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Post by luscen on Nov 7, 2020 19:17:37 GMT -6
"Smart call." Casmir replied, taking the gun from the rat's temple. He put the lighter away, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a curious silver item, highlighted with a fleur-de-lis on the top. He grasped this between finger and thumb, unscrewing it and revealing a pale, crystalline shaft. Staring intently at the rodent, the Hunter reached down and held the point to the Beshilu's muzzle, near where it was bleeding. As the rat watched, the pale transparent spire shifted colors, taking on a greenish-black hue, like tar mixed with toxic waste. Examining the glowing shaft, the Hunter returned it to its sheathe, then held it up for the creature to see.
"This is tracking talisman," Casmir explained, keeping an eye on the creature. "Which means now I can find you, no matter where you go. So if you try to make a break for it after I leave, I'll know. As a word of advice, though? Don't. Unless, of course, you want to spend the rest of your life running." He gave the rat an imposing glare, as if challenging it to try and test its luck with him.
His warning given, Casmir turned away to move to Sara's side, using his coat to clean the blood from her tail wound, and dabbing some of his ointment on it. Picking her up and draping her unconscious body over his shoulder, he gave the rat a parting look. "If you're smart enough to stay and deliver my message, tell your 'boss' that this one is off-limits; the mongoose is watching the garden, and the snake should be wary."
He turned away, carrying Sara towards the office at the back where the rat and the coyote had been hiding. Pausing at the door, Casmir pulled out a key from his breast pocket, inserting it into the lock. He turned the key, then opened the door into a yawning abyss. Once he stepped through and the door shut, the chains binding the Beshilu broke, leaving the rat alone with the corpse of the Skin-walker, the silent Golem, and the Hunter's message.
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Post by tsukikoko on Nov 8, 2020 6:24:09 GMT -6
Nearly the moment it was freed, heedless of the warning it had just been given, it seemed as though the rat was indeed going to flee and test the Hunter's threat of being tracked down. It skittered to the warehouse exit, battered ribs heaving, a trail of gelatinous blood left in its wake. Only once at the threshold did it freeze, staring out at the blackened void of desolate cityscape. Suddenly decrepit buildings appeared to loom too high, shadows reached for it, clawing and hungry with the spirits that lay within. The roof was too high above, not cramped and cozy as a good den should be. Not even its brethren would ever find the mangy creature, if it ran.
John had seen to that.
Returning to the inner darkness of the warehouse, the creature paced, ran circles, near climbed the walls as stress mounted higher with each passing second. The skinwalker's wretched corpse was nibbled, frantically torn into just to give the rodent something to do with its gnashing teeth. Even if the phone hadn't been shattered in the scuffles, it was too afraid to call John. Too afraid to leave. Driven mad by the terror of remaining, of what was to come. It could cross the Gauntlet, return to the spirit wilds, but there lay only more predators. Larger spirits, the roaming wolf, the fox.
An hour passed before the rat's signature abruptly fled the warehouse, apparently deciding that Casmir's advice wasn't worth heeding. For five further minutes the creature continued to run.
In a sudden, violent explosion of crystalline shards, the tracking talisman shattered.
~~~~~~~~~~
Sara's inert form began to groggily twitch and rouse nearly two hours after the Hunter had taken her through the door. Waking was not a quick affair, the shifter's body steadily purging itself of the sedatives she'd been haphazardly filled with. When she first regained pinpricks of awareness, Sara's limbs felt too heavy, while her thoughts spun in nonsensical circles; but the sheets were warm and she burrowed more tightly into them with a soft groan, soon slipping back under the pull of oblivion.
The next time consciousness swam up to meet her, as one might with an involuntarily muscle twitch, the shifter morphed into a German Shepherd unintentionally. Her legs kicked, a drowsy whine escaped her jaws as the half-formed remnants of dreams, or perhaps memories, rose and fell.
But it was the scents, now curling into her snout and taking on a far more crisp level of detail, that truly woke her. Washing products and furniture materials she didn't recognise, a difference in the air that was hard to quantify and thus stood out like a sore thumb. Something... someone male, permeating the very air around her.
