[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

The surgeon's texts came back quick and, dividing his attention between the road and his phone screen, Dane gave them a read. There were no obvious indications he'd be walking his guy into just another fight, so he dismissed his swirling concerns and focused on her desire not to be called upon habitually. 'I can make no promises. I don't sleep much and we rascally bunch are just oh, so inconsiderate.' [break][break]

She sent him a destination and Dane continued on with new purpose. 'See you soon'. [break][break]

Every once in a while, as they made their way into the city, he lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror to assess his passenger. He was fluttering in and out. Breathing hard. Laxing and then coming back with an obvious strain to remain present. [break][break]

Dane considered continuing his streak of superficial chattiness. Or turning on some music — something loud and obnoxious, with big, booming bass or a classical cacophony of disorienting strings and trumpets — to help keep him awake. But, in the end, he decided to give the guy some peace. If he ended up dying in transit, he'd allow him the silence and space to think whatever it was he needed to think beforehand (with no interruption or distraction).[break][break]

He pushed the speed limit, but only a forgivable amount. It'd be just his luck to get pulled over tonight. And, when he neared, he shot the warning text to the woman and let her know they were closing in.[break][break]

His destination was in a quiet and quaint block of Downtown with other, equally-unassuming practices around. Only one had the faint suggestion of life about it, though, and a silver SUV parked in front. There were no lights through the window on the street-facing side, so he — taking a hint — circled to the back where, lo and behold, a single, dim street bulb sang out like a beacon. He parked close, turned the car off, and moved around to let Snowcone clamber out. Then he stepped to the backseat and opened the door.[break][break]

"Just a little bit more, guy," Dane half-braced, half-encouraged. He wasn't sure the man was even aware enough to hear (let alone comprehend) him now but he spoke anyway, trying to rouse him a bit. "Then we've done about all we can and the rest is up to her." [break][break]

Getting him out of the car was a lot harder than getting him in but, after some fight, Dane had him half-draped against him enough to shut the door. The man was heavier now and, with their first step, his feet dragged and his legs buckled — they stumbled and the man's knees nearly hit the ground before Dane caught them and re-righted. "Personally, that's my favorite part," he continued, voice tight with the grit of his jaw but also quiet with something akin to somber honesty. He hauled the guy back up and started them again toward the door. "Lots of relief in passing the baton. Y'know? Accepting that, whether you live or die — really not much more you can do about it."[break][break]

Once again, he thought of his own close calls; the various times he'd deposited himself, half-dead, at someone's doorstep and the relief that washed over him when they answered. Even when what came after wasn't necessarily pleasant, there'd always been some serenity in knowing he'd finished the most grueling part of his fight — the getting himself there — and there was little more to do but either make it through the night or go to sleep and not wake up. He supposed he was just selfish like that, though; shoving the responsibility of his life on someone else. [break][break]

Was that why he was doing this tonight?[break]
Because so many people had done it for him? [break]
He had been thinking a lot on karma...[break][break]

For a moment, he threatened to get reflective. Thoughtful, even. But then the building's door opened — just as he was beginning the struggle of redistributing his pal's deadweight enough to reach for the handle — and he was face-to-face with a scrubbed-up woman. She was taller than average. Looked (somehow immediately) severe, like a thundercloud, with thick, dark hair pulled back in a way that did very little to tame its volume and wildness. [break][break]

Dane couldn't help but perk. What an unexpected and pleasant surprise. She was pretty, yay! Had the barely conscious man hanging off his side been just a little more lively, he might have commented the observation aloud and tried to exchange a gleeful look with him. But, as it was, he only nodded and pushed past her and into the building's light. [break][break]

"The dog comes with," he stated assuredly, as if there were no argument to be had about it, though he was curious (and perhaps eager) to see if there'd be some equally-assertive push-back. He always enjoyed a bit of a push and pull. Pressing buttons and toeing lines. Testing the water for bite. Especially from pretty women who undoubtedly and obviously had the upper hand and more to bargain with (this situation especially); it was always the most fun when they knew they'd win and thought him audacious for thinking otherwise.[break][break]

Not that he ever truly thought otherwise.[break][break]

Dane continued their stilted journey down a hall. As surmised from the outside, the building wasn't large and... as most of the lights were off in "unnecessary" rooms... it was obvious where he was supposed to be heading. As he moved, he tossed a look over his shoulder. "You watch those Spider-Man movies? You know, the new stylized ones? With the female Doc Ock?" He grinned. He wasn't a big movie guy himself but Grace had always been into that sort of thing. "That's who you r — ah, you know what, nevermind."

Tag: Jason Sharpe & Darcy Vance [break]
Notes: Just lemme know if I did too much or if something don't fit! Otherwise, feel free to move Dane (and Snowcone) around as much as you want.

