| [Jul. 3rd, 2008|01:52 am] |
Tsume just stared at him with dubious amusement when he started spouting compliments--about her brilliance, no less--then shook her head and huffed a laugh. "Sure, Coyot. You keep me around, and I'll keep pointing out the obvious." She unpacked first aid gear while he shifted, then moved around to look at his leg.
She batted his hand away from the edges, curling over to sniff the wound. It didn't smell like poison, or like rot--and now that he'd cleaned the worst of the black ooze off his hands, she could actually tell that. No grape infection scent, either. "If you don't bleed to death, I think you'll live," she said with a flash of teeth up at him. Her grin widened. "Nice job, rookie." Not that he'd acted the part, but occasionally you had to get a word or two in where possible. The compliments she didn't understand brought out the evil in her. Men complimented when they were flirting, and she didn't want him flirting. Except it was nice, and she did. She was confused. He smelled good.
Either way, poking at him occasionally was good for him. Built character or somesuch.
"Hang on, this'll sting," she muttered, then smeared antibacterial cream over the long gash and pinched the edges together over the bulky muscle of his calf. The glue was thick, pressed out of a compact tube in a thin line. She took a breath, blew on it to speed up the drying process, and sat back. His skin felt warm against her fingertips.
The glue stopped the bleeding, staved off infection, and worked almost as well as stitches. Tsume eyed the hole in her bicep and wondered how much the medics would yell at her for sealing in possible infection if she glued that closed, too... It was really starting to hurt.
Sure that Ryouma's leg wasn't going to open back up, she lifted the tube--crotchticks, and her other shoulder was really starting to hurt, too, but there was no skin left to glue shut--and squirted some onto the still-bleeding hole. It wasn't too bad, really. The senbon had mostly passed through flesh, barely nicking the muscle.
Kuromaru lay down, belly up to show off a long line of blood-matted hair across his ribs. "Who cares where they've been?" he asked happily. "I know where they went. Meat is always better freshly-killed." He twisted further to expose his injured back leg. It flopped awkwardly, and Tsume suspected something important was torn. "Unless you wanted some...? I buried the rest for later, but I could dig it up for you."
"Don't be gross," Tsume growled, brushing a hand carefully over his knee. The injury was higher; she slid up to his hip. "You're not coming back for your kill."
Kuromaru went silent. The silence of a five-year-old child plotting the best way to get candy... Tsume ignored him. They'd be out of range within a day, regardless.
"How much does that hurt?"
Kuromaru whined.
With a sigh, she removed her hand and sat back. "All right. Let me finish with the Coyot, here, and I'll bind it. Sound good?"
"No," Kuromaru griped, but he rolled to his side to wait, broad tongue scraping over a bloody paw.
She shouldn't sniff Ryouma for injuries, really. She told herself that only after she'd started at his neck, head sweeping down his chest, the ceramic scent of armor mingling with everything else. But there was definitely more blood.
Tsume paused, sat up and away so she could no longer feel his body heat, and cleared her throat. She gave him a sheepish smile. "I suppose you could just tell me where you're hurt..." |
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