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Kali’s hands worked diligently, lip bitten slightly in concentration, wincing slightly under her own breath at each sign of discomfort Maeve let out. Her brows furrowed immediately at the other woman’s words and Kali’s gaze shot up to meet hers in irritation.
“When is it ever ‘just a scratch’ with you?”
Her fingers move with practiced ease, far too used to this routine by now. But Maeve’s next words make her pause, a soft huff of air escaping her nostrils, a not-quite laugh.
“You drive me crazy sometimes, y’know that?” There’s a note of obvious fondness under the frustration. “What’s your plan for if my 24/7 First Aid service isn’t available?”
[ wounded ] sender patches up receiver's wounds
Whenever Maeve gets injured, she is a grumbling cat, the insistent “I’m fine, I’ll be fine” never cuts it for Kali, and she knew this well, but still — she insisted.
“Kali, I’m fine, I promise — it’s just a scratch!”
Except it wasn’t, and if it weren’t for the female patching up Maeve’s wounds, she’d have lost a little more blood than necessary. She sighed and watched as the female continued her work.
“Worth it, though. As long as you don't get hurt.” And she knew she’d get a smack or a look from her, but Maeve didn’t care, a chuckle emitting from her. Those that knew Maeve would know how reckless she can be.
non-verbal angst prompts