earth. We must then take the rings to Mount Doom and destroy them as Frodo once destroyed the One Ring. Sauron will send his minions against Minis Tirith in the meantime, we must be prepared for that." Haldir explained. Faramir sighed and nodded his head dutifully. Haldir gave a lopsided smile at the young male - "But first you need to get your shoulder healed." ----- Faramir had his arm about the waist of a man who had blood pouring down his face. One of his eyes was missing and he wept bitter, crimson tears the whole way. It was hard not to be so affected by such emotion and Faramir's face was tense as he entered the houses of healing. He limped a little - the wound on his shoulder was sending crippling jolts to his hip, makingit hard to walk - but he persisted. He had no idea where Boromir was but he was sure his brother had made it in one piece. A healer came towards them and wanted to look at Faramir's wounds first. The Steward's son shook his head, placing himself behind the man with the lost eye delibrately. He was much worse off than Faramir was, he needed immediate attention. Weary from battle, Faramir looked around, seeking a bed to just sit on, just for a moment. But he saw a now familiar dash of blonde on the far side of the room. It was familiar and yet it bore a sorrow to it also - for there were two levesl to the familiarity. One made him think of his wife, his beautiful, treacherous wife. The other was a woman he would not, could not possess. What pain he would bring to her already broken heart! "Miriel..." the name tripped from his lips and he found himself standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder before he actually took stock of what he was doing. When she turned to face him Faramir wrapped her up in a tight embrace, giving a sudden grunt of pain when his shoulder protested. The embrace turned dependant - Faramir could barely straighten but he pulled his head back, smiling at Miriel, a look of peace in his pained blue eyes. "You're safe. Thanks the gods..." Faramir said huskily and fell to the side, landing on a bed with his eyes rolled back in his head, his chest moving steadily and deeply. |
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Post by Pinkie on Apr 28, 2008 22:01:49 GMT
"Come on, let's get you inside and to a healer. I bet I look a complete sight don't I? Don't worry, we're made of strong stuff." Mari wasn't quite worrying as admiring when DJ picked her up and started towards the houses of healing. Her big, dark eyes had held such panic, but gradually, safe in his arms, watching his noble face turn upwards in a smile, Mari started to feel a fluttering of idolisation inside of her. Her hero - he had saved her life and she owed him everything now for that. She was in his debt and he would never know how happy she was to be so! The young woman's eyelashes fluttered prettily when he spoke, his accent sounding most strange for soem reason! The daytime sky disappeared replaced with the ceiling of the houses of healing. Mari sighed, resting her head against DJ's shoulder. A healer came bustling up, concerned about the condition of a young woman, of all people! Mari was placed on a bed but she gasped, reaching her hand out to clutch DJ's, turning her beautiful, immaculate and trusting gaze up to his - "Please don't leave me DJ. He saved my life you know - " Mari murmured the second statement to the healer. "There was a troll who would have certainly squished me if DJ had not come to my rescue..." the young servant continued, looking up at DJ, her eyebrows lifted in the centre of her forehda makign her look very young and very innocent as she explaiend things as she saw them. The healer gave DJ an approving smile as she started to assess Mari -- "Where does it hurt dear?" the healer questionned. Mari sighed heavily and extended her arm, showing the nasty abrasions along her pale, soft skin. "And my hips hurt - the troll held me against a wall and ... " Mari shook her head in terror at the memory. She reached her hand out hastily to clutch DJ's. ((ooc: not sure what I am doing in this scene hahahahha --- who else should I post? What else do they have to do ?  )) |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Apr 29, 2008 11:32:03 GMT