With a sudden inhale and a rippling of flesh as she returned to her human form, Sara tried to sit up, only to find that she was tangled in a set of bedsheets that she very much did not recognise. Panic and confusion struck. She fought the material with a steadily rising whine of frustrated alarm, still uncoordinated and under the effects of the drugs swirling through her veins. When a wave of dizziness hit, the redhead had to pause, if only so that she could fight the wave of nausea that rose; which was about the moment she realised she wasn't trapped in a cage or bound to anything except a tangle of soft linen. Instead, she was quite simply in a bedroom. One that, after blinking away the blurriness before her eyes, she found herself glancing around with curiosity.
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Post by luscen on Nov 8, 2020 8:56:29 GMT -6
Sara's viridian gaze swept around the room, showing a rather lackluster flat bedroom- she was seated on a modest double-sized bed, with simple white sheets, and a thick, cozy, plaid comforter. The frame was made of carved wood, which seemed to be hand-crafted and done in a basic four-post style. The furnishings were sparse- a digital alarm clock, which currently read 9 pm in its red display sat atop a dresser, also carved in wood and painted with a dark brown varnish. A closet was nearby, with a selection of clothes hanging in it; different attires for different climates and customs, it seemed.
At the foot of the bed was a large trunk, and as the shifter cautiously moved over to it, padding across the carpeted floor in her bare feet, she noticed that her clothing had been washed, pressed, folded, and laid atop it. Though - perhaps to her consternation - the rips and fraying along the hems of her daisy dukes had been mended, leaving the jean shorts looking pristine. Sat next to the trunk was a rather attractive pair of moleskin-color hiking boots, that seemed to be sized for her in particular.
Getting dressed, Sara's curious eyes wandered around the room again, perhaps to try and see if she could figure out anything else about it that might help jog her memory of how she got here. She noticed with some surprise that there was a number of wood carvings hanging on the walls, or perched atop the dresser; deer, bear, fish... but there were more outlandish things as well: a carving of an enfield hung on the wall next to the door, while a great stag with strange symbols and massive pronged horns stood as the centerpiece on the dresser.
And yet, what drew the redhead's eye was a simple photograph, held in a lovingly crafted wooden frame, that sat near the bed on an end table. In it, she saw a young woman with flowing blonde hair, like spun straw, and a warm, kind smile. She was being hugged by two boys, presumably her children: the older looking of the two had a bit of a rambunctious air to him, with his confident smirk and his short, sandy-blonde hair. A bit of a trouble-maker, who would likely have been a skirt-chaser when he got older. His eyes were fierce, but there was an underlying sense of confidence as well. The idea that you could trust him, even if he was a bit of a prat.
The second boy, however, was content to stay close to his mother's skirt, and seemed very sweet, but quiet. He had dark brown hair, and very vibrant, inquisitive blue eyes. He seemed shy, but polite; a listener, rather than a talker, who seemed to want to know everything about the world around him, but didn't want to be a bother. The woman had her hands around both boy's heads, holding them close to her, and they seemed bright and happy, frozen in time as they were.
Just then, Sara heard a noise coming from somewhere down the hall- it was the sound of boots walking across a hard wood floor, and a body throwing itself down upon a couch or a chair. It seemed the Shifter wasn't alone in here.
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Post by tsukikoko on Nov 8, 2020 10:03:20 GMT -6
In her still-drug-addled state, Sara found this whole situation supremely difficult to make sense of. Her memories were hazy, half-formed, she wasn't even sure which ones were real and which were the result of... whatever had made her feel this way.
Why was she in a room she didn't recognise, a man's room, by all counts, feeling like she could barely get her thoughts straight? And why had she been in his bed, naked, her clothes folded nearby? Jesus, had they- had they slept together? Then why couldn't she remember? Drugs? Had he fucking drugged her?
A fire of vicious indignation lit inside the shifter's chest as her hand pressed against the lower portion of her abdomen. She didn't feel tender there, particularly, but that didn't necessarily mean much. Following that initial emotion came guilt, in case she was jumping to conclusions. But also because she had strange, blurred recollections of touches that had stoked powerful cravings inside her. A shiver of fear rose too, accompanied by memories of a gun at her back and the terrified minutes of fleeing from that scarred man with the mismatched eyes.
What if she'd been saved from that man by whoever lived in this house? A possibility, but it still didn't explain her nudity or the grogginess she now felt. Had her attacker managed to hit her with something drug-laced before she fled. She didn't think so but...
