thecanarylives: (abs)
She's been told to take at least a few weeks off any "strenuous activity" to let the fracture in her wrist settle and heal, but considering the fact that "strenuous" seems to be a lifestyle for her these days, she isn't exactly sticking to the doctor's orders.

She's back in training, mostly one-handed to give herself more of a challenge, and so long as her hand is wrapped tightly in a brace Oliver's at least stopped complaining about it.

And then there's that... other physical activity she's been engaging in lately, that phone call she hasn't been able to get out of her head for two days straight and the mystery behind the radio silence that came in afterwards. There are a wide variety of possible explanations, ranging from a dead battery to something far worse, but she's been throwing herself into training to distract herself and pray that the time move faster until Dean can finally make his way back to Star City again.

She and Ollie are fresh off a two-hour spar, the cool humidity in the morning air doing nothing to help the sweat still clinging to them as they make their way back towards her apartment. After a bit of teasing and a laugh or two, he presses a quick kiss to her temple and heads to his car before she digs her keys out of her bag, double-taking as she turns back towards her building.

"...Dean?"
thecanarylives: (Default)
[To escape Captcha for TFLN, etc.]
thecanarylives: (Default)
Christ, it's like she's in high school again.

To be fair, she's fairly certain she hasn't actually been on a real date since then, so she's sure the nerves can be attributed to some sort of nostalgic PTSD.

Right. She also can't remember the last time she put on a dress and a pair of heels that wasn't for a costume - okay, so she'd borrowed both from her sister - but she'd promised James an honest to God, normal, 21st century date, so... here she was.

At the knock on the door, she checks herself in the mirror one last time before shrugging on her leather jacket and crossing the room to greet him.
thecanarylives: (far - light)
By now, Sara's less than surprised when one of their missions goes... off kilter. Timelines tend to have a way of shitting on their plans more often than not, but the team's gotten better and better at improvising. She's used to the panic, the sudden brawls, the constant one step forward and two steps back.

What she's not used to is Mick Rory taking a laser blast to the chest for her.

It happened in a flash. One moment there'd been a gun aimed straight at her and the next Mick was on the ground, that grunt of pain ringing heavily in her ears as she dropped to her knees to wake him.

The rest of it came in slow motion. The wave of attackers, the chaotic fight that ensued. Sara, Ray, and Firestorm fighting off the brunt of it while the rest of them got Mick to the ship.

She's taken a few good hits by the time the Waverider picks them up, but they barely register as she bee-lines to the med bay.

"Where is he - is he okay?"
thecanarylives: (Default)
[ooc: continued from here]

Sara's curled up in the inset of her cot, still fiddling with her phone when she hears the hiss of the doors slide open.

"You bring the booze?" she asks, finishing her text before she glances up, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed to face him.
thecanarylives: (far)
It never really bodes well when a vigilante's cell phone goes quiet. It could be for any variety of reasons, of course - bad signal, time difference, phone and burner both destroyed in a shoot out... In any case, any phone calls or texts he's sent in the past day and half have gone unanswered, and she's a good hour and half late to their agreed upon meet-up outside the bar in Kowloon.

So late that he's forced to break up the party without her, neck-deep in an array of gunfire that slows as he takes out the last of the mobsters inside. Problem is, there's an ambush waiting for him outside the bar. Re-enforcements that double the numbers he just put down, but just when it's looking like they've got him surrounded, help comes in the form of a black Ducati barreling straight for the enemy lines.

Explosions abound, giving her enough of a distraction to tuck and roll to James's side in her full black-mask and leather getup, bo staff extending as she shoots him a grin.]


I know, I know. I'm late.

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