Apologize for Collateral Damage

[andhiswife]

September 8th, 2018:

It might as well be some sort of magic, the way it happens.

Greta's out shopping on a Saturday morning, Saoirse in tow. Window-shopping more than anything else; people are starting to put out their autumnal displays. It's a little premature, but after the long, sticky summer they've had, she really can't begrudge anyone a little wishful thinking. And Saoirse is understandably excited for the season that includes her birthday.

(With any luck, she'll actually have able to have it on the day, this year. If there's to be another Purge, no one's whispered of it, yet.)

Not that she has any business invoking luck. Her own has been in rather short supply for the past few weeks. Nothing dramatic, just a steady trickle of inconveniences and little accidents. Things she could brush off if they spaced themselves out more, or if she still wasn't leaving out offerings for Sweeney, as if they might do any sort of good.

So she's a little on guard, though there's really no guarding against what happens. They're headed down the sidewalk, Saoirse's hand in hers, when Greta registers a few odd, metallic pinging sounds, like a pebble tossed into a tin cup, and then a hiss not far from her left ear, as if a fast-flying insect had gone past. She turns toward the sound with a reflexive start, frowning. Then she registers the tear in her sleeve -- when did that happen? -- and as she frowns at it, bewildered, the blue of her dress begins to slowly bloom with crimson.

She's bleeding.

Only then does the pain kick in, as if her nerves were waiting for her to work out what had happened before sounding the alarm, and she stops short with a little squawk of dismay. Her grip on Saoirse's hand tightens. Without thinking, she tries to shift her arm to get a better look at the injury. The pain flares. "Wh--?!" she squeaks, appalled. What happened?

Comments

[to_do_and_die]

Billy held his hands up in a kind of surrender. "Forget I asked," he said. He urged Greta into the car when it arrived, and gestured for Frank to get in with Saoirse. He'd ride up front. It'd be too awkward for men their size to cram into the back together with woman and child.

"Hospital ER," he said to the driver, who he was guessing might be a local given how generally lax they looked about the whole affair. Natives had the weird ability to just roll with shit that Billy almost envied. He was already trying to think of how to talk through this one with any doctors. There were too many people involved to get a story straight, especially when the kid back there was likely to just blurt out what happened.

The last thing he wanted to do today was talk to any kind of authority. More than that, he had no intention of spending one second in a jail cell. Not here, not ever.

[onebatch_twobatch]

The whole mess of it made Frank uncomfortable, first and foremost because he and Billy were armed, and not least of all because the last time Frank had been in a hospital he'd been under arrest--and the time before that, he'd been shooting at someone.

He sat, rather awkwardly, with the young girl between himself and the woman--Greta, Billy had called her, but he hadn't caught her daughter's name. It was important, though, that he let her be close. And now that Greta's arm was away from her, Frank thought it was good to have her as near as they could get.

He did buckle her seatbelt, though. Safety was important, even if she was too little to be properly and safely restrained.

[andhiswife]

Greta would have liked to spend the short car ride to the hospital comforting Saoirse; instead, she spends the better part of it just trying not to get blood all over a stranger's upholstery. It makes for a quiet, intensely awkward ride. By the time the car deposits them just outside the hospital, she's about ready to just grab Saoirse by the hand, blood notwithstanding, and leg it inside, leaving Billy and Frank to sort themselves out.

But she makes herself wait, her hand still clamped over her wounded shoulder. "You don't have to stay," she tells Billy, her gaze sliding over to Frank to encompass both of them. Not that she relishes the thought of taking away Saoirse's support system, but they can and should call Thomas, anyway. "Unless either of you have a better explanation for this than 'I don't know,' which is about all I'll be able to tell them." It's mostly true, which means she'll sell it better than whatever outright fib they might try to collectively concoct out here on the sidewalk.

[selkiesaoirse]

Saoirse wriggles down out of the big, sad man's arms, because she'd much rather snuggle up to her mum. She doesn't want to hurt her — she'll be so, so careful not to hurt her — but Greta is the best at making her feel better, and even though Saoirse thinks she should be making Greta feel better, she's still just scared enough that she wants a little reassurance and comfort from her mum.

After that, she'll supply comfort. Besides. They need to call Thomas, and Saoirse has her phone in her pants pockets. It'll be easier for her to call than it will be for Greta.

She looks up at the smartly dressed man, the one that Greta seems to know, or that seems to know Greta, anyway. He's been very good, so far, taking control and making sure nothing else bad happens. Saoirse doesn't like his eyes, and his accent is funny, but he doesn't seem to be a bad person, and she likes that he's in charge right now.