- Posting Speed
- One post per week
- Online Availability
- 5-11 EST weekdays, anytime weekends.
- Writing Levels
- Give-No-Fucks
- Adept
- Advanced
- Douche
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- Superhero, urban fantasy, space opera, crime thriller, supernatural
Mac had spent the better part of what remained of the day staring at the skull-cap that bound her hand, for no real reason other than the absence of a more currently agreeable sight, weird as that was. She had allowed the idle, most inane thoughts free reign as she sat herself down in some innocuous corner. If the gauze strip was the 'least rad' form of injury-accessory, where did Luna's skullcap rank? Somewhere above pony-pattern band-aids, somewhere below the galaxy-pattern. The most optimal, perhaps, was a lasting scar, so that one could flaunt their scar-tissue with every high-five they meted out.
She had been thinking of such things because she wanted to distract from the aftermath. Cause the aftermath sucked. Always, unless it went perfect - and it never did. Rescue missions were a bit of a foregone conclusion in that sense. Something usually went wrong for them to happen, and - whether or not it really was someone like Josie's fault, which it wasn't - that meant angst. Josie would probably feel all down about it; Mac herself hadn't done particularly well; Lex seemed cross about the little mishap near the end; Luna seemed all shaken up about their injuries; Keith was probably the most even-keeled of the lot, but maybe even he…
It felt like an 'ah, man' type of win, for some reason. But they did win. They won.
Their other squad had even come back with a new guy. She had chanced nearabouts the kitchen to… 'borrow' some of Lex's frozen dessert, when she saw him. Looked like the 'fan favorite' type, about as pretty and maybe even more muscly than eighty percent of Pearl Halladay's seasonal love interests. She had her suspicions that they'd probably all love that. Mac allowed that he seemed cool! Anyone that looked like they could wrestle a biker-jacket wearing, shades-wearing shark with legs probably deserved the moniker.
And Penny had gotten shot, apparently. 'Ah, man'.
She thought she had heard something about that amidst the blur of noise when the group had returned. Mac herself had just about come to terms with the idea that if anyone got hurt, Doc would either save 'em, or she wouldn't. If they hadn't rolled with her, Mac couldn't do anything about it. The helplessness of the soldier's wife, the soldier's kid wasn't good for anyone, and Mac had once decided against dwelling on such thoughts too hard.
Still, she had needed to resort to the liberating void of beddy-bye to stave off the matter of Penny's wound.
Keegan's call had prevented Mac from a sleep-in she desperately craved. At least she didn't get the 'rescue' mission this time.
"... why'd you say 'no more driving'? What Finn do?" Mac's face gleamed in spite of Keegan's severe frown, dodging it and instead veering towards the famously hapless one.
They'd probably roast Finn when they answered, Mac knew. But honestly: she expected something cool.