Amelia Pace
Werewolf (A)
Gryffindor 7th Year
The Pup Slut.
Posts: 189
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Post by Amelia Pace on Jan 13, 2010 1:30:49 GMT 1
Amelia raised an eyebrow at him, he was not fine. Looking from his bruise to his face, she smiled at him as she contently jabbed two fingers into his bruised and broken collarbone. She broke out into a sadistic grin when he yelped in pain, ”See. Not fine,” she said as she cast the small spell book aside and left her wand on the floor, ”But fine. If you want to heal the normal way, suit yourself. Just don’t expect me to wait on you hand and foot for three weeks until the full moon, okay?” she finished taking another look at the bruising on his skin. It was oddly artistic. If he didn’t want her using more magic on him, magic she wasn’t even sure she would be successful in performing, she would just have to resort to muggle methods; ice.
She reached into her bag, pulling out the bottle of water she had smuggled out for him to drink and poured a little into one of the plastic bags that housed the safety pins, tipping them into the first aid box to rattle around in the bottle. She laid the sealed pouch on the floor, grabbing her wand from the floor, ignoring the flinch from Connor beside her, and she muttered an incantation, freezing the water in the bag, ”Here,” she offered him the pouch, ”Hold that on the bit that hurts, if anything it will stop the swelling.” she’d always been a sporty person, even as a young child, so she’d become accustomed to treating twists and sprained muscles. Broken collarbones on the other hand, she wasn’t so used to. Normally the school nurse would deal with the more severe injuries.
She’d just have to blag it. It wasn’t like she could do much fixing, and she wasn’t even sure it is was just fractured or completely snapped. If it was broken, there wouldn’t be a lot she could do without magic or a surgeon, and if it was fractured there wasn’t a lot anybody could do anyway. Just resting and keeping his arm in a sling for a bit to let it heal, ”Without magic there’s not a whole lot I can do, she said honestly, reaching back into the box to see if she could find anything remotely resembling a sling. On being unsuccessful she pushed up to stand and went to search the open lockers. She found some streamers, some scissors and some unused thin towels – it was the best she was gunna get.
Leaving the streamers in the locker she took the scissors to the towel cutting it diagonally in half, she re-approached him, gesturing for him to lean forward slightly. She knelt beside him again, taking the ice pack from him and slipping the towel around his back and tying it at his other shoulder, careful not to knock his bite wound. She made sure that he was comfortable before folding the rest of the material at the elbow and reaching into the box pulling out the first plaster she laid her fingers on, unwrapping it and sticking it in place. She laughed to herself when she saw what she had managed to pick out of the box, ”Sorry about that,” she giggled, clearly not apologetic at all as she ran her fingers over the flowery plaster.
”Here,” she offered him her bag, with the dinner she had swiped for him from the dinner table still in it. She picked out the napkin with food in, and laid it on the floor next to his good arm, giving him a fork to eat with. She stepped over him, sitting on his right, picking up the discarded ice pack and holding it to his injury as he ate.
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Post by Connor Pine on Jan 13, 2010 23:38:30 GMT 1
Amelia’s fingers went from gentle examination of his injured shoulder to a couple of hard prods, cutting off any further complaint on his part as he yelped, his hands clenching into fists at his side as the pain throbbed with greater intensity. Connor’s face went ashen and he suddenly felt quite ill, the combination of injuries, fear and exhaustion making his head pound and his stomach turn. When she put it that way he could concede that he wouldn’t last three weeks without some kind of medical attention. Another reminder that even though he was scared he couldn’t afford to keep resisting her help.
”Does this mean you’re going to stop bringing me food?” He asked, filled with a sudden pouting concern. Sure he’d got on just fine without the food Amelia brought down to him every evening and most mornings, but he’d never had to last so long with an injury before and the few times he could remember doing it had been cold, miserable and he’d spent the majority of the time hungry. It was amazing how quickly he’d come to depend on the food Amelia brought him and he hadn’t even felt the need to slip out and steal a few morsels from the local shop, an activity that was normally part of his routine.
Connor applied the ice to his collarbone without complaint, clenching his jaw against the discomfort of the sudden cold. At least a cold compress was something he recognized, a method of medical help that he’d seen tried and tested many a time during his numerous unavoidable visits to A&E over the years. And then he spotted Amelia making a sling out of a towel and he had to bite his tongue from making another complaint (having learnt fairly quickly that Amelia had limits and if he complained too much she would just do it anyway). Instead he glared sullenly at the sling as she put it on him. He hated slings, they itched the back of his neck and restricted his movement and they were an all round annoyance.
