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Backdated to early April

Experimentation had pointed out that the phone was only useful while in the stupid outfit, even if the outfit didn't provide enough material to try to make Hollywood bandages to keep anything together. There was also the problem of having a grand total of nobody to call- the kiddo hadn't been a factor in forever, which meant all of one other name.

Which Sandrine hit to dial, and for once wasn't bouncing in place while waiting, because the Youma's claws had done too much of a number down the outside of thighs for bouncing to be comfortable. cmoooooooon pick up pickup pickup. Be there. Beeeeeee near your phone. Feeeeeel the phone.

Like willing another person to have their cell handy ever actually worked. Then there was a click of a pickup?! Sandrine blurted into the phone, "Ida, I really need your help, canyoucome?

"It's not gushing or anything. They're just really bad and long and hurt and it's both legs and my sides. I can't get back in the dorms like this it'll get through all my clothes. AndBringAllTheBandaidsAndButterfliesYouHaveIcan'tStopTheBleeding.
IFeelDizzy.""

"Balls-" Sandrine looked around. "Where am I-"

That's a pretty basic question. Kinda important to someone helping out. Building, building, duck, duck, duck, goose. "Near campus. Not on it. There's that gas and go thing, I can see that. It's a Exxon. It's like one of the only gas stations. I'll be at it if I keep walking. Roads. Like....Sycamore and ...what is that? Fallowfield. Sycamore and Fallowfield. I don't thinks there's benches or anything. OHman, sitting is going to suck with all the skin bendy. "

Maybe just standing and leaning against a building would work well enough. Like a department store mannequin waiting to be put on display. "That thing was huge and had a million legs with claws and paws. It got my legs on the outside, hips to knees- the boots kinda helped and took the damage at calves. Then it tossed me, so my ribs and waist got some loving in its mouth. At least the uniform hides that a bit, huh? 'Bring me my brown pants' and all. "

I'm rambling. "Can you come? I don't really ....I don't have anyone else I can call. I don't know anyone. You and Urda, that's it."

"Man, I don't think anyone's called me 'sweetheart' since Gaffer passed, " The words came mostly as a personal aside, not really spoken into the phone as Sandrine trailed off into personal thought for a moment while mincing along further towards the welcoming glare of the gas station. Thank goodness Ida can come and isn't all busy or something. Oh, right still on the phone. "Yeah, no problem in minutes. I'll be waiting. I'll...try not to draw attention...?

Which was just an exercise in futility by most accounts. Wearing a get up like a senshi at any hour, let alone one where a gas station glow was 'welcoming', wasn't a way to lay low. The attendant manning the station, visible from the sidewalk bounding it, was pointedly stocking cigarettes and vapes and Not-Making-Eyecontact. Sandrine wrapped arms around self and frowned, turning away from the sight of chip bags, five hour energy and probably a working land line that the dudefella seemed to have no inclination to use for a bleeding person's benefit. What am I, Kitty Genovese?

The wait wasn't hard. There was nothing to it other than watching occasional traffic go by. No one made eye contact or seemed to note the two-piece and bloodied awkward person. No one wanted to get involved. The question came vaguely along the growing haze, and the following click and shout finally drew attention up from circling the drain of too-damn-depressing. Sandrine looked around like a nightjar woken with a flashlight for a moment before spying the approaching eternal. "Ida- hey. Hai."

"Hi."

A few mincing steps were made in Ida's direction, before the senshi of execution frowned, whole out slapped the outside of each thigh to replace the cut-skin sensation with the broader sting of handprints. Walking was easier for a few seconds. "Did you bring any band-aids? It might take a lot of them. I just need to not bleed through my shirt and pants long enough to get up to my dorm room, really. So anything you think will work for that? "

There didn't look to be any immediate bags or first aid kits stored on Ida, but the Orchid senshi had also seemed pretty pro at the otherspace vanishing act.

Sandrine gave a nod of permission and tried to hold still while Ida made with the expected proddings that tended to accompany any sort of examinations with wounds. Friend, cousin, mom, doctor, it never mattered- if you were hurt, there was going to be proddings at some point by someone. It was a little sad to hear the change of plans, a little nerve wracking, but Sandrine turned it over in mind before replying.

