Jul. 4th, 2020 at 11:32 PM
RONAN O'LEARY AND PRAIRIE ESLEY
getting patched up by your favorite nurse who also hits you a lot
JULY 2nd - midnight-ish | St. Augustine ER | PG-13
Thankfully it hadn’t been a night he took Adria out with him, because he was quick to get into trouble. And The Lookout was no place for her really, or him for that matter. Hunters were always good for a fight, even if it did take two of them to get the better of the large Seelie Fae.
He was finally escorted to one of the ER rooms by a tiny girl who seemed more scared of his injuries than him. “I’m fine, just here for some cleanup,” Ronan insisted, sitting on the edge of the bed - because when he stretched out on it his feet hung off the end. “Is Prairie working? She’s a friend,” he insisted. The girl seemed all too happy to quickly leave, he assumed to go and get the other Fae.
The alcohol running through his veins was numbing the pain, and at least his face wasn’t gushing blood anymore. The towel they’d given him in the waiting room had collected most of the blood that hadn’t run down the front of him. His eyebrow was busted open, a cut on the opposite cheek, and he was pretty sure his nose was broken.
“Miss me?” Ronan flashed the familiar Fae a big bloody grin as she walked in.
It had been a slow night in the Pit, not that Prairie would voice that observation whilst she was in a relatively good mood. The last time she said such a thing she was met with a myriad of gasps, glares, and berating words. Humans possessed the weirdest superstitions and she wouldn’t have any of them spoiling her sparkly demeanor tonight.
She didn’t know the secret to flipping the switch on her moods, but she figured avoiding annoyances from mundanes was probably a good preventative measure.
When the wide-eyed girl- who was surprisingly taller than Prairie’s glamour- came to fetch her and described the man that requested her by name, a slow smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. Finally some fun.
Making her way to his assigned room, one hand reached up to rest on the door facing while the other settled on her hip. “Like an idiot misses the point,” she mused- undeterred by that bloody grin and arching an eyebrow at his slew of injuries.
Ronan couldn’t help but give her a Look as if to say come on, you know you did.
“Seemed to have walked right into one of those damn door frames,” he began to lie - a white lie, of course, and a horrible one at that. “They make them too bloody low here.” Which wasn’t a false statement. He didn’t understand why most ceilings were as low as they were, and why things weren’t more grandeur in general.
Then again he was a spoiled Prince, once. And he refused to adjust his glamour to conform to the social normals of the mortal realm.
Holding his arms open wide as if wanting a hug, with semi-fresh blood all down the front of him, he gave her another smile. “Work that beautiful magic of yours,” he insisted, expecting to be patched up quick and sent on his way. He could still make it to a bar before last call, probably.
Rolling her eyes in defeat at that look Ronan gave her- because maybe she missed him a little- Prairie finally shut the door behind her and made her way into the small room as he rambled on about the door frame that broke his face. Yeah no. She wasn’t buying it.
“Pfft, everything is too bloody tall,” she countered. The younger fae knew she could fix that with a change to her glamour, but suddenly changing after ten years? No thanks. Besides, she was quite fond of this look. It was probably her all time favorite. “Tell me about this wicked door that attacked you. Did it survive?”
Grinning, because she knew damn well he didn’t actually want a hug, she gave him one anyway. Because the blood certainly didn’t bother her and well? She was a brat. Moving to wash her hands directly after, as if she were scrubbing in for surgery, she turned to wiggle her fingers at him. “What is on the menu this time, hmmm? Traditional medicine or the good stuff?”
“Barely,” he answered her question about the door — which was an exaggeration, and also him referring to the men he’d left beaten and battered.
As she moved in to call his bluff and do just as he’d offered, he rolled his eyes lightly. Letting out a huff of a sigh, Ronan briefly returned the hug. It was nice, for what it was worth, and Prairie had never fallen out of favor with him in the slightest. “This is happening far too fuckin’ much,” he commented, recalling all the hugs he’d gotten from Adria. Though in the wee one’s defense he did win her a stuffed unicorn.