The shifter pressed one palm against her forehead, groaning low in her throat. The memories, or fabrications of her mind, fell away from her grasp before she could form them in any solid way. She wasn't getting anywhere like this. Christ, even her shorts confused her. She was sure they'd been ripped at the edges, but now here they sat - crisp, pristine. But surely they wouldn't have been changed, that didn't make any sense.
Turning her attention away from the things she couldn't answer, Sara instead looked about the room as she got changed. She debated trying on the boots, but left them be for now. They definitely weren't her own, wouldn't be charmed and if she had to shift, it would be a lot easier and less potentially painful with nothing on her feet. Though the wood carvings certainly drew her eye, it was the photo that really captured the redhead's attention. She padded over, lifted it as carefully as one might hold a priceless antique (after all, this was someone's memories, it stood to reason one should be careful with it), and cast her eye over the assembled figures. A smile curled onto her features at the sight.
The sound of someone moving froze the shifter like a deer caught in the headlights, framed picture still held in one hand as she spun towards the door. No-one came in, instead the weight of another had deposited itself in another room somewhere else in the abode.
Exhaling a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, Sara gently returned the picture to where it had been placed and then stood debating her situation for a while. She could escape, probably. Even if the door had been locked, she'd be able to scuttle under the gap. But that idea didn't sit well with her, in case this was a good Samaritan who'd stepped in to help her; she had a niggling sense of something like that, roaming around in the back of her head. Someone who'd come back for her. Equally, it could just be another fabrication of the drugs. The shifter snorted, frustrated at herself. What was she gaining by dithering here? She was slowly being driven mad by all the questions, the curiosity, pulsing through her veins. So, best to just go out there and find out what was happening.
As it turned out, the door wasn't locked, but Sara didn't swing it wide. She was still trepidatious, despite her resolve and curiosity. Thus, it wasn't a woman who slipped out of the room, but a cat, ears flickering and nose twitching as she threaded her way through the house on silent steps. To her feline ears, the steady sound of breathing and a beating heart was not difficult to track. They led her down the hall, into what appeared to be a living room, around a table and then-
It was the scarred man who had pressed a gun to her back.
Sara froze, eyes wide as saucers, back arching and fur standing on end. Why was she here, with him? She'd never have gone willingly, after what he'd done, or tried to do. But if he'd managed to catch her, take her prisoner, why was she free to get out of the room he'd placed her in, which looked suspiciously like his bedroom? Why would he ever let himself sleep - as he seemed to be doing, with his coat draped over himself and eyes closed - if she was in a position to get out and, for all he knew, attack him as a consequence?
Oh god why had she been naked in his bed?!
Sure she'd thought him attractive enough before he'd put a god damn gun to her back, but she wouldn't have- even under better circumstances than that she- she couldn't- surely not-?
For a good few seconds, the crocodile-tailed cat simply stood staring at the blonde's sleeping form, trying to churn her sluggish thoughts to some kind of conclusion. Still the insatiable curiosity, the desire to just know what the hell had happened to her, kept Sara rooted to the spot when perhaps she should have run. It had her very slowly inching forward, muscles bunched like coiled springs, until she could place her forepaws on the edge of the settee and look down at him. Her fur slowly began to flatten, though her pupils remained large and black. To have left himself so seemingly vulnerable just didn't make her think of 'kidnapper'. It was... strange. She wanted to know what his angle was.
Again that fire inside her flickered to life, bringing with it a fierce bravery and simmering anger. She wanted to know why on Earth he'd grabbed her, held her at gunpoint, too. The bloke had some explaining to do.
Casmir might feel the slightest tickle of whiskers against his face, hovering over the prominent scar he bore, as the feline sniffed at him. But, should he open his eyes, a woman sat staring at him, barely a few inches from his face. In her narrowed gaze burned a fierce intensity layered with an inquisitiveness no less determined, even through the clear haze the drugs had left her with.
"Ya always git women intah ya bed on the first date, like?" It was the first thing that had entered her head, uttered before she could stop it. As was often the way with those recovering sedation, the shifter had very little filter, right now.
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Post by luscen on Nov 8, 2020 19:57:31 GMT -6
Casmir's eyes snapped open the moment he felt those whiskers brush past his face, his hand grasping the handle of his Colt under the blankets. He was always tense when woken up, his irises focused to a fine point. His red eye swiveled in the direction of where that touch had come from, memories of his fight with the Skinwalker still a little too fresh in his mind for him to be fully relaxed.
