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[This must be one of the only times--maybe the only, the first time--that she's banged on Clarke's door for a reason that didn't involve yelling blame for something-or-other. If the circumstances were different, Rita would be well aware of that fact, and how odd it is that things have changed so much... But since the circumstance right now are, well. Holding back barely-restrained tears between pain and humiliation, it's not given a second thought. Instead-

What happened? What happened? Where does she even begin to explain what just went down, except-]

That--that little...barbaric--Darcy!

[What would've been a furious hiss is more broken and choked around the bitter lump of emotion in her throat and her inability to breathe through her nose.]

Darcy?

( clarke belatedly registers she shouldn't be all that surprised, and yet — it is actually really surprising. consider her temporarily floored. the tension and fraught arguments in the lobby were one thing; no one behaves well when the world seems to be ending and there's nothing to do about it, and that sure had been a knock down drag out fight rita'd almost found herself in with the other teen. but here? back on the ship? clarke would have expected darcy'd fall back in heel with skulduggery, and be celebrating the captain's complicated return, not picking fights. )

I — what?

( but no actually, first thing first. she's stepping out of her doorway a little, well into rita's personal space, and grabbing the wrist of the hand rita's using to cradle her face. pulling it sharply away from her nose, to get a better look at the damage. and when she does — )

Oh my god.

( — that sure is a broken nose if ever she'd seen one. lopsided and bloated with swelling, an ugly shade of red to purple to green. blood crusting the edges of rita's nostrils, and skin split across the bridge.

the secondary yank on rita's wrist is to drag her bodily inside cabin 108 and slam the door shut behind them. )

[There's no time for her to switch gears to being confused at Clarke's apparent confusion, reluctantly allowing Clarke to pull her hand away--not entirely without resistance, because now it's like exposing an open wound.

And Clarke's reaction--any thoughts of "it can't look as bad as it feels" go out the window as suddenly Rita's yanked inside the cabin, and an angry, slightly nervous pit opens in her stomach.]

Is it--how bad do I need to kill her?

[As if she didn't just have to run away and isn't still fighting back those tears, the urge to go straight back to the kitchen and clock Darcy's lights out rises sharply.]

( genuinely torn between you're not killing her! and idk man, at least two instances of solid whoop ass, death optional, clarke sets about to business. it's like a razorblade has sliced the protective bubble of dissociation, and even the (relatively small scale) crisis of the broken nose launches her back into harsher times. which translates to a brusque, no-nonsense sort of efficiency as clarke drags rita over and tries to park her on the couch bed.

as always, 108 is an over crowded, overstocked room — hundreds of little things collected from across the ship and stored here in the event of an emergency, everything from food to bullets to water to bandaids. and it seems like the pilfering of the infirmary is about to come in handy

clarke drags the coffee table a little closer to the couch, then sits so their knees knock and she can again lean in to rita's space. both hands come up to cup her face, gentle but firm. ) What did she hit you with?

[It's again not entirely without resistance that Rita lets herself be steered to the couch, awareness that she should let Clarke see the injury not able to entirely overrule the need to move around, hit something (preferably Darcy), just anything other than getting fussed over for a stupid injury... But she did come to Clarke for a reason, and if it looks bad already...it'll only get worse if nothing's done about it. So she does plop on the couch with a scowl, fingers tightly clenching against the seat cushion. Clarke's firm grip is the only thing that keeps her from reflexively pulling her face back.]

C--careful, it--hurts, you know. [Right, the question. That particular detail actually takes her a moment to recall; it's not as if she'd been very focused on just what Darcy had slammed into her face, or--the other way around...] ...The kitchen counter. It feels like she broke my whole damn face!

( well obviously it hurts like hell, she just got beat with part of an industrial kitchen! clarke's eyebrows raise and her lips flatten like she's about to say something similar and catty out loud. but last second manages to reign it back in. still cupping rita's face, she say, )

Say 'eeeee' for me, ( complete with the demonstration of curling lips back so she can check rita's teeth. after that assessment — ) Stick out your tongue.

