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Petra and Guy are out again, because, well, it makes them happy, and Petra always gets excited after a night out.
Today they’re at a cool little dive restaurant, not a place you need to dress up for, and Guy doesn’t stand out so much. Cuddled up in a corner booth, they’re currently looking at their menu. Guy is sipping at a beer and playing with Petra’s hair while they chat about options.
Petra was always happy to go out. First of all, it was with Guy and second of all, her apartment wasn't that big to begin with. Better to keep entertainment to other spaces. "Deep fried pickles," she decided. "Like, all of them. And I made deep fried eggs at home the other day, which were fucking amazing, but no one sells those."
The door opens, letting in a blast of cold air - winter's last gasp of breath as Spring looms - and bringing with it, to Guy, at least, a familiar heartbeat. Maybe a little more rapid than usual. Calamity's got their hood up, as per usual, so it's hard to tell just what's making their pulse race, and they head to the bar.
Limping?
Guy looks up as Calamity comes in, frowning slightly. “Ok, two orders of pickles, but you have to eat the leftovers, they make the fridge smell funny after a few days...” He kisses her hair and murmurs. “Do you remember Calmity? I think they might be hurt...”
Petra perked up, frowning in concern. "Limping," she agreed. "Could you help them over here? We're better company than the people at the bar anyways. And we'll have pickles soon." She flagged down a waitress to put the order in. For three- no, four servings of fried pickles. It's not like there'd be any leftovers.
Calamity seems perfectly content at the bar, sliding (or really, hopping) onto one of the barstools and ordering what appears to be one of those drinks that's more sugar than alcohol. Their hood's still up, and they're slumped on the barstool, practically radiating frustration and annoyance.
Guy stands and walks over, his boots thunk thunking, possibly giving him away before he leans on the bar next to Calamity. “Hey there, stranger, looks like you’re having a rough night. Boss says you should sit with us, have some pickles. Maybe a burger or something.” He gestures with his head to Petra.
Petra waggled her eyebrows at Calamity and waved her drink to try and lure them over to their corner. "I've got a dodgy feeling about the burgers but I saw a plate of pickles going past earlier that look divine," she called.
Indeed, Calamity turns before Guy gets too close, narrowing their eyes at him even if the other patrons at the bar shift away slightly from this Terrifying And Intimidating Man.
"...Fuck're you doing here?" They give him a quick once-over, and then one to Petra, too. "...Oh. I uh...don't wanna interrupt your date, or anything..." This close, their hands are a little scraped up, as is the side of their face - Guy can probably smell the relatively fresh blood, anyway. Smoke, too, but that's pretty standard for them. They always smell like they've been close to something burning.
“Please. You tell Rena I saw like this and didn’t let my paramedic girlfriend look you over, and she’ll cave my skull in.” He waits for Calamity to stand before walking back to his table and sitting.
Petra was getting impatient and stood up, hands on her hips. "Don't make me come over there!" she called as threateningly as the tiny bird could manage. Which was not at all.
Calamity grumbles and takes a sip of their drink - raspberry Smirnoff Ice, for anyone keeping score. "I'm fine," they mutter, and hiss slightly as the speaking makes their face move.
"Don't tell Rena you saw me like this. She'll never let me hear the end of it." Another swig - and another grimace, and they slide off the barstool with a sigh. "Y'know all I wanted was t'have a drink and then head back to the house to pass out? I'll be fine tomorrow, prob'ly..."
“Let Petra decide that. After you sit and eat a little something.” He smiles softly. “I won’t tell Rena if you let us annoy you for a bit.”
"Yeah, you look super fine," Petra agreed sarcastically, but there was a light in her eyes. She enjoyed dealing with recalcitrant patients. "And getting drunk while injured is a great way to make sure you get better. What happened? Let's see your injuries. I've got a basic kit in my purse and a bigger one at home so I'll have Guy carry you there if necessary." She sounded positively cheerful at the thought. "You are limping. And grimacing. And hissing. All great signs of health!"
