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Sparkling Dancer
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Oh, right, there ARE chairs around the table, although only 2. You grab the nearest seat and drag it towards you, easing the woman into a sitting position. "NNgh..." She groans out, tensing up in pain. "I think...I think the brat hit my back too...I can't remember anything..." With a pained expression she holds her side, grimacing at the floor. In quick motions, you quickly gather necessary supplies. A dampened cloth with hot water, a bottle of alcohol from the top of the fridge, napkins and a glass of water. "Drink up," You urge, holding the rim of the cup to her lips. Tentatively, the woman sips it down. "Th-Thank you..." She utters.
"Don't thank me yet..." You clean up the blood from her face, wiping at the cuts, causing her to flinch with each stroke. "This is going to hurt, so please try and stay quiet..." You take a thick napkin and soak a small area in alcohol. Then, you begin to wipe away at the open wounds. "Hhshh..." She hisses under her breath, holding her tongue through the stinging burns. "I got a first aid kit." The man from before entered the kitchen with a stained, white box. Inside the kit were simple medical supplies for minor injuries. Bandages, cloth, disinfectant, syringes, a tourniquet and various bottles of medicine, including aspirin and antibiotics. It took no more than 10 minutes to fully patch up the woman, the only remaining trace of injury being the blood stains on her clothing.
"...I owe my life to you..." She whispered, clutching onto the seat of the chair. "Thank you..."
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