Even the flowery plaster didn’t do much to lighten his mood, even though he’d never quite grown out of that nine-year-old’s love of plasters. It had almost been worth getting a grazed knee back then, just for the joy of getting a kiss from his mum, a plaster and of course the later fascination that came from picking the scab. The food she set in front of him was did a much better job of cheering him up and his stomach growled as he set upon the cold pasta and vegetables she’d given him. He hadn’t realized just how ravenous he was until Amelia gave him the food. Clearly getting beaten up was hungry work.
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Amelia Pace
Werewolf (A)
Gryffindor 7th Year
The Pup Slut.
Posts: 189
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Post by Amelia Pace on Jan 14, 2010 0:22:12 GMT 1
She laughed at his question, ”No,” she answered truthfully, because if she stopped bringing him food she’d lack somebody to talk to about anything and everything that crossed her mind. The times he got talking he was fairly interesting to listen to, and he understood where she was coming from, most of the time, ”It means I’ll bring you food, but you don’t get to complain that it hurts, savvy?” she grinned at him, lifting the ice from his collar bone, the discolouration of his skin looked painful enough. She didn’t know how he’d be able to live with it for the next three weeks.
She sat quietly as he ate, fiddling with the ice compress, thinking over what to ask him first. She rather wanted to know who did it; she’d been attacked by a vampire before, twice in fact, so she had assumed it was him. He’d never get enough of their blood it seemed, or never get driven away by others. She wanted to know why he’d beaten him up so much, how he’d managed to break not only his nose by his collarbone as well. Surely he’d not been in the area long enough to rack up any enemies. He’d mentioned that he never stayed in areas that long, so it surprised her every morning and night when she came back and he was still hanging around like a bad smell. Not to say he was the bad smell.
She sighed, starting to pick at the label on the half full bottle of water she had bought, peeling it and re-sticking it as she thought about her questions, ”Who-“ she started, stopping herself and thinking about it again, ”Who did this to you?” she finally decided was the right question to start with, ”I know, vampire, but what did he look like?” she needed to know if it was the same vampire who had attacked her before. If it was she’d have to tell Connery, only make up some bull about him making another move to attack her instead of beating up her new male friend. Connery probably wouldn’t take to kindly to discovering that there was a werewolf living in the changing rooms, a werewolf that not only was she feeding but considering taking ‘wolf lessons’ from.
It wasn’t like Connor was a nut case who was going to attack her. He did have any of the hallmarks of a loony, but then, one can never be sure. But there was just something about him in the way he carried himself and presented himself as the least possible threat that made her trust him resolutely. But if there was still a, or at worse a few, vampires at large in the area, Connery would need to know about it. It was a part of his job, not only to keep her safe but as a duty to the students and as an Auror. Besides, he liked storming in and saving the day; that’s what he did best.
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Post by Connor Pine on Jan 16, 2010 19:03:55 GMT 1
He nodded, relieved as Amelia confirmed that she’d still bringing him food over the next few weeks, even though he’d stopped her from using magic to help him. Connor wasn’t really the type to complain or at the very least he hadn’t complained much in the last twelve years, but then he hadn’t had anybody to complain to during that time either. He had Amelia now though and it was strange how he almost already considered her a constant in his life even though they’d only known each other for a mere five days. She understood him and he understood her and so he wouldn’t really consider it weakness or a risk to tell her he was hurting. Not that he couldn’t handle a little pain of course.
Amelia didn’t speak as Connor ate, a sure sign that this wasn’t a typical evening as she normally had plenty on her mind to fill the silence with and he was too busy shoveling food into his mouth to say anything, not that he necessarily would have if he hadn’t been otherwise preoccupied. He had no idea if the silence between them was comfortable or awkward, but it didn’t really bother him that she was watching him eat, even if somewhere at the back of his mind he knew that his manners when it came to food had deteriorated a long way since he was nine and had had a mother to remind him to say please.
It appeared that she’d been using the time to think because she turned a questioning gaze on him as soon as he was finished and he had to pause himself to figure out how to describe the vampire that he had fought with. First he considered the vampire’s scent and how it had differed from other vampires he’d encountered in the past, not an easy task to determine with his senses dulled until he was barely at an advantage to a normal human. It was only because he’d know what he was looking for and was used to relying on his nose that he’d picked it up at all.
