The Morning After [Max+Skipp/Open]

[Maxodis]

“Its not my ‘abit t’invite threats t’live wi’ me an’ mine.”

Redin shook the otter's calloused paw in his own as he considered these words. The other had a firm, confident grip, to be certain. If there was any question as to this creature's familiarity with violence, the strength in his grip dissuaded it. The weasel returned the pawshake in kind, his head tilting curiously to the side, his voice dropping to a low murmur as his smile withered slightly. "Threat.... eh? Tha's a rather 'igh accusation, Skipper. I ain't so certain I'll be able t'live up t'yer expectations.

He released the other's paw as the otter stepped back, finding amusement in the creature's dark disinterest. The weasel leaned lightly against the doorway, his arms crossing lazily across his chest as he studied the Skipper for a few brief moments. The grin slowly crept back onto his features, his tail idly swishing from side to side behind him. "An' wot if yer right 'bout me, eh? Tha's th' real question, innit? If'n I turn out t'be a threat, as y'say, wotcha gonna do 'bout it? Answer carefully otter, coz I ain't gonna ferget wot yew say next."

[Tirael]

His ever-ready bag of supplies in paw, Tirael trudged back up the stairs, already feeling somewhat tired. It was far too early to be juggling everybeast in this situation, especially given that he'd had no time to snatch up a breakfast. Maybe I'll get lucky with them, he thought. Once he heard whistling, though, he entered a much less optimistic state of mind. The best case he'd been hoping for would be a wary, yet open reaction from his father; instead, he and Redin had stumbled across sneeze-the-wrong-way-and-your-carcass-hangs-over-our-gate Skipp.

Glancing dispiritedly at the older otter as they passed at the top of the stairs, the healer turned back toward Redin. "Thank you for keeping the body count to a minimum. If I recall correctly, that's a breakthrough on both your parts." Transferring his attention to a search through his satchel, he indicated a chair inside the bedroom with a tilt of his head. "Sit there, I'll redo your bandage first." While it may have seemed like Sleet would receive priority treatment, her heart was beating a lot slower than the weasel's; therefore, his blood loss was now more of an issue than hers, which was under control anyways. Healing materials at the ready, he looked up at Redin. "Okay, let's do this."

[Maxodis]

Redin chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly in disbelief as the Skipper of Otters sauntered away. He would do what he had to, and what that meant depended on his action. Watching the creature disappear around a corner, the weasel recalled some of the hateful glares that he had received the night previous. Certainly the otter had his suspicions, but it was more than likely that there were others who were more certain of Redin's atrocities, who were less inclined to let the weasel be until he stepped the wrong way. In a situation like that, he would have no choice but to defend himself. Keeping Sleet and himself unharmed, however, felt like an open excuse for the distrustful otter to 'do what he had to'. His eyes falling on the approaching Tirael, with the memory of his momentary lapse in control still fresh, the weasel decided he would rather not contemplate the results of such an encounter.

"Thank you for keeping the body count to a minimum. If I recall correctly, that's a breakthrough on both your parts."

Following the small creature inside and closing the door once more behind him, Redin laughed mirthlessly. "Aye, th' very figure o' 'ospitality, tha'un. Does 'e also do parties?"

"Sit there, I'll redo your bandage first."

The heavily scarred weasel had half a mind to tell the otter no, that no matter what tricks he pulled from his bag of supplies there would be nothing that he could do that hadn't already been tried by the weasel himself to get the wound to heal, before he remembered the half-tourniquet he had improvised to slow his blood flow. He flexed his paw, inwardly wincing at the slight numbness he felt there, and decided it would be worth a shot. With a silent shrug, he eased himself into the indicated chair. If the otter was like the other healers that the weasel had dealt with, then arguing with him would be a long and pointless matter, one that could not be so easily solved with an act of aggression as the others had.

"Okay, let's do this."

With a soft noise of indifference, Redin offered his right arm to the otter, the bandage wrapped around his bicep now mostly red with his blood. He turned his head away, his face blank as he stared at the wall instead. He could smell the blood already, hear the urgent pull of his mind commanding him to indulge in at least that much, if he were to continue to deny himself its taste. He shut his eyes, shaking his head to dispel the unnatural thoughts. The other quieted, at least slightly. The sooner this was done with the better. "Well?" He asked impatiently, still staring at the opposite wall. " 'ave at it, 'ealer."

