2011 09 13 Bandages Boxers And Blunders

Log Title:
Bandages, Boxers and Blunders

Revelin & Richenda Grey

IC Date:
Sep 13, 2011

Revelin's Apartment

Brief log summary::
Tom and Chenda tend to injuries after the events in the Subway. Tom makes a faux pas or two.


There is no TS in this log::

Post your log::
Marvel Untold - Friday, September 16, 2011, 12:09 AM

-==[ Revelin's Apt - Tate Apt Bldg - New York ]==-----

Revelin's apartment is nothing spectacular in size or design, but it is immaculately clean. A hallway with off-white walls opens into a

modest living room. There are pictures on the walls, mostly of Sydney, kangaroos and musical instruments. The loungeroom has a couple of sofas,

a coffee table and recliner chair in front of a flatscreen TV with DVD player and Xbox. Everything is perfectly positioned everywhere.
The kitchen is part of the living area, separated by only a counter, and is pale blue in colour. All dishes are clean and in their

proper place. The table is wiped down and all around the room are small items, pictures, models from TV shows all perfectly placed. A small

hallway leads away from the kitchen to the bathroom and laundry, both small rooms but well-kept. There are no clothes lying around in the

laundry; everything is packed away.
There is a single bedroom in the apartment with a double bed in it, walk-in wardrobe, and a chest of drawers. A guitar rests in its

case against the wardrobe, and the walls are covered with posters of various bands ranging from classical, through alternative to metal.

Richenda Gray
Obvious Exits:
[O] - Tate Apt Bldg - New York

On the kitchen bench, an electric kettle starts to boil and Tom Revelin can be heard moving about in the bedroom, out of sight. The apartment

is well-lit and immaculately clean. There are no dirty dishes on the sink, and no dirt or scuff-marks on the floor. The television is on and

displaying the comedy channel. Tom moves from the bedroom across the narrow hallway and into the bathroom, his hooves clacking loudly on the

tiles; he is still out of sight from the living room.

Chenda herself is in the living room, looking around for some alcohol or hydrogen peroxide for her scrapes. Tackling some psycho isn't kind to

one's body, but at least she's not in the hospital. The cleanliness of the place is a little surprising, but the sheer normalness of the place

after hotel rooms and boarding school rooms that are little better is enough to bring a smile to her face. A slightly bittersweet one. It's

been a long time since she felt at home. "Tom? Can you let me know when you're done in the bathroom? Unless you want me to doctor you, I mean.

We both got banged up a little."

"Sorry!" Tom calls out, his voice echoing through the hallway. "Be right out."
A moment later, the satyr-esque fellow appears in the hallway, clad only in a shirt - his woolly legs and midriff seem sufficient for modesty's

sake and he doesn't seem to care. A modest tail twists in the air behind him and he is drying his mane of hair with a towel. There are some

bruises on his arms and chest from where he hit the ground during the events in the subway, earlier. He stops at the edge of the living room.
"Bathroom's all yours if you want it. Kettle's boiled too - you thirsty? I have stronger stuff than coffee if you prefer?" He rubs his left

bicep and winces a little.

"No, I'm okay… you didn't have to hurry, really," Chenda says, looking at Tom's arms. It's better than looking lower, after the quick glance

she got. "You're not scraped anywhere, are you?"

Giving himself a once-over, and turning about to do so, Tom shakes his head.
"Nah, Chenda, I'm alright. Just bruises - oh, and a killer of a headache from that… flashbang thing you did. I didn't know you could do

something like that—" he pauses to chuckle, and only winces again. "I like it - well, I like it from a distance." He trots into the kitchen

and starts moving about cupboards, pausing every few minutes to wipe at something. He does that a lot. "How are *you* doing? I couldn't believe

my eyes when you ran after that guy - it was incredible. Fists, feet and…flashbangs flying! You're no 'damsel in distress', at all. What are

you doing in a school when you could be, I dunno, working for the government?"
He stops again, frowning.
"Oh. Did you want something to drink? Mind if I grab something?"

