we're always running scared but holding knives
Luckily (for now, at least), even given the state of Remi, Isla's attention isn't on the wendigo. He'll probably only hear fits and starts of Doctor Grimm sounding chillingly reasonable and Doctor Lockwood sounding just chilling, and regardless of whatever is going on in the torture chamber examination room, the door clanks shut again a moment later.
And clearly rank has won out over scientific desire, because it's Isla he's left with, the doctor hurriedly unhooking the IVs and wheeling away the half empty bags of horror being forced into Remi's veins. "I am so sorry," she's saying, a tremor in her voice that didn't exist a moment before, and she finally arrives somewhere by his side with a cool, damp cloth, wiping away blood and foam and tears and anything else streaming from the wendigo's face.
"Gods, this is so fucked up," she hisses, stepping back for a moment to pinch at the bridge of her nose. "This isn't science. This isn't helping anyone."
And clearly rank has won out over scientific desire, because it's Isla he's left with, the doctor hurriedly unhooking the IVs and wheeling away the half empty bags of horror being forced into Remi's veins. "I am so sorry," she's saying, a tremor in her voice that didn't exist a moment before, and she finally arrives somewhere by his side with a cool, damp cloth, wiping away blood and foam and tears and anything else streaming from the wendigo's face.
"Gods, this is so fucked up," she hisses, stepping back for a moment to pinch at the bridge of her nose. "This isn't science. This isn't helping anyone."
Isla