”He smelt slightly too sweet, faintest hint of blood so I don’t think he’d fed too recently and no trace of human on him so he must have been quite old.” Connor knew it was vague; he hated having to describe smells when his limited vocabulary almost always let him down. He’d rather have taken Amelia to the location of the fight to get her to smell for herself, but the scent of his own blood had probably overwhelmed any trace of the vampire. ”He was taller than you, shorter than me and he had light hair.” Connor let his eyes slip shut for a moment so he could picture the guy that had attacked him and include anything else that might be important. ”And he looked quite young.”
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Amelia Pace
Werewolf (A)
Gryffindor 7th Year
The Pup Slut.
Posts: 189
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Post by Amelia Pace on Jan 20, 2010 2:59:39 GMT 1
Five days. That’s all it had been, yet there was something about the situation that made it feel like normalcy. Of course it wasn’t, there really wasn’t much normal about the situation at all. They were two werewolves; one of which was living in a changing room and had just been attacked by a vampire. Oh yeah, in a wizarding community. The situation couldn’t get more bizarre if they did it all in mime… well maybe it would, but only a little. Yet, weirdly, they understood each other. She could tell him pretty much anything, and Amelia hoped he could return the favour. At least he said he trusted her, and he allowed her to fix his nose, but still, there were other things she was yet to find out about him.
Amelia nodded at him initial description, completely boggled by his ability to identify things by sense of smell. She could just about figure out it was him by the tang in the blood – something she would gloat about once the serious stuff had been dealt with, but it wasn’t likely that he would be impressed, just tell her that she should and could use her senses all the time. Beyond that, describing something by smell really didn’t help her. She wasn’t so good at the details when it came to smell, but then he knew that, and he gave her a description a visual one. One she could work with.
Her problem now came when he didn’t describe the vampire who had attacked her, at least she assumed the fucker would invest in hair dye like she did, ”Great,” she said downheartedly. It was all she could manage without thinking to gather he thoughts, ”Then we’ve got more than one vampire in the area,” she said after a moment. It was hard not to laugh at the situation, it was the stuff you only dreamt about as a muggle teen, growing up not knowing about this world they lived in. Amelia lived in, and Connor happened to have stumbled across. Not that it was a funny situation, but one had to laugh when there was nothing else left for one to do, ”I don’t get it, why can’t they leave us alone?”
Amelia let out a hefty sigh. She knew why. She rubbed her eyes with the pads of her fingers and looked at her watch. It was nearing half eight. She would need to leave soon, curfew wasn’t exactly strict, but if she was found out wondering after it she wouldn’t be let off all that lightly considering her natural abilities at getting herself attacked, ”I’d better go,” she admitted, packing the remaining medial supplies back into the box, standing and putting it back into the locker it belonged in, ”Try not to move your arm too much, and sleep on your back,” she offered her last pieces of advice, smiling down at him, ”I’ll come and check on you in the morning. And I’ll bring food, promise.” she said, chewed the inside of her lip.
She’d have to let Connery know about this. She couldn’t go around pretending it was okay, nor could she admit to keeping Connor here. Connery would keep her in detention for a month before letting her anywhere near the Quidditch Pitch. Being Amelia that would be hell, given weekly practise. That was the problem with the teacher, he knew where to cut to discipline her; ”Good night,” she said, waving at him before she turned her back on him to make her way out of the door back to the school. She could do with a week’s worth of sleep. But she knew she wouldn’t be getting any that night. She had to figure out how to deal with the new vampire, and she couldn’t do that in her dreams.
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Post by Connor Pine on Jan 21, 2010 23:18:45 GMT 1
Connor shuddered at the thought of more than one potentially dangerous vampire in the area, Amelia had told him about her previous experience and he’d seen the faintest trace of silvery scars on her neck from the second attack so he knew the second vampire could be just as lethal as the one he’d had a run in with that evening. It made his skin crawl to think that they could pick up Amelia’s scent and he wasn’t strong enough to protect her. They both knew why they were targeted, there was no point in saying it and Connor fell on his usual cushion of silence, raising his uninjured shoulder in a noncommittal half-shrug.
