To her dislike, there were newsies everywhere and before she could make it up the stairs, she found Spot slipping in front of her, a mixture of worry and anger in his face. When he saw her bleeding, his expression softened and he called some boys over and had the two girls carried into the private bedroom upstairs, which had been named the Infirmary, due to it getting used mostly for medical reasons. Whiskey protested the need to be carried, batting away the willing hands of Specs and Blue as she limped resolutely up the stairs to the room, pain coursing up her side with every step. She already thought she looked ridiculous in the scandalously ripped, blood soaked shirt and felt the need to save face somehow. Half way up the stairs however the pained look on Specs's face as he watched Whiskey clutch on to the banister with her one good arm caused him to defy Spot's original order and rush up the stairs, whisking Whiskey up the rest of the steps too quickly for her to utter any type of protest.
Once both girls were in the infirmary, Bitter looked over at Whiskey, whom was still holding closely onto Specs by the hand and grimaced slightly at her friend's appearance. The form fitting brown dress had been torn down the side, revealing the bruised and bloodied ribs that were cracked at the least. Her eyes traveled upward and she noticed a couple of purplish bruises littered generously across her left breast and the nape of her neck, love bites that had not been there this morning. Whiskey also grimaced as she shifted her shoulder, roughly moving the arm that hung limply at her left side. Bitter cringed and Whiskey turned to her with a reassuring smile, revealing the long cut on the right side of her face. It traveled from her chin over her collarbone and to the middle of her chest, and although it had stopped bleeding, the deepest cut along her collarbone was sure to leave a pale scar in its wake.
Bitter took care not to look in the mirror next to her, knowing she looked awful. Her arm was bleeding everywhere and she knew she would have a visit later from Needle, a small boy who had an odd skill of sewing up knife wounds. Her head ached horribly and there was blood slowly dripping down the side of her face. Bitter soon found the nick on her neck to be a lot deeper than she had originally thought it was, and her head swarmed easily with how much blood she had already lost.
She looked over at Whiskey as the boys placed her on a soft bed and smiled slightly, unsure of how Spot would later react to their story. After all, they were all dolled up, looking like common whores, and had invited the trouble they had found themselves in. Spot did not visit the room for at least an hour, but when he did Specs disappeared at his beckoning. The two girls were too busy trying to stop the boys from bandaging them up to notice though. The boys knew nothing of medicine and Bitter easily let them in on this well known fact.
Whiskey was just as eager to keep their hands off of her, waiting for Doc or Needle to work their magic. She glared evilly at any newsie that attempted to approach her with any form of medicine, and although she didn't say a word, the intensity of the glare in her crystal clear green eyes promised, pain, lots and lots of pain if any of the dimwitted assistants tried to lay a hand on her. She shot another dangerous glare at another boy who attempted to approach her and cracked the knuckles on her one good hand menacingly as she smirked at Bitter's distress.
"Get de hell offa me," Bitter screamed at a muscular boy who was trying to bandage the wound on her arm, accomplishing nothing due to his lack of brain-power.
The Brooklyn boys may have been tough, but most of them did not have enough brain cells to do much of anything in the way of helping the wounded. "Ya don't know what de hell yer doin'!" she yelled at him again, throwing a box of gauze at his head. He ducked and looked at one of the other boys for help. Whiskey watched amusedly as the boy who had been attempting to attend her made his way over to Bitter and basically had to sit on her to make her stop moving, so they could bandage her wounds.
They stopped all of the sudden, looking up at the door. A short girl with dark brown hair entered the room, her deep blue eyes glazing over the people in the room. Bitter smiled as she saw her and pushed the guy off of her. "Thank Gawd yer heah Doc, dese boys were tryin' ta kill me, I swear!" she said, glaring evilly at the boys.
Whiskey just chuckled softly at Bitter's antics. "Glad you'se heah Doc, I was havin' a hard time keepin' dese goons offa me, although dey wasn't tryin' ta kill me like dey was Bittah."