When he saw the woman, awake and staring at him however, he relaxed, shifting slightly under the cover of his coat to hide the action of taking his hand off his weapon. He took a moment to examine her condition, satisfied that she seemed to be in sound health. And also that she wasn't hysterical or holding some kind of makeshift weapon at him- it wouldn't have been a good second impression for him to restrain her after bothering to save her life, after all...
At her snarky question, he chuckled mentally, but outwardly closed his eyes to give off a relaxed, non-hostile air. 'Not exactly the first question I expected to come out of her mouth,' he mused. “Only the good-looking ones,” he answered aloud, deciding to roll with the absurd situation. “Or the ones I'm drunk enough to think are.” He added, cracking his eye open again to look over at her.
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Post by tsukikoko on Nov 9, 2020 4:25:39 GMT -6
Despite herself and what he'd previously done, Sara found herself snorting with laughter at the man's response - what a cheek! Again, before she had any kind of time to check herself, the shifter replied with, "Eeee man, ya must 'ave been reet bevvied, like." Despite the self-deprecating insinuation, it was quite clear from the amused smirk on the woman's face that she didn't really think herself all that unattractive.
She regarded him a few moments, again thinking it odd how relaxed he seemed to be around someone he'd previously grabbed and then been savaged with needle claws by. She smirked again at the memory of how taken aback he'd been; even though she'd been terrified at the time, his expression would stick with her.
A moment of self-reflection. Humour apparently was coming easy to her at the minute; if only her brain wasn't so haphazard and floaty!
When a wave of dizziness rose again, Sara made no effort to fight it, instead sinking down onto her bum beside the sofa. She'd been meaning to sit down anyway. For sure. The redhead crossed her arms, curled her tail round her legs and tapped the floor with the tip of that large, scaled limb. A sign of irritation, or curiosity? Hard to tell. "Reet then sonny Jim," she said, with a clear tone of no-nonsense despite her very slight slurring. "I 'ave some questions. Namely why ya put a soddin' gun tah me back, as I'm pretty bloody sure I divvint imagine that bit, an'-" her head tipped back towards his bedroom, "-did ya shag us, like? Ain't many reasons tah wake up naked in a strange bloke's bed, ya know?" Blunt, yes, but quite frankly Sara didn't really care. She just wanted to know.
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Post by luscen on Nov 9, 2020 8:06:34 GMT -6
“Well, you know. I had a bottle of vodka in the cupboard,” Casmir replied with a shrug. The woman's laugh was just as pleasant-sounding as it had been earlier that evening, containing a genuine humor and richness to it that was in somewhat rare supply these days... he was glad that it was a laugh that could continue to spread its cheer to others, rather than be cut short.
When the redhead plopped down on the floor, he shifted slightly, a flash of concern shooting through his system. She seemed mostly fine, however, and had fixed him with a look that booked no nonsense, asking whether or not they'd had sex. Certainly not one for prevaricating about the bush, this one. Mentally, Casmir's eyebrows slowly rose to his hairline, but he managed to maintain his poker face, instead shifting under his coat and sitting up, scrubbing his face with a bare, scarred arm.
“Let's see...” he mused, moving his hand from his eyes up to his head, miming a thinking gesture. “Is it still kissing and telling if the person you're telling is the one that got kissed?” the Hunter asked smarmily, turning towards Sara and offering her a wry smirk. Perhaps it wasn't in good taste to make light of her concerns, but after the day he'd had, he felt it his duty to provide a little bit of runoff, to blow off some harmless steam.
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Post by tsukikoko on Nov 9, 2020 9:14:23 GMT -6
Sara would not make a good poker player, even without the partial sedation loosening her reactions. All the emotions she felt at the blonde's response flickered across her features; disbelief, outrage, a measure of intrigue, incredulousness and many other things besides.
Her gaze flickered to the man's bare shoulders and arm, noting the scars and musculature with a brain currently incapable of keeping out such observations. There was a very slight swelling of her pupils, before she tore her eyes away and refocused on his scarred face.
