The downside to the conversation moving away from her is that Greta's rather left behind, unable to entirely follow what's going on. It seems she and the Balladeer are in agreement, at least - it even sounds as if Sara Jane sees their point regarding his importance, here - but Booth is still… what, planning something? Ugh. She is really not a fan of Mister Booth.
The gun's report is a terrible shock, far louder and more alarming than the ones outside. Greta lets out a little scream - she can't help herself - and scrambles halfway to her feet before tripping on her own skirts and sitting back down heavily. It's only then that she registers hot dampness on her sleeve and thinks to look down.
There's blood on her dress.
She touches her fingertips to it in bemusement. Is she hurt? She doesn't feel hurt, but with her ears still ringing and her heart still racing, it's possible that she could be and the pain just hasn't registered, yet. But there's no pain, and the blood is the only damage to her dress. Nothing has struck her - no 'slug' or what have you. Where on earth is the blood coming from?
She looks to the Balladeer for guidance - it's becoming something of an automatic response, now - and it's only then that she sees the crimson stain soaking into his shirt. It was never her blood to begin with; it was his. He's hurt.
"Oh, no," she breathes, floundering over to him. "Oh, no." She hesitates for only a moment before gritting her teeth and pressing her palm over where she guesses the wound must be. It will hurt, and she is sorry for that, but she has to slow the bleeding. Turning an accusatory glare on Sara Jane, she snaps, "Why did you do this?!"
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The gun's report is a terrible shock, far louder and more alarming than the ones outside. Greta lets out a little scream - she can't help herself - and scrambles halfway to her feet before tripping on her own skirts and sitting back down heavily. It's only then that she registers hot dampness on her sleeve and thinks to look down.
There's blood on her dress.
She touches her fingertips to it in bemusement. Is she hurt? She doesn't feel hurt, but with her ears still ringing and her heart still racing, it's possible that she could be and the pain just hasn't registered, yet. But there's no pain, and the blood is the only damage to her dress. Nothing has struck her - no 'slug' or what have you. Where on earth is the blood coming from?
She looks to the Balladeer for guidance - it's becoming something of an automatic response, now - and it's only then that she sees the crimson stain soaking into his shirt. It was never her blood to begin with; it was his. He's hurt.
"Oh, no," she breathes, floundering over to him. "Oh, no." She hesitates for only a moment before gritting her teeth and pressing her palm over where she guesses the wound must be. It will hurt, and she is sorry for that, but she has to slow the bleeding. Turning an accusatory glare on Sara Jane, she snaps, "Why did you do this?!"