InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Happiness can't buy money"

BRADY MCALISTER MORRISS THE BERST! (Also a saint.) (latetomyseance) wrote in yegods,
@ 2012-07-22 13:40:00

Entry tags:

!log, brady morris, rylee nox

Broken Bones

WHO Rylee Nox & Brady Morris
WHERE Healing Clinic, the Catacombs
WHEN July 22nd, 2012, Evening
RATING PG-13
SUMMARY Rylee is looking pretty rough.
STATUS Complete

Brady usually doesn't work on Sundays. It's usually from about 11 to 2 on Saturdays that he works at the clinic on weekends, but someone called in sick this weekend, so he's did the 11-3 yesterday, and now he's stuck on the 2-6 today. As a kind of "junior" healer, his hours are a bit shorter than many of those around him, which suits him, because after four hours, especially if it's been busy, he feels a lot like he's just going to fall asleep on his feet. Admittedly, doing it two days in a row kind of makes him feel like that by 3 P.M. So far, though, it's been a quiet day. Most people - on a day as pretty as today - don't want to be underground, after all, and serious injuries rarely come underground (unless there is a magical reason for it) instead of a regular human hospital. Given he doesn't seem to be able to do much for the unfortunately cursed, Brady's mostly been twiddling his thumbs today. No, the patients that he specializes in normally come from either a fight at/outside Hip's or the Warriors Guild. The more physical, brutal injuries.

Since things have been quiet most of today, he's hanging out in the lounge in back, just sort of rifling through a large tome on magic, which he essentially has no chance of being able to make use of, given his powers aren't technically magical spells, but it is kind of interesting to see how magic works in this world. To see what separates the average demi-god with powers from an actual magician. He's turning the page when the receptionist pokes her curly, bobbed head in.

"Brady, Room Three."

And she's gone before Brady can even look up and say, "All right." He closes the book and puts it back on the table where he found it, stretching his shoulders and popping his back a little before putting on the regulation blue-green smock over his shirt and heading to room three. There's a clipboard full of paperwork on the nail outside the door. He picks that up, opening into a small room that looks a lot like what you'd expect in any small clinic - a seat for him, a bed for the patient to sit on, an area for supplies (gauze, bandages, rubbing alcohol, q-tips, rubber gloves, etc.), and a basin to wash his hands in. He shuts the door behind him, taking a glance at the chart before actually reading the name or looking up at the face, but he reads the name before the face, and he blinks in surprise, looking up.

"Rylee?"

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geneticbrawl
2012-07-22 10:57 pm UTC (link)

Rylee was not well, which was obvious since she was in a Healing Clinic, but the reasons why she was not well were much more than her apparent physical problems. The redhead did not deal well with sadness or loss. Her way of dealing with powerful, unwanted emotions was to pummel something into submission, or drink until everything was numb. As of yesterday afternoon, she'd tried both, and she still woke up in pain this morning. Well, some of the pain wasn't surprising since she'd been at the gym for hours, sparring with anyone who'd take her on until Joe finally called Matt to drag her home. Matt had to be the most patient man in the world, because he calmly waited out the bender, letting her drink herself stupid (and slipping in the occasional water as vodka) and watching over her till morning. So, when Matt left and things still hurt, she'd headed down to the Catacombs, trying to decide between booze and fighting, and finally settling on Hip's, where she could find both.

Now, just because she found what she wanted was not good. In fact, it was probably bad. Between her fuck everything attitude and the drinks she'd downed, she had far over-estimated her ability to take on, well, anyone honestly. But the particular person she picked for a fight was some war god's kid, and powerful at that. Oh, and had friends. In short, since Rylee refused to stay down, she got her ass kicked. Her arm was broken, she was pretty certain she had a sprained knee, a few cracked ribs, and there was a lot of blood on her face. Gimping over to the Clinic was painful, but she was ok with that kind of pain. She'd rather have that kind of pain.

"Does it really have to be so fucking white in here?" Rylee snapped at Brady, holding her good hand over her eyes. This was fucking miserable.

