LANDSLIDE | check ups

[gael]

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♛ GAEL Ó BROIN

Natural disasters came with a habit of ruining the schedule -- the vulpine faced them down before, many times.  Gael knew better than to despair for shifting plans.  After all, it hardly meant they would never come to fruition.

The tremors caused enough damage on their own, before the sandstorm picked up and ruined the 'safety' of the desert.  Amidst all the chaos, the worst moment remained finding Aine trapped beneath a tree near her garden.  The faerie knew how to handle the trembling earth, the raising sand -- the threat of losing his only child frightened him more than it all.

She survived, albeit with injuries to carry -- wounds she insisted did not bother her.  Gael felt his ire growing the more time passed; the child avoiding his eye despite an obvious limp in her step.

Rather than waste his time, the Vicar decided there may be others who were injured in the disaster -- clanmates who felt less stubborn or squeamish about seeing their wounds healed.  She just doesn't want me to set it because she knows it will hurt -- as though she was not making the pain worse by avoiding him.

The faerie furrowed his brows as he set up a small tending area within the marketplace -- gathering the supplies they stored within the Event Temple, Gael focused particularly on first aid.  They could hold more regular checkups at a later time.

The sight of his moving between the marketplace and temple appeared to catch his daughter's eye, though he failed to resist a frown.  He knew, however, this may be his best opportunity to finally examine her injuries in full.

"You can help, but only if you let me treat you as well," he emphasized, cold and to the point -- there would be no arguing this time.  "And you will not put weight on that leg.  Your job is to help diagnose and pass me what I need, okay?"

Trusting in her compassion for the others, the faerie set to finishing the organization of his supplies -- pushing them close to her for easy reach.  With Aine acting as an assistant, the operation would be more fluid at least, though he could feel the displeased gaze sinking into his fur.

At last, Gael rose to his paws and lifted his accented voice, "if you were injured during the tremors, come here for treatment!"

"ISN'T IT LOVELY?" —-- gael ó broin / faerie / vicar / lamby

[Atticus Roux]

Since his leave from Tanglewood and Ivan's recent attack, Atticus had never attended to his wounds. While Moth had taught him medicine, he was never proficient in dealing with his own wounds. At least not as damning as his mangled ear. Even staring into the bloodbath river's mirroring properties did not help. The boy could barely see where he applied globs of paste or what wounds were infected in the water's wavy mirror. It caused him great dismay. He cursed himself frequently, living up to his brother's expectations by being a 'problem.' A failure even. With his frustration growing, he knew it was time to reach out for help.

Still unfamiliar with The Pitt's territory, the boy aimlessly wandered through the jungle temples and throughout the camp with eyes peeled and ears (or what was left of them) pointed up. Soon enough, the vicar's accented tone rang out. His attention redirected towards Gael. Earlier he wondered who healed here and his question was finally answered, allowing him to let out a sigh of relief.

He meandered over towards the fox, offering a stiff nod in greeting. "Can you help me with this?" A weary paw motioned towards his infected ear which was beginning to scab over and then to the fresh wounds on his face, along with his flank.

[aine.]

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I'll come back when you call me

Aine knew she was being stubborn.  Knew it was... Not smart.  But she also knew it hurt and she didn't want to think about it and she didn't want anyone to mess with it.  Unfortunately, she also knew her father would continue to serve frustrated looks until she either cooperated or he found a way to corner her.

Cornered.  The petite vixen had been watching her father, hazel hues slowly brightening at the thought of being helpful.  Only for conditions to apply.  Her ears flicked backwards, teeth catching on the inside of her cheek.  Mutely, the fae sat down, head bowed as she studied the supplies closest to her.  Vials of marigold poultice.  Bandages.  First aid.

As a patient arrived, Aine tilted her chin, the gears inside of her mind already turning.  "... Y-your ear," she murmured with concern.  Infection was already setting in there.  She furrowed her brow and passed a vial of the infection ointment to her father.  He'd only recently taught her how to prepare that too.

