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She smelled the blood from a ways off, though it took her a little while to join the two lions and the growing crowd of pirates. Rosemary could instantly see why - their metallic pelts made for quite a show in the harsh tropical sunlight, and she wondered if they felt hot with all that metal against their skin. The ocelot's ears twitched, as three of her eyes converged on the injured lion with half-squinted eyes. How... interesting. Besides Goldie's habit of getting terrible wounds, she never saw such terrible wounds on the territory before. The sight of such agony in both of their faces overwrote her curiosity about how it was that the uninjured one seemed pained.

But it did more than that. She felt a stirring inside her mind, a quiet pressure that teased her consciousness and made her ears burn with heat. Gritting her teeth, she focused on her breathing and pushed past the unwelcome sensations with sheer willpower. Her choice to heal remained stronger than her innate sadism, no matter how much she felt the clawing need burn inside her head.

She'd almost forgotten about it, in truth. She never needed to think about it in the Typhoon, where nobody seemed to get grievously wounded - well, nobody that spoke to the aching pressure inside her head. She only ever knew it to stir when an attractive male... she pushed the thoughts away. The pale wildcat knew she needed to focus on anything but that. This was one occasion where she hated her relentless curiosity. How she always wanted to dissect these feelings when they surfaced, which only caused her to slip deeper and deeper into its grasp - like an ant so busy with honey that it inadvertently sinks into it and drowns.

Her heartbeat thudded in her chest, as an almost glazed look appeared in her orange-amber eyes. Regardless, she looked at the two strangers with a neutral expression - her only sign of discomfort being a restless adjustment to the satchel strap that crossed between her shoulder blades. "I'm Rosemary Roux, the head healer in the Typhoon. If you're planning on resting here a while, I can take a look at those wounds for you," she spoke, her fuzzily apathetic and strained voice overwriting any emotional expression she would've conveyed. She usually hated that part about herself, but now? She found herself thankful for it.

It didn't change how she felt, though. How she felt her heartbeat quicken under every inch of her skin, throbbing in her carotid arteries and pulsing in her toes. Her ears flicked once, twice, thrice as she tried to clear them of the heavy heat that settled in the thin flesh. Her sadism - no, she - practically burned with the need to sink into the abyss. To bathe in those torrents of blood and dig her claws into the gaps of flesh. She needed it. She starved herself of this ambrosia for so long, surely just a taste...? No.

She blinked. Her jaw clenched. And her eyes narrowed, in frustration and impatience at herself. Fuck these choices she constrained herself with.