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latetomyseance
2012-07-22 11:15 pm UTC (link)

Brady looks her over - from her bloody face to the way she's holding her broken arm and then to the funny way she's breathing and the awkward way she's holding her leg. His mouth purses and then scrunches to the side. This may be more than he can do in one go. But at least, he can do something for her ribs and arm... He wonders if she's tried using her pendant yet. If this is how rough she looks after using that, then she's really gotten herself into it this time. The chart does a more official job of noting her complaints. He notes them before putting it aside. It doesn't surprise him that she's being snappish. Probably the reason she's roughed up like this stems from that, but then, it also never feels good to be messed up like that. Still, he's never been this messed up in a fight before.

"I can tell you from experience, this is pretty much what you get with any medical center. White or that sort of pukey yellow color that's supposed to make patients feel better. Be glad it isn't that." He walks over to her. "So, first tell me what hurts the most, then tell me if you've used your artifact, and then tell me how you of all people got wiped across the floor this bad. Or better yet, why?"

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geneticbrawl
2012-07-22 11:27 pm UTC (link)

It was really her arm she was worried about. Her pendant would take care of the others in the next day or two, but the broken arm would take weeks to heal. And since she didn't plan on spending all of the next two weeks in a drunken haze (just part of them), she needed her arm to get healed so she could fight.

Rylee lowers her hand to level a look on Brady, though it's a bit difficult to focus. Maybe a concussion. That or the booze. Probably the booze. In any case, her look clearly indicates that her question was rhetorical. No need for his snarky, smartass replies, thankyouverymuch. Though her muddled, alcohol-soaked brain does make a connection. "Yellow walls make people insane. That's an asinine color choice," she observed, her "asinine" elongated with the difficulty of pronouncing the "s".

"You're not getting those answers from me," the fighter retorted, meaning the why's. Of course, it sounded like she meant any answers at all. And before she could correct the misunderstanding by offering information, her churning stomach let her know just how much it did not appreciate the violence topped booze, and the redhead hopped down from the examination table, nearly collapsed all the way to floor since she forgot about her knee, and barely made it to the trash can to vomit.

Resting her head against the cool wall, sitting on the floor now, she returned to Brady's previous questions. "The pendant always works, but it won't heal my arm quickly. And I got my ass handed to me cuz there's someone bigger and badder than me and I told him I didn't like his face. And maybe suggested there was something wrong with his manly equipment," she mumbled, eyes closed against the glaring white walls.

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latetomyseance
2012-07-23 12:04 am UTC (link)

"Usually takes more than that to get a guy to hit a woman this much, though," Brady says, sighing at the smell of vomit in the bin. Yaaay. He can't wait to take that out. Whatever's wrong with her leg doesn't look that bad, or she wouldn't be able to crawl. It does strike him, though, that she might have a head injury, and that takes precedence over a broken arm - all things considered. He turns, crossing his arms over his chest, as she leans against the wall, looking pathetic. He sighs, blowing his hair from his face. He isn't a doctor-doctor, but usually, his bedside manner is good. Just that it's Rylee, and she's sort of wandering his room like a sick cat and refusing to tell him anything that might help him make heads or tails of what's happened to her.

He sits in the rolling chair, or rather, sort of flops on it, and commences to rolling back and forth, using his heels to leverage himself. "I'm not getting those answers from you," he replies in a dry tone. "Okay, so apparently, you're now Rylee Nox, International Woman of Mystery. If you don't wanna talk about the spy that beat your face in, that's fine, but here's the deal, if you have a head injury, that's what I'm gonna concentrate on, and given all that blood on your face and your slurred speech and the face you just threw up... Betting you probably do have a concussion. They should've sent you to someone with more training," he adds, under his breath. "So let's do a quick test. Say your A, B, Cs, but say 'em backwards."

