natefairmont:
Chaos and screams and people running all around, some wounded, other’s struck by panic, still, unmoving. Phoebe was safe. Madison, he hoped, had heeded his word the moment it all began and had gone home. He needed to hear from his cousins who were there too. He needed to find Effie. But the was a doctor. He couldn’t shake that, distracted by those who seemed to be in need for first aid and medical assistance, his head focusing on the task at hand but all the time thinking: I need to find them, I need to find them. It wasn’t all so different from Afghanistan sans the sand and the heavy military gear. There were hundreds of people, though, all wearing their best gowns, but the fear, the immediacy.
His bow tie had loosened, hanging over his dress shirt, ruffled and stained. “Effie!” He called across the room the moment he finally spotted her, trying to get past people, “Euphemia.” He called again, too far to assess her, not too far to know she was hurt. Just as he managed to come to stand by her, his eyes quickly going over her, a hand hovering carefully over her wound, Nate’s jaw clenched and he pulled his bow tie with the intention of using it to wrap around the wound and stop some of the bleeding. “We need to get you out. Now.”
@notsofairmont
Breaking free from the kitchen hadn’t been a simple ordeal, but it was nothing compared to the confusion that came as soon as she managed to find her way back toward the foyer. With streaks of blood and soot on her face, Effie looked to be in far more danger than she actually was; although the laceration on her head was still fresh, it only bled enough to mat her blonde locks and stain them crimson. Under normal circumstances, she might have considered herself lucky. As it was, she could only think about sucking in mouthfuls of air to replace the smoke in her lungs.
Sometime between her emergence from the kitchen and managing to find a place to lean on, Nate appeared in a panic. Although her head was pounding and her body screamed for some sort of reprieve from the strain, Effie’s main concern suddenly became Nate’s overprotective tendencies. Her head was swimming, knuckles and knees still oozing blood and staining her dress, but all she managed was to croak out, ❝Get that thing away from me,❞ as soon as his tie came off and found her hand. ❝Space ------ space, give me some fucking space.❞ Contrary to what she said, Effie latched onto his arm and used him for the support she so desperately needed. ❝There’s a fire in the kitchen. On the stove. Someone locked me and a girl in there.❞