( rita is talking, however nasally and ragged with fury, so the worry of a broken jaw is waylaid but it's still best to be thorough. clarke is also staring incredibly hard into the other girls eyes, gauging pupillary reactions and looking for anything else out of the ordinary. getting pummeled in the face by solid granite or sheet metal could do a lot of damage, and not all of it immediately visible, but hopefully they can rule out a concussion as they go. )

None of your teeth look broken at least. How did it even start this time?

[She doesn't quite say eeeee so much as grunt awkwardly, but obligingly shows Clarke her teeth and tongue, even if she hardly thinks those areas ought to be a priority compared to her very-throbbing nose. Some mucousy blood in her mouth is only the result of the nosebleed, where some of it slid down the back of her throat. And while she might also be developing a fainter forehead bruise, she's avoided a concussion...not for Darcy's lack of trying.

Still, Clarke mentions that her teeth check out, and Rita huffs with irritation, emotions still roiling high.]

I could've told you that much. [But--alright, there's a question, although Rita's in no way going to do great at formulating clean answers right now.] Where do I even start with that--that stupid--ugh! Just because I walk into a kitchen that I didn't even know was there--as if she thought I'd let her just drench me--she completely lost it at the muffin!

[Rita punctuates this "explanation" with angry arm gestures, dropping her fist onto her knees with a scowl.]

( yeah, that account is hardly as informative as clarke had been hoping. it's sure no play by play of how walking into a kitchen lead to a severely broken nose, but she does snag on to the bit about the — )

This was over a muffin?

( somehow managing to still sound concerned, with the undercurrent of exasperation. because what? they'd all just dragged themselves out of hell, and a muffin is the straw that broke the camels back? (only on second thought yeah, that's fair, she'd seen how strained that proverbial camel was when they'd all been trapped in the head filled lobby, but still...)

mentally, clarke's running down a list of treatments for a broken nose. there's a panacea bottle in her desk drawer, but she'd been cautioned it wouldn't work for broken bones and can't imagine it does better for shattered cartilage. no palamedes means no one around moderately skilled at flesh magic, and also clarke doesn't want to think about that right now. she has gauze, ibuprofen, a little morphine... and yeah, they could probably work with that. )

Well, the good news is we can fix this.

Edited 2023-05-17 03:13 (UTC)

I guess! [Another animated and agitated flinging her hands up in a wide shrug.] She's crazy--I could try to mind my own business and she'd still find a way to get offended over getting ignored, or because I dared to step on her sacred floors, or--seriously whatever at this point!

[Hell, she wants to wring Darcy's neck so badly right now, all this ranting is working herself up again, but--Clarke says the injury can be fixed, which is--she can't say anything's good at the moment, but that's...something. She huffs.]

Good for her, you mean, or I'd owe her a permanent dent in her stupid face. Which still isn't off the table!

Or off the counter top.

( okay okay, that one just sorta slipped out. clarke's pretty sure once rita calms down she'll understand that not being temporarily disfigured (at least until her next death) is a good thing for her as well, but... the rage. the anger. the humiliation. she gets it. different scale than waking up at the end of december, stomping around the laundry room and screaming at natsuno about how she was going to turn skulduggery into ashes and bone chips just to dump him outside the bridge door, but same vibe. it'd taken her a while — and one forcibly removed rib bone — to really calm down about being murdered by vile. she hopes it doesn't take rita that long to get over darcy, but isn't holding her breath.

the latent anger can be dealt with after the broken nose. speaking of, they're already right here, hands against rita's face. might as well do it now. )

But listen, it's gonna hurt. So take a deep breath for me, let me know when you're ready, and don't hit me.

[Rita's too worked up to be properly amused by the counter top comment, but it's still kind of distantly appreciated.

What Clarke says next is not so appreciated, though--and Rita's very abruptly leaning back and away from Clarke's hands, as if she's suddenly decided she'd maybe rather live with a crooked nose.]

Hey, you can't--you can't just say that and expect me to--what they hell are you planning on doing?

( rita all but yanks herself back and, well — damn, there goes the rough plan of pretending to count to three, and shoving her nose back into place at one. )

I have to reset it, Rita. If we don't, it might heal like that — ( the crushed, flattened, oddly angled mess that's gonna be a mess even without the current bruising and little bit of blood. ) — and you might never breathe right again. It'll hurt for a minute but just — please. Trust me.

