OOM (Locked to Jo)

[theresnodoor]

Morphing is an inexact science. There's DNA and intense concentration and some stuff about z-space or whatever. There are the rules, all with exceptions - like natural metamorphosis, allergies, regeneration. There are the constants.

Well, one constant.

Morphing relies on DNA. Demorphing will get rid of injuries. There's always a chance morphing, then demorphing, will get rid of an imperfection in her human body.

A chance.

"I can actually hear Ax trying to explain this crap to me," Rachel grumbles to herself, left hand pressed tight to her right bicep.

While blood seeps through.

She's still in the forest, too, unwilling to leave the trees even for the infirmary. Not until she knows it won't stop bleeding with continuous pressure.

Comments

[tobeclosetohim]

There are days that aren't quite Days Off.
The are really more like hours than days.

From Demons waging war on her world.
From Angels on the run from Heaven.





Jo's got a beer and she's walking.

Past the stables. The stocks.

Walking and thinking.

Toward the forest.

[theresnodoor]

Rachel is peeling her hand away, wrinkling her nose at a red sticky palm, peering at the gash. Open, a little too open, but the bleeding has slowed considerably. It's dirty, though. That's kind of to be expected.

Look, okay, demorphing in a tree had been a really good idea when she'd just wanted a pause between flying.

[tobeclosetohim]

Blood still looks like blood. Even in shadows.
Even on your fourth, not going to feel it, beer.





"Rachel?"

[theresnodoor]

She looks up sharply, eyes narrowed, jaw set, ready to-

Oh.

It's Jo.



Her hand settles over her bicep again.

"Hey."

[tobeclosetohim]

The blood-covered hand. Subtle.



"That's a new look for you."

[theresnodoor]

She frowns a little, shifting feet.

"I'm always wearing this."

Because this conversation is about lycra. It is.

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo eyeballed her, motioning with the bottle.


"Yes, you just rock that Jane of the Jungle everyday."

[theresnodoor]

There are no twigs or leaves in her hair. She made sure of that the second she landed on her feet.

But there's dirt on her. Including her butt, when she fell off her feet.

Going on the list of things not to be talked about.

"Well, I pull it off."

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo gave her a long look.
Long down her. Long back up.

"Alright. I'll give you that much."






Beat. "Does that need stitches?"

[theresnodoor]

...she just got eyeballed.

Rachel's expression is incredulous. And just vaguely amused.

She pauses before pulling her hand from her arm again, craning her neck to peer at it.

"It's not bleeding as much."

Not bleeding means she can keep going. Always has.

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo walked closer.

"You clean it with anything more than your fingertips, yet?"

[theresnodoor]

"No."

That would require leaving the forest. Walking through people, talking to them. Possibly explaining.

Rachel peers at it again, then presses her palm against it. "It's not a big deal."

It stings. But if she can still feel it, it's not that bad.

[tobeclosetohim]

The sharp single first word doesn't shift her.

"I'm assuming you've already tried shifting it away."






"If I go get stuff, will you stay here at least?"

[theresnodoor]

Rachel's nose wrinkles. Sometimes it works, another morph, another demorph. And then, for no apparent reason at all, it doesn't. And she's suddenly bleeding.

As for staying here, away from indoors and people and walls, Rachel hesitates and does her best to look more annoyed than relaxed.

"Fine."

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo didn't say a word. Turned around. Walked back.


Left the beer with the bar. Got a bottle of water.
Then, left a note and took a first aid kit from med.


Walked back out without a word or by your leave to anyone.

[theresnodoor]

Waiting is even more annoying when there's pain.

When Jo gets back, she's still on her feet, alternating between pacing and picking at the gash. Wincing and snarling when she hits a sore spot.

[tobeclosetohim]

"Sit."

It's not a request.


But it isn't an order either.

[theresnodoor]

Better not.

There are still narrowed blue eyes for a moment. But if Jo's holding something to make the pain less painful, she'll sit. On pine needles and tree roots.

Be grateful.

[tobeclosetohim]

Jo could do it standing. If it was an emergency.

It's easier to open a first aide kit sitting.
Use the ground as a table. Sort through.


"Here. Give me your arm."

[theresnodoor]

She keeps frowning, but Rachel is cross-legged on the ground with both hands in her lap.

Eyeing the kit somewhat suspiciously.

[tobeclosetohim]

She breaks it open. Pulling out peroxide.
Following it with a cloth.





Jo started dabbing it.

With more focus than any caution.

Rubbing dirt and bark from the wound.

[theresnodoor]

This?

Sucks.

[tobeclosetohim]

The faster she does it, the faster it ends.



"The good news is you won't need stitches."

[theresnodoor]

"Yay," Rachel growls, words forced past bared teeth. It would be easier, less painful, if she relaxed.

Yeah.

Not happening.

[tobeclosetohim]

"Do you want as little scarring as possible?"