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quickficlet: crossover, BSG/DW/X-Men
um. Damn you, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
palmetto...
No spoilers, far as I know.
Kitty was limping, and Dee had been after her to sit down ("wait until we're inside."), while Romana had simply frowned a bit of disapproval. Luckily, the bar was open (it was the only thing that was, in that part of town and time of night) even if it was up a flight of shallow stairs. Dee grumbled under her breath, but slid under Kitty's shoulder to brace her up the steps.
"You shouldn't have been injured," Romana murmured quietly a few minutes later, while Dee was extorting a first aid kit and large bottle of Jack Daniels out of the barkeep.
Not meeting her eyes, Kitty shrugged. "I was concentrating on something else."
The matter was dropped when Dee returned, kit in one hand, bottle in the other. "This isn't for you," she told Kitty, setting the bottle nearer to Romana. "It's for me, after I'm done with you."
Kitty hissed out a breath before Dee even reached down and dragged her leg up onto the empty chair. The lower leg was covered with a red-soaked bandage, and Dee pulled a knife from her pocket and carefully cut the soiled linen off, dropping it to the floor with a mutter about sterilisation procedures she couldn't follow.
The first aid kit was primitive, but there was something vaguely like an antibiotic in it, and Dee slathered the three-inch gash with it before pushing the edges together and using the athletic tape in an attempt to bind it.
"Fuck," Kitty said, her voice thin with pain, "Where'd you learn your bedside manner?"
"You should be glad I'm not Cottle," reproved Dee, fingers gentling the edges and flattening more tape before she wound the cleanest of the bandages around it, securing it well. "We'll need to get that looked at, later. Needs stitches."
"If there is a later." Leaning over, Kitty grabbed the bottle and had it open before Dee or Romana could protest. She coughed after her first swallow, but followed it with a second, glaring as Dee cleaned up.
Romana shifted, then pulled a small gadget out of her inner pocket and brushed her thumb over the screen. It looked like a calculator on steroids had made love to a bank of transistors. "There's another surge coming shortly. Perhaps we will get out of here." The piece of technology disappeared back into its pocket and she folded her hands and looked at Kitty, one eyebrow raised, "You could have waited for a glass."
Snorting, Kitty passed the bottle to Dee, "I don't think germs are going to kill you."
"Cooties," Dee suggested before downing a long swallow. She grimaced and took another, "At least it's better than Chief's rotgut," she muttered.
"Worse than Wundagorian Ale, is it?" Romana reached for the bottle and took a sip of her own, not seeming to care about germs. Perhaps it had been a matter of manners that she'd tossed to the side for the moment. A shudder went through her, "Not quite worse."
"Last call," the barkeep called a few minutes later.
The three, having sunk into a contemplative silence, started. Romana nodded and stood, "We've about ten minutes to make the eye of the surge."
"Can we?" Dee asked, moving to help Kitty stand. They both staggered a moment, Kitty's arm heavy on her shoulders. It was good they were the same height, or it would never have worked at all.
Romana simply raised an eyebrow before moving to the bar, haggling for a moment with the barkeep as Kitty and Dee worked their way towards the door. Dee was extra-hampered by the first-aid kit in her hand. She had made the conscious choice to take it, knowing they might need it again. And if they didn't, it wasn't as though the bar would require it, once they were gone.
They left, Romana trailing them, her hands ready to pull the weapon at her waist at the slightest sign of trouble. As much as she disliked guns, she was the first line of defense now--Dee was struggling more than she should have, with Kitty. And Kitty's eyes were beginning to go glassy with shock and blood-loss.
As they neared the eye, Romana could feel the winds of change stirring along her skin. She only hoped their next location would provide swift medical attention.
For a moment, before the wave broke over them, she could almost smell the electric and icy tangle of power. Then it was there, wrapping and warping, twisting them in and around before dropping them in a huddle in the middle of a concrete floor.
Kitty gave a groan and Dee tightened her grip on her, "Stay on your feet, or I'm dropping you on your head."
"Screw you."