[googlefont=Roboto Slab]
[newclass=.lizardstripe b]color:#3C584D;[/newclass]
[newclass=.lizardstripe]line-height:1.3;[/newclass]

[Darcy Vance]

Darcy had just finished setting up all her instruments and getting a few bags of blood on standby, she didn’t know his blood type so she’d stay safe with universal donor blood, just glad that her office had been restocked since the last time. She wasn’t the first person called in on situations, she was called for emergencies that required her level of calm precision. Her nerves faded and she could feel that detached part of her mind clicking on. She needed to be ready for whatever came her way, though she supposed with this being not ‘technically’ ‘on the books’, even for The Guild; it had a whole different level of tenseness to the situation. Glancing at her phone she rolled her eyes at this man’s attempt at humor, even if the corner of her lips did turn up slightly.

She was just waiting now, stretching and forcing herself to drink an energy drink from the fridge. She didn’t know exactly what she’d be handling, and she didn’t need to find herself getting tired. Another text let her know they were nearly there so she headed for the back door.

Darcy’s eyes narrowed as she stood in the doorway, watching one man limp toward her with the weight of the half-conscious man slumped against him. Her mind worked on instinct, her gaze flickering over the man’s body, catching the signs: shallow breathing, sweat dampening his skin, the barely-there flutter of his eyelids. He was teetering on the edge, and the clock was already ticking.

When they reached her, his smart-ass grin didn’t faze her—she’d seen his type before, always trying to lighten the mood with humor when death was hanging just out of sight. But tonight, she wasn’t in the mood.

"The dog…" Her eyes roamed to it and she frowned. She had nothing against dogs, but they had no place in her facility. Still, he didn’t seem to leave much room to argue. “Fine,” She snapped, cutting through the sound of their footsteps entering the hall as she pulled the door shut behind them. "But keep her out of the sterile areas; it’s a surgical office, not a vet."

Her voice was flat, sharp, and to the point. No room for banter. She wasn’t here to trade quips with the Guild’s foot soldiers; she was here to keep this man alive. And whoever this man was, shot up and bleeding out, he wasn’t walking out of here without her.

As he shifted the man’s weight to get him inside, Darcy caught a whiff of blood—metallic, sour. It clung to the air like a threat, and the tension in her gut tightened. This was going to be ugly, she could already tell.

With a practiced flick, she tugged her hair back tighter, her fingers moving quickly to snap on her gloves. "Put him down there." She ordered, her voice low but commanding as she gestured to the steel table under the harsh surgical light. The room around them was small, sterile, almost too quiet—but it was her space, and tonight it was a battlefield.

The man was still talking, still trying to make light of the situation with some reference to Spider-Man, which ordinarily might have been met with enthusiasm, as she had in fact seen it, as her kids were quite the Marvel fans. But tonight; Darcy wasn’t biting. She spared him a glance—cool, calculating—before focusing fully on the man bleeding out in front of her.

"Three bullets, near the spine?" She repeated, her tone dark, almost as if she were confirming the inevitable. "This is going to get real messy. Fast."

The gravity of the situation finally punched through the tension, her voice now steeled with the intensity that only came when life and death were hanging in the balance. She met his eyes again, her expression hard and unflinching. "I hope you’re not squeamish," She said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet calm. "Because I’m about to dig in, and there’s no going back from here."

Without waiting for a reply, Darcy moved to the man’s side, already pulling out the instruments she’d need. She wasn’t in the business of waiting. The Guild didn’t call her for small jobs, and whoever this guy was, his survival depended entirely on how fast and how well she could work.

"Hold him still," She ordered the man whose name she had yet to be given, her voice clipped, every word loaded with urgency. "This is going to hurt like hell, but it’s better than him dying on my table."

The sterile room suddenly felt smaller, tighter, as the atmosphere thickened with the weight of what came next. Darcy could feel it—the shift, the moment where everything became real. Her fingers hovered over the first incision site, steady and unshaken, ready to do what had to be done.

"Welcome to my world." She muttered under her breath, and then, without another word, she administered a basic dose of something to numb the man’s back before she picked up her scalpel and started cutting.

---

Tags: Dane Wayland & Jason Sharpe
Notes: hope that works for y’all!

[Jason Sharpe]

Even for his lack of words, Jason wasn't a silent man. He'd been quite the talker back in the day and while trauma might have robbed him of his words, it hadn't robbed him of the ability to vocalize. Laughter, sobs, moans of pleasure and pain all had their place. Tonight was a symphony of the latter, slowly but surely winding down and threatening to grind to a halt. He too, found himself eerily silent.

When the man pulled him from the backseat though, the dull aches he had largely relegated to the background flared, like someone setting off fireworks far away. It was overwhelming, but externally, it only amounted to his eyes rolling back into his head and a soft groan as he was dragged toward the building.