"I. Sure? Okay? If you don't mind, I don't mind. You mentioned keeping that sort of stuff private, so I just don't assume. " Piggy back was entertaining, mostly since Ida wasn't particularly tall. It was going to have the same suck of bending as sitting was. "The wings make you all strong, right? I'm not exhausted, really, just edgy? Edgy is the word I want. It took me forever to get this far....so hitching on yo uis probably a lot less of your time. "

'Superheroing' seems more idyllic and less disturbing in videogames and comics. This is more like Carlin's 'Shell Shock, Battle Fatigue, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder' bit. The basic senshi waited patiently for the greater to assume the Crouch, then minced grabbing hips with thighs and over shoulders with arms. The spindlyness of length added by the blue platforms probably made them look more ridiculous than usual. "At least no one has any cameras?"

It was at that point where carrying or standing and walking didn't matter- adrenaline was far spent and life was sore. Sandrine stutter hissed at the wounds as soon as feet were returned to ground and straightening up to be able to follow along with directions was the order of the day. It took a few more slaps, crack-sudden sound and leaving edgemarks of fingers and palms on either side of the leg wounds to be able to manage it. Sandrine let the magic drain out, uniform to go back wherever it went. Maybe in the pen?

"It's no thing, if you know me. Jack. My name's Jack Bromwich. And really, thanks. Maybe your used to it all, and its no big deal to you, but after months and months of this stuff and knowing two people, ....well it's a lot to me that you're cool with this. "

"And your roommates. " Whoever Vespa is. She says it like I should know them? I mean...I guess I'm glad someone ...whatever is up with the purification. They must be a senshi or knight. Or a cat? I guess cats could take up a whole bed. Man, and least I'm not named after an scooter.

Jack didn't bother with being shy- shirt and pants tugged and pulled and stretched in a frantic flurry to get them off before the real blood seeped. Thankfully, it mostly worked. The jeans were dark enough not to show the little spots, and the binder beneath the shirt took the brunt of blood. "You got scissors? Might need to cut off this binder. They're super tight and all, so I can't-really-get-it-off. I'd be screwed if I wasn't comfortable with my dumb uniform. It's bikini season every season in that thing. "

Jack gave off the struggles, and just laid down on the floor of the porch in binder and heather grey underoos with shirt and jeans pushed away a couple feet. At least there's no carpet out here. Concrete is easier to clean. Man, binders are expensive. I mean, I can get a second hand one, but it's going to take some searching. bleh.

"Ooh Rah!" It was the wrong pronunciation deliberately, the syllables coming out harsh on breath in the traditional Marines' expression of greeting or enthusiasm. Jack dropped voice octave to the base of throat to try to give it the correct tone and force. It was answer and acknowledgement both. Jack stayed put, listening to the fussings about inside without further movement or action. When the woman came out again with offerings, Jack finally came to life again, to fist both hands on the neck rim of the binder to haul it up away from skin. "See, this thing is crazy tight. So I can hold it up, if you can work the scissors. Neither of us is gonna manage both on our own, I promise that."

"You gotta do what you gotta do to survive, ey? Your normal is whatever your normal is. You don't need to apologize to me- you don't owe me a thing. Hell, I owe you a solid for this." When the binder came apart, Jack took a slow, deep breath in spite of all hurts. It was the kind of breath that came after a long time underwater. The breasts revealed beneath weren't large by any reckoning, but they weren't immediately hidden in a blushing, furious shame. Jack coughed and lay flat before doing a sit up to be able to pull the now-vest of cloth off, then flat again.

"How long you been doing this, again?"

