thering: (Doc197)
John Henry "Doc" Holliday ([personal profile] thering) wrote in [community profile] villagelogs 2020-12-31 12:50 pm (UTC)

well I'm probably 10 minutes early but happy new year

He sets the basin down quietly and flaps the extra clothes she can change into later over the backrest of the couch, tugging the soft, fluffy throw hanging off the armrest over and setting it down in her lap. It's fine if she doesn't want to talk about it; he won't press. He can probably make an educated guess if she lets him see the wound, anyway.

Sitting next to her on the couch once everything he needs is laid out on the table, Doc removes his hat with hands still slightly damp and sets it aside behind him.

"Sorry ma'am, do you mind?" If she doesn't, he will reach over slowly and sweep her hair aside to press a warm, wet, wrung out towel to the bloodstained skin on the side of her neck and on her shoulder.

"I have lived in many places, but I was born in Georgia, August of 1851." She probably has questions. Just about everyone else has asked at least one. She can ask as many as she likes while he redresses her wound. Luckily he seems busy enough focusing on that that he's not really making eye contact.

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