He nodded as she told him she should be going; half-wishing she could stay. Connor was more than used to spending his nights alone, usually in circumstances much rougher than the comfort and warmth of the changing rooms, but he was finding that the more time he spent around Amelia the more time he wanted to spend around her. The promise of breakfast was enough to cheer him up a little though and he smiled at the thought. ”Night.” He called softly after her once she’d turned to leave.
Connor’s night was restless, despite his usual ability to sleep anywhere he just couldn’t get comfortable, which might have had something to do with constant throbbing pain in his shoulder and the thought of vampires weighing heavily on his mind. On any other occasion he would have just up and left, got the hell away from any threat and moved on. But Amelia seemed to change all that and he knew he’d never be able to persuade her to leave with him; she had a normal life and he understood better than most why it was important that she held onto it. So he had no choice but to stay and try to protect her.
Around dawn he gave up on the fitful sleep he wasn’t getting and decided almost reluctantly to have a shower. He hated them, but he’d become almost accustomed to them as Amelia seemed to insist they were important. Connor wasn’t sure how she could make any claims based on smell when she spent so much of her time ignoring her senses. But at that moment he hated the feel of crusted blood in the hair at the nape of his neck more, the twinge of newly darkening bruises on his abdomen adding to the pain of his shoulder as he shuffled carefully over to the shower cubicles.
The shower was more relaxing than he had ever thought to give them credit for, the warm water doing wonders to loosen the aching muscles of his shoulders, wash away any excess blood on his skin and ease some of the tension that had set in from the very first moment he’d smelt the vampire on Amelia’s trail. Once he was out again though that feeling of calm soon evaporated. The changing room wasn’t nearly so warm when he was wet and naked and he was soon shivering.
Putting on his clothes with one hand while he was still damp was a challenge too and he gave up after he almost careened into a locker while pulling up his tattered and worn old jeans. He didn’t really want to put his shirt on again anyway; not when every move of his upper body made his shoulder throb and his ribs ache where they were bruised. The shirt was frayed where the vampire had torn a strip away to stop the bleeding on his neck anyway and it was soaked in blood.
Come to think of it he probably should have tried harder to keep his neck dry, the gauze had come away in the shower and his fingertips were red with fresh blood when he tentatively felt the wound. It wasn’t bleeding badly, but he doubted that would matter to Amelia. She’d still tell him off. Especially because he couldn’t figure out how to put the sling back on. He sat down one of the benches to wait for her with a sigh, his stomach already rumbling in anticipation of the breakfast she’d promised him.
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Amelia Pace
Werewolf (A)
Gryffindor 7th Year
The Pup Slut.
Posts: 189
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Post by Amelia Pace on Jan 22, 2010 5:43:57 GMT 1
Amelia didn’t stop in the Common Room to greet her friends and spend a few hours laughing with them before heading to bed. She grabbed her wash things and a towel before heading to the showers. She still had some of Connor’s blood on her hands, and with the grim of the day on her body she didn’t feel as if she could sleep just yet if at all. Relieving herself of her school uniform she slipped into the shower, turning the tap, letting the already warm water cascade over her body. Just letting the constant stream of water run over her limbs, rat tailing her hair and relaxing her tense muscles. She reached her arms in front of her, placing her hands palm down flat on the tiles on the shower wall. She blew the water out of her mouth, screwing her eyelids shut and looking up into the water. She needed to wash the day away, clear her head.
New vampire in town. One who wasn’t ashamed of leaving somebody in a beaten up mess. She debated with herself on the pros and cons of informing Connery about the new individual in town, but how could she do so without telling him about Connor in the process? She could tell him that he’d tracked her down, sneered at her, warned her, and she’d run off back to school. Leave Connor out of it completely painting a whole new picture and scenario. Or she could leave Connery out all together; deal with it on her own, make sure Connor got back to full health and steer clear out of the vampire’s way. Not that she planned on getting in his path, but she wanted to lead a normal life, how could she do that if the Vampire was on her trail now. She didn’t want to drag other people down with her. If the new blood was after hers, she wasn’t about to offer it to him with a drinking straw, but if he had already had the taste from Connor, there was no telling the extent he would go for some of hers.
She shut the shower off, grabbing her towel and drying herself, patting herself down and ruffling her hair in the towel so her long locks didn’t soak her clothing. Once satisfied she was dry she pulled on her white cami sleeping top, and loose grey joggers and made her way over to the sinks and mirrors. Her showers had caused her day’s make up to run down her face. She grabbed her overtly muggle facial wipes and cleansed her face of the spatters of eyeliner and mascara that now adorned her cheeks opposed to her eyes. Once done she splashed her face with cold water, she rubbed her hands over her face and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look half as exhausted as she felt, which was probably a good thing. She needed sleep, but that was an idealistic world, and she knew she didn’t live in one of those. Sleep would not come easily to her tonight, and she knew it.