"Oh… sorry. I made that a little too strong," Chenda replies, blushing. "It's just… something I can do. I'm not real sure how it works, but

something to do with converting matter to energy." She smiles faintly. "And I've always been the athletic type."
The next time Tom turns her way, she goes wide-eyed, then gives a little shriek and covers her eyes. "Oh, you shameless… put on some

underwear at least, goat boy! You're not /that/ furry!" she exclaims, trying not to laugh, or blush. She's not doing very well at either one.

At Chenda's reaction, Tom initially blinks - genuinely surprised (or is he?) - and then gives Chenda his most brilliant grin.
"Whoops!" he exclaims, skipping nimbly back behind the kitchen counter. "I'm don't really have to bother much with clothes - not to *feel*

covered up at least. And you wouldn't *believe* how hot it gets having this much…" he gestures to his hairy arms, "underneath clothes of any

kind. That, and the cleaningah, well if you're *that* bothered I can put something on. One tick"
Tom apparently disappears through the floor behind the kitchen, and then sounds come from the bedroom. "So," he calls out, "is there anything

else you can do with that power of yours I should know about?" He sticks his head out into the hallway and smirks - impishly. He is wearing

shorts - well, boxers. "I guess we both have done our share of 'flashing' now, eh? Look at you, you're *still* blushing!"

"Is it safe to look now?" Chenda asks, through laughter, her face still rosy under its usual honey-dark tan, and her hands still over her eyes.

"I can throw stronger blasts than that, which I can't really demonstrate here. And you know I can poof things with a touch."

Tom trots - again - into the kitchen and prepares a mug of coffee. Returning once more to the living room he sits down on a sofa at right-

angles to Chenda, where he can also see the TV easily. "Well," he starts to say in his typical Aussie brogue, "you didn't answer my other

question - why are you in a school, when you've pretty much finished all that, instead of roaming the country as a flashbanging vigilante—hmm,

that sounded really wrong…sorry." He clears his throat and sips his coffee. "—as a hero or even a villain? You probably didn't even need my

help with that knife-wielding whatever-he-was… What *was* he, after all?"

"Aside from trouble, I'm not sure," Chenda replies, lowering her hand. "He was pretty fierce, but other than that he could've been any flake in

a city with plenty to spare." She smiles faintly at that question. "Mostly I'm there to help a friend. There are a few places I'd rather be,

but they can wait for a while. Three meals a day and someplace to sleep are not things to be overlooked lightly when you're broke."

"I know what you mean…" Tom murmurs quietly. A moment later he raises his head. "Are you sure you don't want something? I can duck out to the

store if it's not here, if you like." He grins and lifts one leg over the knee of the other, making himself comfortable. "Have you heard from

Mike, yet?"

"No, I'm good. I just need to patch myself up a bit." Chenda turns for the bathroom. "Do you have any alcohol? Hydrogen peroxide? Other than

that, I've got what I need," she says, catching up her battered purple gearslinger.

Pointing to the cupboard above the fridge, Tom replies, "There's Irish whiskey up there as well as a bottle of vodka - use that if you like.

There's a first aid kit up there too…I ah, I'm pretty fussy about things like that. Take what you need. I should have asked how you're doing

- or did I?" He frowns a bit and stands up, putting his mug down on a coaster on the coffee table. "Do you need a hand with anything? Just say


"You did. I should've said something then," Chenda replies with a wry smile. "But my mind was stuck on finding first-aid stuff. I'm scraped up

some… knees and elbows for sure." She looks at the cupboard and chuckles. "So, how do I reach that? Do you have an elevator in front of your


Tom comes to stand beside Chenda and smirks at her - again. "Like this," he says smugly and hops up into the air, pulling the cupboard door

open with one hand. He grabs the bottle of vodka out and hops again to grasp the first aid kit.
"There," he remarks, holding out the two items. "I really don't like the vodka very much - it's the cheap stuff. Can't afford anything more,

I'm afraid. Life is cruel."