It's...not like I don't trust you...

[She wouldn't have knocked on Clarke's door otherwise. There's still a moment of her gaze flickering around the room like there's some way she can get out of this, but ultimately...

A very, very reluctant groan as she tries to settle back in her seat--which is hard, knowing this is about to hurt!]

Ugh... Just...just get it over with, then.

( there's a faint flicker of warmth inside her chest when rita relents. recognizing where they've come from, it's nice to know the other girl trusts her — it just sucks that this moment is currently building to a point that's inevitably going to hurt her. extra sucks that clarke doesn't know exactly which brand of comfort rita needs right now — maternal? toughen up, grin and bear it? encouragement to look at the bigger picture? — so she ends up just letting her mouth run. )

It'll be quick. This is actually the easiest break to fix, you could have gotten off way worse. There's no resetting broken teeth, you'd just have to have waited until the next time you died to get those fixed. ( too dark? whoops.

her hands return to rita's bruised face, thumbs coming up to hover over her nostrils. and clarke takes a deep breath. )

Okay, on three. One —

( then there's an audible crack sound that rita probably feels in her teeth as clarke jerks her hands and wrenches cartilage back into place. it probably hurts as bad as being slammed into the counter in the first place, but on a more localized spot against pre-tenderized flesh. and clarke's been hit in the face enough to know, and almost immediately start spilling out apologies. )

I'm sorry, I'm sorry — but there. All done.

[She makes a slight grimace, because saying she got off comparatively easy with a smashed face really doesn't put her at ease. Regardless, she tries to sit still, swallowing a lump and already starting to tense up as Clarke's about to begin her countdown-

A countdown that never finishes, as Rita gives a short, piercing shriek that drowns out the sound of crunching cartilage--it's visceral pain exploding in her face again, and, well...

Clarke said don't hit me, but Rita really doesn't have the self-control--or the experience in getting her face smashed--to not reflexively lash out with a kick, scrambling back on the couch as she clutches at tender flesh with her hands.]

Ow--ow, ow...! You didn't--that seriously hurt! You just made it worse!

[Fresh tears dampen her eyes at the newly-worsened throbbing, and boy, does she really want to wring Darcy's neck now...]

( rita's haphazzard, instinctual kick lands pretty squarely on clarke's upper shin, and might bruise something wicked but after a fleeting moment of internal swearing, she manages to swallow down any reprimand or exclamation. that sure does smart, though, and both hands — now face free — drop to cradle her leg, applying the sort of counter pressure that people just do in an attempt to lessen the pain. )

I only said it'd hurt, not exactly how much. Breathe for a second, and try to focus on the fact it actually has a chance to heal right. And —

( hm, should she warn rita about this second bit? that hadn't gone over so well the first time, but in the spirit of friendly honesty... )

...that the next part isn't going to be nearly as bad.

( a few more aggressive rubs to the leg, then clarke's standing and moving to her desk drawer to withdraw a pilfered roll of gauze, some little scissors, and a bandaid. )

[Clarke cradles her leg, Rita clutches at her face (but doesn't press because that only makes the pain worse), and she doesn't exactly feel sorry so much as slightly vindicated in this commiseration. The worst explosion of pain is at least receding back into the (still very awful) ache that she was already feeling before Clarke wrenched bits and pieces back into alignment, so she does start to settle back down on the couch, keeping a watchful eye on what the other girl's doing.]

Next part...?

[She already doesn't really like the sound of any additional parts to this treatment--why the hell should treating an injury hurt just as bad as receiving it?! Non-magic healing sucks!--but the dressing materials seem self-explanatory enough. Right, a bandage, since it is bleeding and all...]

Oh. I guess--as long as that's all.

