She smells of gunpowder and acid, burnt meat and blood. The Speeat with her smells much the same, although looks slightly less banged up. Danenein is of average height, weight, and colouring; she's plain aside from her Katzu-sized nose. Not ugly, just plain.
She also looks like she's gone through four levels of hell, backwards, and on her face. She doesn't know where she is now, or how she got here, or even if this is nothing more than a fever-dream caused by the toxins she was recently breathing. She does, however, know that this place is not currently infested with LSD breathing badger-wolves.
She coughs, politely, upon seeing another living being and raises her rougher-than-usual, deep voice in order to ask; "Pardon, but I don't suppose you would either be a Water aligned or in possession of a first-aid kit?"
He looks up and really, people who've been through several levels of Hell themselves should have a stronger reaction. Then again, he's always been a bit doubtful about his right to the claim of 'people'. Instead, he stands and looks around for a moment before walking over to grab some gauze, a small pitcher of water, and some supplies from a basin near what they'd finagled into a kitchen.
"I've never been aligned to much of anything but consternation, but I do know my way around patching up a body. Too clumsy not to."
He walks over to her, careful but not quite wary since it was just him, and nods to a cot in the corner wide enough for two that'd served just one for a while. He could do laundry later; it might even help him think.
Tay's dish was still there, so it's filled with some of the water for the cat-like (Cat-like?) creature before he heads over to the cot himself.
Cat-spider mix. Sort of. Bobcat-spider if you want to be specific. Slepnir rattles his mandibles in gratitude and then sticks his head into the bowl.
Danenein carefully disarmed before stumbling towards the cot. She kept herself seated, rather than lying down, mumbling quietly, "Leg needs to be rinsed carefully. Don't get it on your skin. Psychotropic acid. Danenein Scholar."
"Liir Failure," he says with a reasonable amount of cheer for the woman wounded with psychotropic acid. And as one of the items he has is a rag, he uses it with the pitcher and a small basin to try and rinse off the leg as carefully as a body might without touching it to himself even a little.
Comments 41
She also looks like she's gone through four levels of hell, backwards, and on her face. She doesn't know where she is now, or how she got here, or even if this is nothing more than a fever-dream caused by the toxins she was recently breathing. She does, however, know that this place is not currently infested with LSD breathing badger-wolves.
She coughs, politely, upon seeing another living being and raises her rougher-than-usual, deep voice in order to ask; "Pardon, but I don't suppose you would either be a Water aligned or in possession of a first-aid kit?"
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"I've never been aligned to much of anything but consternation, but I do know my way around patching up a body. Too clumsy not to."
He walks over to her, careful but not quite wary since it was just him, and nods to a cot in the corner wide enough for two that'd served just one for a while. He could do laundry later; it might even help him think.
Tay's dish was still there, so it's filled with some of the water for the cat-like (Cat-like?) creature before he heads over to the cot himself.
Reply
Danenein carefully disarmed before stumbling towards the cot. She kept herself seated, rather than lying down, mumbling quietly, "Leg needs to be rinsed carefully. Don't get it on your skin. Psychotropic acid. Danenein Scholar."
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