Okay. Stay with me. [she's thinking about weeks ago - weeks that feel like years - when he put her fingers back together for her, and she's trying to channel that.]
I won't make you talk. Your voice sounds horrible, you know that? You ought to let it rest.
[holds out a hand.]
Let me see what's most fucked up so I can make sure you don't bleed to death.
[ He's quiet for a moment. What even IS the most fucked up about him, he literally doesn't even know. They're all probably fairly equal.
...
But he does, after a moment, peel off his right glove and show her he is missing his ring finger! Wow. The nice thing is that it seems he already did some work bandaging it on his own, but not like. RIGHT NOW-level of fresh. A day old kind of new. ]
there's a little shaky sigh, and then - she settles down and carefully unbandages it so that she can clean it and re-bandage it.]
... Did you keep the finger? [she asks, glancing at him.] I don't think there's any chance I'm going to be able to reattach it like you did, and - well, you don't want the swamp, so I guess it doesn't matter.
His mind bursts into a spot of static and he huffs a noise that sounds a bit like a weak hysteric laugh. He's at his limit!!!!!! But it dies out just as fast, too exhausted.
Or actually, it's really more like any emotions he had simply blanks the fuck out into an odd calm and peace. ]
[she finishes bandaging his finger, and then taps the back of his hand gently. she's very, very tense, even though her expression doesn't betray that much.]
... Well. I wouldn't go that far. [she says, quietly.] It's not alright that you keep taking a beating.
[ Incredibly enough she's one of the rare people who seem to be allowed to manhandle him to some extent and see his injuries, at the least his upper body ones. He was wiping off the blood so his forearms are visible, having either ripped or cut off the already tattered front of them anyway. They've got bruises that could maybe be attributed to ropes or perhaps vines, with periodic deep, almost claw-like gouges here and there, although they seem to be healed enough to not be bleeding anymore. That's new, because she could probably tell he was still sluggishly bleeding when he first showed up.
He's got a pretty bad bruise on his throat. Looks almost... hand-shaped... woh... and his face sure is in a state. He's missing his eyepatch and his face has scratches, with a particularly nasty bunch over on the side with the missing eye, and blood around there too. ]
[she's careful with him, even so - he's trusting her with it, so she's respecting it as much as she can. she wipes the rest of the blood clear, cleans the gouges. wraps any of them that seem particularly awful, even if they're not bleeding.
the gouges make her frown the most, because she keeps seeing him scratch at his skin. she won't put the gloves back on him, if only because her goal is to get him as clean as she can. before, after execution, he wanted to be clean and in dry clothes, and that helped him, so - that's what she'll do. she'll get him new clothes. she'll try to get the blood out of his hair, she'll clean the blood off his face and around his eye.
her engine is whirring so loudly he can probably hear it thud and clunk. like a garbage disposal with a fork in it.]
[ Everyone underestimates the power of being in clean clothes... it do feel your mental health good...
He's pretty much entirely quiet during the whole process though, exceptionally calm throughout it all. Even his thoughts are exceptionally a calm sort of drone, albeit in a distant, almost stopped caring kind of way.
He absently flexes his hands, turning them over and looking at the bandaging in silence. ]
she figures the calm is just kind of like - all you can do. there's only so much trauma a person can take before they flatline a bit, and so while she's worried, she's not freaking out. her thoughts are just a mess of scribbles and anger.
when she's mostly finished, she leans back, giving him one more look over.]
in fact, all of this is worse! there's a burst of scribbled, angry thoughts, disjointed, furious that this is happening from her, and then she takes a deep breath and holds it.]
It does. It does matter. [if it's a little pleading, she can't help that so much.] ... I'll stay. I'll stay as long as I can.
I know I said you don't have to talk, but you can. You can talk to me.
It's not so much the content of the words, you know. It's me trying to share the awful with you, so it doesn't weigh you down as much.
[kneading at her chest as she speaks, breath a little short.]
It's a step towards something. We can figure out what to do with these with just a little more time. And - you got letters, yeah? Did you get letters? They're out there.
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she exhales, and looks him over.]
Okay. Stay with me. [she's thinking about weeks ago - weeks that feel like years - when he put her fingers back together for her, and she's trying to channel that.]