Instinct begged him to pull himself together, to shake the cobwebs loose and get to his feet. But he'd lost too much for any of that, couldn't even pretend to be functional anymore. He heard but couldn't possibly listen or understand the man's outlook on responsibility. Likely it would have been some small consolation though. Jason might actually have agreed with him. There was a sort of relief in knowing that there was nothing else he could do.

But that wasn't the relief he wanted. He wanted a cute little redhead telling him he was home. Remembered the little notes and doodles they had scribbled on their map together. Missed not getting a chance to star gaze with her again or see that focused expression she got when she was using her Gift to grow something particularly special and she thought he wasn't looking.

The lucid moment shattered as he was unceremoniously dumped on a table, his cheek pressed against cold metal. Jason gasped, the pain in the small of his back reaching out and digging its claws in again enough to bring him twitching awake for a moment. He got an arm under himself, trying to grab anything, the table, an arm, whatever he could reach and grip it hard. He tried to pull in a breath, coughing and then just as quickly losing his grip on reality again and slumping against the operating table. The local anesthetic helped nudge him back under the water, breathing even more shallow.

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

Dane didn't miss much in the brief exchange he shared with the woman. Not the narrowing of her gaze, the lack of reaction to his grin and bit-back perking, nor her quick and intentional assessment of the man slumped at his side. From this — despite how quickly it all transpired — he formulated a couple of judgments. One, she'd be taking none of his shit tonight. Which was fine. Most of the time, he preferred it that way. He could always reassess her willingness to indulge him after her job was done. Two, she was more preoccupied with their friend's survival than she was skeptical of his Gifted status (or lack of Guild affiliation). [break][break]

Perfect. [break][break]

She enforced the first of his suspicions by completely avoiding his likening her to a cartoon character. She enforced the second by ushering him on and commanding him about with a natural snap to her voice. Snowcone trotted at their heels and Dane considered arguing that sterile rooms were only sterile until someone not sterile stepped inside (and that his dog was probably cleaner than most). But... he refrained. He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth instead and Snowcone seated herself in the hall as they slipped into the operating room; whining her displeasure as the door shut between them.[break][break]

Dane deposited the man where he was told. He gasped to pained life, snatching onto Dane's wrist with a grip that — just as quickly — lost its strength as he faded back out. Under the new, harsh light, it was far more apparent how deathly pale and exhausted he was. Dane slipped his hand free from the loose circle of the man's slackened hold, gave his fingers a flick, and listened to the woman make her observations aloud.[break][break]

At her comment about being squeamish, her gaze lifted. Dane's slowly rose to meet her hardened eyes — noting the sharpened hyper-focus in their dark brown depths. He wondered if she'd been told before, perhaps by partners intimidated by such things (how silly), that she was intense. He chortled low, brow lifting and mouth tugging up at the corners. "Pleased to know you have a sense of humor." [break][break]

She obviously hadn't intended it as a joke but it was funny. Him, squeamish? The descriptor didn't quite suit his line of work. [break][break]

He'd still been a child when he first took pliers to a traitor's toes. Hardly any older when he was made to beat a man unrecognizable (until he had no more teeth to spit and could no longer breathe). The demand for violence had only grown with the years and he'd seen plenty. Not always by his own hands. His Gift of beast summoning was a nasty ability — snapping teeth and flensing claws never made for clean, peaceful deaths. And the fallout of engaging Gifted individuals — people who could conjure flame, control air pressure and gravity, were blessed with super-strength, etc. — made for some imaginative injuries. Things that most people believed belonged only on movie screens or in video games.[break][break]

A person got used to it or they didn't. He'd been acclimated to it young and it'd only been difficult for a short while. He had figured out, very quickly, that his brother afforded enough hesitance for the both of them. And if Dane hadn't taken it to it as swiftly as he had, he'd certainly be long dead by now (just like him).[break][break]

He didn't offer any more on the matter. The woman had slipped into a palpable sort of work-mode — "her world", she called it, with an air of calm that hinted to her aplomb and confidence amid the gravity of "said world"— and a more sensible part of him (that most acquainted with him would be hard-pressed to admit existed) knew that he should allow her her concentration. So, taking her lead and moving quick, he shrugged out of his jacket and let it fall to his feet. He rolled his shirt sleeves up to the elbow, unclipped the watch from around his wrist and the rings from his fingers to deposit atop his jacket, and kicked everything a bit out of the way. [break][break]

He tipped his head and shot a brief, apologetic look to the side of his pal's face. For the moment, it was slackened, and the man himself eased to a tentative sedation. But Dane knew that would only last a couple moments longer... until the first bite of surgical steel nipped into his flesh. No local anesthetic could stave off that sort of hurt. "Hope we see you on the other side, guy," he mused under his breath, before placing his hands on the man as the doctor instructed; feet sliding a bit apart to brace against any thrashing or reaction that might occur. [break][break]

As she worked, Dane did what he was asked, when he was asked, wincing only in sympathy. The blood slicking his fingers and wrists wasn't an issue and, like the surgeon's, they did not tremble.

