BLOOD ON MY NAME | open + injury

[BASTILLEPAW]

Bastille rarely, if ever, seemed to get injured. They weren't exactly a warring bunch, so it's not like he had plentiful raids to engage in, but beyond that -- well, he wasn't clumsy. He excelled when it came to combat, and rarely came away from training with more than a few bruises. (Which wasn't to say that Luna wasn't a tough opponent -- she was. He just had the advantage of inherenting Echo's deadly precision and skill.) There wasn't much that could leave the boy bloody, in sum, and yet... Well, here he was. Covered in blood, with vaguely darker clumps matting his side in the impression of a wound there. It was hard to tell, really, where he was bleeding from -- there was just so much of it, but he rolled up in the Observatory with a vaguely bored look in spite of his injuries.

Evidently, he planned on patching himself up. He ignored the alarmed looks sent in his direction, and drawled lazily to one horrified onlooker, "Let's not overreact." He knew the basics, no need to upset everyone or hunt down Rad just to take care of this... mess. Skirting around the frazzled NPC, he headed for the herb supply, nonplussed.

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the ascendants — kuiper corporal — tags

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[Character Graveyard.]

LUNAFREYA N.F.

✯ — take these broken wings and learn to fly

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Luna had smelt blood from the Pebble Coast, as Bastille wasn't that far away from it. She had hurried to the scene and out of all of her Clanmates, there was her apprentice. Bleeding. She pushed her way through the large group of alarmed and horrified NPCs, the serval stopped in Bastillepaw's path.

"Search for Radeken. We need her over here." She said to the NPC next to her, who quickly scrambled away. "Where is your injury? You'll bleed out before you reach the herb storage if your injury's internal- so sit down."

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✯ — Luna. The Ascedants. Easy. — ✯

#psychosocial.

[Suiteheart]

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The Observatory was not as big of a building as everyone thought it to be. News spread like wild fire of Bastillepaw's injuries. It reached Suiteheart in no time, and to say the polar bear was alarmed would be an understatement. She cared for the young man deerly, and she did not want anything bad to befall him. However, just like with her own children, she seemed unable to protect him as well.

The bear's eyes darkened with worry when she spotted the boy. He seemed so indifferent, so calm about this whole situation. God, Suiteheart wished she could experience that sort of inner peace (ha, if only Bast actually had inner piece; his nonchalant actions were not because of his placid state of being, no - he just genuinely didn't give a shit). "What the fuck happened to you?" she asked, setting down the gauze and marigold she'd grabbed on her way towards him.

"Want me to fix you up, or can you?" she asked, voice gentle. She was calm because he was calm, but underneath her reserved exterior, her mind was whirling. The Ascendants were peaceful... Who could've done this?

"I think Rad's out right now, Luna. I can help him from here. Don't worry, either. If he's up and walking around like it's no big deal, I'm sure it's no big deal."

She hoped that anyway.

[BASTILLEPAW]

Bastille rolled his eyes skyward, and let out a groan as Luna came rushing over to him. Okay, so, maybe he wasn't going to sneak past everyone in peace. In fairness, he probably would have lost his shit had his mentor tried to tell him to leave her be as she took care of her wounds, but still. That was entirely different. For one thing, Luna had been kidnapped and he had not; for another, well. It just was, okay? Bastille had little justification for why he felt that he should be allowed to overreact and she shouldn't, and he, in fact, did not care.

Morose, he realized that he was unlikely to escape with both Luna and now Suite cornering him. Damnit. He eyed Suite accusing, as if she was somehow implicit in making a scene, but settled down to sit in front of her obediently once he realized there was no point in trying to fight it. "It's fine," he pointed out, as he clearly seemed fine, "Just a little, uh, run-in." He squinted slightly. He'd been intending to patch himself up, but, well. He figured life was easier when he didn't fight it. Sighing, he grumbled, "I guess you can. There's less blood than it actually looks like, seriously."