“Whichever will get me back to the bar before it closes,” he told her with a brash grin, watching her wiggle her nimble little fingers at him. “Not like I got anything else to do in this piss-poor town,” Ronan grumbled with a shrug of one shoulder. He could always swing by the Bed and Breakfast and annoy the Gaines witch some more, though he knew it’d only prolong her finding a way to unbind his magic.
Which made him remember he hadn’t updated Prairie.
His smirk became a little more mischievous as he watched her buzz about. “Found that witch I was lookin’ for,” he told her. “It’s apparently a fuckin’ process to be getting my magic back though.”
Tossing him a knowing glanced as he went on to talk about the ‘door’ in question, she couldn’t help but be amused by his thinly veiled attempt at covering up his antics. This wasn’t her first rodeo with Ronan and if she had anything to do it with? It certainly wouldn’t be her last.
“Maybe you’re losing your scary touch. Hmm,” Prairie teased as he returned the hug, although she couldn’t foresee a future where that was a possibility. While she wasn’t afraid of him by any means, she was also keenly aware that she held his favor. Though perhaps, it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t? There wasn’t much in this realm that she was afraid of.
“The good stuff it is then.” Moving to grab one of the stools she kept tucked away in every room of the ER, she carried it over to place in front of him and climbed up. “I happen to be quite fond of this cute little town, and you certainly don’t seem to have a problem finding your own brand of mischief.”
Just as she was about to lay her hand over his cheek to heal the cut, his words piqued her ears and she stared at him for a few moments before reaching to smack his shoulder. “When!?! How? Where!?” Prairie spent a good deal of her free time looking for the witch in question...not that Ronan was entirely privy to that information.
“How dare you say such a blasphemy,” Ronan told her. “A select few get away with it on occasion,” he grumbled towards her, pretending to be annoyed but failing when in the presence of the Summer Fae. If anyone had seen him at his absolute worst, she was a pretty good candidate. Back in their realm during times of war, there was no mercy when his folk were called upon. And being the youngest of royal blood, well, he had enough to prove.
Ronan watched her petite frame seemingly conjure the stool and climb aboard, laughing softly as she still was barely his height sitting down. He wouldn’t say he was fond of the town, but they had decent bars. Well, one bar. They had one decent bar.
“Like you haven’t gotten up to your own mischief here,” Ronan said knowingly. Only he didn’t know details, but he was surely fishing for them with his comment.
He very nearly grabbed her hand and placed it on his cheek himself. His injuries didn’t exactly tickle, after all. But then she smacked his shoulder and his brows furrowed -- which hurt worse than the smack. “Ow! Fuck!” he reached up with a bloodied hand and tenderly pushed his brow, sucking air in sharply. Maybe if he kept poking it, it’d dull the pain. Usually worked in the middle of a fight - get stabbed in the gut? Punch it a few times to get the blood and adrenaline flowing. Good for another round.
“I was outside a bar-” he started to explain, as if literally every story he told her didn’t start with that phrase. “About a week and a half ago. She was just there,” he explained. “I feel like myself again.”
“You should bloody well know by now that I blaspheme to get a rise out of you.” Smirking, she wiggled her eyebrows. “And it works every time.” Prairie prided herself on being one of those few, though. As well she should, they’d certainly been through enough together- including numerous wars. She didn’t miss that aspect of their home. Honestly? She didn’t miss any aspect of it.
Her smirk only grew at that comment about her own mischief. Prairie played relatively nice for a spell, but recently? She stumbled across some fun, or rather it had been dragged into her ER by Seven Devils’ finest. “I’ve found myself a beast to tame.”
“Bollocks, don’t be such a big baby and stop poking at that,” she exclaimed- grabbing his face with one hand and placing the other over her brow that he was fiddling with. As soon as she made contact, her fingertips expelled a glowing warmth as they worked their magic to heal his wound. “One down.”
Prairie’s eyebrows furrowed when she thought of all the time she wasted the last week and a half searching for someone Ronan had already found. Being cross with him was irrational. He didn’t exactly know she was looking for the witch. “Just there,” she asked, trying to mask the screech her voice tried to produce. “And how did that go, hmmm?”
She was happy he was feeling like himself again. He waited long enough for this and deserved as much.