Tag: Jason Sharpe & Darcy Vance [break]
Notes: Give me a nudge for any changes~

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[newclass=.lizardstripe b]color:#3C584D;[/newclass]
[newclass=.lizardstripe]line-height:1.3;[/newclass]

[Darcy Vance]

Darcy didn’t lift her gaze from the incision and she felt downshift beside her. He said he hands held the man down with the practices that told her more than words ever could. She didn’t need to ask where his experience came from. The controlled grip, the lack of hesitation – it was enough to confirm what she already suspected. This wasn’t his someone bleed out, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be his last.

“Good.” She muttered, half to herself, as the blade sliced clean through the man’s skin.

No tremble in her hand, no second thoughts. “At least you’re not dead weight.”

She pressed deeper, feeling the resistance of muscle, the heat of blood swelling against her gloves. Bullet fragments lodged near the spine. One wrong move and paralysis would be the least of his worries.

But Darcy didn’t make wrong moves.
Not here.
Not in her world.

His comment about her humor flickered in the back of her mind, but she let it pass. He could think what he wanted. She didn’t care if he found her intense or abrasive, so long as he didn’t flinch when things got worse. And they would. The man under the knife, his poor body was fighting for every breath, like a broken machine. It wasn’t pretty, but none of this ever was.

Darcy eyes narrowed, hyper-focused as the tip of her instrument caught the first fragment. “Hold him steady.” She ordered again, though there was no real need. He wasn’t faltering.

With a deft twist, she extracted the shard of metal, blood gushing out in response. She heard her ‘helper’ mumble something under his breath, probably more of his half-assed musings, but Darcy didn’t ask his to repeat it. She wasn’t here for the commentary, she was here to stop this man from dying.

“This next one is deeper, so be ready.” She said after a moment, her voice steady over the sounds of his labored breathing. “He’s not got to like this next part.”

The man under her blade twitched as her scalpel cut deeper, clearly his body’s instinct to fight coming back with a vengeance. But when Darcy’s gaze flicked up to her helper long enough to see the subtle shift in his stance, clearly bracing himself for the potential movements of the patient; she didn’t offer any warning, and went straight for that second bullet.

The tip of her scalpel hit bone, and the man jerked violently beneath her.

“Shit.” Darcy gritted her teeth but her hands stayed steady. “Just try to hold him.” Her voice was low, commanding and cut through the room like a whip. Blood smeared her gloves, sticky and warm as it slid between her fingers, but she didn’t care. She was locked in, every muscle in her body taut with concentration.

This was what she did.
What she was good at.
Saving lives when the odds were stacked against her.

His body would buck again, and her aid would shift with him. But, he held firm. Darcy appreciated the effort on his part, noting that blood now slicked his hands and how the muscles in his arms tensed to keep the man from shifting himself off the table.

He definitely wasn’t squeamish.

With a sharp exhale, she pulled the second bullet free, blood spurting from the wound. “Got it.” She muttered as she tossed the fragment into a nearby tray. “One more.”

She didn’t stop to catch her breath, there wasn’t time for that. With the first two bullets removed, he was bleeding more freely and she needed to get the third bullet so she could start stitching him up, and even then; he’d likely still need a transfusion.

---

Tags: Dane Wayland & Jason Sharpe
Notes: give me a nudge for any changes!

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

Dane chose to remain an obedient, observant, and silent helper as the doctor did her thing. Typically, they were three adjectives his name and person weren't associated with. Not for a very, very long time, at least. But... on occasion... when the situation called for it and (perhaps more crucially) he desired an ideal outcome... he could "shut up" and "be good". [break][break]

She worked with a steady, focused calm that Dane could identify as skilled; only muttering the occasional aside or command when necessary. The unfortunate sap under her knife was a little less composed — understandably — but Dane was unyielding when it came to keeping him pressed firm to the table and minimizing his movement. [break][break]

One bullet extracted. Dane watched her ministrations with level interest, knowing intimately well how it felt to be on both ends of the knife. The slide and weighty tug of parting skin and muscle under her fingers. The press of the blade against her palm, demanding resolve. The almost unbearable and rigid jarring of nerves that screamed their blinding, white-hot protest at the abuse. The warm, oozing gush of blood that almost soothed with its heat as it welled beneath the pain. [break][break]