Doc glared at the two boys who were surrounding Bitter. "You, you give me dose supplies, I'm gonna need those and I don't want you wasting them in a half ass attempt ta patch dese two up, they're gonna need more than just a couple a bandages ta get them back in workin' order," Doc stated coolly, stepping away from her usually quiet demeanor as she asserted her dominance over the medical situation and shooed the two boys out of the room.
"Which one a you'se two wants ta go foist?" she asked as she re-rolled the gauze and looked over the two girls and mumbling softly under her breath.
"What's dat ya say?" Bitter inquired.
"I was just sayin' dat you was more of a case foh Needle, wheah as Whiskey heah needs ta get her shoulder slipped back inta place if the way it's hangin' limply dere is any indication," she stated as she placed her satchel of medicinal supplies on the bed next to Whiskey and left the room.
"She don't talk much but I shoir love it when she does," Whiskey commented as she closed her eyes and brought her one free hand up to her brow, wiping away the beads of sweat that had formed as she fought to remain conscious. "She's got such a soothin' voice, she could tell me dat I wasn't gonna make it and I'd just nod my head an' ask her ta keep speakin'."
"You sure ya didn't hit yer head too hard on dat dere brick wall?" Bitter asked with a smirk as Whiskey looked over in her direction and glared. "What, I was just jokin', I just ain't evah hoid ya talk like dat befoh."
"Yeah well it's true, we might not a made it back dere, me especially! Remembah? I was da moider, you was da kidnappin'," Whiskey replied grimly as Doc made her way back into the room with a frail looking, pale boy with short black hair on her heels. His eerie calm permeated the room and reflected itself on all those present. His strange aura was almost soothing in a way. "Needle, you take Bitter, she's got a couple a really bad stab wounds, while I tend ta Whiskey heah," Doc stated as she gathered her satchel and supplies once more.
She made her way over to Whiskey's bed and sat on the edge of it touching Whiskey's bad shoulder tentatively before deciding on a course of action to take. Whiskey braced herself as Doc explained what would happen when she set her shoulder. "Shit!! Specs!" Whiskey screamed as Doc wrenched her arm back into its socket, missing it on the first try but successfully setting it on the second. "Oh fuck! Christsake Doc! You said dere would be some pressure and some pain but dat was an outright lie! Damn Doc, give it ta me straight next time, I mean, shit!" she stated her usually olive complexion losing its rosy glow and turning a ghastly white.
"So sorry," Doc said without emotion as she began tending to Whiskey's ribs, eliciting gasps as she set them too, none bad enough to elicit another call for her savior Specs, however.
Bitter was preoccupied with trying not to scream as Needle carefully stitched up the wounds on her face and neck. Once finished with those, Needle proceeded to tear the sleeve on her right arm off, revealing the deep, open wound that was causing Bitter much grief and discomfort. He mumbled something to himself and Bitter looked at him quizzically, knowing that if he was saying something, it had to be bad. He never seemed to speak, except for in the most abrupt ways. He knew knives, along with the wounds they gave people, like the back of his hand. No one knew where he had come from or why he had such an odd talent as sewing knife wounds and no one bothered to ask, knowing they would very likely not find out. He began by cleaning the wound and then sighed heavily as he looked at it closely. "Dis guy knows knives," he said barely above a whisper so that Bitter was the only one to hear him.
She opened her mouth to say something, but Needle was already starting to press his long needle into her wound, sewing it up, causing Bitter to wrench back in pain. She held her arm as still as she could and closed her eyes tightly. "Done," he muttered, gathering up his tools and heading towards the door.
Doc followed him out after finishing with Whiskey and almost ran straight into Spot on the way. Spot muttered a quick "thank you" to her and then entered the room quickly, sitting down next to Bitter, checking on how she was doing. Specs tailed him into the room and silently rushed towards Whiskey's bedside. He smoothed back her hair from the dampness on her brow and whispered words of encouragement into her ear, grasping her hand tightly.