"That's one way. Then again, you've got about six inches on me," Chenda replies, giggling and accepting the two items. "I'd better use the

vodka, then. No point wasting Irish whiskey on scraped knees! Be right back!" She hurries into the bathroom.

"We should probably go see how Mike is doing when we get a chance," Tom calls out from where he stands, near the hallway down which Chenda just

walked. "But…" he hesitates. "I really want to pay a visit to the guy that attacked us. They said on the news he's in custody. I doubt

that's…what's the expression? In the cards?" He raises a hand to his face and itches his beard idly. "What do you think?"

"Love to. I really hope he'll be okay," Chenda says, some of the worry of the previous occasion audible in her voice despite the room-and-hall

echoes. "I still have no idea why that guy stabbed him. He didn't look familiar. And no, I don't think we'd be able to see him, either. The

police have our descriptions, and they didn't see Mike get stabbed."

Can't argue with that, Tom wonders silently. "I guess so." He sounds disappointed. "I mean, it's not like he got away with it or anything -

hmph. We make a good team, you 'n me." Tom does a little dance-move on the vinyl kitchen floor, the sound of it probably audible from the

bathroom. Then he sings, his voice a decent immitation of Billy Crystal,
"You and me… Me and you… both of us, togetheeerrrr!" He finishes on a high note and smirks self-satisfactorily.

"I don't think he'll be stabbing anyone for a while, anyway," Chenda agrees, laughing. "Just like you won't be singing professionally anytime

soon… ow… ow…" The last seems separate from the rest, as if she did something painful to herself. "This stuff really stings."

"Hmph!" Tom retorts loud enough to be sure he's heard.
"I already sing professionally… sort of." The last two words are softer than the rest. "And it's not *that* painful," he adds a moment later,

referring to Chenda's cries of pain. "Don't be such a g—oose!" he has to catch himself with that last word and correct it quickly. "If you are

trying to amputate limbs in there, please don't get any blood on the tiles. I can't stand the sight of it."

"I thought you played guitar… ow!" Chenda replies, cutting herself off again. "Okay, don't press hard with a vodka-soaked swab. It /feels/

like you're amputating a limb. But at least it doesn't leave a mess. Okay, one knee to go. Um, Tom? I think I'll need help with my elbows. I'm

pretty flexible, but I can't /see/ what I'm doing."

Tom pokes his head in the door to the bathroom and gives Chenda a little smirk. At the sight of blood on Chenda's arms - although it's pretty

much dried up and only scrapes and bruises remain - he blanches a bit and gives a little nervous chuckle. He gingerly takes some gauze and dabs

a bit of vodka onto it before stepping closer to help clean the wounds on Chenda's arms.
"Heh, ahh…blimey. You really did a number on yourself… or that guy did a number on you." He clears his throat and tries again with dabbing

at Chenda's injuries, cringing as he does so. "You do this often?"

Chenda blushes, seated on the edge of the lavatory sink in her underwear and socks. Long sleeves and jeans don't make first aid easy. "Not

much, no… I hit the ground with him and we rolled a bit." She dabs at her other knee with a vodka-soaked swab. "The worst parts are the

scrapes. The bruises just last longer." She holds her non-working elbow as still as possible to make Tom's work easier.

In an attempt to distract himself from the droplets of blood on the gauze, Tom tries a smirk at Chenda. "See? You complained about me going

around in my underwear - and here you are. You should have told me you were 'clothing optional'—" He cuts off as the wad of gauze slips from

his fingers and bounces between his hands as he tries to catch it. He grimaces. "This is why I uh… I never tried medicine. Not for me. Oh

no…" The piece of gauze falls on the floor and Tom bends down to pick it up between the very tips of his forefinger and thumb, and deposit it

in the trash.
"You know…" he offers in a murumur, his face taking on a slight greenish caste to it. "If you're - we're - going to run around the city

stopping robberies and beating up muggers we should have cool names, you reckon? You could be… Lady Flashlight, hah! Or… Sparkle Girl.

Captain Flashbang."

