#I HOPE THIS ISN'T GOD AWFULLLL

[nicawlette]

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 . » NOT ACCEPTING

@pratisodha asked: 20 and/or 90 :) ↳ 20. sender  lifts  receiver's  chin ,  invoking  eye  contact . 90. sender  helps  receiver  patch  up  a  wound .

A sharp hiss sucks in through grit teeth as scarred fingers nurse the aching wound making a home along the curve of her waist. It throbs with every slight bit of movement, somewhat severe, yet far from deadly; although, while she's found herself in worse states, it hurts all the same.

Pain is pain, and used to it as she may be, Nicolette hardly enjoys it in this particular context.

Complaints come out breathless and strained, ending in a whine as her companion remains nearby. ❝ I think my nose is broken... my good looks... ❞

Stumbling, the woman reaches out to catch herself along the wall, rough brick scraping her palm and eliciting a sharp gasp. The twisting of her body agitates jagged, cut skin and tears the layer of freshly clotted blood. A sudden warmth seeps past stained fingers and slips down her side, refilling the air with the harsh scent of iron.

It burns something fierce, edges of split flesh red and inflamed, rubbed raw by her shirt. Nicolette tightens her grip, forcing the distraction of pain back until her focus sharpens and the stream of blood becomes sluggish, then stops entirely. Her legs give out by then, body slipping down the wall to shiver pitifully on the ground. Her tone become despairing as she continues, ❝ Ugh, God... I'm gonna throw up— ❞

Perhaps it's her warning, or the pathetic moaning and groaning, but Ramattra seems to lose both his patience and ability to stubbornly ignore her. Her vision swims, painting him in blurred shades of black and purple as he moves closer and crouches down, becoming clear only once he's near enough to cast her wilted frame in shadow. The sensation of cool metal digging into her chin knock all thoughts from her mind, pale neck bending back as their eyes are forced to meet. She whimpers and squirms only for a moment before settling under the scrutinizing. His grip is not gentle, but neither is it particularly painful, as her face is tilted back and forth.

A black eye and bruises blooming on the bridge of a bloody nose and cheek, but nothing dire. He tells her as much, sounding exasperated as though disappointed by a missed opportunity to deliver bad news. Even so, the reassurance relaxes much of the tension in her shoulders and allows exhaustion to creep up, so much so that she struggles staying upright when he releases his firm hold.

Things quickly go fuzzy around the edges, and her eyes drop half-mast. The sound of his voice passes through her ears, distant and muffled like they've been stuffed with cotton, but Nicolette thinks he orders her to stay awake, though it's hardly out of concern. ❝ 'm tryin'.... 's hard... ❞ Those cold hands return, lower now, and they seep a chill straight to her bones that makes her flinch. ❝ Ah— ! Fuck! Okay, okay! I'm awake! ❞ The woman groans miserably, only barely catching the tail end of his refusal to ❛ carry her again ❜. She doesn't quite recall that, but it's tempting nonetheless, to test the validity those claims.

Her gaze falls to where the omnic tightly wraps fabric around her abdomen, breathing a soft sight of relief. ❝ You're so confusing... ❞ she mutters, head shaking limply. The machine hardy seems to stand her presence, and she intentionally does not make it any easier to do so, yet this makes more than once that he has not left her to die in the street. Perhaps he simply finds her suffering to be payment enough. The reason matters little though, if it allows her to live another day. ❝ Your bedside manner could use some work... but you really are my hero, Rama— OW! ❞ A particularly rough pull is her punishment for provoking, but she hardly looks guilty, barking out a warbling laugh, instead.