"Progressive deterioration of articular cartilage in..." Oh. He didn't know how to read that word. A small furrow formed between his eyes, and he exhaled frustratedly, small paws resting on salt-curled pages. "Die...Die-uh. Die-arthro-dee-al. Diarthrodial." Was that right? The book didn't say how to pronounce it, and he didn't want to go ask for help, either, so his lips firmed and he hunched over the words again. "Diarthrodial joints is characterized by...hiyaleen. Hyaline. Hyaline cartilage thinning." That was just the cushion between the joints, wasn't it? If it was thinning, and this was arthritis, then it had to be that. "Joint effusion, and perry...peri-art-ticular. Periarticular ost-eo-phyte. Periarticular osteophyte." Peri meant around, or surrounding, articular meant joint, osteo was bone, and phyte was...He knew what it meant, he did. Phyte. P-h-y-t-e. Osteophyte. Arthrophyte. That had to do with plants, and arthro wasn't plant, so phyte had to mean something like that.

What was a bone plant? A growing bone? Did bone grow on the joints? That sounded like it would hurt, so his eyes jumped down over the rest of the text to the treatment section, nose nearly pressed into the book. "Nonsurgical therapies include weight reduction, controlled exercise on soft surfaces, and therapeutic application of warm compresses to affected joints." That wasn't all of it, was it? Another book had oil remedies, and Pip sat up from the textbook, frowning.

How was he supposed to remember everything?
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The art of healing. He's complained about his incompetency enough times in his mind, frequently frustrated because he knows that saving has never really been his forte. It infuriates him to feel useless, to watch helplessly in the sidelines, only be there as yet another entity consuming space. When the ones he cared about were injured, he can do nothing. And yet the Reaver has never had the initiative to pursue medicine because he knows it is better left to the ones who were capable of absorbing such information, far more willing to sit down and learn than he was. Bakugou was capable of studying, highly capable of learning as unintelligent as his social skills might have suggested, but he was the combative type. Patience does not sit well with him, especially when it had to do with him. Almost everything has to do with him because the world he sees and manipulates is all read through his mind, filtered into his perspective of what his mind wants him to see, hear and feel. The real enemy was himself. Everyone else was just an afterimage, flickering manifestations of all his distastes and anger.

His eyes float towards Owen's snark at one of Pincher's children, cold and inexpressive when he approaches to glance briefly at the cover page of the book. Too many big words, he thinks, too many big words for the likes of a child. Regardless, it seemed interesting to bury your face in. It was better than interacting with the likes of Owen or anyone on the island. "Teachin' yaself to read or an aspirin' medic?" he chooses to ask before scoffing at Owen. As helpful as medical knowledge is in a supposed apocalypse, he doubts cramming everything will be helpful unless Peppino was some kind of clairvoyant.

He startled a bit, more so because he wasn't expecting anyone than because of Owen's appearance, although the size difference was notable. Pip wasn't worried- while most of the people here could be violent, they didn't usually mistreat each other to the same degree, and he didn't think they wanted to agitate his father. His mismatched gaze lifted up to the creature, and he shook his head rigorously, a quiet chuckle in his throat. "No, arthritis isn't the apocalypse!" Maybe some people thought it was? Pip didn't think it was the same as the end of the world. Aching bones weren't comfortable, but there were treatments for them, although he wasn't certain if they worked a hundred percent of the time. Not everything did, as he was quickly learning, and for some hurts and illnesses there were plenty of solutions to try, but for others not so much. He would want to change that, if he could. It would be a long way to go, and he barely knew anything.

The pup smiled at the stoic feline, unmoved by his frigid exterior, and his head bobbed into another nod, ears flopping. "Both! But I already know how to read. I'm just getting better." He wasn't offended by the implication that he didn't know how to- he didn't think the Reaver meant it that way. "I'm Pi-Peppino, but Pip's shorter."
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He didn't know what the boy was reading but his response to Owen's awful attempt at a snide was enough to make him feel out of place. Arthritis. In his old world, people used to talk about it all the time. It was sometimes in their fingers, making it impossibly hard to write, other times in their knees or their back or somewhere else that made it painful to move. The idea of bones sliding against each other, in places where cartilage should have been has always sounded disturbing. Nevertheless, he avoided paying attention to such things. He had other goals to care about, other things to pursue. Thinking so far for something that usually occurred with old age was none of his business. But something else at this point strikes him. He's never really stopped to consider if animals were capable of suffering from the same corrosion, whiskers twitching curiously when the child speaks. This was one of Pincher's children, the one he had had with someone who everyone thought was now dead.

His sanguine gaze flickers to the male's introduction of himself. Peppino or Pip. It was interesting to hear that the young boy was interested in becoming part of the black mambas, remembering the announcement the Captain had called not too long ago. "Sage tryouts are currently goin' on so you could participate, Pipsqueak." He couldn't help but add 'squeak' at the end of his name. It doesn't take the Reaver long, however, to notice the number of pirates beginning to crowd. He tries not to frown, not wishing to appear like one of the fools standing around for the sake of social interaction. He was only here because he wanted to one up on Owen, roll his eyes at the prehistoric male for asking such a pointless question. The answer was obvious. Deciding that there is little point in staying around, he dips his head (albeit awkwardly) before saying "Bakugou" to introduce himself and then promptly leaving to go about his daily business.

The mixed pup's tail gave several quiet wags in response to the husky, and he ducked his head a bit in the pretense of looking at the textbook again. "It's not that difficult once you practice!" Pip asserted, glancing back up once he assumed he had his sheepishness under control. The husky introduced himself as Victor, with a surname he wasn't certain he could repeat. Sometimes names were more complicated to say than medical words, especially when he didn't know the languages they were from. But that was a goal for...later. Far in the future, once he learned all he could about taking care of people. "I'm Pip. I don't think you want my full name." Not with all his last names- it was a bit of a mouthful for even Peppino.

His ears perked when he noticed Goldie approaching slowly. He'd heard about what The Pitt had done, and though he knew it wasn't his fault, he felt terribly guilty seeing her wounded. He couldn't help, because he was only learning, but there were other people who could manage. What Pip hadn't heard, however, was one of the other effects of Stryker. Confusion flickered across his features when she introduced herself. Pip didn't think she was joking, and he looked to the people around him, silently asking why his half-sister did not know him. Maybe- maybe stress had her forget a few faces? Pip wasn't around all that often, but then she didn't seem to recognize anyone other than the feline second in talking to him. "It's me, Pip. Your brother." He glanced down at the book, eyes weighted.

He attempted a smile for the griffon, though it was lackluster. "It is training, just a different kind," the canine answered, not quite as lightly as he meant to. He kept glancing at Goldie, concern wrinkling his young face. "It's all  right. I don't mind talking to you guys." Pip watched the crow land on the griffon's head, a pretty bird for certain. "I'm Pip, if you didn't hear." Feliks and Loki. He would do his best to remember all these names.

The first feline speaking again drew his mismatched gaze, though it was information Pip knew of. He hadn't known whether to put himself forward for training. He was the leader's son- he just didn't want anyone to think that was why, so Pip had resolved himself to working harder. If he was accepted, it would be for his aptitude, nothing else, but he didn't think the feline wanted to hear that, so he just nodded a bit. Pipsqueak. That worked with his name, didn't it? "Bye, Bakugou," Pip called, watching him leave. He probably did have better things to do than sit around a reading child. All of them likely did, actually.
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