"I was 'clothing optional'. You were 'nudity optional'," Chenda reminds him, smiling despite her embarrassment. Until she notices the signs of

his discomfort. "Oh, dear… um, I can get my elbows with the mirror. You don't need to help if you don't want to," she offers, to give him an


"No!" Tom counters, his head coming up as he reaches quickly for the vodka bottle again. "I can do it—I can. I want to help. I can do it…"

He moves to the next of Chenda's injuries, chuckling a little - despite his greenish pallor. "So…" he ventures, concentrating rather hard on

his task, even to the point of mostly ignoring the girl's semi-nude state. "What do you want to do after this? I'm… not all that hungry

really. Not right now—" which is no wonder considering his reaction to seeing blood. He gently lifts Chenda's arm a bit to tend to a scrape

along her tricep. "Wanna grab coffee? Beat up another mugger? … hmm, maybe not…"

"See a movie? I know I could stand to relax after that, and I doubt they'll be admitting visitors to the hospital at this hour," Chenda

suggests hopefully, her smile a touch plastic but hopeful. "Just, nothing violent. I'm not sure I could do violent." She finishes cleaning her

knee and throws the swab into the trash can. No way to bandage it with only one hand.

"Yeah…" Tom agrees, and glances down at Chenda's knee. Suddenly he's taking an interest and clears his throat. Glancing quickly at Chenda's

face he mumbles an apology and reaches for a bandage. "I'll get that, if you like," he says and he kneels down, his hooves scraping along the

tiles and eliciting a frown from him. "A movie sounds like a good idea. Perfect." A sudden smirk crosses his goateed face, accompanied by more

of his usual confidence and pallor. "But… I'd recommend putting on some more clothes first. *I* don't mind your going around like this at all

- you make even the bandages look good - but it might draw unwanted attention." He grins impishly.

Chenda chuckles. "I could say the same of you, goat boy," she teases back. "I just can't put stuff back on 'til all the doctoring is done. You,

on the other hand?" She just leaves that line of thought where it is and reaches for a bandage for her other knee. Might as well speed the

process along. "And you'll kind of have to look at my knee to bandage it, you know."

Tom glances from Chenda's face to her knee - her whole leg in fact, and then her knee - unable to keep half a smirk from tugging at the corner

of his mouth. Well, he's making an effort. "Oh yeah! Of course. Almost done—" He shuffles a little closer to make it easier to wrap the

bandage and lifts one leg up so that he is resting only on one knee
Unfortunately, tiles are not the most forgiving surface for a young man with hooves instead of feet and Tom slips
one leg shooting out behind

him as he lurches forward headfirst into Chenda's lap (and narrowly avoiding cracking a shoulder on the side of the toilet where she sits.

"Sh—oot!" he exclaims in dismay.

Chenda gives a startled cry as Tom slips, which becomes a startles shriek as he suddenly lands in her lap. She quickly grabs his shoulders so

he doesn't slip further. Fortunately, she's a lot stronger than her 5' 3" frame would suggest. "Tom? Are you okay?" she asks, mildly alarmed.

Tom's cloven hoofs scrape against the tiles as he tries to stand up - without much success given his position, almost lying sprawled across

Chenda's lap - but thanks to the girl's surprisingly strong grasp, at least he doesn't slip further down. "Umm…" he mumbles, jamming one hoof

against the side of the bath, and the other hoof against the cupboard under the sink. There we go. "Okay now… Ugh, sorry. I swear that never

happens to me." That could easily be a lie considering how perfectly clean and smooth the tiles were before he scuffed them up. "I usually

don't lose my balance - give me a hand, would you?"
He tries again to stand, with his hands on the sides of the toilet bowl, his legs splayed for purchase, and Chenda's hands on his shoulders to

steady him. "This *never* happens," he repeats.

"Right," Chenda replies, slowly standing with him, keeping her hands under his shoulders. "Slow and careful… steady… 'cuz if you slip I'm

going to fall too, and my hinder doesn't have much cushioning to soften our landing," she jokes.

