checkingout | you cannot hurt me

Entry tags:

raven reyes

you cannot hurt me

Who: raven reyes et tu, brute [open log for first half of the event ayy]
Where: mostly room 118, raven is being forced to 'rest up' and 'take it easy'
When: april 6th-19th
What: raven, much like bridges that can outlast a nuclear war, isn't immune to things that go boom. following her easter egg fiasco, her good doctor griffin has her on bed rest. she's so pissy, so obviously come and talk to her.

room 118

[There are no painkillers, again, so she has no reason to be happily loopy throughout the healing process. There's no reason for her to be happy at all, it seems, because if it's one good thing -- mending things with Clarke, hearing that their people get out of Mount Weather -- then it's followed by a bad thing. An egg exploding in her face.

She could've had it a lot worse, truth be told. She reacted fast, that was the good thing. Reacted fast enough to cover her face with her free hand, but still come out of it with burnt fingertips and little annoying cuts all over the place. Her arm, her face where she hadn't covered it. So on.

It's a good thing she has Clarke to take care of her, and with this she seems to be giving Clarke something to do as well, but all in all she's so done with being the invalid. The bed-ridden weight dragging people down.

At some point, in this whole 'sit in bed and get better' experience, during which she sleeps a lot, she ends up getting her hands on new projects. The first one is to sharpen her knife. And when that's been managed, the next project is to make a couple of dice out of a broken chair leg. It's a tedious job, but it gives her something to do, and she doesn't mind the splinters. Who knew she could have a future in sculpting, right?]

bring your own adventure

[Please go ahead. The door to 118 is open during the day, but not during the night. Come April 15th, she might start moving through the Hotel again.]

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[Steve remembers what it was like to be stuck in bed. He never felt more restless than when he was supposed to be resting, fighting himself when there was no one else to fight. Luckily he had Bucky to practically sit on top of him, to make sure that he recovered.

He's not sitting on top of her. But Steve is sitting beside her, sketching quietly on the back of an old hotel pamphlet. The eggs surprised everyone, and he's gathered up as many as he can. It's not all of them by a long shot - the hotel has its share of chocoholics willing to risk it.

Steve looks over as she starts to wake, a soft but worried smile on his lips.]

How're you feeling?

[She'd like, just one time, to not wake up all bruised and battered when there's a really cute guy watching over her. Not that it matters, it shouldn't matter; she's floored momentarily by this thought, that she should be nagged by her looks or interested in someone. It sits bitter on the tongue, like some sort of betrayal to the boy who moved on before she did, died before she did too.

She scrunches up her nose in reaction, protests silently and pushes herself up to sitting in bed. They took her brace off, fucking awesome. It's sitting on the chair, close to where Steve is, glaring at her.

She forces herself to look at him]

Like I chewed on nails and tried to pass them for food. Did you carry me, or did I dream that?

[Steve places his drawing aside when she starts to move, not to make her lie back again, not even to reach out and help her until he sees that she needs it. It's mostly just a quiet support. He's there if she needs him.

The corner of his mouth quirks at her question.]

Yeah, I did. It was pretty scary, but I imagine it was a lot worse for you.

[He pours a glass of water and offers it to her. Steve's not sure how it's supposed to help, it's just something he saw his mom do once.]

[The thing is that Raven will never ever, to this day, claim to need him, or anyone. Easier this way, in general an to herself.]

To this day, I can safely say it does not beat open spine surgery. What's a few nails? I'm embarrassed I passed out.

[Now why does that seem familiar. Maybe because in another place and time, that was him too.]

Open spine surgery. [Steve's brow furrows at that, trying to figure out if it's just an example or something she's actually gone through.] Still bad, that's what. There were a few others too. Any one of you could've died.

[Oh if it only were an example. She's feeling generous, or maybe trusting.] The one time there was a bullet pressing down on my spine, yeah? They'd run out of anesthesia... just my luck.