Second bullet extracted — this one with a curse from the doctor and a matching thrash from her patient. It didn't bring her pause or make her sweat and she went in, unflinchingly, for the third. Dane inwardly giggled — remembering briefly when Dino had once dug out a spattering of birdshot from his lower back after an assignment-gone-squirrely. His brother hadn't been nearly as steeled. And Dane had finally swung on him the third time he keeled away to dry-heave. Then he'd had to do most of the digging himself, twisted around to watch his shaky, sloppy play at surgeon in a car's cracked side mirror.[break][break]

"You're set up here with blood, I imagine?" Dane asked quietly, eyes lowered to study the sticky squelch of thick crimson pooled between the fingers he braced firmly against the man's skin. He'd assume she was, noting what resources he could around them, but... one could never feel too safe. His gaze flickered to her for a moment, before he continued. "I'm O-negative, if you're not." His lip pulled faintly; just the slightest suggestion of sardonic humor filtering across his face. [break][break]

He'd always thought it infinitely amusing that he had a rare, donor blood type. Not only did it make things that much more difficult for whoever was trying to save his life when he was in a bind, but... additionally... as much as he'd been told that he was dirtied and like a mutt, with a filthy mutation in his veins, there was demand (and some would say a responsibility) for him to share that same blood. Give it selflessly and freely. It was fitting in a way, too, he supposed — he was used to bleeding for people. [break][break]

"Organs okay, by your estimation?" He inquired further, eye flickering down to watch the man flutter on the edge. "Not to disparage your skills or anything... but we both know there's only so much you can do." He lifted his cool gaze to her. "Once you get the bullets out, if you think he's beyond your limitations, I can try and contact one of our Gifted healers to mend the rest. To be clear, I don't want to. The less people involved, the better... but," he tipped his head, trying to consider, and his eye lowered again to flit slowly back to the man's slack, somehow even paler face. "If that's what he needs."

Tag: Jason Sharpe & Darcy Vance [break]
Notes: Give me a nudge for any changes~

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[newclass=.lizardstripe]line-height:1.3;[/newclass]

[Darcy Vance]

Darcy didn’t look up when Dane spoke, her attention still fixed on the mess of blood and tissue under her hands. She was used to this—people asking questions, trying to gauge how bad it really was, weighing their options in the middle of a crisis. She’d seen the same routine a hundred times over, though most didn’t have his calm detachment, and fewer still offered their own blood with a smirk.

“Organs are fine, for now,” She said, her voice clipped but steady as she fished out the third bullet. “Liver took a hit, but nothing catastrophic. He’s lucky. A couple inches over, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” The bullet clinked as she dropped it into the tray, her hands already moving to close up the wound before the blood loss could become too much. “And yeah, I’ve got blood. Don’t need yours yet, but good to know you’re the generous type.”

The sarcasm wasn’t lost on her, but she didn’t bother indulging him. She wasn’t here to trade banter or dissect his ironic humor. Not when there was still work to be done. The man was stable for now, but Dane was right—there was only so much she could do. She could patch him up, stop the bleeding, but there was always a chance his body would give up after the trauma. The human body had limits, and she couldn’t predict when it would hit that wall.

“Gifted healer, huh?” She muttered, stitching up the last wound with quick, precise motions. “Nice ace to have up your sleeve. But let’s hold off on that. I don’t like bringing in more people either.”

She paused for a moment, eyes flicking to the unconscious man’s face, pale and still except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He wasn’t out of the woods yet. “If he goes downhill, I’ll let you know,” She added, a little softer now. “But for now, we’ll see how he does. No need to pull out the big guns unless we have to.”

Darcy stripped off her bloodied gloves after she finished the stitches, tossing them into the waste bin as she stepped back from the table. Her gaze shifted to Dane, finally meeting his eyes. “He’s going to need close monitoring for the next few hours. If anything changes—heart rate spikes, breathing gets more labored—you call me. Or if you think he’s slipping, we go to plan B.” She retrieved a bag of blood and set up a central line to help get him the blood his body so desperately needed.

Her voice dropped a little, steady but edged with finality. “But no more people unless absolutely necessary. I don’t need the Guild breathing down my neck any more than you do.”

---

Tags: Dane Wayland & Jason Sharpe
Notes: nudge me for any changes

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","lizardstripe"]

i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

Dane nodded at her assessment and watched her as she considered his offer of a Gifted healer. She remained focused — face a mask — while she muttered and worked, fingers deft and practiced with each suture she placed. When she commented that it was a nice "ace up the sleeve" to have, but they could hold off, he blinked curiously. He wondered if she thought any more on it. About the hypocrisy of it. Forcing a Gifted healer to use their abilities to mend the very men and women who wanted them dead for being able to save their lives. [break][break]

Did she care about that sort of thing? He was still trying to gauge her motives within their "happy" little organization. Her work tonight suggested some leniency in her regards to Gifted... and doctors usually were non-discriminatory in their work, but... perhaps she just wanted an excuse to make one squirm beneath her blade. It was always difficult to assume. Dane was quite familiar with the type and knew... most of the time... you could hardly ever pick them from a crowd of more well-intentioned, unassuming peers.[break][break]