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the ascendants — cosmic general — tags

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[★ HAZEL]

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★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

Hazel was out in the field with Arion, not far from the observatory. The colt was once again, fast asleep, body splayed like he had been pushed straight over. Hazel sat at his tail, braiding wildflowers and small blossoms that bloomed just under the grass into the wiry strands, blissed and content. She had spent most of the day like that until an NPC or two rushed by, looking a bit spooked. Arion flailed as Hazel rose, knobby knees knocking together and head bobbing as he tried to balance his gangly weight. Hazel hesitated for a moment, disoriented as she tried to detach the sated comfort from her mind and figure out what the hell was going on.

It didn't take long before the girl was picking up her pace, a brisk patter of paws parting the grass as she made her way around the observatory and through the gardens to reach the commotion. There weren't many members: just Luna and Suite and someone else. But Luna looked worried and Suite mildly concerned. Hazel frowned, the sudden pull of tension in the air catching her attention almost as much as the sudden copper tang hit the roof of her mouth.

Immediately, Hazel halted, feeling the impending weight of memories pounding on the flood gates in her mind. She knew the images that lay behind those walls, and she squeezed her eyes shut, so desperately wanting to keep from drawing attention. She forced herself forward, swallowing against the copper coating the back of her tongue.

She blinked at the sight of icy blue eyes poking out of fur matted and clumped with blood. It was Bastille...? Somehow it both made and didn't make perfect sense, seeing as Bastille could seem so level headed at times and so chaotically unbalanced at others, like he was living life on the cusp of a gunshot. She could make out the level of concern she felt, though - she hardly knew him, and he seemed a little harsh at times, but she was still worried.

Her golden optics were carefully guarded, secretive and lacking their usual luster as she deemed that he wasn't in the immediate danger of dropping dead within the next few seconds. Gaze flicking up to his seemingly nonplussed expression, Hazel followed his words with slight suspicion. "Some run-in," She muttered as he kept talking. "Is it all yours?" She asked wearily, tail twitching with a steady tick. "Not that I wouldn't believe you if you said yes, but that's a lot of blood for you to still be standing." Part of Hazel felt horrendously guilty at prying, but the other part of her was on mental lockdown, just to keep the memories away.

★ — hazel — "speech" — seven months — the ascendants — tags — ★
c) miithers

[Margaery]

[color=#b14767] ❁  ❁  ❁

It was not a rare occurrence for Margaery to postpone feeding. Her conscience had a power over her that she simply could not resist and, in result, she often disregarded her hunger so that some stranger might live a little longer. But it had been a few days and she was halfway ravenous, only capable of maintaining her regal composure because she knew that she lacked the capacity to purposefully hurt any of her clanmates. That was, until the heavy scent of blood washed over her senses and caused her to temporarily lose her ability to reason, already dark eyes shifting to resemble that foreboding copper hue.

Like the well-trained predator she was, she quickly traced the source, silently creeping up upon the group. She saw Bastillepaw only as prey in that moment and, without so much as thinking about it, attempted to leap upon him. If she was successful, she would realize her mistake and, returning to coherence with a few blinks, turned a bright red as the reality of the situation hit her like a ton of bricks. [color=#b14767]"Bast... I...." She croaked out, though her eyes were still that blood-red shade. She supposed the only perk to her not feeding was her weakness- he could easily push her off of  him if he so desired. [color=#b14767]"I'm hungry."

[Character Graveyard.]

LUNAFREYA N.F.

✯ — take these broken wings and learn to fly

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"Bastille, we need to know who or what attacked you. And where were you attacked?" Luna would ask, narrowing her eyes. She cared about the young male so she hated to see him injured like this.

Alarm could be seen in her eyes when Margaery announced she was hungry. She couldn't blame the female for being a vampire, yet she was somewhat timid of what might happen if Margaery's hunger got too out of hand. "Margaery, you can have some of my blood instead."

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✯ — Luna. The Ascedants. Easy. — ✯

#psychosocial.

[Suiteheart]

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Despite the look he gave her, she was pleased to see him sit down. Dark eyes moved about the young boy, sizing up his injuries as she chewed on a bit of marigold. There was so much blood that caked Bastillepaw that she was having trouble seeing where all the wounds might have been. The only obvious one seemed to be the injury on his side. She cleaned the wound in a few moments before spreading the marigold around the site. Afterwards, she would place a wad of gauze there before wrapping the wad in place, around his midsection. It was somewhat sloppy, but it would do the work.