[She pushes herself up further against the pillows, suppressing a flinch when she ends up doing it with her burnt fingertips. Not as bad, Raven, not as bad.] Who else got hit?

Sounds terrible.

[And he means that in the most sincere way. Steve frowns, wondering how the bullet got there in the first place. But even if this wasn't as bad, he doubts it's something she'd repeat for pleasure.]

A friend of mine, a couple of others. I think they were sending a message.

[Another day; maybe when they invent something like alcohol.

She snorts.] What was the message, 'don't go around saying you'd sooner explode'?

Could be.

[Steve doesn't doubt that they can hear them. The message could be one of a dozen different things, and Steve's not entirely sure which one it is. Maybe just that they can hurt them any time they want to.]

Is there anything I can get you? Sorry, I don't have any games or anything.

I'd actually even take a book right now. [Last one she read being the one she needed to read to ace that test. Ah, books, what a different time that was.

She points to the pamphlet in his lap.] What have you got there?

Do you want me to see if I can find you one?

[He makes no promises about actual entertainment value, but he understands the boredom that comes with her situation. Steve looks down at his drawing, nearly forgotten. He holds it up to show her.]

It's a sketch of an old alley cat that used to live around my building.

[Where in the world -- in which of those beefy muscles -- does he hide talent for drawing? Most of what Raven knows of art are sketches made by Clarke, but he's comparably as good.

She reaches over, and takes the pamphlet from his hands. Her thumb swipes along the shape of the animal.]

I've never seen one.

[It's all in the shoulders.

The statement that she's never seen a cat before is one of the most surprising things that Steve has heard. But he knows that some worlds have been pushed to the brink.]

This one was a real tough cuss. He used to howl half the night and fight the other half. [Steve smiles a little.] Now that I think about it, we had something in common. Anyway, he's a big part of the reason I never had rats in my apartment.

[Did you know they're pretty great shoulders? Probably.]

I guess there's an upside to being kept awake all night, then. [Too bad they're probably extinct where she comes from. Actually, likely all once-domesticated animals are now extinct. If they didn't have enough resources to keep people on the Ark, what made anyone think they could keep Poochy?]

This is nice -- you're good at this.

I went to art school for a little while. I did mostly sketches. I didn't have to worry about getting the color of anything wrong that way.

[But maybe colorful cats could've been his style. Anyway, he goes on to explain.]

I was colorblind.

[Clarke would probably get this better than Raven, but she's not trying to catch flies with honey, so...]

That's rough, buddy.

[He snorts softly, a smile on his lips. He actually likes her approach. It's honest, he'll take honest any day.]

It was better than the asthma. And the scoliosis. But if I had to choose between it and the flat feet, I could've lived with the flat feet.

[But technically he lived with it all.}

[She needs a moment, and then.]

What sort of coccoon did you go in, then? [I mean -- look at him.]

I joined the Army.

[It's not a lie!]

[A little groan.] Come on, Steve - here I actually liked you.

I hope you still do.

[Sass and dogtags and all.]

I kind of do, tragically. [What's she supposed to say? That she dislikes soldiers? Please - Bellamy almost never leaves his guns behind, and Clarke was well on her way to becoming a warlord if that's what hanging out with Lexa would've done. And Lexa...

Eh.

Steve's atypical. She pictures him as a member of the Guard on the Ark, and has a gut feeling that he'd have been floated fast fo feeding the hungry from extra rations meant for the upper class soirées. Yeah, she kind of does like him.]

That is a tragedy.

[Anyone unfortunate enough to be friends with him. Steve says it with a bit of a smile though.]

Tell you what. You can have that picture if you like. Or I can draw you anything you want, anything at all.

[Yeah, they're bad at pretending like it's a bad thing, considering the smiles. She considers his offer, her lip between her teeth for a moment.

Quietly,] Are you any good with solar systems?

Yeah, I am.

[Steve smiles, pleasantly surprised by the question.]

My friend Bucky loved space and everything about it. I learned quite a bit just from him.