"Eee, man-" her voice was low, tempered to an edge, "I can feel I was drugged, like." He was yanking her chain, surely? This was a badly timed joke. Why would he be out here resting if they had slept together? Wouldn't he be in the bed? Maybe not though - could have just gotten his dick wet and then vacated. "I 'ope ya just funnin' with us-" she wouldn't have had a fling, not in her right mind. She wouldn't do that to Aaron. Was it just a kiss? That was... sort of better, but not really. If he'd taken advantage while she wasn't of her right mind, the two of them were about to have a problem. "-'cause I don't give a toss 'ow bloody fit ya are, like, if ya 'ad us while I were under influence..." The more incensed she got, the more Sara realised there was a discomfort building in the lowest regions of her abdomen. She'd been too focused on figuring out her situation to notice until now; but once she had noticed, it became impossible to ignore and imperative that she do something about it.
Oh Christ, she really needed to pee.
"Christ alive, this is ridiculous, like." The shifter exclaimed, running a hand through her hair and looking, all of a sudden, sheepish as her gaze turned away from him. "But... ah, flippin' 'ell... can I use ya bathroom, like?" A flash of green caught his eye, fierce once again. "Don't think ya off the 'ook though, alreet?"
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Post by luscen on Nov 9, 2020 18:25:55 GMT -6
Perhaps it was Casmir's own questionable sense of humor, but the redhead's desire to go for inferred threats while giving him a back-handed compliment, had the Hunter jumping to continue pushing her buttons. At least until it seemed she was unable to tell he was having a go at her expense, anyway- he would have found it harder to maintain his cheek in the face of her being obviously in emotional distress. As it was, however, she was spared Casmir's caustic tongue when she asked to use his bathroom. The Hunter blinked, and – trying very hard not to be smug– he pointed over his left shoulder, in the direction of the bedroom she'd just vacated. “Last door down the hall. Don't forget to wash your hands.” A small quirk of his lip, at that.
As Sara took care of her business, Casmir decided to take a moment to change his bandages- the gash the Skinwalker had left behind hadn't been life-threatening enough to call for a use of his runes, so he kept those to the side, but it was still deep. And while normally, a laceration of this sort would have laid him out for a few weeks to recover, Delphi's skills with medicinal treatments would see to it that he'd be back on his feet in a few days. Provided, of course, he didn't strain himself and regularly applied the concoction she'd put together for him.
He grabbed his shirt from the nearby chair, throwing it on, and was just finished undoing the wrap on his legs to change it when he heard the flush of the toilet and the sound of bare feet padding across the hard-wood floor. “Back to grill me already, are we? I don't suppose I could get off the hook if I offered to put a cup of coffee on, hm?”
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Post by tsukikoko on Nov 10, 2020 5:24:01 GMT -6
Sara had taken the chance, while in the bathroom, to splash water over her face. It didn't help with the strange floatiness, or how her thoughts were a jumbled mess that threatened some rather odd outbursts were she to talk again. Still, it was refreshing, at least. She also took a moment to attempt self-reflection on her current situation; perhaps it was the drugs affecting her better judgement, but apparently despite his attack on her earlier and the potential that they'd engaged in certain activities (though she was really starting to feel he was stringing her along for his own amusement, on that one), she just didn't particularly feel scared of him, anymore. Angry and confused, yes, but certainly not afraid.
What a peculiar outcome.
Once she'd vacated the bathroom and made her way back to him, the shifter at first stood with her arms folded across her chest. No they weren't about to have coffee without some answers, thank you very much. Her tail lashed like an irritated cat, threatening the structural integrity of any furniture that might have the misfortune of getting in the way - after all, the crocodile tail was far larger and heavier than any feline would have. With her awareness inhibited and her gaze fixed firmly upon the man's face, she didn't even register what he was doing with his leg. "Reet sunshine, who the bloody 'ell are ya like? 'Cause I reckon ya divvint give us ya real name back in the club. What the 'ell were ya playin' at draggin' us intah that room and-" now her tail rose off the floor, jabbing the blonde in his chest. She hadn't actually intended for the limb to connect, more threatening to do so than anything, but her depth perception was apparently also not up to par, so the very tip of her scaled limb hit him. For a split second there was surprise and slight apology in her expression, before she barrelled on. "And would ya wind ya fuckin' neck in an' tell us straight wheth-" her gaze had flickered down, keeping an eye on her unruly tail as it moved away from him, which led the shifter to finally notice the man's leg.