( clarke gets it, rita. non-magic healing sucks. she remembers feeling a particular sort of offended and left out when thinking of all the ways magic could have benefited her reality back home, even something as simple as palamedes' rudimentary flesh magic and — uuuuugh, no she's not going to think about that.

but even in a world steeped in magic, the basics still suffice for most things. clarke's never seen a nose brace in her entire life, but knows something like that must have existed — a neat little shell to put over a broken nose and make sure it's held in place while it heals. they don't have that here, and so she must make due with pulling two lines of gauze, cutting them, and then beginning to roll each into compact little noodles. for now, she tactfully leaves out that these are about to go up the other girls nose.

and as she works, she talks. ) Did you get hit anywhere else? ( 100% not about to go through all this effort to fix rita's face only to later learn if she'd been cracked in the stomach and is gradually dying from internal bleeding, thanks. )

Edited 2023-05-22 05:05 (UTC)

[Sure, there is also plenty of medical treatment of the non-magic variety in her world, since magic has its limits and healer mages may not always be available (not to mention there's simply nobody in the world who can compare to Estelle's healing power)--but this is why she prefers to leave the brawling to the fighting maniacs! She's meant to deal pain, not receive it! But apparently ~~RNG~~ Darcy didn't get that memo...and was also fighting dirty.

Speaking of which--Rita shakes her head slightly.]

She kept going for my head--a mop, her fists, the counter, whatever--she fights seriously dirty--so besides being an violent idiot, she's a coward, too!

[If only yelling about Darcy made the pain better... But yes, in the meantime, she is blissfully unaware that Clarke's about to shove makeshift braces up her nostrils.]

( hey, there's always some catharsis to be found with yelling and screaming. jade understood that; jade'd had nothing but encouragement when she hissed fuck you under her breath moments before passing out mid-cauterization. this... this won't be nearly as severe, but the vibe is still accepted. )

That's not cowardice, that's efficiency.

( this isn't darcy praise, but clarke's not about to be so hypocritical that she'll pretend to have not told natsuno serrated knives were better for stabbing because they caused more internal damage.

one gauze plug rolled tightly, now starting on the other. )

You got lucky, you know that right? Did you ever consider just walking away?

[Behind the hand she's still using to lightly hold her face (not she needs to; it's not like it's going to fall apart), her eyes scrunch up critically when Clarke says efficiency.]

...Why do you think I'm here and not still there?

[As in, she did walk away, though she hated doing it, just imagining Darcy still in the kitchen, probably gloating...]

Besides, how the hell do you call this lucky?! If I'd been lucky, this wouldn't even have happened!

Optimal would be this never happening. Lucky is that it's your nose that's broken, and not your eye socket or skull. I tried to warn you about fights you couldn't win, Rita.

( she remembers the faint tickle of necromantic thanergy when palamedes had inspected her head after that first, humiliating death, only to assure her that the break in her skull was shockingly healed and —

noooope. not doing this. )

Okay, ( clarke abruptly announces, cutting off her own internal monologue. and holding up the two tightly rolled gauze strips. ) These are going to act like a splint for your cartilage. Lean in again and tilt your head up.

[For just a second, she glances off to the side at that reminder of the lobby, but the protests quickly bubble up.]

H--hey, I totally could've won! [If it...hadn't gone down the way it did. If her blastia was working. If she was better at sigils. A beat later, then-] And--besides, she started the fight, not me.

[Although...the next phase of treatment gets her attention, as she eyes the rolled-up gauze. Something about it just seems...off, in her opinion...]

...Isn't a splint supposed to be hard, not...soft, like that stuff?

( exactly. that's a whole lot of if's with little follow up to assert the likelihood of rita winning any sort of physical fight. darcy has two inches of height and years worth of physical training on clarke, who in turn has a several inches on rita and could still wipe the absolute floor with her in normal human combat. (did, once. technically. we don't talk about halloween.)

but for whatever it's worth, in a mage battle? with a functional blastia? all her money would have been on rita. )

If it was your arm, it would be hard. But unless you want me to stick a pencil up your nose, we're going with gauze. ( and, again: ) Come here.

Well, I guess-

[Wait, hang on--the implications of what Clarke just said fully sink in, and Rita's immediately releasing her face to point at the other girl, even as she starts to back away down the length of the couch.]

Oh, no--no, no way--those are not going up my anything!

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