A distal radius fracture. According to the kindly yet useless paramedic at the scene, Sloan suffered from precisely what she presumed: a moderately broken wrist and some lightly bruised ribs. Despite the other woman’s protests, a stark desire for independence and distrust of others’ intentions left little room for the huntress to remain by the ambulance. Not to mention that several with genuine injuries were being carried forth and she refused to stand watch until an all-too-familiar set of features passed her by. Ducking beyond the police tape and into the crowd surrounding tonight’s spectacle, she managed to meander through the onlookers until a breakaway became apparent as stragglers ran forth... Yet only one figure maintained a signature gait as they ambled in the opposing direction.
The very sensation of him. As if atoms of the universe were colliding with such ferocity that their impact ricocheted against the bruises along her ribcage, shortening breath and movement until Sloan’s better instincts awoke. From there she trailed after the one individual with whom she would rather plunge a knife into her own chest than confront. Her Achilles’ heel. Her ultimate weakness. The singular person she might never be able to destroy with her own bare hands. Only once close enough to echo within earshot of Hendrix did she announce her presence.
"Nice night for a stroll, Officer.”
@hxndrcx
