#(So I'm always tired as heck and lazy on the weekend. 8'D;;;;;)

[red-hemlock]

@ghosts-of-gotham (For Nora!)

Bullets and batarangs. Sounds like the title to a cheesy work of fiction, not at all pleasant a way to spend one's Sunday evening. But then again, not everyone had the luxury to stay at home to catch-up on TiVo, or indulge the latest soap on the tube.

Case in point? One Riversong Locke, who'd all but dragged herself in from the cold and rain, like the scruffy wounded animal that she very much was. Bullets and batarangs, after all. Cheesy title, but fully capable of turning you into swiss cheese if Lady Luck hated your guts in that moment. The worst of the worst of her wounds was currently being stymied by a firm hand to her side, but from the look of that blood trail...

"Heard you're a doctor. Normally I'd do what I could myself, but-" Words trail, cutting her explanation off as River shook her head in a bid to stave-off vision made hazy, "...I don't think I'm going to be awake for much longer."

"Pinkie-promise. I'll pay you for a patch-up, plus interest." The back of a trembling hand brushes one of the many red stains painting her face, and somehow she's able to gasp-out a wheezy chuckle, "If not? Well, then I promise to stain this nice rug to heck on my 'way out'."