"Guy's not carrying me fuckin' anywhere," Calamity growls with a glare at him, and slumps into the boot. "I just fell, 's not a big deal. "I heal fast, just gotta sleep it off." But they do tug their hood back from their face, exposing scrapes on their face and neck, like they fell onto dirty concrete somewhere. From a height, and then skidded a bit.
Guy raises an eyebrow. “Fall off a roof, maybe.” He chuckles and sips his beer. “I won’t carry you, I guess. But if Petra says you need more help, no arguing, then. I don’t care if you heal fast, no bleeding out internally on my watch.” He frowns and leans a little closer, looking harder at Calamity a moment, as if trying to tell if they are bleeding inside.
Petra scooted over to look Calamity over with genuine concern, in spite of her high handed attitude. "Healing fast is great, but let's get you cleaned up a bit? hmm?" She pulled a small kit out of her purse with antiseptic wipes and gently started cleaning out the scrapes. "So how did you fall off a roof and hit everything on the way down?" She asked blandly. "And how much worse is your leg than your face?"
Calamity lets out an extremely irritated huff, jerking away from the pain of the antiseptic wipes but otherwise letting Petra clean them up.
"It's...there's ice, still," they mumble, turning a little pink with embarassment. "Missed a patch." They don't deny it was a roof they fell off, though. "Ankle's prob'ly sprained, fell on it funny. This is so fuckin' inconvenient -" More grumping - they even cross their arms.
“Ah, yeah, those patches are real annoying,” he says with a sage nod. “And I get it, the inconvenience. I think I’m better at falling than you, though,” he adds with a wink.
Petra rolled her eyes at Guy, then quite insistently helped Calamity get their hurt ankle up and gently rolling up the cuff of their pants to get a proper look at it. "Let me know if it hurts too much," she instructed cheerfully. "It might not be sprained. It could be fractured! Or broken. I saw one guy drive themselves to the hospital and then walk into an ER on a broken ankle once. Shock is a hell of a drug. Or it could just be tender..." She dug into her first aid kit again for a little pot of ointment that Guy probably recognized along with a roll of ace bandage.
"Shuddup," Calamity mumbles at Guy, without any real heat to it. "Yeah I've...done that kinda shit before. Not walked to the ER, I don't go to hospitals 'f I can help it, but...sometimes it doesn't seems 's bad 's it is. An' like I said, I heal up pretty fast. Guy knows."
It does just look like a bad sprain, at least, and weirdly enough, some of the bruising already seems to be healing. Like. Almost in front of Petra's eyes. Even their face seems to be healing up already.
Petra paused before doing anything herself, watching the Healing with professional curiosity and eagerness. "Guy heals quickly too," she said quietly. "So do I. Do you ever have a problem with things healing too quickly, like a bone left without setting it?"
“Ooh, that’s rough, yeah,” he says, leaning a little closer too. “I don’t have to worry about things getting stuck that way, but you might.” He tilts his head. “How often do you get roughed up?” He asks with a murmur.
"Never noticed, I...mostly don't notice when I get scrapes and shit, an' even worse stuff seems to...heal right, even if it heals fast?" They shrug. "I dunno. An' I get roughed up whenever I fuck up and step wrong, or 'f I can't run fast enough." They wrinkle their nose, and give Guy the tiniest of smiles. "But I can usually run fast enough."
Petra scowled, then slathered some of the faintly lilac smelling ointment on their ankle... along with a bit of glamour. "I don't feel anything wrong with your ankle. The swelling isn't even too bad. I think you just twisted it good. This is a pretty fast acting and powerful anesthetic." She blatantly lied. Then poked them in the chest. "You will not go running on it tonight. Stay off it as much as possible. Rest, kick up your feet. Call a cab to get home instead of walking and falling off a roof again." They healed fast... and felt even better after the 'anesthetic.'
Guy grins back at Calamity. “That’s good to hear. The getting away, not the missteps.” He rubs Petra’s back, smiling to her. “She’s very wise, you should listen to her.”
"...Even 'f I feel better 'n I did when I woke up this morning?" Calamity arches an eyebrow at their ankle, then at Petra as they take a drink of their sugary alcohol. "That shit's potent." They gesture with their bottle to the ointment. "Or maybe it's just 'cause of Guy's Super Caring Vibes..."
