Oswin Oswald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
souffle_girlek) wrote2013-09-11 11:04 pm
souffle_girlek) wrote2013-09-11 11:04 pm
I am a horrible, horrible mun.
"Are you really going to eat all of that?" Oswin asks, her chin propped on the heel of her palm as she leans on the bar, her feet neatly tucked into the barstool's rungs. "I did tell you I put entirely too much sugar into the filling."
"I don't think you did." Clint disagrees, mashing together pie and ice cream with his fork, "It tastes fine, honestly. " From Oswin's expression she still clearly feels she is being humored, but is letting him get away with it... for now. It has been entirely too long since she's seen him (says her - it's only been one relatively short mission since he was last in the bar for him), so she evidently doesn't feel much up to quarreling over pie. She just won't have any, thanks very much, one of them has to not suffer a sugar crash later.
It's just a normal afternoon in the bar at the end of the universe - there's a vampire sulking in the corner, a mutant child is attempting to pet the fire fish, three separate wizards from three separate universes are having an argument about who's Merlin was the craziest, there's a potato where one might reasonably expect a fire extinguisher and the bra over the bar is as yellow and polka-dotted as ever. He has a new scar, the trailing edge of which shows under the edge of his sleeve when he moves. She has a new rash from the pavement - she went from driving cars to driving motorcycles at a somewhat alarming pace - he's dreading the day he'll come in and find her pulling wheelies in the main bar. When he found her today, Clint discovered a somewhat despondant Oswin staring balefully at what appeared to be a beautifully baked apple pie, and was treated to a somewhat overly dramatic retelling of 'The Case of the Accidentally Doubled Sugar' which he's pretty sure is inaccurate because if anything, the pie is a little too tart. Not that he's going to tell her that, more ice cream fixes all baking woes.
He suspects, a little, that somehow baking (and baking failures) are tied to whatever happened to her before she came here - when there are true kitchen disasters, she gets as quiet and easily startled as a doe in hunting season. She somehow set off the fire alarms he didn't even know this place had a few months back, and he found her hiding under one of the kitchen counters. Clint isn't sure how he can help (or if he can at all - he suggested, once, something about a doctor and for a moment she'd gotten that deer-in-headlights look again, before muttering something about how that'd gone so well last time and then proceeding to do something horrible to the engine of the car he'd been teaching her how to drive).
He's fishing another slice of pie out of the pan, and she's 'stealing' the crust - it's a good crust to steal, that's something he hasn't seen her destroy yet. She seems to be in better spirits now that he's shown something more than polite interest, and he's musing attempting to find a car that will get her away from the motorcycles for a while, when suddenly the sound system overhead fizzes, spitting out scattered white noise and scraps of songs, accompanied by complaining up and down the bar about the noise. Clint is squinting up at the sound system and wondering what new drama this place is cooking up when the a voice, a harsh electronic voice echos over the system.
The next moment happens almost too fast to recall. There's a silver flash, and his mind registers the angle and quickness of it but his hands are already moving, The tines of the fork barely touch his skin but the intent is there. The gasp from her seems to come too soon - does come too soon, the sharp sob as if she were stabbed comes before her the bones of her wrist comes apart in his hands.
The previously interrupted song resumes, and Oswin is staring blankly at his hands on her wrist, not attempting to pull away, not attempting to attack, not attempting... really anything. She is normally so animated that her current blank stillness is more alarming than the angle of her wrist.
"Oswin?" He makes his voice gentle, "Come on sweetheart, talk to me." The Bar supplies an ACE bandage and sling without prompting, and the awareness he's looking for doesn't filter into her eyes until he's almost finished. It's painfully visible when she becomes cognizant of the world outside of her own head again. As much as he's glad she's back, he can wish for her sake that she hadn't - he's heard that nauseous, choking sound before, and it's never a sign of a good mental state.
"I don't think you did." Clint disagrees, mashing together pie and ice cream with his fork, "It tastes fine, honestly. " From Oswin's expression she still clearly feels she is being humored, but is letting him get away with it... for now. It has been entirely too long since she's seen him (says her - it's only been one relatively short mission since he was last in the bar for him), so she evidently doesn't feel much up to quarreling over pie. She just won't have any, thanks very much, one of them has to not suffer a sugar crash later.
It's just a normal afternoon in the bar at the end of the universe - there's a vampire sulking in the corner, a mutant child is attempting to pet the fire fish, three separate wizards from three separate universes are having an argument about who's Merlin was the craziest, there's a potato where one might reasonably expect a fire extinguisher and the bra over the bar is as yellow and polka-dotted as ever. He has a new scar, the trailing edge of which shows under the edge of his sleeve when he moves. She has a new rash from the pavement - she went from driving cars to driving motorcycles at a somewhat alarming pace - he's dreading the day he'll come in and find her pulling wheelies in the main bar. When he found her today, Clint discovered a somewhat despondant Oswin staring balefully at what appeared to be a beautifully baked apple pie, and was treated to a somewhat overly dramatic retelling of 'The Case of the Accidentally Doubled Sugar' which he's pretty sure is inaccurate because if anything, the pie is a little too tart. Not that he's going to tell her that, more ice cream fixes all baking woes.
He suspects, a little, that somehow baking (and baking failures) are tied to whatever happened to her before she came here - when there are true kitchen disasters, she gets as quiet and easily startled as a doe in hunting season. She somehow set off the fire alarms he didn't even know this place had a few months back, and he found her hiding under one of the kitchen counters. Clint isn't sure how he can help (or if he can at all - he suggested, once, something about a doctor and for a moment she'd gotten that deer-in-headlights look again, before muttering something about how that'd gone so well last time and then proceeding to do something horrible to the engine of the car he'd been teaching her how to drive).
He's fishing another slice of pie out of the pan, and she's 'stealing' the crust - it's a good crust to steal, that's something he hasn't seen her destroy yet. She seems to be in better spirits now that he's shown something more than polite interest, and he's musing attempting to find a car that will get her away from the motorcycles for a while, when suddenly the sound system overhead fizzes, spitting out scattered white noise and scraps of songs, accompanied by complaining up and down the bar about the noise. Clint is squinting up at the sound system and wondering what new drama this place is cooking up when the a voice, a harsh electronic voice echos over the system.
The next moment happens almost too fast to recall. There's a silver flash, and his mind registers the angle and quickness of it but his hands are already moving, The tines of the fork barely touch his skin but the intent is there. The gasp from her seems to come too soon - does come too soon, the sharp sob as if she were stabbed comes before her the bones of her wrist comes apart in his hands.
The previously interrupted song resumes, and Oswin is staring blankly at his hands on her wrist, not attempting to pull away, not attempting to attack, not attempting... really anything. She is normally so animated that her current blank stillness is more alarming than the angle of her wrist.
"Oswin?" He makes his voice gentle, "Come on sweetheart, talk to me." The Bar supplies an ACE bandage and sling without prompting, and the awareness he's looking for doesn't filter into her eyes until he's almost finished. It's painfully visible when she becomes cognizant of the world outside of her own head again. As much as he's glad she's back, he can wish for her sake that she hadn't - he's heard that nauseous, choking sound before, and it's never a sign of a good mental state.