TWENTY-THREE-POINT-FIVE : Didn't I tell you not to go out, didn't I?

[wristsniper]

[Hi Mayfield! Guess who left bloody tracks all over the streets? Feel free to notice and comment.

She made it home, barely. And she sounds half-dead.

Backdated to Sunday.]

[Filtered AWAY from children]
I need a doctor. A magical one, I think.

Comments

[buildstherobots]

[Dist comes home, looking very much the worse for wear, and just... blinks at all of the blood. He follows the trail, somewhat hesitantly, until he finds Olivier, far worse off than he is.]

My god, what happened?

[wristsniper]

[Weakly.]

Someone from back home doesn't want to go back, I think.

[buildstherobots]

Why would he attack you over that?

[He starts going through the cabinets in search of first-aid supplies.]

[wristsniper]

He's insane. And I may have nicked him on Mother's Day.

[She rests her head on the table--generally a bad idea.]

[buildstherobots]

...Don't pass out.

[Dist finds a bottle of disinfectant and a bag of cotton balls; he wipes down the slices on his own hands before approaching the table again, preparing another cotton ball for Olivier.]

[wristsniper]

I won't. I just feel sick. Ugh...

[She glances at him.]

You're being awfully helpful. ...Who did you order around to get hurt like that?

[buildstherobots]

Some harpy with plant powers. She tore me up with a rose bush and then shot me with some kind of energy blast. I am very bruised.

[His voice is bitter, but he did extract a bit of revenge, so for the moment he's somewhat mollified.]

I could stop being helpful if you prefer.

[wristsniper]

...Sounds rough.

No, it's fine. But you're about to see the only woman in this town more terrifying than myself come through the door, and you seem like the type who would need a warning.

[buildstherobots]

It's going to hurt.

[The warning, really, is unnecessary, and Dist knows this, but it feels like something he should say. He swabs the wounds rather gently, to his credit.]

Should I leave when she gets here?

...Dist is being CUTE!

[wristsniper]

I'll be fine. [She merely looks away so she won't see it coming.]

Just do whatever she says. She may need assistance.

SOMETIMES HE DOES THAT 8D

[buildstherobots]

Medicine isn't my specialty; we have healers in my world who could fix this injury with little effort. There aren't many doctors.

[Unsurprisingly, it takes a lot of cotton balls. It's not long before there's a decent-sized pile of them on the table.]

...Now I need to make a pretty CR page

[wristsniper]

...Well, they're not much good to me if they're not here.

May could fix this, but I don't want her to see it...

[buildstherobots]

Just making conversation.

Can she heal? It's a rather extreme injury. I think a fonist would have trouble with it; hands are delicate.

[Being one who uses his own extensively, he knows how badly a hand injury can mess a person up.]

[wristsniper]

...She says she can cure anything.

If it doesn't work, I'll just go kill myself, or have someone else do it. I've already had an offer, would you believe?

[buildstherobots]

...That seems rather extreme, doesn't it?

[wristsniper]

If it is the only way to restore my hands to full function, it is simply something that must be done.