Petra leaned against Guy and smirked, putting her things back away, then began enthusiastically tackling the excessive amount of fried pickles that had arrived. She waved a pickle at Calamity. "It is, and so are Guy's vibes. And the alcohol. You will call me though, if you get injured again. There's no reason you should be limping around like you were coming in here."
Guy chuckles and winks at Calamity, before his lips spread, showing a grin that has made grown piss themselves; his teeth too white, his eyes too shiny and cold. His fangs aren’t out, but that doesn’t make him look less like a bloody, dead thing— and then the smile ends, and suddenly he’s just Guy again, like a spell was broken before it was cast. “Everyone knows how caring I am, it’s true.” He laughs and eats a pickle.
"Jesus fucking Christ -" Calamity's eyes go wide at Guy's grin, their skin getting a shade paler. "Dude what the fuck...?" But even Guy's terrifying visage can't keep them from swiping a fried pickle to monch on.
"I uh...I mean I don't have your number, first of all," They say to Petra. "An' you don't have to come save me every time I fuck up doing stupid shit..."
She scribbled her number on a bar napkin and passed it over to them. "Humor me. It makes me happy to help friends, and friends of friends." She smiled wickedly. "And when I'm happy, Guy's happy! So everyone's happy. So call me."
“No one’s talking about saving, Calamity.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Just humor us and let us know if you need patched up. And humor me, and the next time you think a stepping to might come up, and you aren’t certain about outrunning trouble, call me.” A little flicker of a smile runs over his lips. “I know my soft appearance can be misleading.”
They crumple up the napkin with a huff and shove it in the pocket of their hoodie. "Yeah sure fine," they mutter. "I'll fuckin' call you. Even 'f I already told you I don't need you fightin' my battles. I can handle shit myself." This is said to Guy, as they steal another pickle. They might be a little hungry, now that the adrenaline is wearing off.
"I don't fight," Petra said cheerfully. "I'm an EMT. I patch people up and give them shit for getting in fights." She nudged one of the pickle plates towards them, rather pleased with herself. "Honestly, it's fun! You said yourself you don't like hospitals. I'm not a hospital."
“Maybe, Calamity, I want to get out and have some fun with you, and it’s not about you not being able to handle your shit. Maybe I want an excuse for Petra to play doctor on me every once in a while. And if it means I get to watch your back at the same time, that’s a nice bonus.” He eats another pickle, and wraps his arm around Petra.
"I do not wanna hear about you two playin' doctor," Calamity says with a scoff and a grimace. "An' don't you got better shit to do than get into trouble with me? And don't you have better shit to do than patching random people up who don't really need it?" This last is to Petra, though their tone softens just a little. They clearly don't know her well enough to pull out all the snarky stops like they do with Guy.
"Nope!" She grinned. "I really don't. Honest. I mean, sure, I love to help people who really need it to but I do love my job. It's really more of a calling."
Guy chuckles softly, stroking Petra’s back. “Actually I don’t. The city is quiet for me and mine, relatively. I have lots of free time, and I actually would like to get in some trouble, yes. And like I said, I think it would be fun with you. I know I’m just a crusty old fart, but.” He shrugs. “I’d like to hang out.”
Calamity's sigh is long-suffering, the kind a teenager might make at the prospect of spending time with super uncool adults. Because, you know, they are. A teenager. Faced with the prospect of spending time with adults.
Guy is obviously just cool enough that they don't do any more than sigh though. "Fine, I'll...I guess we can hang out. But if you can't keep up with me that's your fault."
Petra chuckled. "Keeping up isn't usually a problem for either of us."
Guy snorts softly. “Your street slang may be beyond me, but I’m not worried about keeping up.” He rolls his eyes a little, as holding back from calling Calamity a whippersnapper or something. Because they are, you know. A whippersnapper. “I promise not to be a drag, you can do the talking with others. I promise not to complain about anyone’s manners or anything.”
"Nobody calls anything a 'drag' anymore, oh my God..." Calamity mutters in protest, and finishes off their drink.
Petra smiled, and polished off the last of her pickles. "Well, I'm glad we ran into you, Calamity. Even if we are old farts ruining your fun."
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