pyroprincess (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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nextgenerationmarvel2013-04-15 09:14 pm
pyroprincess) wrote in nextgenerationmarvel2013-04-15 09:14 pm
Entry tags:
Up And About (And Shouldn't Really Be)
WHO: Stephanie Shaw, other person
WHERE: The Mansion, near the infirmary
WHEN: Early evening, four days after she was attacked
WHAT: Stephanie should not be out of bed, but she doesn't care. She's going to try that whole walking thing.
Moving hurt.
But Stephanie didn't care, pain was something she could deal with far better than enforced inactivity. As nice as everyone had been, as accomodating as they had been, it was grating as hell to have to rely on others to do basic things, to get help to use the bathroom, not to be able to go to classes or check in on Shaw business. Especially now that the assets had been unfrozen (thanks to a crack legal team, the best money could buy), she had a lot of work to do, with the mutant shelter and soon-to-be community centre in the city. She knew that she wouldn't be out for a little longer yet, not for a week at least- which was a minor miracle, aided by the excellent medical resources available to the Mansion and a constitution built to endure massive amounts of punishment.
A normal person's joints would likely have been shot for life. They were tentatively anticipating a full recovery, though there was the possibility of residual joint pain.
She'd taken the nearest stick-like object and used it to support herself as she rolled out of bed and limped down the hallway. First, she'd just gone to the bathroom, because she'd be damned if she was going to get help for that again. And then she decided that she was going to just go for a little walk, down the hallway. Nothing too ambitious. She'd turn around and go right back, smug in the winning of a small triumph. And it'd started quite well.
But the pain had gone from significant (but manageable) to just this side of intolerable and freshly aligned joints screamed out protest. She leaned against the hall, propping herself up on her impromptu crutch and trying to will her eyes not to start watering. She was a Shaw and something as plebian as pain should not make her want to cry. She was better, tougher than that. She'd been shot, fallen off of tall buildings, been hit by a car going 100 mph. Got up and walked after all of those. And now she was having trouble with a goddamn hallway. Her face set in a determined mask and she got up and continued to hobble along.
She was a Shaw, in many people's eyes, the Shaw. She could not be what she needed to be, what the world needed her to be, whimpering in a bed, attended by students.
WHERE: The Mansion, near the infirmary
WHEN: Early evening, four days after she was attacked
WHAT: Stephanie should not be out of bed, but she doesn't care. She's going to try that whole walking thing.
Moving hurt.
But Stephanie didn't care, pain was something she could deal with far better than enforced inactivity. As nice as everyone had been, as accomodating as they had been, it was grating as hell to have to rely on others to do basic things, to get help to use the bathroom, not to be able to go to classes or check in on Shaw business. Especially now that the assets had been unfrozen (thanks to a crack legal team, the best money could buy), she had a lot of work to do, with the mutant shelter and soon-to-be community centre in the city. She knew that she wouldn't be out for a little longer yet, not for a week at least- which was a minor miracle, aided by the excellent medical resources available to the Mansion and a constitution built to endure massive amounts of punishment.
A normal person's joints would likely have been shot for life. They were tentatively anticipating a full recovery, though there was the possibility of residual joint pain.
She'd taken the nearest stick-like object and used it to support herself as she rolled out of bed and limped down the hallway. First, she'd just gone to the bathroom, because she'd be damned if she was going to get help for that again. And then she decided that she was going to just go for a little walk, down the hallway. Nothing too ambitious. She'd turn around and go right back, smug in the winning of a small triumph. And it'd started quite well.
But the pain had gone from significant (but manageable) to just this side of intolerable and freshly aligned joints screamed out protest. She leaned against the hall, propping herself up on her impromptu crutch and trying to will her eyes not to start watering. She was a Shaw and something as plebian as pain should not make her want to cry. She was better, tougher than that. She'd been shot, fallen off of tall buildings, been hit by a car going 100 mph. Got up and walked after all of those. And now she was having trouble with a goddamn hallway. Her face set in a determined mask and she got up and continued to hobble along.
She was a Shaw, in many people's eyes, the Shaw. She could not be what she needed to be, what the world needed her to be, whimpering in a bed, attended by students.
no subject
The med lab was on the way to the Danger Room, which was how she noticed the goings on.
"Ya... ah, ya need a hand there?"
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She attempted a few steps and winced visibly as her ankles began wobbling. She whispered a few Spanish obscenities softly. "And I believe they are starting to do just that. Funny what eight dislocations does to one's mobility."
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She moved closer. "Here. Ya can lean on me a little..."
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"You're Mr. Logan's daughter, yes?" She remembered her vaguely. And well, she knew Logan well enough. He'd been her teacher and he'd been, well, the first man she'd ever really had a serious crush on. A silly thing, really. But it was what it was.
no subject
"That's my Pops," she said.
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"I cannot imagine him ever being "Pops"." She actually smiled faintly. "Do you heal outrageously fast as well?"
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She went on, "But yeah. I got close ta the same package of powers as Pops."
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There were long-term concerns though. She'd probably lose some muscle tone over her recovery, unless she was very careful indeed, and that would take some time to gain back. As for flexility and dexterity, she wondered if it would ever quite be the same.
no subject