It's late. Well into the wee hours of the morning, when everyone respectable is well asleep, and Ellie doesn't have a mind to wake anyone.
The slice had been a stupid mistake, one of those things one didn't really notice until the blood stopped pumping and one was well away from the danger, then glanced down and wondered why there was a giant stain.
All told, Ellie's more pissed about the ruined breeches than she is about the slice running across her hipbone. It's deep enough to need stitches, but only just. Definitely not anything to wake anybody up over. Something she can take care of, herself.
So Ellie posts herself up in one of the kitchens, where the fire's banked with coals. She turns up an oil lamp, sets it on the counter, and squints in the shitty light at the shitty angle.
The fourth time she can't thread the fucking needle, Ellie swears under her breath, soft and frustrated with herself and her stupid fingers. Or lack of them, really.
ANTIFA / Offline
The slice had been a stupid mistake, one of those things one didn't really notice until the blood stopped pumping and one was well away from the danger, then glanced down and wondered why there was a giant stain.
All told, Ellie's more pissed about the ruined breeches than she is about the slice running across her hipbone. It's deep enough to need stitches, but only just. Definitely not anything to wake anybody up over. Something she can take care of, herself.
So Ellie posts herself up in one of the kitchens, where the fire's banked with coals. She turns up an oil lamp, sets it on the counter, and squints in the shitty light at the shitty angle.
The fourth time she can't thread the fucking needle, Ellie swears under her breath, soft and frustrated with herself and her stupid fingers. Or lack of them, really.