Alarms began to blare and Romana sighed, "This is familiar."
palmetto...No spoilers, far as I know.
Kitty was limping, and Dee had been after her to sit down ("wait until we're inside."), while Romana had simply frowned a bit of disapproval. Luckily, the bar was open (it was the only thing that was, in that part of town and time of night) even if it was up a flight of shallow stairs. Dee grumbled under her breath, but slid under Kitty's shoulder to brace her up the steps.
"You shouldn't have been injured," Romana murmured quietly a few minutes later, while Dee was extorting a first aid kit and large bottle of Jack Daniels out of the barkeep.
Not meeting her eyes, Kitty shrugged. "I was concentrating on something else."
The matter was dropped when Dee returned, kit in one hand, bottle in the other. "This isn't for you," she told Kitty, setting the bottle nearer to Romana. "It's for me, after I'm done with you."
Kitty hissed out a breath before Dee even reached down and dragged her leg up onto the empty chair. The lower leg was covered with a red-soaked bandage, and Dee pulled a knife from her pocket and carefully cut the soiled linen off, dropping it to the floor with a mutter about sterilisation procedures she couldn't follow.
The first aid kit was primitive, but there was something vaguely like an antibiotic in it, and Dee slathered the three-inch gash with it before pushing the edges together and using the athletic tape in an attempt to bind it.
"Fuck," Kitty said, her voice thin with pain, "Where'd you learn your bedside manner?"
"You should be glad I'm not Cottle," reproved Dee, fingers gentling the edges and flattening more tape before she wound the cleanest of the bandages around it, securing it well. "We'll need to get that looked at, later. Needs stitches."
"If there is a later." Leaning over, Kitty grabbed the bottle and had it open before Dee or Romana could protest. She coughed after her first swallow, but followed it with a second, glaring as Dee cleaned up.
Romana shifted, then pulled a small gadget out of her inner pocket and brushed her thumb over the screen. It looked like a calculator on steroids had made love to a bank of transistors. "There's another surge coming shortly. Perhaps we will get out of here." The piece of technology disappeared back into its pocket and she folded her hands and looked at Kitty, one eyebrow raised, "You could have waited for a glass."
Snorting, Kitty passed the bottle to Dee, "I don't think germs are going to kill you."
"Cooties," Dee suggested before downing a long swallow. She grimaced and took another, "At least it's better than Chief's rotgut," she muttered.
"Worse than Wundagorian Ale, is it?" Romana reached for the bottle and took a sip of her own, not seeming to care about germs. Perhaps it had been a matter of manners that she'd tossed to the side for the moment. A shudder went through her, "Not quite worse."
"Last call," the barkeep called a few minutes later.
The three, having sunk into a contemplative silence, started. Romana nodded and stood, "We've about ten minutes to make the eye of the surge."
"Can we?" Dee asked, moving to help Kitty stand. They both staggered a moment, Kitty's arm heavy on her shoulders. It was good they were the same height, or it would never have worked at all.
Romana simply raised an eyebrow before moving to the bar, haggling for a moment with the barkeep as Kitty and Dee worked their way towards the door. Dee was extra-hampered by the first-aid kit in her hand. She had made the conscious choice to take it, knowing they might need it again. And if they didn't, it wasn't as though the bar would require it, once they were gone.
They left, Romana trailing them, her hands ready to pull the weapon at her waist at the slightest sign of trouble. As much as she disliked guns, she was the first line of defense now--Dee was struggling more than she should have, with Kitty. And Kitty's eyes were beginning to go glassy with shock and blood-loss.
As they neared the eye, Romana could feel the winds of change stirring along her skin. She only hoped their next location would provide swift medical attention.
For a moment, before the wave broke over them, she could almost smell the electric and icy tangle of power. Then it was there, wrapping and warping, twisting them in and around before dropping them in a huddle in the middle of a concrete floor.
Kitty gave a groan and Dee tightened her grip on her, "Stay on your feet, or I'm dropping you on your head."
"Screw you."
Alarms began to blare and Romana sighed, "This is familiar."
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