Capt. Babs Greenling (is a ray of f'ing sunshine) (bite_sized) wrote in remains_rpg,
Babs was exhausted. Her run in with Cal had left her with bloodied knuckles and a bruise somewhere in her chest that she could only call disappointment. She hated how easily she'd been put off her center, how easily Cal had worked his way into making Babs feel bad about defending herself. And she'd thrown up in his car, that hadn't helped at all. Not when it came to self confidence.
But now she had a drink, loose scrubs, and was fed. She felt clean and better than she had an hour ago, and from the way the alcohol went down, she was assuming she'd feel even better before long. She sat down, cross legged, her back up against a block on the roof that she assumed housed something important and complicated.
"Yeah, I went to a hospital and got a bunch of pills. Hopefully help with recovery and pain before long," she said, ready to stop there. But if anyone knew her, knew what she was going through, it was Babs. She glanced at the woman, at the blonde hair and elegant cheekbones. "I punched the guy I was with in the face. After pulling a weapon on him because he surprised me," admitting that was hard. It was harder than it really should have been. They both knew what PTSD looked like, but Babs had never asked Day if that was something that Day had to deal with. It didn't seem polite, and yet it was so important and she wasn't sure anyone else in that building could actually connect with her on the same level.