"Gotcha," he toned his acceptance of all she said, voice light, and let his mouth pull with practiced (and flippant) neutrality.[break][break]

When she signaled the end of her work with the shedding of her soiled gloves, Dane followed suit and moved across the room to a sink against the wall, where he began scrubbing the blood from his wrists and hands; watching the deep, stainless steel basin swirl with red. It would take a little more thorough attention to clean away the crimson etched into the beds of his nails, and from under them, too, but he wasn't presently fussed. He looked at the surgeon over his shoulder as he rinsed, wanting but refraining from smirking at her final comment about the Guild and their demands on her. [break][break]

Was someone regretting life choices, perhaps? [break][break]

He still wanted, very badly, to know the story there. Why she was with them and what had brought her to his father's chair. But he knew — from experience — that that line of questioning was, more often than not, a quick way to raise hackles. And, from the edge to the woman's voice (and just the general look of her, to be honest), she struck him as someone who maybe walked around a little always half-bristled.[break][break]

But maybe that was just because he was who he was. [break][break]

In any case, no need to poke the bear. At least, not right now.[break][break]

"Are you leaving us, then?" He asked, rounding his eyes and fluttering his eyelids with pretended hurt while he drew his mouth in a firm pout. It did sound like she was coming around to a departure — unless "call her" meant to yell for from another room. But he supposed she had her life to return to. Or her bed. She looked like she could do with a hard drink.[break][break]

But... what now? Dane wasn't certain what he'd been expecting "afterward", but somehow he'd imagined... once their Gifted man was mostly "in the clear"... he'd be washing his hands of him. Dropping him off with someone else and letting them figure out what to do with him. But this wasn't just another Guild member he could haul to some safehouse and leave groaning on the stoop. And Dane didn't know the faintest thing about him. Did he have somewhere in the city he could go? A house he could dump him off at?[break][break]

The pouting expression cleared after only a brief moment — Dane didn't wait for the woman's reaction, expecting she'd just be starkly unamused. He flipped off the faucet and pulled down some non-shedding towels, then turned and leaned his weight against the counter's lip to watch her across the room while he patted his hands and forearms dry. "Will you at least stick around with him for a bit longer?" He looked to the man on the table between them, hooked up to her blood bag now. "Let me get rid of the car I've got, pick up some slumber party supplies," namely, a bottle of wine and maybe the Switch he'd "found" on the city bus last month (it only had Animal Crossing on it but Dane found the cutesy game surprisingly enjoyable on those nights he couldn't sleep and didn't want company), "And find him some new clothes?"[break][break]

His eyes lifted to the woman again. "Assuming we can we stay here?" The office surely wasn't where she practiced normally. Not only might that lead to some questionable mix-ups, but, if one was observative and squinted, there was evidence about the place to suggest it wasn't exactly a "daily haunt". As if he needed to make a case, and quickly, he quirked a brow and added, "I won't make a mess of the place. And, should he go in a bad way, mighty convenient for him to be where we need him."

Tag: Darcy Vance & Jason Sharpe [break]
Notes: Give me a nudge for any changes!

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[Jason Sharpe]

Jason floated in and out. The local anesthetic helped, but it wasn't nearly the same as being unconscious. And while he flitted in and out, he was trying his damnedest to stay in the land of the living. If the blood loss and progressive shock was what was dragging him under, the sensation of sharp metal slicing through flesh was a very vivid reminder of what it meant to be alive right now. Of what it meant to keep breathing. Not that he was particularly conscious of the details around him.

The cold table and pain were his only constants. Every so often he would twitch from pain or from some other nerve being tripped and he could feel a sort of weight. That other man maybe. He didn't know his name. Wasn't sure he ever would. Wasn't sure if this bothered him or not but it was a hell of a lot better mental loop to be stuck in than the other things he could feel.

The clipped conversation was a blur of words, and with his murky view obscured by a shoulder and the bright light from above, it was a bit like waking up halfway through a moment and then passing out again. None of it felt real. Except he knew it was. The sickening feeling of someone fiddling around in his guts stopped and he eventually managed to rest.

Not that Jason liked the idea of being so off guard around strangers, but his body didn’t give him much of a choice in the matter and that would have to be for the best. Just for an hour or two. He’d already been away from Seth for too long. She’d be worried. Worse, she might track him down. She didn’t need to be involved in this mess.

But for now, for a little while, he finally allowed himself to give in and sleep.

[Darcy Vance]

Darcy watched as he scrubbed the blood from his hands, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the intensity of the situation. It was almost amusing how he seemed to think her departure was imminent.