She remained silent as the others arrived and spoke, questioning the young male. All she could do was search for injuries. She couldn't seem to pinpoint any other locations for all the fucking blood. A grunt escape her lips at that. God, this kid was messy.

She nodded to Hazel's inquiry about whether or not all the blood was his. She hoped not. It made sense that it wasn't, for if this were all his, he would have passed out by now. No one could stand this much blood loss without having at least felt funny.

Suiteheart's attention then fell to Margaery. Suite held her breath, praying Marg could hold herself back. But it wasn't enough. In horror, she watched as the chocolate point jumped to pin the other. The bear instinctively tried to grab the feline in order to prevent it. "Marg. Stop." Her words were firm, weary. They were knowing, however, and sympathetic as well.

"Haze, Luna," she rumbled, "Please watch Margaery. She needs blood, but it's not a good idea for you to give her yours Luna. She... She can't truly control how she feeds." Her gaze hardened in worry. Her wife needed to feed, but not on her Clanmates. Not now, anyway.

She turned her eyes back to Bast, checking him to make sure Margaery had not further injured him in her pounce.

[BASTILLEPAW]

Okay, this was getting a little... out of hand. He eyed Hazel as she approached, but was pleased to see that she didn't seem too unsettled. There was something in her aura there that seemed a little off, but over all she seemed to be approaching this situation sensibly -- unlike everyone else, thank you very much. He shot her a roguish grin in response to her question, and drawled, "You got me, princess. It's not mine." He didn't seem in the slightest bit bothered by this assertion, and for good reason. He shrugged at Luna, looking unapologetic.

Suite had already started prodding at him with her herbs, and she was going to see at about this moment that it was so difficult to trace a wound because there wasn't one. The clumped fur on his side was just that: fur clumped together so thoroughly with blood that it appeared to be hiding a wound that wasn't there. Suite was right where he wanted her, though: the polar bear was too tall to reach her normally, but leaning over him like this? Bet. Gingerly, Bastille pressed a bloody paw against her neck as she worked. "You're dead," he said, smiling like a rotten fucking imp, but his victory was short lived.

Margy took him by surprise, which was... well, sloppy, on his part. He wasn't actually injured, however, and therefore the impact was more startling than painful. "Oh," he said as he blinked up at her, and then looked a little sheepish, "I figured you'd smell the difference. Sorry, Marg -- it's just bird. I thought you didn't like bird." Well, he'd tried to offer her bird before and she'd given him an odd look, so he figured this was a safe choice of prey to use for his ploy. Maybe she couldn't actually smell the difference, only taste it? Seemed fake but okay. (Hell, it was highly possible that any blood was enough to set her off, even if she didn't like the taste of it.)

As Suite retrieved her wife, he rolled to his paws and shook himself off slightly, but the blood seemed to have dried a bit in his fur. Damn. He wasn't anticipating that, and his plan was starting to dissolve into shit pretty quickly. "She can still have my blood, anyway. I didn't think the bird blood would set her off," he said, and made a face, "Actually, I didn't expect nearly as much of a scene." Was feigning injury exactly a good way to murder his target in a game? Probably not. Was he only just now realizing the problematic factor of his plan? Yup. Did he have any form of remorse? Vaguely.

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[Suiteheart]

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As she worked and worked and worked, trying to find a fucking injury, she came to realize there was nothing. Suiteheart ripped the bandage off marigold and gauze off of his side, pressing a paw there in its place. She expected to find a wound, but there was absolutely nothing. She narrowed her eyes just slightly. She was glad he was okay, but she was peeved he hadn't explained that not an ounce of this was his sooner. "Bast, what the -"

His bloody paw easily reached her neck as she had been bent over him. The crimson of the blood left an easily identifiable mark on her. The red stood out so brightly against the white, so there was no need in pretending it hadn't happened. "I hate you." Her voice was filled with amusement, however. Damn, he played her like a fucking fiddle.

Her eyes fell to Marg as he explained it was only bird blood. Confusion painted her snowy features for a fraction of a second, and Suiteheart couldn't help but wonder if now, Margaery could consume all types of blood. Then again, maybe it was just the simple sight of the red substance that caused her to react. Her wife was obviously starving. Surely, in that case, it was better to see it and act than to do nothing at all.
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