If there was ever a time to keep her mind focused and clear on the work at hand, this was it. There was little room for error in every stitch she made in sensitive skin, which meant there was little room to think on the man or to think - perhaps worry - about the amount of damage he had sustained that she couldn't mend with string or gauze. Nor should she, considering everything that had occurred both inside the tower and outside it, prior to their arrival.
However, as much as that made logical sense, there was an underlying feeling of understanding that this was not Gaia and would never be. And for all the anger and hatred for the other, the indifference and distrust, the annoying feeling that somebody had to watch him - watch out for him - was unexpectedly there. Completely illogical, yes, considering their interactions were solely based on an agreed-upon silence of past incidents.
Thankfully Elena takes her work seriously and her stitching scrutinized to perfectionist levels. Each movement is careful, calculated, planned so needle and skin meet under the shortest period needed and the pain limited to what was necessary. She nearly pricks his skin accidentally when he shifts, hand lifting the needle up and away as he shifted. Shook.
All further attention on mending the gaping wound is stopped at the sound of leather protesting from being squeezed too tightly and the growl that comes quickly after. Eyes snap up from his arm to the curtain of silver that blocked part of his face, shifting just slightly to provide a better angle.
"On it."
She knows exactly what he needs and how little time she had to get it before he would be clutching a small trash bin and bringing up whatever food he'd eaten. Resting the needle against uninjured skin, she gives his wrist a press with her left hand, a silent command for it to stay still before the pressure is lifted. The first thing that is acquired is a small wastebasket that sits nearby, the item picked up and placed on the table beside Sephiroth where he could reach it without knocking over her tools.
Heading back to the table, she pauses for a moment before lifting her jacket off the gurney. Raising up on her toes, she places it over his head. "Leave it for a few minutes. Focus on the dark and on the smell of the fabric."
Basic field medicine 101. If you started getting a sick feeling and were bleeding profusely, odds were the rich, metallic smell was causing the nausea. And the best way to get past it was to bury your nose in something else that would mask the smell. But what was needed most was a glass of water to help settle the stomach. As she bee-lined for the sink, Elena wipes the excess blood off her hands and onto the dark black of her pants. It wouldn't help to keep waving the smell in front of his face.
After a few moments, she's back at the table - hands washed and a glass of water, which is lightly tapped against the back of his hand.
no subject
However, as much as that made logical sense, there was an underlying feeling of understanding that this was not Gaia and would never be. And for all the anger and hatred for the other, the indifference and distrust, the annoying feeling that somebody had to watch him - watch out for him - was unexpectedly there. Completely illogical, yes, considering their interactions were solely based on an agreed-upon silence of past incidents.
Thankfully Elena takes her work seriously and her stitching scrutinized to perfectionist levels. Each movement is careful, calculated, planned so needle and skin meet under the shortest period needed and the pain limited to what was necessary. She nearly pricks his skin accidentally when he shifts, hand lifting the needle up and away as he shifted. Shook.
All further attention on mending the gaping wound is stopped at the sound of leather protesting from being squeezed too tightly and the growl that comes quickly after. Eyes snap up from his arm to the curtain of silver that blocked part of his face, shifting just slightly to provide a better angle.
"On it."
She knows exactly what he needs and how little time she had to get it before he would be clutching a small trash bin and bringing up whatever food he'd eaten. Resting the needle against uninjured skin, she gives his wrist a press with her left hand, a silent command for it to stay still before the pressure is lifted. The first thing that is acquired is a small wastebasket that sits nearby, the item picked up and placed on the table beside Sephiroth where he could reach it without knocking over her tools.
Heading back to the table, she pauses for a moment before lifting her jacket off the gurney. Raising up on her toes, she places it over his head. "Leave it for a few minutes. Focus on the dark and on the smell of the fabric."
Basic field medicine 101. If you started getting a sick feeling and were bleeding profusely, odds were the rich, metallic smell was causing the nausea. And the best way to get past it was to bury your nose in something else that would mask the smell. But what was needed most was a glass of water to help settle the stomach. As she bee-lined for the sink, Elena wipes the excess blood off her hands and onto the dark black of her pants. It wouldn't help to keep waving the smell in front of his face.
After a few moments, she's back at the table - hands washed and a glass of water, which is lightly tapped against the back of his hand.
"Here. This'll help."