"You can ask me anything you want, really. Comfort's probably a mater of what kinda comfortable you mean. It's crap for breathing and obviously a pain to get on and off. If you've ever worn spanx or something, its like that. Same deal with other comforts, too- I feel better when I wear it. Yeah, it's shallow to be all worried about outward appearances, but ...it was just more and more uncomfortable around people dating and then people staring at me like I should be doing the same. "

"Don't get me wrong, I like the idea and sexy stuff is super fun and funny. But people oogling me in that was was super uncomfortable in just day-to-day and not on stage. Like...like stage was me giving permission, but the rest was just weird leering. And like I wasn't what I should be. I don't really know what I should be, but it isn't whatever people want with the dresses and nylons and froo-froo. But Dude-ist stuff is so damn boring too. "

"So it makes me feel more comfortable inside. When I go out. Because it gives me no shape. And no shape in most people's eyes is like...auto-unsexualized and auto-disinterest. A little lonely, but since the only general interest people tend to show in each other is the mating-approachability sort then it was super welcome. But ...don't take that all wrong or something. Its not like 'DON'T LOOK AT ME', cause naked happens. I don't mind it. We've all seen it all, and it's not all puritan. "

"Unless it makes you uncomfortable. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. " Orah seemed to have a lot of nerves surrounding what other people thought of her. The hesitations about 'crazy' and the second meeting's arms-length distancing. Are you trying to reassure me, or convince yourself? You might not even know. "Gruesome stuff isn't a problem, and I don't mind hearing about it if you want to talk about it. But you don't have to. I don't think anyone is crazy just cause they have some luggage and seen some s**t. Traumatic stuff is traumatic. It's not like gym classes prepare anyone for the Draft, or for street guerrilla warfare with magical terrorists that the world keeps trying to push under the rug. "

Jack didn't crane or shift to watch the cleaning or tending. It was easier to not thrash or twitch when not watching. Not watching made it easier to pretend the body was disconnected and limp like a robot noodle. Jack watched Orah's face instead, studying her features and the casts of warm and cool on her darker skin.

Jack's brow furrowed trying to parse together the woman's obvious discomfort and flushes now and again when they'd interacted against the protestation that she 'seen everything' and its likewise assertions of confidence. It didn't wash out. Definitely trying to convince. And probably not aware that its contradictory. So? Who isn't a bit confused in this? She'll figure out her self given enough time, I think. And-
- I guess saying the whole 'I don't have to talk about it if you don't want' was actually just fishing for politeness inviting her to talk about it? Only I didn't? I said she didn't have to, didn't I? Well, that's not saying 'DONT'. She must really need to unload it. For some reason. Sounds like a poop time of dreams. Imagine dreams that your brain is all like 'these are REAL.' But their dreams. Like the Old Woman and the Shadow Man Entity sleep paralysis stuff. Your mind tells you its real. No one else sees anything and is all like 'Some'uns cracked.' Woke up here all from a single dream, and convinced that she died. Isn't there supposed to be dream dictionaries about symbolism? No, yeah, and it was so big in the Viccy. Death. What was self death?

The answer wasn't immediately forthcoming, lost to the drawing back of awareness to the fact that Ida was having nostalgia admissions and acting like an old hat with a newbie again the same as the very first first in the rescue of that poor girl off the wall. Talking down, while sweetening it with compliments about insipids like 'normal.' Jack sat up and gently fingered the butterflies and bandages. Imagine wanting there to be a 'normal', that white picket fence and dull colors with fashions from Laura Ashley with floral prints, so badly. It's not a bad thing. Like being a housewife isn't a bad thing. People try to make it out as bad or something. And then thinking you can't have it.

Can We? Should we? It was sobering, or should have been. Jack just considered this way and that a mental pancake that needed a smiley face drawn on it in Rediwhip. It was similar to the thoughts that had paused steps at the dorm entrance after classes, watching people go buy like everything was normal. They wanted it so badly to be some definition of normal that Hollywood standardized. "Normal's kinda different in Glasgow than it is in New York. Or Dhaka from Detroit. I think normal in Destiny City ....I don't think you should want that, Orah. I don't think it would be good for us to have our heads in the sand the way everyone walks around trying to be. That doesn't mean we have to be doom and gloom...the army still has the USO, right? "

"We make our own new normal. We keep the flag flying. We'll be okay- blood stained an all. " The collection of period histories, dramas and poems came to the fore to offer better words than Jack could have written, so they were offered in recitation. "In the fell clutch of circumstance / I have not winced nor cried aloud. / Under the bludgeonings of chance / My head is bloody, but unbowed. "

"Don't worry about laundry. The blood isn't showing through, so it's cool. If you can give me an hour on the couch and a glass of water, I'll be golden. "

"Again...thanks for doing this. I really needed the hand."