I won't make you talk. Your voice sounds horrible, you know that? You ought to let it rest.
[holds out a hand.]
Let me see what's most fucked up so I can make sure you don't bleed to death.
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...
But he does, after a moment, peel off his right glove and show her he is missing his ring finger! Wow. The nice thing is that it seems he already did some work bandaging it on his own, but not like. RIGHT NOW-level of fresh. A day old kind of new. ]
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there's a little shaky sigh, and then - she settles down and carefully unbandages it so that she can clean it and re-bandage it.]
... Did you keep the finger? [she asks, glancing at him.] I don't think there's any chance I'm going to be able to reattach it like you did, and - well, you don't want the swamp, so I guess it doesn't matter.
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[ The cat. ]
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Well. Fuck him. He should've given it back. Piece of shit puss. Fucker ought to leave you alone. [agitated tail flick.]
... I'm sorry if anything there looked like me and hurt you.
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...
I had to make a choice. To spare you, actually.
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... A choice? [she'd heard a little of his thought process earlier, but.]
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[ I gave a finger for that dog. ]
...Logically, I knew Pickles had already died. Weeks ago. I couldn't be certain that you wouldn't die then and there though.
...
[ But Laudna died too. She seems fine here... ]
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I wasn't there, I'm - I'm alright. [a beat.] But I'm sorry you had to make that choice. That's fucking impossible.
Laudna's okay. She's here too, alive and kicking. Just talked to her.
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His mind bursts into a spot of static and he huffs a noise that sounds a bit like a weak hysteric laugh. He's at his limit!!!!!! But it dies out just as fast, too exhausted.
Or actually, it's really more like any emotions he had simply blanks the fuck out into an odd calm and peace. ]
Yeah. It's alright.
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... Well. I wouldn't go that far. [she says, quietly.] It's not alright that you keep taking a beating.
[...]
What else? Injuries. Let me at 'em.
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He's got a pretty bad bruise on his throat. Looks almost... hand-shaped... woh... and his face sure is in a state. He's missing his eyepatch and his face has scratches, with a particularly nasty bunch over on the side with the missing eye, and blood around there too. ]
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the gouges make her frown the most, because she keeps seeing him scratch at his skin. she won't put the gloves back on him, if only because her goal is to get him as clean as she can. before, after execution, he wanted to be clean and in dry clothes, and that helped him, so - that's what she'll do. she'll get him new clothes. she'll try to get the blood out of his hair, she'll clean the blood off his face and around his eye.
her engine is whirring so loudly he can probably hear it thud and clunk. like a garbage disposal with a fork in it.]
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He's pretty much entirely quiet during the whole process though, exceptionally calm throughout it all. Even his thoughts are exceptionally a calm sort of drone, albeit in a distant, almost stopped caring kind of way.
He absently flexes his hands, turning them over and looking at the bandaging in silence. ]
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she figures the calm is just kind of like - all you can do. there's only so much trauma a person can take before they flatline a bit, and so while she's worried, she's not freaking out. her thoughts are just a mess of scribbles and anger.
when she's mostly finished, she leans back, giving him one more look over.]
... D'you want to be in a bed?
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I'll clean up and lie down.
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a beat.]
That guarding the shower thing is still up for grabs. [the lamest joke in the universe.] Can I stay for a bit?
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[ He stares out the nearest exit, like there's something there. ]
Can't stop you.
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You could, if you wanted. [...] Even though I don't think you should be alone.
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It doesn't matter.
[ Thursday. Something will happen regardless. ]
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in fact, all of this is worse! there's a burst of scribbled, angry thoughts, disjointed, furious that this is happening from her, and then she takes a deep breath and holds it.]
It does. It does matter. [if it's a little pleading, she can't help that so much.] ... I'll stay. I'll stay as long as I can.
I know I said you don't have to talk, but you can. You can talk to me.
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Well, yeah. But I'm not going to force you.
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[ He sighs. ]
I really don't have anything to say. I don't know what to say, Karlach.
I have a spine, now. Another body part for the ritual. Kanda has another thing.
Maybe it's a step forward to something. Maybe not.
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[kneading at her chest as she speaks, breath a little short.]
It's a step towards something. We can figure out what to do with these with just a little more time. And - you got letters, yeah? Did you get letters? They're out there.
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