[My my my, Bucky - a bucket of surprises. She smiles a little; maybe she'll talk to him about stars, soon. See what he knows, if he still likes them, if he'd like to hear spacewalking stories. Maybe talking about it with a neutral party will help it feel warm again.]

If you can draw me something thematic...[I'll what?]

[Cissie is experiencing her own restless recovery syndrome, which is basically that she feels useless and stupid and like she should be so much better than to have let herself get exploded on by an Easter egg. As if she had any say or input in the matter at all, but now she's got wounds and bruises and a hand that throbs from the burns only all of the time. It's only her right hand, her dominant hand, that's all. No big deal there, right? It's not like she has to use it for school work or archery practice or anything, just... texting and eating and braiding her hair.

This is what her life has come to, and she's going completely stir-crazy. So much so that she finally begins to wander from her room, and explore the hotel a little, even though she gets Looks from people and she hates it. She is not someone people should be pitying, or worrying about. But no one knows that, and how could they? She's been laying so low, and doing nothing--except maybe wallowing in her uselessness.

Which is part of why, when she peeks into Raven's open door, she's so surprised by what she sees that she actually stops and pokes her head in. She lifts her bandaged hand in a bit of a wave, giving her a sheepish smile.]

Hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to just--barge in rudely like this. Are you... making something?

[She won't get pity from Raven, she'll get understanding. They've been there, both of them. From the moment someone pokes their head into the room, Raven looks up, and when she spots the bandaged hand and the same signs of scratches and little cuts on her face as on her own, she knows.]

You too, huh? Come in. [Why not? What's the worst that could happen, she turns out to be a psycho? She's in a cynic mood about that today, so the door is open. Besides which, she's got that knife in her hand, the one she's using to chop little pieces of wood off what remains of a chair leg.]

Trying to is the key word here. Sculpture's new to me.

[Cissie's smile goes from sheepish to relieved in about .2 seconds, and she nods, a bit ruefully, making her way into the room to sit at the end of the bed. Nothing like some egg-shaped bombs to help make new friends, right?

Except she met some of her actual best friends for the first time after getting an arrow through the arm, so maybe she's just better suited to friendship through trauma. Not a happy thought, but. There it is.]

Yeah, me too. What is you're trying to make? [She leans in to get a closer look, then remembers her manners.] Oh! Sorry. I'm Cissie.

[She'd normally shake her hand here, but looking at their hands it's probably not a good idea. So she doesn't do that.]

Raven. And I'm aiming for a dice. [Look at the wood shavings all over her duvet, she could've picked something easier.]

[Cissie leans in to get a closer look at the carvings, eyebrows raising in something that might be impressed, or slightly skeptical.]

...I can see it. You picked an ambitious project. Have you done a lot of woodwork before?

No, I'm more used to metal work. [She points towards the brace lying on a chair as far from the bed as possible. Clarke's way of telling her to stay put and heal up. She's distracted by the carving, so she doesn't make a fuss of it.]

[Cissie follows her pointing and her eyebrows shoot up at what she sees. Her voice is full of awe.] ...Wow. You made that? Here?

No, no, it came in with me. [She shudders to think what it would be like without the brace here. No working elevator, first floor room, walking target.] I can barely make shelves here, are you kidding?

Oh. [She laughs, shaking her head.] That makes more sense, yeah. But for a minute I thought maybe you were a miracle worker and wondered why the heck you haven't created a door out of nothing.

Ha. [Ouch, yeah. If only.] I mean, I could build a bomb to blow a hole in the wall, but it'd take time and...I'm not sure that wouldn't backfire on me.

[WINCE] ...Yeah, I think we've had enough explosives lately, for the time being.

For the time being, yeah. [But she's got nails now. Sure, they're holding up Clarke's shelves in the infirmary, but she's got nails and if anyone has bullets...

One possibility, though not one she's okay with taking into account now. There still are kids in this place.]

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you cannot hurt me

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whoops i'm so late to this i hope this is okay!

so verily!

\o/

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