Hawke and Claire N. and OTA
They always said the second day of an injury was the worst, and whoever they were sure as hell weren't kidding. Claire had only taken one hit from the tail of that SUV with horns yesterday, but it'd been a good one- so good she knew she got lucky with being able to walk away. Or walk at all. It could have easily broken her back, but what felt like cracked ribs and one hell of a bruise across her spine were no picnic either. It made her slow getting from the library to the town hall under Sam's arm yesterday. Today, she could barely sit up. Sleeping on the padded bench in the lobby didn't help much, either.
She needed to move, though. Staying still was only going to lock her up, and remembering the last time the town went insane, she knew being immobile was a bad idea. This was going to last for a few days. She'd been shuffling around a while, telling herself that the ache would get better the more she moved (even if that was pure bull) when she noticed an unfamiliar face... going outside.
That was dumb. Though maybe not as dumb as she was for following him in her condition. Sam would pitch a fit, but she had to make sure the guy knew what he was doing.
"Hey-" the teenage girl in slightly disheveled clothes- stained by dirt and grass and streaks of dried blood at the knees where she'd been rolled- shot a whisper at him from the town hall door. Her eyes flicked back and forth between him and the grazers.... she recognized them from pictures in science history books; like big chickens with football helmets. Still, she wasn't about to go poke one- she didn't know exactly why, but that's the way the man's expression looked. "You lost?"