“Go on and ride your high horse while you can,” he chided fondly.
Truthfully, without Prairie in town his mood might’ve been just a tad more sour. On top of all the drama about his magic, and the guilt and general stubbornness he carried from being banished - without her, homesickness would be added onto it.
“A beast that’s not me? Lies and slander you’re full of tonight,” he insisted before she was arguing with him about touching his wounds, and smooshing his cheeks with how she grabbed his face.
Ronan shut his eyes tight, and even then the light from her fingertips was almost too bright and too warm — but just as it was becoming almost too much, it was done, and his eyebrow no longer felt five times its size. Or on fire.
He let out a pleased sigh, flashing her a small genuine smile before that too - faltered into a more devious looking smirk. “Remember that news story about the stretch of sidewalk on mainstreet being all unearthed?” he questioned with a mock innocence, knowing she’d just as easily connect the dots that it’d been him. “Fiery like her Gran, that one.”
“Going to ride it right off into the sunset, Pheata,” she mused.
Prairie’s saving grace in the mundane world was her adaptability. She could slip into any situation effortlessly, but she felt most at ease and like herself around Ronan. So often there seemed to be a million personalities, from all of the lives she’d lived over three hundred years amongst humans, vying for control of her brain. With her favourite patient though? The real her was able to take the reins.
“As pretty as my lies are? I’m allowed more than one beast in my life. Especially when this one can give me things I don’t want from you.” A girl had needs after all, and she smirked once more at that thought as she pulled back to survey her work on his brow.
It was perfect of course, just as it always was, and she gave him a smile to match the one he offered her. Then he was describing his encounter, and that smile faded into a purse of her lips. “You attacked that poor girl?” Without a hint of hesitation, she let go of his face only to whack him on the back of his head. “Fucking hell, Ronan. She didn’t steal your magic!”
Ronan grinned faintly at her reply.
And then she made it weird by saying things and want and— he was brash and spoiled but not blind. Still, Ronan had started off respecting her before there was even a friendship. That sort of thing was hard to act against and be brazen with. So, of course, his only reaction was to pull a face that said ‘ew’ but with amusement. “Poor fucker, havin’ to deal with you,” he teased back.
“Ow!” he grumbled in a very mild frustration, reaching back to the spot she’d just hit. “Would you stop fuckin’ smacking me?! I fucking came here to get fixed not abused!” Ronan argued, just for sake of arguing - because it was fun.
He crossed his arms over his chest, like a child, and refused to answer right away. Plus he didn’t want to admit that Prairie was right and maybe he had been too unfair.
“I know,” he insisted faintly with a roll of his eyes. Finally. “I've realized the error of my ways, alright?” Sort of. He was at least trying not to scare the Earth witch any longer.
“I’m a fucking delight,” Prairie replied, laughing at the face he pulled. “You on the other hand…” Trailing off she let the implication hang in the air with a mischievous smile. She knew she’d made things weird for a moment and had done so purposefully.
Despite her words and actions that suggested otherwise? She did possess a lot of respect for the older fae. The fact that he was for all intents and purposes a prince once, and still a prince as far as she was concerned? (Because honestly? Fuck the Courts.) Had very little to do with that respect.
“Stop doing things that warrant a fucking smack and I’ll stop smacking you.” Somewhere within the last few moments her Irish accent got thicker with her frustration. It didn’t help when he crossed his arms like a petulant child which only caused her to mirror his actions. It was a stare down of epic proportions, until he finally relented.
“Good. Then no more smacks for now.” Rolling her eyes as well, she placed her hand over his cheek and repeated the process of healing him. For a moment there she’d been tempted to just grab his nose and snap it back into place the old fashion way, but thankfully that impulse was thoroughly curbed.
Just as quickly as it began, all of that frustration disappeared like it never existed at all. “How do you get your magic back?”
He couldn’t help but snicker when she swore - he’d heard her drop an ‘F’ bomb before but when it was coupled with defending her own demeanor it was kind of adorable. So much that he didn’t argue when she implied he was less of a delight. In many ways he simply couldn’t argue — Ronan practically excelled at being a hard to swallow pill for most.