Once in the Girl’s Dormitory, she made her way to her four poser bed, climbing into her bed and shutting the curtains around her, even if she wasn’t asleep, she could easily give the pretence that she was to those she shared a room with. She laid under her covers, staring up at the canopy above her. She couldn’t shut her mind off, all these thoughts. All these feelings. Ranging from fear to hope, and a mingling of lust. She knew it was stupid. Five days wasn’t the grounds for anything, but she knew she’d been happier in the last five days than much of the last four years. There was something in being able to share the entirety of ones life with somebody that made attachments that much easier. She rolled on her side, tucking her hand under her pillow. She’d no idea how long she’d lain there, but she had heard the movement of Jo and the other girls some time ago, so it must be past midnight.
She turned back, blinking a few times. She reached through the curtains pulling her watch back through. Somewhere along the line it had become six thirty in the morning. She sighed to herself, by the time she was ready it would be seven and she could get down early to breakfast, and hi-jack something decent for Connor for a change. People may raise questions, but she couldn’t stay in bed much longer, she’d only think more and her head was starting to hurt. She got up, grabbing a new shirt, her tie and jumper along with her school skirt and socks. Making her way to the bathrooms, she dressed, brushing her hair, leaving it in a bit of a mess. She pinned up half her hair, keeping it out of her face. Next simple make up, mascara, eye shadow, eyeliner. Done. She scuffed back up to her room in her socks, looking for her shoes and cloak, finding them with ease and readier herself to leave.
The breakfast she managed to steal consisted of some eggs, slices of toast and some juice. She headed to the changing rooms at a slower pace than usual, not needed to hurry because nobody was yet around to question her. And he wouldn’t be expecting her anyway. She’d had time to detour into lost property, stealing a few chequered shirts and throwing them into her bag. She moseyed down to the pitch, looking over the grounds as she went. She’d never seen it this early in the morning, dew hanging off of each blade of grass, it was beautiful; ”Connor?” she called out, having reached the changing room. She saw him sitting shirtless, and took a brief moment to look him over; she was only human after all – well most of the time. She saw the bruises on his abdomen and winced, she hadn’t seen those the day before. And his collarbone looked somewhat brutal.
Her gaze then went to his neck, and she could see the dressing she had applied was coming away, ”Couldn’t resist a scratch,” she offered, putting her bag down and reaching into the locker and picking out a plaster to recover it. She saw the sling laying abandoned with his bloody shirt on the floor next to him. Kneeling next to him, she pulled off the plaster, checking over the wound, there was some fresh blood, but nothing a new dressing wouldn’t fix. She gently laid it over, sticking it down, ordering him not to touch it. Being close, she could smell the water on him, ”Nice shower?” she asked, sitting down next to him, dishing out his breakfast and offering him some shirts, ”Thought you could do with a change,” she offered with a laugh; ”How’s it feeling?” she asked as she shifted position to check out his collarbone; running the pads of her fingers over it gently, and doing the same to the bruises on his stomach, ”Does it hurt still?”
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Post by Connor Pine on Feb 13, 2010 1:04:55 GMT 1
Connor looked up as Amelia entered the changing room, his disheveled appearance; wet hair sticking up every which way and an interesting collection of bruising across his ribs, only adding to the forlorn look on his face that could only manifest when one was feeling very sorry for oneself. He brightened a little when he saw her though, especially when he caught the scent of the breakfast she’d brought for him as the way to any man’s heart was clearly through his stomach. ”I didn’t!” Connor protested meekly, having learnt a long time ago that proclaiming innocence when covered in fresh injuries was pointless, but still unable to resist defending his honor. For some reason it mattered when it was Amelia.
He didn’t flinch away as she set about patching him up again, deft fingers replacing the plaster on his neck with such care that he barely did more than hiss out a sharp breath through his teeth at the discomfort. He wasn’t nearly so lucky moments later, though. When, in a usual display of mute indifference, he tried to shrug as Amelia asked him about his shower, forcing him to bite back a grunt as the dulled pain in his shoulder throbbed back to full intensity. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for her bringing him a new shirt either; it was just that gratitude kind of fell by the wayside when you were being poked and prodded. Especially since it had been a long time since he’d had a reason to say ‘thank you’ for anything.