“Leaving?” She raised an eyebrow, an edge of amusement creeping into her voice. “Oh, no. I’ve got no intention of abandoning you or our patient.” She paused, her smile widening slightly. “I just figured I’ll do some tidying up and a little inventory. I’ll be right here—just in my office up the hall.”

She gestured to a door off to the side. “I’m going to grab a quick break and make sure I have everything I need to keep an eye on him. It’s easier to keep tabs on him from here, where I can actually relax and focus on his vitals rather than trying to balance everything from afar.”

Darcy finished wiping her hands and tossed the bloodied towels into the bin. “He might appreciate some clothes, I might have some unisex scrubs in a supply closet… As long as he’s stable, there’s no need to fuss too much. I’ve got what I need right here, and if anything changes, I’ll be right here.”

Her gaze softened slightly, just a touch. “And yes, you can stay here. Just try not to make a mess, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” She gave him a small, almost sympathetic smirk, moving to let down her hair so she could run her fingers through it. “Just be mindful that he needs to be resting, if you get bored; the key to the vending machine is in the planter beside it. And your… pet, can stay with you anywhere in the building, except this room.”

Darcy grabbed her soiled tray of instruments and moved them to a large sink in the corner of the room, readying herself for a brief break in her office. “But don’t worry about us; you focus on taking care of your end of things. I’ll keep an eye on the patient.” She gave him a nod and turned towards the sink to clean her tools.

---

Tags: Dane Wayland & Jason Sharpe
Notes: nudge me for any changes

[Dane Wayland]

[nospaces]

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i'm burnin' up with the witches[break]
always been the same and i'll never change

The surgeon seemed to soften (marginally) now that the worst of the work was finished. As they tidied themselves, and she further tidied the room, Dane only cast her the occasional glance when she spoke. She said she was staying, sounding faintly amused by his assuming she wasn't, and he shrugged. Most healers he was acquainted with were in quite the hurry to get them out of their hair. As eager as possible to put the disturbance behind them and return to the lives they'd demanded them from. [break][break]

But maybe that was just his own experiences with them — more to do with him than anything else. Or maybe there was just nothing better for her to do this morning. He didn't know. And he wasn't too fussed about it. [break][break]

"Right, okay," he answered cheerily, seeing no need to comment whatsoever on her plans. He had nothing to offer there. And he had stuff to do of his own, now. With a quick, thoughtful look at the dozing man on the table — washed more thoroughly now in his own blood but looking somehow less alarming beneath it — he gathered up his kicked-aside belongings. He tossed the jacket over a shoulder, took his time in reclasping his watch and redonning his rings, and then made for the door. "You have my number, Ock, just give me a shout if you need or want anything," he spoke lightly, opening the door and pausing to snort when Snowcone pulled herself up to face him with perked ears and a swishing tail. [break][break]

Before the door closed behind him, he pivoted back to shoulder it open enough to peer back at her. He squinted and hummed. "You strike me as a whiskey gal. But.... maybe... it's wine? Hmm." He cleared his face abruptly and smacked his lips. Then he whirled and moved on down the hall toward the door he'd entered through, Snowcone falling in a dutiful trot at his hip. "Anyway, a bottle for thanks!" He announced cheerily, dropping a hand to the dog's massive head. "Message me if you have a preference!"

Tag: Darcy Vance & Jason Sharpe [break]
Notes: Short and awkward lmao, pls forgive, I'm just getting him outta there~ [break][break]

Not sure where you guys wanna take this one! If you want some "Darcy + Jason" time, Dane can be gone for a long while (or just not come back at all if that's something y'all'd prefer lmaoooo). Alternatively, if ya wanna do some "Darcy + Dane" stuff while Jason is out, I'm cool with that. He could return with his sleepover supplies and pester her in some quiet time? I think it'd be fun, at some point, to do "Jason + Dane" (maybe Jason can use Dane's Switch to communicate lolol)? Could be in this thread or we can do a "waking up/coming around" thread for them separately? [break][break]Tbh, I'm game for whatever, just lemme know what/when/if I should drop Dane back in~

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[Darcy Vance]

Darcy chuckled under her breath as she watched him go through his little routine of adjusting his jacket and rings, his cheeriness almost at odds with the situation they’d just navigated. Most of the time, doctors like her couldn’t wait to see the back of their “clients,” particularly when it involved late-night patch-up jobs with people like him. But she was in no rush, not when her patient was in such rough condition. At least until the man who’s been shot woke up and she could get him properly medicated, then she’d go home and breathe more easily.

