[ Honestly, she probably wouldn't have even bothered to check who got hit by that rogue volleyball, except for the fact that her victim makes such an extraordinary noise that even unflappable Andy can't help but notice. It takes her a second, but it's hard not to recognize Guzma — he has a look that's distinctly him. Easy to recognize, even in a crowd. Hell. They're officially drinking buddies now, aren't they, so she supposes she should go make sure he won't bleed to death or anything.
She comes over from the court, approaching him without so much as a how do you do. No greeting, no niceties — she just impatiently bats his hands away from his face, catching him by the front of his shirt to tug him down to eye level with her so she can check and see if his nose is broken.
no subject
She comes over from the court, approaching him without so much as a how do you do. No greeting, no niceties — she just impatiently bats his hands away from his face, catching him by the front of his shirt to tug him down to eye level with her so she can check and see if his nose is broken.
Wryly, her decree: ]
You'll live.