as_damaged | ☤ forty-six

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☤ forty-six

[Video;]

[When the feed fades in Cameron is looking down at whatever she's doing, and it's not clear whether or not this is an intentional post. After a moment her current occupation becomes obvious; she's applying a series of band-aids to her fingers.

Cameron looks up.]

Unsurprisingly, the City once again upholds ridiculous superstitions. I'd advise everyone to be particularly cautious today.

[Looking a little worn, she shuts off her device.]

[ooc; dfgfd today got busy at a certain point, please pretend this was rather earlier in the day? ;_;]

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Why? [It's not exactly an accusatory question so much as it holds a tinge of frustration with an aspect of her he genuinely doesn't understand. Of course there are things he keeps to himself about, everyone has that.] You're cursed and you fell. Do you think that says anything about your ability to handle yourself any other day? Is it a female thing?

The fact that you would even say something like "is it a female thing" is part of my problem.

[Bad luck might play a part in this too, the fact that she can only take so many straws before she snaps. Snapping at someone carrying you down a flight of stairs is not really advisable, and besides that this is definitively one of those Things She Doesn't Want To Talk About.]

Because being female automatically equates to being weak and helpless, and when I do end up weak and helpless here, through no fault of my own, you assume I'm upset because I'm falling into some stereotype. But the problem is, the stereotype persists whether or not I match it. When people do take me seriously it's because I'm transcending my own stereotypical societal role. I'm tied to it no matter what. And here, half the time I am the hapless victim in need of rescue, and there's nothing I can do about it, so how can I even take myself seriously?

I asked you if it was a female thing because it's always women who prefer to argue rather than take any help. If you were wondering about the high-pitched harpy stereotype, trust me you've got that one nailed.

[He doesn't always help himself in these 'discussions', but it's frustrating to be shoved at when he knows that by any societal standards, he's doing the right thing.]

You and Claire carried me home the other week. What's the difference? You're no bigger a victim than anyone else is, you just make yourself stand out by making such a damn fuss about it. It's not the seventies, there's not some big sex war with you on the front lines. Just a work mate who wants to see you home safe for once.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

[That's absolutely flat, because as much as she means all that, she hates saying it, particularly to him. She shrinks a little, but there's really no way to effectively withdraw in this position.]

I am so sick of this.

[He falls quiet himself, for a minute, no longer frustrated but feeling about as flat as her tone.]

Give it a couple of days, you'll be fine.

Maybe.

[The unspoken addendum is, in a few days some other ridiculous thing will happen, like as not. Her ankle isn't serious, she thinks; and maybe she'll even get over the embarrassment by then, but it's just a matter of time before the other shoe drops.

And of course, there's more than the curses; there's the give and take between them, and right now what bothers her is she can't tell if he's only doing this to try and win points with her because she's still upset. And she's infuriated that she even thinks of that, because this is enough of a mess without guessing at ulterior motives, but it's the kind of person she is.]

I'm not sure there's a point to this. Even if my other shoes haven't vanished, I can't call a cab to get home.

You couldn't call a cab to get you down the stairs, either. Maybe we should have left you in the stairwell, I hear the room service is great.

[He's responding by rote, now, banter for the sake of it, because it fills up the space between the rhythmic thud of his own footsteps, and the sound of her breath he can feel in the contractions under her ribs before the exhale comes.]

Chair, painkillers, wheelchair. How does that sound?

Unavoidable.

[It's at least half intended to be arch, but there's a sad note under it, a weariness. She's not ungrateful, not really. Just lashing out because she's sick of this.]

I can probably bribe one of the orderlies to wheel me home. If you have things to get back to.

Nothing I didn't want to escape already. Today's a training day for the nurses, nothing but cuts, bruises and... twisted ankles.

[There's only one flight to go, but this time Chase stops after adjusting his hold on her at the landing. He takes two more steps and then sits, burden still in arms, which effectively places Cameron on his lap. As a tableau, it could be any affectionate couple.]

What's the bribe on offer?

[Say what you will, they've always made a pretty picture. One that never matches its appearance in actuality, perhaps, but a pretty picture nonetheless. She doesn't squirm or protest, though she looks a bit washed-out and tense. Still, there's a tenuous bit of humor in the glance she casts at him.]

I hadn't thought that far ahead.

[He needs the brief respite, although he's keen not to show it beyond the surreptitious working of his shoulders in circles to untie the knots that have begun to wind into the muscle. She's not heavy, but four flights and the weight of anything begins to magnify.

Quirking his head to the side he looks down at her, the corner of his lip pinched upwards into a sketch of a smirk.]

I'm open to offers. Take your time.

[She can't really complain, this is a position where a certain amount of gratitude is necessary. Somehow that serves to annoy her. Not enough to react, just enough to stoke the deep frustration this curse is causing, enough to leave her more conflicted than ever.]

Anything I offer is bound to go horribly wrong.

Nope, I'm unaffected.

[And for the smile there you might think it had actually been good in recent memory.]

So if you want to tell me I'm getting lucky, go ahead. [There's the obligatory eyebrow waggle, but no real expectation of a response. He tips his head back and focuses on the winding patterns of the stairwell.] We'll get going again in a second.

[It gets an eyeroll out of her, at least. Cameron doesn't even want to consider the possibilities of what could go wrong with that, since she's probably got enough bad luck for both of them. Or maybe he's had all his bad luck already, all that business with the parasite...]

Take your time. [She sighs] The less I try to do today, the better.

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☤ forty-six

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