"I'm lucky this time," the satyr-looking fellow comments as he secures his balance standing up beside Chenda. "When I first started portalling,

a shock like that would send me through the floor to the first location I thought of that I'd been to before." He brushes down his legs, and

chuckles. "I was in the shower when that happened once. I ended up in my parents' living room while they had guests over."

"Steady now?" Chenda asks, since she'll have to let go sooner or later. The story makes her chuckle. "I'll bet that invited a few questions.

'Um, son? What are you doing in here? And why are you naked and soaking wet?'"

Tom seems a little reluctant to let go of Chenda, but does so a few seconds later. "Thanks," he says. A moment later he adds, "Well, after the

screaming stopped - I landed on the kitchen table during supper - the guests were too frazzled by my entrance to really notice I had no clothes

on (the fur really does help with that, you know!). I accidentally hit one in the face with a wet tail—which didn't go down well, and dripped

water all over the roast chicken."
Tom puts a hand over his face and chuckles for a bit. "I jumped off the table, grabbed some chicken, said hi to Mum and Dad, and portalled back

home before they could really question me…. I got a stern phonecall afterward though."

Chenda takes the letting go as a 'yes', and releases him. She can't help but laugh. "I'll be it /was/ a nasty phone call. Not every day that

something like that happens, after all!" She reaches for the bandages. "I think I've got it from here. Once we both have some clothes on, let's

check the newspaper and see what's playing. Or the internet, I guess." Somehow she sounds less enthused about the latter option.

Giving a nod to Chenda and watching as she finishes with the bandages, Tom grins. "I have a computer - a laptop - in my bedroom. We could check

out movies there if you like. It's a pity about having to put clothes back on - I'm rather comfortable as I am, more or less." He grins. "And

you don't look half bad, you know—even with the bandages. You could start another fashion trend! Bras and bandages - like Leeloo in the Fifth

Element!" He hops a little on his feet, having apparently regained complete control of his balance.

"You can watch movies on those things?" Chenda asks, her eyes widening a little. "Wouldn't they be a little small? Screen size, I mean?" She

holds her hands up, outlining a rectangle in midair.

Frowning, Tom scratches the top of his head. "Watch movies on my laptop? While there's a TV in the living room? Why would I do that? I mean we

just look them up on the computer - movie titles, screening times and all that - and then we go out!" He sniffs and looks a little smug. "I do

that all the time. Don't you?"

"Oh… that's what I meant originally," Chenda replies, blushing. "But what about the… oh. That's what /you/ meant by fashion trend." She

rubs her temple. "Did I hit my head? I don't normally get so confused…"

Tom spreads his hands and flashes his best grin. "I'm Australian. I have that effect on people all the time." He gives Chenda another look and

smirks. "You really do wear those bandages well, you know!" he comments in an amiable tone. "But you'd look better out of them…"
He trails off, his smirk falling and turning into an expression of chagrin. "Oops. Um. I meant, you'd look better if you didn't have to have

them—if you were healthy. Uninjured. Yeah. Blimey…I'm gonna get some real clothes on and then we can see what showing, yeah?"

Chenda's mouth falls open for a moment and her eyes widen. Then, slowly, she begins to smile, and then to giggle. "Go get your clothes on, goat

boy! But make sure you pull your foot out of your mouth so you can walk!" she chides him, still laughing.

"Goat Boy…that is SO not going to by my superhero name." Tom shakes his head and grins. "If I have to be Goat Boy then you have to be… to

be… Okay, well I can't think of anything right now, but I will! And it will be every bit as bad as 'Goat Boy'." Still chuckling, Tom trots

out of the bathroom and disappears into the bedroom. The sounds of ruffling around in the wardrobe there can be heard, along with his

"Goat Boy…that doesn't sound heroic at all! Goat Boy…"

"That would be why it's a nickname and not a superhero name," Chenda ripostes, laughing. She reaches for the bandages again, this time to

finally finish patching herself up. The sounds of medical tape and scissors can be heard from the bathroom as she works.

~C'est fini!

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