What's this? Not an update for Secret? Living Twice? Servant of Evil? I'm sort of on an unofficial hiatus during my exam time, 'unofficial' because I'm still writing, just... rather slowly. Secret is almost finished, I promise. I know you're all waiting, so I wanted to do something just to keep my writing skills going and to actually put something on this account.
#phanniemay!
This theme set seems like fun, and there's one for each day of the month~ I might be able to keep up, who knows? Not on exam week, I won't. So yeah, I'm writing little one-shots for each day. They're mostly Danny's musings about stuff, I suppose, and a place to set down my own head-canons for things in the series for which I am opinionated. If you find it interesting, good for you! This is nothing special~
1st May: Bruises
"24... 25..." I muttered softly to myself as I counted, eyes slowly travelling down my bare chest in the mirror. My skin was blotched with bruises of all colours and ages. Even after getting so many repeatedly for so long, I couldn't tell which hue matched how old it was, yet the size and position instantly jogged my memory as to which ghost did it and where. The light was dim through my bedroom window, though I could still see clearly the extent of my injuries I managed to gather that day. My torso was dotted with fresh cuts and scrapes of both green and red, and topped with the bruises on my pale complexion it looked like I'd simply been in a very interesting paintball match. With no clothes protecting my top half, anyway. And that was a weird way to play paintball, so...?
I shook my head in the silence, stopping my own train of thought. There were more important things to attend to than gawking at my multi-coloured skin. I had already got my first-aid box out; I'd grabbed it as soon as I'd phased through the window and recovered from an awkward and poorly-planned landing on my bedroom floor. That was where I'd got the bruise on my forehead from. The ghost-fighting was making me delirious - especially in the evenings, but it wasn't like I'd ever stop. It was even more odd, though, when my bruises were displayed in my ghost form. They come from internal bleeding, right? Well, at those times, my blood is neon green. Imagine what interesting glowing colours you can imagine from that. One of the reasons why I had stuck with the haz-mat suit., really.
Thankfully, none of the cuts needed stitching. Doing that myself in the past just normally ended up with me bleeding more and in twice as much pain, and even with Sam or Tucker's help things weren't much better. Jazz never knew the extent of the injuries I received, and I would tell her if I knew her reaction would not be that of a mix between psycho-babble and worry for her younger brother. Which it would be. And that's not very helpful when it also made the chance of my parents finding out about my ghost half marginally bigger. That would cause even more problems. And to think this was all of some injuries I failed at dealing with myself. The fighting part, I could handle. The first-aid part? Not so much.
Oh, my body was perfectly capable at healing itself, alright. It usually did that super-quickly and without much fuss if the scrape was minor. Only when I had to help it along a little was when problems arised. Each time, as I was disinfecting wounds and such, it would also occur to me that if I was a 'normal human', the sort of injuries I got on an almost daily basis where ones that would put a person in the hospital. In a way, I was lucky. But if my bruises and such were ever seen, and I was actually taken to someone to get fixed up, the ectoplasm in my blood would make itself known. And it would all go downhill from there.
After a short while of a few more bandages and a touch of make-up (don't say anything) on my face and arms, I was glad that I could manage to slip into my usual red and white shirt without anything being immediately noticeable. I had become come quite adept in the art of folding my arms to avoid bruises being shown off. The foundation part had originally been Sam's idea when Johnny 13 had punched me square in the face, and some powder and stuff from one of the kits she had reluctantly taken from her mother helped cover my black eye quite effectively. Effectively, but embarrassingly
Dinner was going to be served soon, made obvious by the aroma difting up from the kitchen. I exhaled loudly as a plane rumbled overhead outside, and the sound of the cars driving past below were there, too. It was normal street life, although the town it was in was far from that. Amity Park, the #1 haunted place in the world. And I, Danny Phantom, was its protector, as it had come about.
Despite all the bruises it left me, I didn't seem to mind.