I Believe the World is Burning to the Ground [Active, Open]
Characters: Red XIII, anyone who wants to find him
Setting: Second floor
Time: Day 007, Early
Summary: Red XIII tries to find his way around with no eyes and impaired hearing.
Warnings: Graphic description of injury, slightly ridiculous mental image of Red XIII rolling around in honey.
Like any wild animal, Red XIII's instincts for dealing with his pain were to go off on his own, to find a secluded place and hide away from everyone, nursing his injuries in privacy and secrecy. As a sentient one, however, he knew he could not afford to do that--he needed to get some sort of help, find a treatment for his burns and other injuries as soon as possible before they became infected and festered. He only knew of two treatments for burns that did not require materia, though, and both of them were extremely difficult without thumbs. One was a medical ointment. The other was honey. He couldn't get at one, but he'd tried to find the other in the kitchen, nosing in cupboards and smelling jar after jar, his burned face in incredible pain, deliberately breaking jars and accidentally knocking them to the floor until finally he'd found some. With no other recourse, he'd dropped to the floor and rolled in the honey, rubbing his burned face in it as carefully as possible, trying not to cut himself open on the copious amounts of broken glass and ending up moderately successful, ending up with only a couple more small cuts than he'd originally started with... at this point, he didn't think those would matter.
Now he wandered, weaving erratically around the halls with his nose pressed to the floor, completely blind and relying on his senses of smell and touch to navigate the hallways. Disoriented as he was, his instinctive use of his ears was uncontrollable, and the exposed muscle twitched, contracting and causing pain with every movement. It wasn't conscious, the instinct so basic and ingrained that he had taken it for granted, but he had to consciously try to keep them from moving what wasn't there, from hurting him more than he already was, but the pain kept coming, and he was seriously considering giving up.
He'd been trying to find Al, but now he had to pick that scent out of literally thousands of other smells and dozens of people and with no sight he could only estimate which part of the house he was in. Which bedroom was theirs?
Setting: Second floor
Time: Day 007, Early
Summary: Red XIII tries to find his way around with no eyes and impaired hearing.
Warnings: Graphic description of injury, slightly ridiculous mental image of Red XIII rolling around in honey.
Like any wild animal, Red XIII's instincts for dealing with his pain were to go off on his own, to find a secluded place and hide away from everyone, nursing his injuries in privacy and secrecy. As a sentient one, however, he knew he could not afford to do that--he needed to get some sort of help, find a treatment for his burns and other injuries as soon as possible before they became infected and festered. He only knew of two treatments for burns that did not require materia, though, and both of them were extremely difficult without thumbs. One was a medical ointment. The other was honey. He couldn't get at one, but he'd tried to find the other in the kitchen, nosing in cupboards and smelling jar after jar, his burned face in incredible pain, deliberately breaking jars and accidentally knocking them to the floor until finally he'd found some. With no other recourse, he'd dropped to the floor and rolled in the honey, rubbing his burned face in it as carefully as possible, trying not to cut himself open on the copious amounts of broken glass and ending up moderately successful, ending up with only a couple more small cuts than he'd originally started with... at this point, he didn't think those would matter.
Now he wandered, weaving erratically around the halls with his nose pressed to the floor, completely blind and relying on his senses of smell and touch to navigate the hallways. Disoriented as he was, his instinctive use of his ears was uncontrollable, and the exposed muscle twitched, contracting and causing pain with every movement. It wasn't conscious, the instinct so basic and ingrained that he had taken it for granted, but he had to consciously try to keep them from moving what wasn't there, from hurting him more than he already was, but the pain kept coming, and he was seriously considering giving up.
He'd been trying to find Al, but now he had to pick that scent out of literally thousands of other smells and dozens of people and with no sight he could only estimate which part of the house he was in. Which bedroom was theirs?