"Yeah," Antigone agreed, Ares' voice declaring I AM WAR reverberating through her head, through her teeth, down the damaged tendons and muscles in her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut, forced herself to speak.
"Coffee, please. And, Joan, do you have any ice?" Antigone said, sitting down on the couch so she could rest her hand on the cushioned arm. They'd told her to keep it elevated, it'd help with the healing. The doctor that had looked her over said he didn't think the swelling would get so bad that it would break her delicate bones, but Antigone hadn't liked his lack of confidence in the thought.