Seal. Like she's a container to be closed up, and lid affixed.
It's a good thing that Niska has all the supplies ready — she's extremely well-prepared and it seems she almost could have done this by herself, really, except that it had happened in public. Where she'd been seen. Where it had taken her too long to get back, too long to get woozy and weakened.
Brigitte takes the needle and thread. This part might have seemed familiar — she’s stitched up so many people with battlefield injuries — except that the elasticity is ever so slightly off, the skin of Niska’s stomach strangely human-like and yet. Not. Brig breathes; keeps her head bent over her task; doesn’t meet her friend’s eye, for a while. Until she’s carefully sewn up the wound and then immediately slides backward on her chair, moving further away from the other woman. Her hands are stained blue.
“What are you?”
She blurts out the question. Wasn’t able, at the last, to make it more tactful.
no subject
It's a good thing that Niska has all the supplies ready — she's extremely well-prepared and it seems she almost could have done this by herself, really, except that it had happened in public. Where she'd been seen. Where it had taken her too long to get back, too long to get woozy and weakened.
Brigitte takes the needle and thread. This part might have seemed familiar — she’s stitched up so many people with battlefield injuries — except that the elasticity is ever so slightly off, the skin of Niska’s stomach strangely human-like and yet. Not. Brig breathes; keeps her head bent over her task; doesn’t meet her friend’s eye, for a while. Until she’s carefully sewn up the wound and then immediately slides backward on her chair, moving further away from the other woman. Her hands are stained blue.
“What are you?”
She blurts out the question. Wasn’t able, at the last, to make it more tactful.