((Ooh squeeeeee it's so good to have you back!!   Missed Mark huh...? I see...  ))  Mark tensed as Gypsy approached, his jaw clenched as he tried to control the anger which threatened to explode inside him. Was this what it would always be like? Would he ever be able to look at Thrace and not love her and hate her in equal measures? To not want to squeeze the life out of her until she begged him to stop? He jumped as he felt her light touch on his arm, and instinctively drew away, frowning at his own stupidity even as he did so. What did it matter if Katee saw another woman touch him? What the hell would she care? Glancing sideways down at the dark young woman by his side, he felt the tiniest easing of the tension inside him, and even managed a small smile which was more grimace than pleasure. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that," he shrugged, a tiny movement which barely lifted one shoulder. "You could say we have a history, me and Thrace." He unwittingly confirmed her suspicions, turning towards her at last and forcing his lips to turn up into a more genuine smile, though still obviously strained. He touched her shoulder softly, the merest hint of a touch, an apology for having pulled away, as he studied her pretty face. Was she really as uncomplicated as she seemed? Would that she were, and never had to be dragged down into the mire of Life, which would surely darken that sunny smile and tinge those bright dark eyes with sadness. "Thanks," he said simply, "for watching my back." He nodded down at the broken bodies of Orcs far below. "Could'a' been me down there if you weren't around to protect me." At last a proper grin broke through at the thought of such a scrap defending a big strong man like himself. Strong... not so strong, not when it came to matters of the heart... not when it came to Katee. The grin faded again as he turned all the way round to scan the bedraggled crowd as it thinned. Of her there was no sign, but he knew she wouldn't be able to let lie his earlier comment. It wasn't in her nature to bow down and give in gracefully. Glancing down he noticed the blood already drying on Gypsy's thigh, and frowned in concern. "Hey, you're hurt," he said pointlessly. "C'mon, let's get you to the infirmary or whatever passes for one around here. Let me take care of you for a change." He smiled again, holding out his arm for her to slide underneath so that he could support her as they walked. Hopefully she would get the message that he needed to be thinking about being useful, something he didn't feel very much at all these days. |
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Post by Bogwoppit on Apr 29, 2008 18:26:01 GMT
Miriel didn't see Faramir enter, engrossed as she was with bandaging a young soldier's arm, the deep slash looking worse than the wound actually was, but nonetheless painful. As she finished the last piece she straightened up, stretching out her aching back, and jumped as she felt a large, warm hand upon her shoulder. "Faramir..." She spun round, but even as his name escaped her lips in a rush of relief she found herself enfolded in a pair of strong arms, crushed against a broad chest, breathing in the comforting male smell that reminded her, and yet didn't, of her own man now lost to her. She hadn't even been aware that she had been worried for him until she found him here before her, but now the niggling itch at the back of her mind fell away, to leave behind a sense of strange peace, of rightness. Strange indeed when she thought about it - to be here in the arms of another woman's husband, her own husband not long in the ground, and to feel so comfortable there. All this went through her mind as she tried to catch the breath that he had squeezed out of her, and though she would happily have stayed there forever, a feeling she wasn't about to explore just yet, she pushed gently away from him to look up into tired blue eyes. To her shock as she pushed back gently from his chest, the man slowly collapsed onto the cot behind him, and his face turned pale, pained blue eyes fluttering closed. For the first time she noticed blood on his shoulder and back as he lay half on his side, and she gasped. "Faramir!" she blurted, forgetting her place and where she was for a moment. She looked up sharply to see if her superior had heard the slip, but no one was near, all were too busy taking care of the wounded. "My lord, " she knelt down beside him, tenderly brushing a stray lock of dirty fair hair from his eyes. "Let me tend to your wound. Here, let me help you take off your tunic..." She eased him over to one side so that she could slide the tattered fabric from his weary torso, swallowing as she caught sight of the vicious bruising beginning to show along his ribs. Pieces of the Orc club were still embedded in his shoulder, and a jagged piece of wood had sliced a gouge through muscle almost to the bone. Miriel winced as she looked at it, then her healer's head took over, and she straightened, biting her bottom lip hard as she gathered warm water and cloths. Determined not to allow her personal feelings take over, she knelt beside the bed and began to gently cleanse the wound, trying to see how easiest to remove the remaining splinters even as she tried not to notice his pale flesh, almost translucent as his lungs raised and fell with the effort of breathing, or the fact that she could count every one of his ribs, every vertebrae of his spine, or the numerous battle scars that criss crossed his broad wiry back. And she especially determined not to notice the tiny jolt which ran through her every time her long fingers grazed that flesh, those ribs, that back... |
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