Post by Laurel Greystone on Apr 11, 2015 17:01:28 GMT -6
The morning hadn’t been the greatest for Laurel but it was definitely a memorable one. The day started off just like another, with Laurel alone in Cabin Six accompanied by various versions of atlases, ancient maps, and a large cup of coffee. She'd skipped out on breakfast at the Mess Hall, not that it was anything out of the ordinary. Lately, she'd found herself more antisocial than usual, mostly because of all the old maps and log books she needed to decipher. Since everyone was at breakfast, Laurel had the cabin to herself which she had no complaints with whatsoever. She worked quietly, with the occasional self-mutterings or the sound of flipping paper breaking the silence.
Her small amount of luck dissipated when she reached for a letter opener in order to pry open an envelope. People always said that when cutting, it's best to move the blade away from you. Laurel, being the aloof half-awake Athena kid, inserted the blade into the lips of the envelope and drew the edge towards her. Her hand that was holding the blade slipped and drew a long cut half-way down Laurel's inner forearm. She cursed, not from the pain but because of the fresh blood that had spilled onto her books and maps. The Daughter of Athena’s head frantically whipped around, trying to find some kind of cloth nearby to wrap her arm around. She grabbed an orange Camp shirt that was draped over a nearby chair and tightly wounded it around her forearm before grabbing some tissues from her desk. "Why do I have to be so clumsy," Laurel muttered while dabbing a wad of tissues onto the splattered blood.
A few minutes later, Laurel found herself scurrying towards the Big House, specifically the infirmary. At first, after she'd cleaned her mess up, she figured that the first aid kit in Cabin Six held enough gauges and surgical tape for the wound. But her plan of fixing herself up was tossed aside when she discovered that the kit only contained a pair of rusty surgical scissors and a handful of bandages. By then, blood had started seeping through the orange cloth. This was no ordinary, run-of-the-mill paper cut.
The infirmary was empty, which was odd since Greek demigods were accident-prone troublemakers. Injuries were abundant in Camp whether they were caused by the Lava wall, sparring, or just simply by pure stupidity. The stack of injury reports that sat on Laurel’s desk never seemed to diminish. So although the sight of an empty infirmary was pleasant, it was also quite worrying at the same time. “Is anyone in here?” Silence. It’s empty because everyone’s at breakfast, Laurel told herself while walking further into the room. She figured that she’d help herself and made her way towards a sink.
Her small amount of luck dissipated when she reached for a letter opener in order to pry open an envelope. People always said that when cutting, it's best to move the blade away from you. Laurel, being the aloof half-awake Athena kid, inserted the blade into the lips of the envelope and drew the edge towards her. Her hand that was holding the blade slipped and drew a long cut half-way down Laurel's inner forearm. She cursed, not from the pain but because of the fresh blood that had spilled onto her books and maps. The Daughter of Athena’s head frantically whipped around, trying to find some kind of cloth nearby to wrap her arm around. She grabbed an orange Camp shirt that was draped over a nearby chair and tightly wounded it around her forearm before grabbing some tissues from her desk. "Why do I have to be so clumsy," Laurel muttered while dabbing a wad of tissues onto the splattered blood.
A few minutes later, Laurel found herself scurrying towards the Big House, specifically the infirmary. At first, after she'd cleaned her mess up, she figured that the first aid kit in Cabin Six held enough gauges and surgical tape for the wound. But her plan of fixing herself up was tossed aside when she discovered that the kit only contained a pair of rusty surgical scissors and a handful of bandages. By then, blood had started seeping through the orange cloth. This was no ordinary, run-of-the-mill paper cut.
The infirmary was empty, which was odd since Greek demigods were accident-prone troublemakers. Injuries were abundant in Camp whether they were caused by the Lava wall, sparring, or just simply by pure stupidity. The stack of injury reports that sat on Laurel’s desk never seemed to diminish. So although the sight of an empty infirmary was pleasant, it was also quite worrying at the same time. “Is anyone in here?” Silence. It’s empty because everyone’s at breakfast, Laurel told herself while walking further into the room. She figured that she’d help herself and made her way towards a sink.