The fiery redhead managed a tiny look of shock as she cursed again, her accent lulling in her words ever so slightly. “That’s two in the swear jar now,” he threatened teasingly. Ronan did manage to reel the biting words and attitude in enough for her to continue healing him. The cut on his cheek closing and disappearing with the bright glow again. Thank the gods she was doing it their way and not the old fashioned route as he might’ve yelled loud enough for all to hear at the nurses station and he and the security guard didn’t exactly see eye to eye.
“Don’t fucking know,” he grumbled quietly, looking down at the dirt and blood beneath his fingernails. “I’m not gonna just.. take it from her,” Ronan admitted. As a Fae it was possible, with some fancy finagling he’d never attempted in his life, nor had he witnessed anyone else - but it would have resulted in Maggie’s death and… Well, he didn’t want that. The Gaines women were a thorn in his fucking side but, it was never enough to warrant such a permanent ending.
“She’s lookin’ through her Gran’s journals and things,” he added in explanation, shrugging lightly, to placate the healer Fae in front of him. “Just gotta wait a bit I suppose.” Ronan quirked a brow and held his hands out as if to say and that’s how I ended up here.
Prairie couldn’t help the quirk to her lips at the mention of the swear jar. While it wasn’t entirely a rare occurrence for vulgarities to fall off of her tongue, they didn’t usually consist of numerous ‘F’ bombs in a row. She preferred ‘feck’ or other alternatives. If anyone could bring it out of her, though? It was definitely Ronan.
With her mood completely swung away from frustration, she gently turned his head to the side to inspect his cheek. All that was left was his nose, unless he had other injuries she couldn’t see.
When he looked down, her expression softened a little and she reached to cover his hands with her own. “It’s been decades, Pheata. Maybe your luck is looking up? You found her after all.” Prairie often wondered during her own search if she constantly came up empty because of his horrible luck. “Try to be nice to the lass. It might produce faster results. There isn’t a doubt in my mind you’ll figure it out.”
Releasing his hands with a squeeze, she grasped his face again. “Ready for the nose?”
Pheata. Ronan almost rolled his eyes and pointed out how he was older than her — but in all honesty the manner of her affections was something that had been missing from his life for the last hundred years or so. In a moment of homesickness, or weakness, or a rare combination of the two, Ronan felt like burying his face in her hands and just resting. He didn’t - but the temptation was strong.
Clearly she had a knack for the whole ‘taming beasts’ thing.
“I’ll try, I’ll try..” he muttered, having already gotten a roundabout lecture from Natya which was annoyingly self-reflecting. Anything that made him realize he was being an arse just.. wasn’t a fun time for him. His luck wasn’t what it used to be, back in their realm, but the prolonged closeness to Maggie allowed it all to start trickling back.
When she asked about his nose he paused before closing his eyes. It was the last big injury, and arguably the worst one. The rest was just small knicks and bruises and a mixture of dried and caked on blood. “Just do it,” the redhead insisted, his hands reaching down to grip the edges of the hospital bed.
“See? There’s a good lad,” Prairie teased despite being a few years his junior. It was an attempt to shift the conversation back to their banter she was so fond of, and perhaps to distract him just a bit before she healed his worst injury.
Planting her feet in hopes to gain more purchase on her stool, she furrowed her eyebrows in concentration. “This is going to suck,” she warned just before placing her hand over his nose. It wasn’t exactly a needed warning since he was already bracing himself, but she felt it warranted saying all the same. As the light glowed around them once more, she could feel everything moving back into place beneath her touch.
Once upon a time the sound of bones grinding and cracking would have made her stomach churn, but over a century of healing battle wounds and numerous other injuries amongst the Court knocked that habit right out of her.
Ronan appreciated the warning, for what it was worth - though admittedly he still wasn’t prepared for the feeling of his bones sliding back together with a painful snap and fusing with an impressive amount of heat from her fingertips. He clearly wasn’t drunk enough for this. As evident by the string of words and colorful phrases that left Ronan’s mouth. Which, while in their native Gaeilge, would have made a nun blush a deep ruby red.
It was damn near sobering.