For the rest, she passed the marigold poultice, still avoiding her father's eye.

— aine | the pitt | commodore of the crows | fae druid —

[Luciferr]

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This is not your grave,
but you are welcome in it

They and not been touched by the tremors - they had not been here for most of them - but frankly it was hard to tell what ‘healthy’ looked like on them.

They decidedly never looked healthy as it was - unnatural rather.

Their silent presence remained however, perhaps curious about the goings on or bored alone, as they sat in the shadows, the thin stretches of light warping oddly on their form.

Eyeless pits watched the flesh mender and the living carcasses he treated and thought how much better it would be if they let them offer their - help.

But it did not,

Not many wished for its brand of help, pity.
(Many minds often screamed that before they were its)

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TAGS - ??? [9FT MYTH] - PITT - ART IS MINE

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[gael]

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♛ GAEL Ó BROIN

The vulpine felt downtrodden eyes sink into his fur but inclined his head away, firm in his command.  Swiftly, his attention shifted, hearing his own thought voiced quietly by his daughter.  Atticus' ear presented the most concern of his injuries.

"Infection has already set in," he pointed out, straight to the point though he decided to keep a gentle tone.  With care he'd reach out to apply the ointment over the child's ear.  "This will fight it, but you should check in with myself or Aine for a few days so we can reapply and make sure it's healing, okay?"

Smoothly, he began examining the rest of the youth's injuries, nodding in affirmation when Aine passed him the marigold.  With the same precision he began to apply the poultice over the wounds, ear flicking. 

"These should heal over just fine -- if any of them do start to bother you though, see one of us."

The faerie noticed the shadow observing, though it did not speak.  Inquisitively, the vicar turned his sharp gaze towards the unusual creature -- without a baseline, discerning injuries or a need for concern came as an impossibility.

"If there's anything bothering you Silentgrave, I don't mind offering my help."  It was only polite -- truthfully, Gael hardly minded the challenge; better to understand Silentgrave sooner than later, in case something did ever happen to them.

"ISN'T IT LOVELY?" —-- gael ó broin / faerie / vicar / lamby

[Luciferr]

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This is not your grave,
but you are welcome in it

The creature’s jaws ground together in thought before they parted to word whatever the strange horror wished to say.

”no flesh need mending” seemed to be its abject dismissal of the need for any help but it moved forward to fairly look over the smaller Pittian.

”but no shape does the healer know, is unwise” which seemed to be an allowance for a brief check over perhaps if given the thing’s eerie way of seeming to know the directions of various thoughts would indicate.

That or the healers it had known - consumed - gleaned that flesh menders likes to have a ‘baseline’ of sorts.

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TAGS - ??? [9FT MYTH] - PITT - ART IS MINE

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© LEXASPERATED

[Atticus Roux]

With Aine's arrival, Atticus turned his head. She stumbled over her words in concern, eyes growing wide. Ashamed, his head lowered in defeat. The kitten didn't want to talk about it. "Yeah, I know," he lowly groaned in response. Amber eyes focused on the floor, noticing the vial being passed out of the corner of his eye.

An arrogant growl left Atticus. "Infection," he spat.. The grey tabby seethed in his spot furiously, despite Gael's calming narrative. The boy was clearly upset that his own attempts to fix his wound failed (even possibly causing his gash to grow worse). His ears fell back towards head, but it did not stop the fox applying his ointment. Feeling the cool mixture of herbs hit his wound, he let out a subtle sigh and close his eyes. 'Failure...'

About to step away with gaze set in the distance, the Vicar smeared marigold pulp abruptly onto his sides. Despite his anger, he continued speaking in a calm tone. "Thank you," came his mutter. "I'll make sure to check in when I can." For a moment, he stared down at his covered wounds, only to look back up at Gael. He didn't have much else to say... unless the Vicar also attended to mental wounds.