Connor’s hand found Amelia’s wrist, his grasp gentle, but enough to halt the progress of her fingertips across the patchwork of bruises on his torso. ”Still hurts.” He confirmed, voice tight with the pain, his gaze imploring as though she might be able to do something about it. She’d fixed his nose after all and he might not trust the magic she’d used to do it, but he trusted her. Or he thought he did. At the very least he was on his way to trusting her. It was an unfamiliar feeling, being able to rely on somebody other than himself, the way he’d done for more than a decade.
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Amelia Pace
Werewolf (A)
Gryffindor 7th Year
The Pup Slut.
Posts: 189
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Post by Amelia Pace on Feb 16, 2010 13:43:47 GMT 1
Amelia raised an eyebrow at his defiance, he was such a child at times, but there was something about it that was endearing over annoying, but for somebody so apt at keeping himself out of trouble – most of the time – and looking after himself, the childish tendencies surprised her, ”Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England,” she retorted, half wondering if he would pick up on the sarcasm or get a little bit confused like he had done in the past. Once she was done with the dressing, she dropped herself down onto the floor, her knees still bent, legs out to one side. It gave her a better view of his injuries and allowed her to examine them without leaning in uncomfortable ways.
She shook her head at him as he moved, the pain ricocheting through him was his own damned fault, but she couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry for him. He was living in the bloody changing rooms, it couldn’t be a fun life to be having. Not when she got to be in the warm with endless amounts of food and an actual bed. Him being in the changing rooms was dangerous enough, moving him into the castle would no doubt get them caught within the first twenty-four hours. She’d thought the inflammation would have gone down slightly over the last eleven hours, but it looked a hell of a lot worse than it had the night before. Maybe it was the harsh light of day.
On feeling his fingers close around her wrist, she stopped her actions and dropped her gaze to the digits. Slowly her gaze lifted to look Connor in the eye. There was some expectation, like she was the person who would be able to make everything alright again. Stop the pain he was feeling. But in honest truth, she only knew how to fix noses magically. Bruises and cuts, that was all completely muggle, and there wasn’t a lot they could do about it. Without outing Connor to the school nurse, she couldn’t do much else, ”What do you want me to do about it?” her voice was soft, unthreatening. She knew anything but and he would just close up again, ”Kiss it better?” half a joke, half serious, it was pretty much the only thing she had left that she could do.
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Post by Connor Pine on Mar 28, 2010 0:47:32 GMT 1
Connor was a simple guy and he saw the world in a very simple way, pretty much everything was black or white, good or bad and if he didn’t understand something he usually just ignored it. Amelia didn’t fit so neatly into his view of the world, she was definitely good and she was probably closer to him than anybody else in the world, but he couldn’t claim to understand her, especially when she started speaking in riddles like she tended to do sometimes. But unlike with everything else that confused him when it came to Amelia not knowing everything about her just made him want to know her more. And so when she started talking about being the Queen when she very clearly wasn’t he just frowned, brows furrowing downwards as he lifted his good shoulder into a half-shrug.
He watched her closely as she moved to get a better look at his injuries, not moving away like he’d tried to the few times he’d been in a muggle hospital. Usually as soon as the doctors came near him he became sullen and uncooperative, retreating into a stony silence that saved him from having to answer any awkward questions. With Amelia the trust was already there, she’d already tried to help him; she’d given him a place to stay and fixed his nose. Perhaps most importantly of all she knew what he was, knew about vampires and magic, the whole shebang. But with that trust came a responsibility perhaps even Amelia wasn’t even aware of. Connor hadn’t depended on anybody in a very long time; the last people being his parents who, in the eyes of a nine year old, had been able to right any wrong and fix anything that had hurt him.
Her offer surprised Connor, it fit so perfectly into the trust he’d built with her. Just those three words brought back memories of the times his mother had pressed her lips to a grazed knee or a bruised elbow and suddenly they hadn’t seemed to hurt so much anymore. It was different now, he knew all too well that a simple kiss wasn’t going to take the pain of his injuries away, but it might make him feel better. He leaned forwards, not breaking eye contact and slowly nodded. ”Yes,” Connor said, doing his best to look miserable and hurt enough to have earned those kisses even though his heart seemed to be racing in anticipation. "Please."
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