Her eyes widened, she inhaled sharply, immediately concerned despite herself. "Eeee man! What the bloody 'ell 'appened tah ya leg?! Don't-" she gestured in the general direction of his wound which, to her mind was far too casually exposed for her liking. "Christ alive man don't be so blasé abowt takin' those off, like, ya gannin' te git it infected!" It was rather abundantly clear, from Sara's body language and the way she kept looking down at his injury, that she wanted to do something to help with it - bathe it to make sure it was clean, get antimicrobials on it, check for signs of inflammation and infection, rebandage it. Any and all of the above.
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Post by luscen on Nov 10, 2020 21:21:48 GMT -6
Casmir grunted quietly as the tip of her tail poked him squarely in the chest, jostling him slightly and making him brush the fabric of the fresh dressing against his leg wound. The contact sent a jolt of pain lancing through him, but he managed to keep from doing more than gritting his jaw a little tighter. As she moved her tail away, the Hunter turned his attention to the proper care of the injury, though he continued to speak without looking up at her.
“Well, I was taking some precautions, though I had been considering giving gangrene a spin, see what all the fuss was about,” he replied in his typical caustic manner. This woman was a bit of an oddball; getting ready to chew him up one moment, then shifting gears at a whiplash pace and wanting to try and make sure he didn't lose a limb. Come to think of it, she'd offered to help him at the club, as well; he'd found the behavior suspicious at the time, assuming it was some trap laid out for him. Perhaps she was just the concerned type? An honest-to-god Good Samaritan?
“Anyway, are we playing twenty questions, or did you want to play Nurse, first?” he asked, dipping some rubbing alcohol onto a clean cloth, and looking up at her expectantly. “I'd rather you not do both, as you'd either half-ass getting on my case to make sure I was treated properly, or I'd get a lousy bandage and a first rate tongue-lashing. Honestly speaking, I don't like either of those options- I'd prefer to be alive while you read me the riot act, so I could enjoy the full experience, if you don't mind?” Again, his lip quirked in that amused, insolent fashion. “The name's Casmir, by the way. Since you asked so nicely. Though 'Sunshine' and 'Sonny Jim' will do, too.”
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Post by tsukikoko on Nov 11, 2020 6:27:21 GMT -6
"Why aye man? Eee, well, I 'ave some other names I could call ya too; pillock springs tah mind, like." Despite the really rather uncouth term she'd just implied she might refer to him as, Sara seemed to have cooled quite considerably from only a few moments ago. Her gaze was focused quiet intently upon the wound on his leg and some quiet, prickling corner in the back of her mind, a flyaway thought she just couldn't quite catch, told her that it was somehow her fault.
Shaking the feeling to instead channel her hazy focus towards his injury, the redhead wordlessly held her hand out for both the alcohol and the cloth, a clear sign for him to hand it over. It was a good thing she'd literally only just washed her hands, else it would have been a improv-job of using the alcohol to sterilise, which her skin would not thank her for.
Despite her fog-minded condition, Sara was incredibly gentle and caring as she inspected and disinfected the blonde's wound. All of the clear-headed thoughts she did have were directed towards helping him - though there was a very brief moment when she caught herself thinking 'why am I helping him?' before shoving the thought aside to focus on her task. She didn't rub the injury, but instead pressed down at regular intervals with the cloth, ensuring that she didn't break apart what coagulation had already formed. She didn't rush, wasn't rough with him despite any lingering anger or irritation. It was as though he'd never attacked or been smarmy with her at all. She was respectful, too. While not embarrassed any by the location of the injury and where her hands were ending up, she never strayed anywhere that wasn't strictly necessary.
There was only one moment, early on, where she said anything. "Since ya lookin' forward tah me tongue-lashin' that much, like.." Where his grin was a smirk of insolence, her's was closer to deliberate, butter-wouldn't-melt innocence, though the manner in which she repeated his words back at him had a very intentional inflection. Then there was the flash of something fiery, an almost promise, in her eyes. Intensely curious and stubborn, she'd be getting answers out of him one way or the other. "I'll try nowt tah disappoint ya."
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Post by luscen on Nov 13, 2020 22:51:27 GMT -6
“I'll be looking forward to it,” Casmir replied, as he handed over the cloth and the rubbing alcohol. To his credit, he didn't so much as flinch when she began treating him- though that was more because the woman's touch was gentle and practiced, a light dabbing rather than a harsh padding. She was methodical and measured, paying close attention to her work, which spoke of a sense of practice at this. It felt... almost comforting, in a strange way.