"Aww, come on Specs, it takes more than a lil ol knife wound and a severe beatin' ta keep me down," she joked leaning forward and kissing him on the forehead. "Now, I'se sure Spot's got more den a couple a questions ta ask da two a us now dat we'se all in one piece again," Whiskey stated turning towards Spot who was sitting on the side of Bitter's bed.
"Yeah, an I'se got a couple a my own!" Specs stated concerned. "I saved yer life an' I'd like ta know how da hell ya got yerself inta dat situation ta begin wit!" he stated harshly, taking over Spot's position and heading the interrogation without knowingly doing so.
Bitter gave Whiskey a look of distress as Spot glared knowingly at her, raising an eyebrow. She sat up dazedly, ignoring Spot's gestures to lie back down again.
"Shall I explain or you?" Bitter asked, finding her friend's face go in and out of focus as she struggled to stay at a sitting position. Before she could answer, Bitter fell back on the bed, unconscious. Spot gaped, his mouth open, not knowing what to do.
"Damnit," Whiskey muttered, "Jist like her ta pass out on me, leaving me to tell everything."
Spot jumped up quickly and hurried out of the room, most likely to get Doc. Whiskey saw Bitter's body twitch a little and looked sweetly up at Specs, "Get me some watah Specs? I'se gettin' dehydrated," she said, actually looking quite pale. As he stood, she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him close. "An' maybe a little bit a liquor? I know you was wantin' me ta cut back an' all but my shoulder is drivin' me insane! An' Bittah dere ain't one ta turn down a shot of pain killah," she said with a groan as she let his sleeve go. Specs nodded indulgently and hurriedly left.
Bitter opened her eyes and smiled slightly at Whiskey. "Ya fakah," Whiskey said with a laugh.
Bitter stifled a laugh and tried to sit up again, "I wish I was," she groaned, falling back. Whiskey watched her worriedly as Bitter's face scrunched up in pain.
"Spot went ta go get Doc, so don't worry, she'll make it all bettah," Whiskey said happily, trying to cheer her up. "Jist think, ya bought us some time wit de interrogation de boys are dying to put us through," she added, seeing Bitter fake a smile.
After seeing her friend fake a smile she sighed deeply. "Who am I kiddin'? We ah fucked. Royally. I mean what ezactly are we supposed ta tell dem dat won't hurt em? Dat we was dressed as cheap trollops in lip rouge and trampy clothes wit de intent to seduce da foist set a newsies dat crossed our paths? Oh, dat'll go ovah absolutely mahvelous lemme tell you! Specs'll turn an interestin' shade of violet an' Spot dere'll just hit da fan, no doubt cursin' up a storm!" Whiskey slurred, sleep making her eyelids heavy. She brought the fist from her good arm up and rubbed away the sleep. "Yep, we'se fucked."
"Nah, I'se thinkin' dat we can nurse dis whole sick bed thing fer all it's worth," Bitter said attempting to sit up again. Her face was etched with pain, and the cut down the side of her cheek only heightened the effect. "Christ dat's smarts!"
"Would you lay back down befoh ya hurt yaself! Don't make me go ovah dere an' sit on ya ta keep ya still because I will! Dead arm or no dead arm!" she threatened with half a smile.
"I'd like to see ya try," Bitter muttered under her breath, gently letting her body drop back down to a laying position. She struggled to get comfortable and then gave up on trying, throwing Whiskey a look of defeat. "Alright so maybe we ah fucked..." Bitter admitted grimly. "But dat don't mean we can't try and keep a shred a dignity about dis."
"Well, you'se got me full attention! Please, do share your insight," Whiskey stated sarcastically. She had lost all hope of this interrogation going smoothly as soon as Bitter had agreed that they were, to put it frankly, fucked.