12-27-2018, 04:24 PM
This freakout was the second most amusing thing that had happened this month, although of course, this scenario lost to the entire Rosebloods dilemma. Nothing could top the sheer amount of hilarity the interaction provided, and when reflecting in hindsight, Beck laughed until his broken ribs splintered even further. After all, what else could be done besides laugh?
Seeing as restless spirits naturally were forbidden from sleep, Beck resigned to continuing his daily work into the midnight hours. By the time Crow zipped past his blurred vision, he was focused on fashioning guppy-shaped beads from the bones of a catfish with his trusted dagger, stringing the finished beads in a strand with hollowed shells and sea glass spacing them apart. While the silver tabby sprinting past him with his tail tucked between scurrying legs threatened to release a fit of giggles from the poltergeist, the trail of blood in his wake turned his snickering into an exasperated sigh, and he begrudgingly set down his project to address the situation. That was a medic's responsibility after all.
Beck took his time limping after the raving feline, partially because his fractured ankle decided to wobble and buckle under more pressure than a clumsy trot, and because he could already see the distorted silhouette of Kiira approaching with the so-claimed "princess" in tow. Flopping back onto his haunches a distance away from Perpetualpaw considering Kiira managed to blip onto the Crow's rooftop, the boy scratched his notched ear with a hind foot and croaked up to his fellow medic, "Think he's got a bro-oken, broken nose?" From his viewpoint, nearsighted eyes failed to discern any visible bruising on Crow's snout, but judging by the amount of blood present, it was possible. The dark-furred cat scowled inwardly to himself, recalling the sharp crack of cartilage as an older urchin's elbow rammed into his face. All over a crust of bread, if he remembered correctly. It hurt like hell, he was sure of that. The crooked nosed kid soon became his label, albeit not for long when other scars began to accumulate. The tip of his muzzle still slightly jutted sideways to this day -- violently shaking his head to refocus, Beck wheezed to Crow, "If you're st-till bleedin', pinch your nose 'n' lean forward." Was he even lucid? Judging by the reek of alcohol in the air, he doubted Crow could understand him. Oh well, at least he tried, right?
[align=center]»――➤Seeing as restless spirits naturally were forbidden from sleep, Beck resigned to continuing his daily work into the midnight hours. By the time Crow zipped past his blurred vision, he was focused on fashioning guppy-shaped beads from the bones of a catfish with his trusted dagger, stringing the finished beads in a strand with hollowed shells and sea glass spacing them apart. While the silver tabby sprinting past him with his tail tucked between scurrying legs threatened to release a fit of giggles from the poltergeist, the trail of blood in his wake turned his snickering into an exasperated sigh, and he begrudgingly set down his project to address the situation. That was a medic's responsibility after all.
Beck took his time limping after the raving feline, partially because his fractured ankle decided to wobble and buckle under more pressure than a clumsy trot, and because he could already see the distorted silhouette of Kiira approaching with the so-claimed "princess" in tow. Flopping back onto his haunches a distance away from Perpetualpaw considering Kiira managed to blip onto the Crow's rooftop, the boy scratched his notched ear with a hind foot and croaked up to his fellow medic, "Think he's got a bro-oken, broken nose?" From his viewpoint, nearsighted eyes failed to discern any visible bruising on Crow's snout, but judging by the amount of blood present, it was possible. The dark-furred cat scowled inwardly to himself, recalling the sharp crack of cartilage as an older urchin's elbow rammed into his face. All over a crust of bread, if he remembered correctly. It hurt like hell, he was sure of that. The crooked nosed kid soon became his label, albeit not for long when other scars began to accumulate. The tip of his muzzle still slightly jutted sideways to this day -- violently shaking his head to refocus, Beck wheezed to Crow, "If you're st-till bleedin', pinch your nose 'n' lean forward." Was he even lucid? Judging by the reek of alcohol in the air, he doubted Crow could understand him. Oh well, at least he tried, right?