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geneticbrawl
2012-07-23 12:21 am UTC (link)

Yes, well, vomit in the bin was better than vomit splattered on the floor. "I hit him, too," she asserted, as if forgetting that important fact was an insult. "He had friends. I think I threw a drink on one of them. And then hit him with the mug." Pause. "I owe Hip a mug," she realized. "But I didn't break anything else," she added, shaking her head with certainty. Except that reminded both her head and her stomach that she was not in good shape, and she groaned.

"I'm drunk, Brady," she explained when he surmised that she had a concussion. "Backwards ABC's is a drunk test. I can't do it. I think being drunk is a lot like having a concussion." What she meant to express was that the symptoms were often similar. "But you can't sleep if you have a concussion, which sucks because I'm drunk and I want to sleep it off." Pause. "Eventually. But you gotta fix my arm, Brady," she whined. "You'll have to break it again if you don't and that will really, piss me off," she assured him. Because if her healing pendant enhanced enough healing before the bone set, the only choice was to break it again to set it properly. Yeah, she'd learned that from experience.

In the short time she'd been here, she'd slid from belligerent drunk, to whiny, pathetic drunk. It would probably change again, like an intoxicated version of a mood ring.

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latetomyseance
2012-07-23 12:49 am UTC (link)

His mouth continues to scrunch with disbelief. "Okay, then at least let me check your eyes, huh?" he says, rolling over to the cabinet of supplies and pulling out a retinascope from one drawer. He kicks off, stopping just in front of her by putting his feet down. "Promise, if your eyes are doing what they're supposed to, I'll drop the concussion theory and fix up your arm - deal?" he asks. He knows Rylee too well to think she can - even with a broken arm and drunk - be manhandled into submission. Besides, she's his friend. He's not going to force her to do anything she doesn't want unless not doing it is immediately lief threatening.

"Also, you can sleep with a concussion. You just have to make sure someone wakes you up every two or so hours to check on you. All that stuff about falling asleep with a concussion and going into a coma is pretty much untrue except maaaaybe in rare cases. Still, head injuries can get bad. The trauma can keep affecting your brain tissue after the accident, and you know, brain damage isn't something you want, so... Can I hold your eye open and have a look or not?

"Anyway, why are you picking violent fights? You usually are all about doing stuff honorably or for sport and all. Doesn't seem like you to just go at some stranger cuz you don't like his face, and you must've gone at him hard for him to put you here like this. Seriously, what's with that?"

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geneticbrawl
2012-07-23 01:09 am UTC (link)

Rylee squinted at him as if trying to discern if he's trying to trick her. She discovered that it makes it easier to see him actually, except that it makes her really want to close her eyes and go to sleep, so she stops with the squinting and gives his suggestion some serious thought. "Ok," she agrees. It was reasonable. For the life of her, she couldn't remember if alcohol made your eyes do weird shit. Getting high, yeah, but drunk? She didn't know.

"I can't have brain damage," she informed him. "I'm a scientist." Again, what she said was not quite what she meant. She meant it would be bad for her to have said damage, not that the two were mutually exclusive. "You can," she assured him, tilting her head up so he could look in her eyes.

But then he was trying to interrogate her again and her mood switch flipped. The redhead got real quiet, clenching her teeth and glaring at him (even if the bright light in her eyes made that hard). It was almost possible to see the anger boiling over, and then she jerked back, smacking her head against the wall, though she seemed not to register the pain, as she turned to punch the wall instead of Brady (see, she did have some inhibitions still). "Felix is dead!" she yelled at him. Or really, at the wall. She repeated it, hitting the wall again, and smearing blood on it from her busted knuckles. "He's dead," she whispered, all the energy having oozed out of her, and she lowered her head, shoulders slumped over. She didn't appear to be crying as she was perfectly still.

No one she knew here had gotten to see Broken Rylee yet. Looks like Brady was the lucky winner.

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latetomyseance
2012-07-23 01:23 am UTC (link)

Brady checks both eyes, but both react the way they should. So she is just drunk. But she must be really, really drunk. He hasn't ever seen her really, really drunk before, and he imagines there's a reason for it, which starts with the fact that she can hold her drink better than most. He frowns a little, turning off the light, and he's about to - despite the fact she looks like she's about to explode at him, and he's close enough she could easily sock him in the face if she wanted to - push further and ask why she's this drunk. If anyone knows too drunk from experience, it's Brady. Just another line on his laundry list of personal issues, really, but he is aware that no one gets too drunk without a reason.