A memory flashed in his mind, then. Of his mother, cleaning a wound he'd gotten- it was nothing serious, just a stupid kid's scrape he'd gotten from playing near the rocks at the river. He'd slipped, and scraped his knee up something bad, Szymon carrying him home on his back as Casmir bawled his eyes out from the unimaginable pain of a five year old's first major injury. His mother never yelled or scolded him, however, merely sat him down and began to treat his wound with her boundless patience, gently cleansing the wound and rubbing some salve onto it to help numb the pain. She sang a song for him while she did so, and he had been calmed by it. “Good as new,” she'd said, smiling at him and kissing his forehead.
“Matka...” Casmir muttered to himself. Sara's hand paused at his word, and he gave her a look, before handing her the salve Delphi had made. “Sorry, it's nothing. Here, this will help with the wound; just a light layer around the edges of the laceration should suffice.”
He let the redhead take and apply it, before speaking up with a small smile. “You know, I don't know if I mentioned it earlier, but your saxophone playing was amazing. Really top-notch stuff. I don't many people who can match Andy Snitzer's dulcet tones for that piece.”
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Post by tsukikoko on Nov 14, 2020 9:59:27 GMT -6
Sara tilted her head at the salve as it was handed to her, curiosity evident in the motion. But she had neither the mental wherewithal to parse it as well as she would like, or inclination to ask him about it just yet - best to stick with the important questions, for now.
She was sweeping her fingers on a final circuit of the man's wound, careful and methodical with her application, when his sudden appraisal of her saxophone skills gave the shifter pause. From beneath her raised eyebrows, green eyes came to hold his gaze; she remembered that part of the evening, how proud she'd been to complete the full routine on stage for the first time in what felt like an age. A cold shiver ran through her, reflected in the shifter's eyes, as she thought on where that saxophone had been left; she remembered stowing it safely backstage, but with her memory so spotty, there was no telling where it might have gone from there.
The minute she got to the bottom of this and got out of here, she'd have to call the crew at Velvet Vibes to check.
She was perplexed by this sudden change in tone, too. This time, there was no hint of sarcasm or low-brow humour. "Eee man, ya tryin' tah flatter us now?" She reached for further dressings, intending to seal the wound site up now. Trying not to dwell on the little flutter of pride and delight the praise of her performance had brought her. "Gannin' te take more than that, Casanova." A small pause as she continued her work, before Sara, with the tiniest flush of delight colouring her skin, said softly, "But.. thank you. Was the first in a long time I was able tah do the 'ole routine, like."
It wasn't too much longer before the redhead sat back, surveying the fruits of her medical labour from a slight distance. Apparently satisfied, she smiled, before catching herself and gently clearing her throat and trying to sound neutrally professional. "Reet, all done, like." Again her eyes fixed upon his mismatched ones. "Now are ya gannin' te tell us owt?"
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Post by luscen on Nov 16, 2020 12:03:48 GMT -6
Casmir eyed the dressing- it was every bit as good as his own, if not better. Clearly she was no stranger to treating others' wounds. Perhaps she was a Nurse? That would explain the proclivity to help strangers, if nothing else... Though what kind of nurse played a set like that during her off-hours, he wondered? 'On second thought,' he reconsidered dryly. 'Maybe I'mbetter off not looking for the answer to that question.'
The Hunter frowned, however, at the way she mentioned that it'd been the first time she'd completed that set in a long while. He recalled the panic she'd had, when he pressed a gun to her back, screamed at him about “what do you people want!?” That wasn't the fear of someone being mugged or threatened by a common thug. She'd been the target of repeated attacks, apparently all by the same group. There were unresolved questions there, and his scarred eye hardened for a moment as he thought about the things she may have been put through.
At the moment, though, the shifter had some questions of her own that needed to be answered. “Well, to start with," Casmir supplied, sitting up. "No, I didn't do anything with you outside of put you on my bed to let you sleep off the tranq you'd be hit with. Before you ask anything else though...” With a grunt, the Hunter stood, limping to the kitchen and beckoning her to follow. “If you're not interested in coffee, that's all well and good. But I'm afraid I need a cup- not really a fan, if I'm being honest, but there's little better than a strong dark roast to clear the cobwebs out.”
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