[Tirael]

"Well?" He asked impatiently, still staring at the opposite wall. " 'ave at it, 'ealer."

Ignoring Redin's impatience, Tirael set to work carefully. Slowly unwinding the bandages, he subconsciously shook his head at the rather improvised job the weasel had done on himself. Trying to stop blood flow would be futile if the wound wasn't closing up. To that end, Tirael cleaned the wound and took out a needle. "Try not to move you arm," he cautioned, and began to stitch the wound shut.

As he worked, the otter began to feel uncomfortable with the silence in the room. Redin was just...staring. At nothing. It was creeping Tirael out somewhat, and he was relieved when he finally tied off the stitching. Grabbing a length of cloth, he said, "Here, you'll need to keep that arm in a sling until the wound closes up."

[Maxodis]

"Try not to move you arm,"

The weasel hardly heard him, his concentration focused on other things. To another creature less familiar with pain and how to manage it, the ordeal of having the respectable wound stitched shut would be a frustratingly painful endeavor, accentuated by much wincing, silent curses, and complaints. This reaction did not come so easily to Redin. To be certain, he did indeed feel the inflamed nerves of the wound make their displeasure known when the otter cleaned it just as he felt the sharp stabs of pain whenever another stitch was made in his skin, but such frail pain simply could not draw any instinctive reactions from him anymore. So as the healer worked, Redin sat disturbingly still, without even the slightest of acknowledgements to the work being done to his arm. His mind was busy at another task.

His improvised bandage off and discarded, the scent of his blood had reached his nostrils with full force. The weasel had half a mind to request that the otter give him a cloth soaked in a strong-smelling liquid so that he did not have to deal with that torment. His addiction to blood was resurfacing again, the voice in his head finished with its soft persuasion, instead harshly demanding that he satisfy its raw need. He craved blood, no matter whose it was, even his own. Or at least, some part of him lusted after it. His eyes shut tightly against the torment inside, he could feel his will beginning to break when the otter's voice reached him, as if from a distance.

"Here, you'll need to keep that arm in a sling until the wound closes up."

His eyes snapped open as reality settled back in place, the turmoil of his mind dying down to a distant roar. The weasel released a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding, unclenching his paws when he realized they were balled into tight fists. He turned his head to look at Tirael, in his disorientation still lost as to what the little creature was talking about. When his eyes fell upon the stitched wound and the length of cloth he made the connection, and his ears immediately flattened against his skull in disgust. For a second time the thought of obstinately arguing against the otter's medical advice came to mind: Redin had lived through a countless number of similar wounds, the staggering amount of scars on his body attested to that. Was he not capable of telling the otter to tie a loop with the cloth and hang himself with it instead? Apparently not, as his own solutions to the problem of healing his injury had proved fruitless.

"Sure," he spat with distaste, glancing away again with frustration. "jes 'urry it up an' be done wit it, y'got more 'mportant things t'do."

[Tirael]

"Sure," he spat with distaste, glancing away again with frustration. "jes 'urry it up an' be done wit it, y'got more 'mportant things t'do."

Tirael ignored Redin's displeasure at being forced to use a sling; there had not been a single instance in the otter's life when anybeast was happy with the idea--including himself. But it wasn't a treatment he simply threw around, and he was far past caring if it wasn't fun. Setting the weasel's arm in the cloth, he took a last glance at his work before turning to treat Sleet. After unwrapping the bandaging and removing the old poultice, he examined what he'd treated the previous night. Her wound, now relatively poison-free, was healing nicely; all the better for her progressing recovery. At least she wasn't leaking everywhere like Redin had been.

"What do you plan to do when she wakes up?" he asked as he mashed together a fresh compound for the unconscious ferret. "I doubt either of you will listen when I say she needs to rest for a while."

[Maxodis]

"What do you plan to do when she wakes up? I doubt either of you will listen when I say she needs to rest for a while."

The weasel chuckled softly to himself, rising from the chair and slowly walking about the room. He tried to ignore the unfamiliar tug of cloth from the sling tied behind his neck, silently wondering at how such a thing could be irritating when he had become so familiar to the cold weight of the chain that usually rest there. "Wot do I plan t'do? Well otter, if'n ye knew Sleet like I do, then yew'd know that me plan is 'ighly dependent on wot sorta mood she wakes up in." Leaning his back against the wall on the opposite side of the bed, he regarded the healer as the creature worked. "Were it any other 'ccasion, I'd start runnin'. But if'n ye say she's gotta rest, well..." His idle grin faded slightly, and he turned his head to face Tirael. "Tha's another matter."