The reason is kind of confusing at first. Felix is dead? Who is that? The name sounds familiar. Oh right, that dude that Gus works out with. The one Brady has often gotten the impression Gus has a crush on. He presses his lips together, giving her a little space as she goes entirely still. He's not sure this is the moment to congratulate her on not having a head injury. It may not be the moment to suggest healing her arm, either, because she's just hunkered over and so absolutely still that he momentarily has the impression of a lion or something, ready to pounce. But her energy isn't dangerous anymore. Yes, her energy. He doesn't think she's going to hit him, so he reaches out to put a hand gently on the top of her head.

His hand is hot, and as she's previously experienced, the heat from it is his own personal brand of healing magic. He can't help it. The stronger he feels about wanting to help someone, the harder it is to not trigger it. So it's possible that she might get an all over healing without focus for a moment or two. He doesn't say anything, but lightly keeps his hand on her head a moment before stroking it softly. Words don't bring the dead back to life. They just become something that haunts you later. At least, in a case like this, they are. Platitudes like, "It'll be okay," are infuriating. "Sorry," doesn't mean anything, since most people who feel sad for the person who's lost someone aren't at fault. And if she wants to talk about it? She'll do it on her. And though she could stand to hear the hard truth that hurting herself won't make the pain go away - because there is always that quiet moment at the end of the day when there isn't anything else to hit, no where else to run, and you have to suffer through the memories and feelings - this isn't the moment.

He slides off of his chair, crouching on the floor before her before gently putting his arms on her shoulders and giving a little pull, to coax her to come to him.

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geneticbrawl
2012-07-23 01:40 am UTC (link)

Yes, her dangerous energy had been dispersed into the wall for the time being. She was still because without it, she didn't have any other energy. She had no idea how to cope with this kind of thing. In between feeling like she wanted to kill everything, she felt nothing, and she couldn't decide which was worse. Felix deserved for her to feel something. So, it seemed like she'd just keep on self-destructing. Once she could draw up some more feelings, even if they were painful and seemed to burn her alive.

The hot hand on her head was ok. She knew it was the healing, and even the gentle stroking was ok. Matt used to do that when she was little and she didn't mind. Brady was right to avoid all the empty words. It was better for her, and better his health, too. It wouldn't take much for her to behave like that lioness poised to spring for an attack.

The shoulder hug and gentle pull were too much. It snapped her out of that internal no man's land she'd retreated to, and she held up a hand to wave him off. "No, Brady," she said in a kind of strangled voice. She couldn't bear to be enclosed like that, even if he meant to comfort her. Looking over at him, she held out her injured arm as best as she could, though it clearly pained her to do so. "Fix it," she ordered.

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latetomyseance
2012-07-23 01:58 am UTC (link)

He respects her wishes, and when she says no, he stops, but instead just takes her arm gently in both hands. He doesn't mind being ordered around. He's used to it with Rylee, and besides, it makes her sound more like herself. Admittedly, he was getting a little scared there with her being so silent and small. Stopping short of sighing in relief, he smiles wanly and concentrates on making this magic work. It isn't too hard, though, because he does want to help her, and this is one of the few ways that he really can. He lets a moment of silence pass, feeling a thin sheen of sweat begin to form on his face and neck. It's just a little, so he isn't too concerned. He always seems to be better able to use this power at the clinic. He's never been quite sure why (although his colleagues and some of those bewitched patients in the room around him might - were they aware of the situation - have some ideas about it, as they begin to feel weaker).

