"Have to." Is grit out. Even when she shouldn't pause for words. She shouldn't break her concentration for anything. But his voice evades all of her logic. Slides. Into her ears. Into her chest. She can't not hear that voice. Her shoulders are starting to shiver, and she's holding hard as possible to the focus of the healing. "Have to get back to Gil." Her teeth are so tight between words it makes her jaw ache, down into what feels like her collar bones. "The others."
"Something's wrong. They did something--" Something else. Something else. Something else. "--else."
She can't checklist it. She has to stay focused, even when her shoulders curl, and she thinks that new pressure is her chin hitting her chest. Spine curving. She has to get through the words. She has to start them again. Her fingers on the counter staying white, something she can't feel anymore, beyond a desperate need to focus. Words. Words. She has to say all the words. Each one harder than the last as the muscles over the bone in her shoulder start reknitting what feels like a strand at a time, and the skin over that at the edges is already trying to push together, melting and covering cracks and tears.
It feels like her focus tries to splinter the harder she pushes, the harder she forces. The pain is overwhelming, and she doesn't have to question that she'd probably be seeing spots if her eyes were open. That the pain outside of her half-wards would probably have her trying to pitch further forward, losing what dinner she'd had, than she was already trying for. The counter barely felt and the want to curl into a ball loud against the locked shake of her body.
no subject
"Have to." Is grit out. Even when she shouldn't pause for words. She shouldn't break her concentration for anything. But his voice evades all of her logic. Slides. Into her ears. Into her chest. She can't not hear that voice. Her shoulders are starting to shiver, and she's holding hard as possible to the focus of the healing. "Have to get back to Gil." Her teeth are so tight between words it makes her jaw ache, down into what feels like her collar bones. "The others."
"Something's wrong. They did something--" Something else. Something else. Something else. "--else."
She can't checklist it. She has to stay focused, even when her shoulders curl, and she thinks that new pressure is her chin hitting her chest. Spine curving. She has to get through the words. She has to start them again. Her fingers on the counter staying white, something she can't feel anymore, beyond a desperate need to focus. Words. Words. She has to say all the words. Each one harder than the last as the muscles over the bone in her shoulder start reknitting what feels like a strand at a time, and the skin over that at the edges is already trying to push together, melting and covering cracks and tears.
It feels like her focus tries to splinter the harder she pushes, the harder she forces. The pain is overwhelming, and she doesn't have to question that she'd probably be seeing spots if her eyes were open. That the pain outside of her half-wards would probably have her trying to pitch further forward, losing what dinner she'd had, than she was already trying for. The counter barely felt and the want to curl into a ball loud against the locked shake of her body.