Redin was silent for several moments, his eyes falling to the sleeping figure in the bed, particularly the gash on her shoulder. She certainly hadn't collapsed from blood loss, the wound was hardly bleeding at all. Logic would have told him it was exertion that caused her to lose consciousness, but that didn't explain her high fever. Still, the Weasel found it far from believable that anybeast had managed to poison her, or that she had become ill. Such things simply didn't happen to the ferret. His eyes rising once more to Tirael's, they held a dim sort of curiosity as his deep voice carried softly in the quiet of the room. "Wot 'appened to 'er, 'ealer? Did she tell yew?"

[Tirael]

"Wot do I plan t'do? Well otter, if'n ye knew Sleet like I do, then yew'd know that me plan is 'ighly dependent on wot sorta mood she wakes up in."

Redin's deference to what Sleet would want came as a faint surprise to Tirael; though she had put herself in charge of the weasel the last time he'd seen them together, that had been a very...unusual circumstance. Then again, what Tirael thought of as unusual and what these two did were probably vastly different concepts.

"Were it any other 'ccasion, I'd start runnin'. But if'n ye say she's gotta rest, well..." His idle grin faded slightly, and he turned his head to face Tirael. "Tha's another matter."

Tirael paused, raised an eyebrow, and turned to look at Redin for a moment. Either he was pulling his leg, or somebeast had actually accepted two of his medical orders in the same day. Not bad.

"Wot 'appened to 'er, 'ealer? Did she tell yew?"

Binding on the new poultice, Tirael shrugged. "Not in detail. Between feverish rambling and passing out, she didn't have much time for explanation. As far as I can tell, she was poisoned." Standing up, he turned back to Redin. "Well, that should do it for both of you. If she wakes up, or you need anything, just ask for me." After a moment, he said, "So...okay. Bye." And, feeling rather awkward, he slipped out of the room and walked hurriedly toward the stairs. With any luck, breakfast would be waiting for him and he could try to get his day back on a normal track.

[[That's all I got.]]

[Maxodis]

"Not in detail. Between feverish rambling and passing out, she didn't have much time for explanation. As far as I can tell, she was poisoned."

Redin took this news without much reaction, closing his eyes as he set his head back against the cold stone wall. Absently, his fist clenched tightly within the sling. Poisoned. There were few creatures he'd heard of who knew anywhere near as much about poisons as Sleet did. It was highly likely that she knew far more than she even began to let on. She had long since become immune to most conventional poisons, and had a working knowledge of how to formulate quick antidotes for those more of a more exotic and rare variety. So why was she here? It was highly likely that the poison that had been used against her was one that would have killed or incapacitated any lesser creature, so her rapidly improving health was at least good news. It was likely the only good news, if her assailant had been in any way linked to those who had found him.

"Well, that should do it for both of you. If she wakes up, or you need anything, just ask for me... So...okay. Bye."

His eyes slid to the otter as the door was shutting behind him. Healer or not, Redin had the distinct impression that the younger otter's proposed hospitality would be intercepted by his father. He offered no farewell, the younger creature was more than eager to be off, and the Weasel felt he needed some quiet time to think.

Hearing the otter's footsteps retreating down the hallway, he sat down on the side of the ferret's bed, feeling tired, worn, and as had begun to occur more frequently, old. Still young, the weasel was painfully aware that his best years were behind him. His energy was not as boundless as it once was, and he began to wonder how much longer it would be before he would have trouble keeping pace with his assassin companion. Once she woke up. He sat there for what felt like an eternity, lost within forlorn thoughts before 'once she woke up' flashed abruptly across his consciousness. He recalled the state of her clothing and sat bolt upright.

Aware that it was likely that she could awake at any moment, the weasel quickly threw off the covers, shamelessly removing his arm from the sling as he worked to fit her pants back upon her limp figure. He succeeded, although with no small amount of cursing or effort. Returning her unconscious form to a more comfortable position and covering her with the sheet, tucking her in far more tightly than was necessary(He figured it would buy him a few seconds to run if he sensed danger when she awoke.), he dragged the chair he had left outside back within the room, laden with the breakfast tray. Balancing the tray on his lap as he ate, he propped the chair back against the door and waited.

((Bleh. Done. Now get off my lawn.))