07-12-2018, 04:23 PM
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Though she loathed Caesar's presence, her hatred stalled just enough to allow her to listen to him about important matters. Whatever creature ended up washed up at their shores held enough problems in their paws without adding 'absent medic' to the list. Gathering a quick bundle of supplies in her satchel, the spotted wildcat trotted to the patch of land Paper dragged their visitor to, either following Caesar's instructions or the lemonhead himself if he bothered to guide her.
"Thanks, Paper," she spoke with a nod, her auxiliary gaze making eye contact with the canine while her main pair appraised the work to do. All things considered, she supposed the woman seemed in good shape. Her niece turned up with worse injuries all the time - which scared Rosemary, not that she wanted to compound another's problems with her own silly emotional reactions - so a deep slash, licked clean by the ocean, relieved her. If she needed to treat third degree burns again, she'd throw a fit.
Bristling with agitation at the telepathic words, the ocelot held herself back from smacking the smaller domestic feline out of reflex. Telepathic contact, as intimate a connection it was, only seemed suitable between those with the strongest of bonds - like her family in her coven. Not with some completely unknown stranger. It felt violating to feel another's magic touch her mind without her consent. Slamming down her mental guards against her mind, she lowly hissed, "Speak physically if you are able." By the way she spoke, that clearly wasn't a suggestion - it was an order, which seemed almost an unthinkable thing to come from the reclusive witch's tongue.
Jaw clenched, she noticed how soaked Solveig was. How annoying - she wanted a blanket, but that would simply get soaked from the cold water already on her. Raising her paw, she took her easier route of simply raising the water around Solveig to the outside temperature. Given they lived in the tropics during summertime, that seemed warm enough. "You're in the Typhoon, and I really doubt you'll want a blanket for long - we're in the middle of the tropics," she answered, still frosty about the mental words. Rosemary spoke with an air of aloofness as usual, so the increased agitation caused a subtle change and added nothing remarkable to her tone.
Dabbing her pawpad lightly in one of her tin containers, she attempted to smear a thick paste over Solveig's wound. As far as she could tell, the ocean picked the wound clean of any nasty debris and its position on the domestic feline's shoulder prevented it from getting dirtied from the beach or Paper's efforts to move her - so just applying her marigold-goldenrod ointment seemed the best. Flicking her forked tail, she started to bandage the wound, obviously too focused on her work to provide proper bedside manner.
"Thanks, Paper," she spoke with a nod, her auxiliary gaze making eye contact with the canine while her main pair appraised the work to do. All things considered, she supposed the woman seemed in good shape. Her niece turned up with worse injuries all the time - which scared Rosemary, not that she wanted to compound another's problems with her own silly emotional reactions - so a deep slash, licked clean by the ocean, relieved her. If she needed to treat third degree burns again, she'd throw a fit.
Bristling with agitation at the telepathic words, the ocelot held herself back from smacking the smaller domestic feline out of reflex. Telepathic contact, as intimate a connection it was, only seemed suitable between those with the strongest of bonds - like her family in her coven. Not with some completely unknown stranger. It felt violating to feel another's magic touch her mind without her consent. Slamming down her mental guards against her mind, she lowly hissed, "Speak physically if you are able." By the way she spoke, that clearly wasn't a suggestion - it was an order, which seemed almost an unthinkable thing to come from the reclusive witch's tongue.
Jaw clenched, she noticed how soaked Solveig was. How annoying - she wanted a blanket, but that would simply get soaked from the cold water already on her. Raising her paw, she took her easier route of simply raising the water around Solveig to the outside temperature. Given they lived in the tropics during summertime, that seemed warm enough. "You're in the Typhoon, and I really doubt you'll want a blanket for long - we're in the middle of the tropics," she answered, still frosty about the mental words. Rosemary spoke with an air of aloofness as usual, so the increased agitation caused a subtle change and added nothing remarkable to her tone.
Dabbing her pawpad lightly in one of her tin containers, she attempted to smear a thick paste over Solveig's wound. As far as she could tell, the ocean picked the wound clean of any nasty debris and its position on the domestic feline's shoulder prevented it from getting dirtied from the beach or Paper's efforts to move her - so just applying her marigold-goldenrod ointment seemed the best. Flicking her forked tail, she started to bandage the wound, obviously too focused on her work to provide proper bedside manner.
I FEEL SO HUNGRY —
— Dear diary, I don't know what's going on, but something's up / The dog won't stop barking, and I think my TV is bust / Every channel is the same, it's sending me insane / And earlier somebody bit me, what a fucking day / The sky is falling / It's fucking boring / I'm going braindead, isolated / God is a shithead / And we're his rejects / Traumatized for breakfast / I can't stomach any more survival horror / Dear diary, I feel itchy like there's bugs under my skin / The dog's gone rabid (shut the fuck up) / Doing my head in —— WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?