"Hey," he says quietly, not looking her in the face. "You know... I hated myself for six years. Bet you didn't know that. Just kinda loathed myself. It wasn't real obvious. It felt wrong to hate myself that much - felt like spitting Osiris's gift back in his face - but I couldn't help it. Just a few months before I graduated high school, my family all died... It wasn't even that I couldn't do something for them - couldn't protect them. It was worse, we all died because of me being a stupid bullheaded kid who couldn't listen. For six years, I could hardly stand to look at myself in the mirror, because I was alive, and they weren't. I nearly drank myself to death. I smoked until my lungs hurt. Even threw myself at a fire demon once. But I knew they would've forgiven me for what happened. Wouldn't have blamed me in the first place, but..." He shrugs a little, wiping his face on his shoulder. "I hated myself even more because of that."

He frowns at her arm for a moment, not quite sure how far along it is, but starting to feel the healing pulling at his own wellness. "I'm not gonna tell you a fairy tale about how I found myself and realized that they would have wanted me to have this. They were good people, and so that's obvious. It was obvious to me back then, too. Guess for me, it's like... It hurts for a long time. Maybe it hurts forever. But every time it hurts, it reminds me that there's no way I could forget about them, or about what Osiris gave me. It reminds me that I have to make it worth it for all of them. I'm like... their living memorial, and I'm proud that when people look at me and if they even think I'm a decent person, what they're seeing is what two of the most amazing people who ever lived made. Losing someone - those feelings don't go away - but everyone has it in them to find their own answer. No, it won't bring that person back, but... It'll bring you back, and sometimes, that's all you can do."

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geneticbrawl
2012-07-23 02:17 am UTC (link)

Rylee was beginning to pull herself together. At least enough to hobble back home and go to sleep so she could heal. Or, if her feelings started getting in the way, drink some more until she passed out so she could sleep and heal. But then Brady began talking. She didn't look at him while he talked because it was really personal, and she was afraid that if she looked at him, she'd feel something and bolt. Cuz she wasn't gonna punch him, that was for sure. And what he was saying deserved some listening, so she kept her eyes averted.

There was a long silence, and then Rylee spoke. "When we were in school, kids used to razz him all the time cuz he was so good. Like, not like a goody two shoes, but genuinely good." And a little slow, but she wasn't going to say that about him now. She never really thought of him like that - just that he was so good. "And I made it a point to keep them away from him, so they just waited till I wasn't there. There was a field trip and they hurt him bad. I was his protector..." Rylee's voice broke, and she tucked her face into her shoulder for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger. "I'm a protector, Brady. It's what I was made to do. As much as you want to honor what Osiris gave you, by fulfilling a purpose... That's my purpose. My mother protected the other gods. My dad died protecting a helpless woman. I protect people. And I didn't protect him this time. I wasn't there. Again. I was... flirting with Gus, for Christ's sake." While her friend lay dying in a park, she had been thinking about getting laid. What was wrong with her?

Letting out a long sigh, she tipped her head back. This was idiotic. Being a blubbering mess wasn't going to help anything (neither was getting shitfaced or her ass kicked, but she wasn't going to stop doing either of those). Finally, she looked at Brady, her expression as clear as possible for someone as drunk as she was. "It feels better," she said, nodding to her arm, not sure how much more he could heal. Even if he couldn't mend it all the way, it would severely lessen the healing time for her pendant.

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latetomyseance
2012-07-23 02:33 am UTC (link)

Brady can't really say that only she is blaming herself for not being two places at once. Only she is blaming herself for having fun, living her own life, when something unimaginably horrible was happening elsewhere. She couldn't know. She couldn't be there. You can't protect anyone 100% of the time. It doesn't mean that guilt doesn't find some place to gnaw on a soul. Brady knows that more than anyone. He knows that he didn't summon that tornado, and he didn't tell his parents to come into the dining room with him, but the fact is, it could've been avoided if he had just been smarter, more cautious, more giving. He wasn't, and they're gone now. No one can really say that didn't happen. So he can't tell her not to feel bad, because she will anyway. She will until she can find a way on her own to channel it into something that makes her feel she can keep going, but she's incredibly strong. If anyone can find that reason, it's Rylee.

