Interrogations were admittedly pretty tough to deal with, especially when the questions involved someone dear to you. Thanks to Kamasutra's involvement with the mafia, he had found himself in that very position more times than probably necessary. He hated being restrained in some cold dark place, having people shoving all sorts of unpleasant instruments in his face and barking questions at him. He had thought it common knowledge by now that torture was an unreliable way to gain information. The torture-ees were more likely to spit out some lie than anything useful; the best information was picked up over nice dinner and a glass of wine, although he was sure that most interrogators didn't care. After all, many of them didn't harm people solely to get information. They were a bunch of sadists and other weird sex perverts, people that took pleasure in exercising violence over those weaker than them. Luca didn't get it, really. It was more fun when people could put up a good fight.

Speaking of good fights, he could smell blood on the air again. It was a relatively easy scent to pick out, even through the damp petrichor and the sweet-smelling steam that rose off his own body. He'd been smelling that familiar metal tang a lot lately (although to be fair a lot of that could be attributed to the lacerations that covered his nose). Quite honestly, he was growing a little sick of it. He tilted his head and shifted his wings, turning on his paws to head towards the smell. Admittedly, he wasn't showing as much concern as he probably should have, but he had quite frankly used up all the care in his body for the week. Between Silus cutting off his own horns, everything that Junji had gone through, and his own injuries, he was just done with... everything blood and angst related. At least Jacob's yelling had caused him to break into a steady trot, curiosity bringing him forwards at a much brisker pace.

He hadn't interacted with Jacob much, or at all since his joining, so he only managed to recognise the canine once he actually came into sight. At least it wasn't anyone he was close to, he caught himself thinking, but then he shook the thoughts from his mind. Even if he had never had a particularly good relationship with the male, he remembered how down Pincher looked during the last meeting, had picked up on how Goldie's stress levels were rising (even if she'd never really admit it). Jacob was important to a lot of the people he lived among.

"Damn," was all his said as he hopped over, setting his healthy eye on the deepest wounds. Goldie had made it there before him, but he had a feeling that she wouldn't be too much help with healing. He knew he'd have to get Junji or Silus over, but again he was reluctant to leave the injured in such an unstable condition. He attempted to manoeuvre around Goldie and put pressure on the wounds bleeding the heaviest, frowning with the knowledge that his medical expertise had all but escaped him. "Should I like, cauterise the wounds?" That's what Rosemary had always asked him to do. He wondered briefly if Jacob could handle the stress, and then went on to wonder if he could even get his paws hot enough with all this cold rain. In a worst case scenario he'd just give the canine an uncomfortable burn on top of his existing wounds and do nothing to stop the bleeding. "I should probably go look for Junji, huh?" That was a better plan. The pretty little angel would be a welcome sight right about now.

Entrapment. There are two kinds of entrapment. The first was the physical kind, the one that tore away your own... 'humanity', at along the edges of your sanity. The desire to grasp onto hope yet being unable to, fearing and doubting the strength of your allies. At this moment in time, Bakugou suffers from the second kind. He's become fixated, encapsulated, by this stasis, a standstill that refuses to let him move forwards or backwards. A pain and inability to further himself from the past without the fear of forgetting his human life, thinking it were all a dream and letting it vanish into the nothingness. He does his best to cling onto it, to avoid forgetting that other life but knowing what he's lost makes him wish to forget, but knowing he might forget makes him wish to remember. It a chaotic cycle of contradiction after contradiction and he feels as if he might never find that silver lining, donning the heavens with a brim of peace. Perhaps even now the stress of living has manifested in other ugly ways. He feels like he might collapse, like his own insides are burning up, dissipating into dust and rearranging themselves. His heart is in his stomach and his stomach is in his lungs. Maybe his own intestines are coiling about his ribs, slimy as they wrap along his bones and make him want to gag.

It was not too long ago Bakugou found himself hacking. His vision was imbalanced, shaking and arguing with the fluid of his ears. His brain bickers with the rest of his body too, tearing himself apart and putting himself back together again. It was like every molecule in his body couldn't stay still for just one moment, tremoring in all sorts of different directions that it made the reaver undoubtedly sick. He was trying his best, however, to ignore it but sometimes the pain was so overwhelming that his stride was worse than a stagger, toppling against the wall of his hut and wheezing from the spasms of his muscles which crawled along his neck, retracting and pulling him both ways and begging whatever god out there to make it stop. He stole some painkillers, not sure what they were or what the side effects might be, but swallowed likely more than he needed to. Now Bakugou feels numb, desensitized by what was a spinning world and unable to feel his own fire let along regulate his heating body temperature, blackening the grass he could finally bring himself to walk on.

He heard the cry of a broken man during his casual walk, trying to clear his head. To be completely honest, he first thinks this must be a trickery of his mind, a choke of his own soul and ignores it. But it is when he notices a flash of gold stumbling, staggering, struggling to run towards the noise that Bakugou realises the reality which bounds him, entrapping him to the limitations of this world. He hurries his pace towards the stick that Goldenluxury leaves behind, eyes glistening before his ears twitch at the shout for 'Deniz' echoing again. He knows not to this 'Deniz' but whatever it is, it holds emotional significance to the bengal. Knowing it was likely a useless attempt at being helpful, he picks up the broken stick and follows the young Dealer's scent. He begins to become increasingly aware of the absurdity of his senses, his obscured sense of touch as a result of the drugs he forcefully consumed to try and rid his mind's fixation of the pain. The moment he stops to realise the numbness of his paws, walking suddenly becomes a manual consideration. He has to remember the rolling of weight distributing through his paws, launching from the tips of his toes but unable to precisely feel the motion.

Thankfully, Goldenluxury isn't too far that he is able to place the broken walking stick down and assess the situation through his cold, reflective eyes. He sees Luca make his way over to try and hold down the bleeding, asking if it is best to cauterise the wound before looking at the other crewmate who appears, suggesting 'Eyepatch' (who he easily gathers to be Luca) to go fetch a medic. "I think it needs to be cleaned first," the reaver says, reluctantly remembering the time Kirishima had been attacked by a mysterious rogue. The memories led the male to an emotional stress, convincing his brain that his body was once again in an overwhelming pain because he could remember the way Rosemary carefully maneuvered her water to clear the wound and count him in to try and seal the wound with his fire. He'd always thought of his elemental prowess to be one of destruction rather than healing. Bakugou then flicks his attention to the other male, the one who spoke through the ruby. "Nah, let Luca stay to hold onto that wound. I'll go and find a medic." It'd be dumb to make the one creature trying to stop the bleeding to move and it would be useless if the demon were to let go and swap with someone else. It was best to just...let Luca continue until a sage or soothsayer came about.

Wasting no time, Bakugou begins to turn around. His fur bristles just a little, unsure of where to first look but beginning to walk anyway. Although the situation seemed to be filled with all kinds of mixed emotions, tears and reunions, the ragdoll was still unable to tear his mind away from the pain he had been feeling. It frustrates him. He thinks he's going to die but he can't find the words to express the sensations which tremor beneath his skin, simmer his blood. Bakugou is too anxious to ask about this though. Lately, the injuries and breakdowns of others have always seemed to outweigh whatever issue he was having. Besides, he feels it may be a physical manifestation of his stresses. And yet not knowing why makes him feel even more stressed when he wanders around, looking for a sage or soothsayer. He feels like their supply of healers are dawdling, unable to take the stress of Typhooners all mindlessly crashing into walls filled with spikes or angry trees - that's what it felt like to Bakugou who refused to join them. But the more he waited, the more harm he'd likely do to himself.

[member=1660]JUNJI[/member] [member=1504]Silus R.[/member]