When he paused at the door, musing over her drink preference, Darcy quirked an eyebrow, her amusement deepening. “Whiskey.” She answered without hesitation, leaning against the table with her arms crossed. Her eyes flicked toward the dog, with a faint smile as she shook her head. Darcy knew she wouldn’t have a drink, and it would likely stay in a drawer in her office, but she wasn’t about to turn down his offer to pick her something to drink up. She tried to limit her drinking to being at home or at least with her husband… as she had a bit of a drinking problem if left unchecked. She was impressed the man pegged her drink of choice accurately. She was definitely a ‘whiskey gal’, though wine was typically what she sipped on at home.

With that, she pushed herself off from the table, her tone light but with an undercurrent of warning. “Go handle your errands, and I’ll handle things here. If he wakes up, I’ll make sure to let him know his fairy godfather is out doing a supply run.”

The door closed behind him, and Darcy exhaled, letting the quiet settle. Her eyes shifted to the patient, still unconscious but stable. It looked like a long, slow night ahead, but she could handle it. After all, this wasn’t her first rodeo. Darcy ran a hand through her hair and moved to grab a few extra sets of bandages and gauze, making a sort of ‘care package’ that the patient would be able to take with him once her awoke… if he woke.

---

Tags: Dane Wayland & Jason Sharpe
Notes: I’m up for whatever, I definitely don’t mind Darcy bowing out and letting the guys have their gaming time after Jason wakes up and she can get him situated with meds.

[Jason Sharpe]

[Darcy Vance until Dane gets back]

Jason slept hard for a while. With all the blood loss, it took his body time just to recuperate. Not to mention how much it had hurt. But he was used to nearly everything being in pain. He'd figured it out before and he would figure it out again. If he woke up.

Unfortunately, as much as he needed the rest, his anxiety dragged him awake. One moment he was peacefully letting out ragged but relaxed breaths on his stomach. The next, his eyes snapped open.

One look at the medical facility, the sink and clean tray of instruments, the sound of the bright lights humming and the clean chemical scent was enough to put him back in that prison. Pure adrenaline took over as Jason pushed himself up, turning over on the bed. He reached out with his Gift, touching the air and getting a feel for the shape of it, how it moved, quickly getting the positions of the air vents and seams around doors and windows, and anything breathing in the space. He pulled a on the air around him as he sat up and got a better view of the space. It wasn't exactly familiar, but with his foggy memory, he couldn't be sure who had picked him up, where he was, what they wanted from him.

The air pressure grew heavier and a small vortex of air began to circle the room, enough to shift any paper, or tug at hair or fabric.

[Darcy Vance]

Darcy was counting out pain killers for a bottle, as well as antibiotics to help with any potential for infections, when there was a strange change in the atmosphere of her building. Hair on the back of her neck rose and she quickly twisted lids on the prescriptions as she locked the cabinets of pills and tucked the two bottles in her pocket that she just filled. Something felt… off. Generally one to trust her gut, Darcy hurried down the hallway and stepped into the surgical room, gasping when she saw the young man was not only awake, but clearly not thrilled with his surroundings.

“Hey, it’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you here.” She held up both her hands to show she didn’t have an harmful intent, nor was she hiding anything. And while she knew she ought to give him space, she needed to check his sutures and ensure he wasn’t actively bleeding and potentially undoing her hard work.

“My name is Darcy, I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay… this is my private facility. Someone found you and brought you here.” She tried her best to offer words he might be able to take some form of comfort in, but she couldn’t wait for him to calm down. She didn’t know the sort of physical toll his ability touch on his body, and she didn’t save him just to see all her hard work wasted. She ignored the way the air felt a bit heavier, almost harder to breath, like she had to fight to get the air in as she dared to step closer. Probably not her best move, but she was a doctor first a foremost; her patient was her priority right now.

---

Tags: Jason Sharpe
Notes: nudge me for any changes!

[Jason Sharpe]

The sudden appearance of the doctor was anything but reassuring. She didn't look like the lab technicians in there clean cut uniforms and gloves that he was familiar with, but the coat was damning enough. Even that reassuring tone. Sure, she might not hurt him, but she was the only person here right now. Someone else could show up, or maybe she had drugged him already or any number of things.

Her hands raised in surrender did make him hesitate, his eyes narrowing to slits as he eyed her up and down, the swirling air in the room picking up to a mild vortex, rattling the trays and ripping papers and post-it notes free. The wind in the room tugged at his air and whipped her curls around.

Jason could feel the dull ache in his back start to take over, knew without even trying that while he had managed to roll over and sit up on the cot, he wouldn't be able to walk. He couldn't go anywhere should she intend him harm. And right now, his senses fluxuating wildly from pain and blood loss and not knowing where he was, he was a poor judge of character.

Her tone seemed friendly enough, but that was how they all were until they weren't. But it was her stepping closer that made him tense. With just a thought, he pulled the air from her lungs, gently so as not to physically harm her even as he prevented her from breathing deeply. She could some, but words would leave her breathless and she's slowly run out of air.

He held up his hand to her, indicating for her to step back.