When it was over, or at least when the light faded and he no longer felt pain and pressure in his nasal cavity - he opened his eyes and let out a faint sigh of relief again. “Christ you weren’t lying,” he admitted. He could breathe through his nose again, though, so it was definitely worth the pain and discomfort.
The corners of his lips twitched up once more into a sort of fond smile as he reached out and snagged her hands in his. Pulling them up to his face he placed a kiss on the back of each in gratitude. “Thank you,” the forest Fae told her. They weren’t words he said often, not with his generally bratty behavior, but if anyone deserved to hear them from him, it was Prairie.
Prairie winced as those phrases fell off his tongue. The moment she laid eyes on the injury she was currently healing, she knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant. In any situation, she found it best to leave the worst for last.
Although she reveled in the enjoyment she received from wrangling the drunkards and various beasts that walked through the hospital doors, it didn’t bring her any joy to cause further pain to those she cared about.
“Want me to sober you the rest of the way up,” she asked with a mischievous grin and another wiggle of her fingers. “So you can go out for a repeat performance?”
Then he was snatching her hands and all the teasing faded away from her demeanor, as she smiled fondly at the kisses he bestowed. It was little moments like these that almost made Prairie long for the home she ran away from centuries ago. Not for the petty Courts, but for the land and more importantly? Their people.
It was a short lived longing, however. She had Ronan, one day she would have her brother again, and that was more than enough.
Lifting up onto her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re welcome.”
“And ruin my buzz? Get those fingers outta here,” Ronan insisted, swatting playfully. “I ain’t made of money.” Which was funny to say, being a Prince. But with the amount of alcohol it took him to get drunk, he may as well just buy the bar itself so he could drink free. The habit was expensive and he didn’t make nearly enough. Although… he hadn’t tried conjuring up coins since arriving, and now that Maggie was closer and his powers were building up… It was definitely something he needed to try the next time he stepped foot in a bar.
Ronan snickered quietly as she had to get on her tiptoes to place the kiss. “Don’t be gettin’ used to it,” he warned — though there was absolutely no true mal intent behind them, just playful teasing.
Glancing down at his blood covered shirt and tank, the forest Fae grinned. “Any chance that magic of yours works on blood stains?”
Prairie laughed at the smacks to her fingers. “Fine, but do try to control yourself around those door frames. I may not be so nice if I have to see your smug mug again tonight.” The thought crossed her mind to offer him some coin for his exploits, but that was another impulse sufficiently curbed. Their kind were proud and ridiculously stubborn creatures, and she knew she wouldn’t take kindly to any charity thrown her way.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she cooed. “We’ve both got reps to protect.” Winking, she hopped down from the stool and immediately moved to wash the remnants of his blood from her hands. She would have to change her scrubs too after calling his bluff over that hug, but that was usually par for the course.
Whipping around at his question, she gave him a look. “Do I look like a cleaning service?”
“You love it,” Ronan drawled smugly in reply.
Standing slowly, he hid a grin as he stretched a little. While Prairie washed up he realized that he really should just go back to Natya’s and do the same - let the witch scrub the caked blood out of his hair. She’d be off work soon anyway.
When she spun round so quickly he froze, eyebrows shooting up in anticipation of another smack possibly. Ronan gave a lighthearted roll of his eyes. “Yeah yeah, I won’t push my luck,” he told her teasingly.
“Now which way do I sneak outta here so I can avoid that registration girl?” he asked, turning the door knob and peeking out briefly for any sign of her.
“Occasionally,” she shot back playfully.
It didn’t take long for that annoyed look to turn into a laugh at the way he froze in place. Any more prodding over clean up certainly would have warranted another smack, but lucky for him he seemed to know better.
Laughing again as he peered out the door, she dried her hands then moved over to grab his chart so she could dispose of it. Technically Prairie could ‘blink’ him out of the hospital, but it would be a risky move since most of her colleagues were aware of her location. It would raise questions on how she snuck outside and she didn’t have the patience for that annoyance.
“Give me a minute then leave. I’ll distract her so you can make your escape.” Flashing him one more grin, she grabbed the door knob herself. “Behave, Pheata,” she teased before making her exit- knowing very well that he wouldn’t.
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