Instead, he just licks his lip and nods. "We don't experience it the same way, but we experience it, and I do have a purpose, but I also have guilt that drives it." And maybe someday, she will, too. "Don't drink it away, though. It never helps. Just takes you into an even dark place and pulls the people that you love there with you. Whether you're like I was and don't feel like they should care about you or not... They're gonna do it, so it's better to live for the living and even though it makes it just as hard or harder... Stand up straight and take it to protect them. You wanna protect someone? Protect the people who'll suffer if you do. Not saying you shouldn't grieve. Just don't hurt yourself doing it, because it won't just be you you're hurting." He stands up and sits back on his seat, rolling away from her. "Don't be a stranger. You know you can always come and crash on our sofa, even if it's 2 A.M. - even if you are soused. Sometimes, it's good to just have other people around to ground you. At least, it's been that way for me, or who knows if I would've made it to be here in front of you here and now?

"If you want, Laurie's probably about done by now, and she can heal you up a little more. If not, you need to make sure to breathe deeply and take pain killers - do not drink when you take them - or your ribs'll cause you to get pneumonia. If you continue to feel nauseated or dizzy, go to a hospital and get your head x-rayed. And make sure you eat and sleep. Sober, fed, and well-rested. That's the best medicine I can prescribe."

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geneticbrawl
2012-07-23 02:49 am UTC (link)

Rylee sighed and rubbed her face. This was how she dealt with shit. She didn't know any other way. Either she got violent, or she drank it away. She didn't like what he was saying about it dragging other people down. She'd have to remember to stay away from everyone for a while. Matt got it. He knew how she was. She could rely on him. If no one else saw her like that, they wouldn't have to worry.

"You know how everyone grieves differently? This is how I do it, Brady. But I won't drink when I get the painkillers, so I won't be able to take them till tomorrow cuz I'm too shitfaced right now. And I might see her about my knee cuz I'm not walking right cuz I'm drunk, and I can't screw it up worse cuz then I won't be able to fight, but my healing pendant should take care of the rest of it." Yay for drunken run-on sentences. "And I'll go to the hospital if I need to, and Matt will come stay with me until I am sober enough to know if my brain has been sloshed around in my head or if I'm just sloshed." Hey, that was kind of witty. Rylee smiled belatedly as she realized that fact about her own words.

With that, she reached up a hand for him to help her up cuz her knee really screwed up and she doesn't think she has the coordination to not make it worse. "And thanks. For offering a place to hang... and everything else."

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latetomyseance
2012-07-23 02:30 pm UTC (link)

Given how much he knows about alcohol-fuelled grieving, he doesn't agree with her that her way is a good way, but he's not going to argue with her about it. It took Gus calling him worthless, and Ari giving him a strict talking to for him to get it through his head that he was going about it the wrong way. Besides, there is yet a difference. Her self-destructive drinking may only last a few weeks instead of on and off for six years. They'll all just have to wait and see if she needs a reality check of her own. For now, though, he's content that she won't mix pain killers and liquor, so he nods, giving her a hand up.

"Good," he replies with a half-smile at the joke. He is glad that her brother will keep an eye on her, though. Provide someone to scream at, or cry at, or whatever else she needs to do to get through it. He might wish he had a sibling of his own, who he can show his weakest, most pathetic side to, but Gus and Ari have kind of taken up that role, and whatever else may come, they've already seen him looking low. And he knows they're trustworthy - they don't think less of him for sometimes screwing up really badly, or being weak, so he knows that like him, they'll support Rylee (and each other) without judgement. "Yeah, no problem. Don't forget the offer, okay? Do you need help getting to a cab?"

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	geneticbrawl 2012-07-23 10:37 pm UTC (link)
	"I won't," she assured him. She knew the offer was genuine and if she needed to hang out somewhere, she'd take him up on it. If she was sober. Or if she was really buggered and in dire straights. "Nah. I'll be fine once Laura whatever the fuck her name is fixes my knee," she said, moving to hobble to the door. [end?] (Reply to this) (Parent)