Once more into the breach...

[evasivepudding]

Day: Day 5
Characters: Lloyd Asplund (evasivepudding), Yatilla (bloodstreaked), Winters Sokaro (pleasuresinpain)
Summary: Examination of the wound by a...uh...scientist
DAY/NIGHT & Time: First Rec
Status: Closed/Incomplete

Comments

[pleasuresinpain]

"Hold up!" came Sokaro's response, voice a bit gruffer than usual. That was, of course, akin saying that Cross was feeling like drinking a little more than usual, or perhaps that the Vatican were feeling a little less tolerant of heretics than usual. He had not yet asked Yatilla if visitors were acceptable today, knowing full well they weren't. However, Lloyd's words sat heavily on him, now that he'd decided

[bloodstreaked]

The thought of anyone else looking at his leg, made Yatilla feel ill.
It had taken all of his self control to not slap Sokaro's hand away every time he tried to look at the wound. The young warrior himself couldn't stomach looking at the bloody stump. The one time he had actually stared at the severed limb, he had gotten sick all over the floor.

The shock that his leg was actually gone, hadn't fully left him. He had been injured before, badly. He was used to pain, but wounds always healed. His leg would never grow back, healed or not- gone was gone.
Sometimes the pain wasn't so bad, but when his muscles spasmed in memory of the body part that was no longer there- it was enough to make him black out.

Dark hollows beneath his eyes, face flushed with exertion and pain, he was too tired to loudly oppose Sokaro. The man had already made his decision and Yatilla was in no position to oppose it.

"He can look, but he isn't touching."

[pleasuresinpain]

"If he has to treat you, he's gonna need to touch and I'm gonna let him even if I gotta sit on you, got that?" Sokaro corrected sternly, gently petting Yatilla's long hair still, expression a little weary at the look of pain and exhaustion on Yatilla's face. Then he dropped his voice lower still, whispering his next words right to Yatilla's ear, voice gruff and hoarse with the quality of metal dragging over gravel and yet somehow very plainly kind. For a man like Sokaro, at any rate.

"No one's gonna hurt you, kid. Not without gettin' through me first, got that? And no one," a wicked, vague grin crawled over Sokaro's features, "and I mean fucking no one gets through me."

And with those words, Sokaro trained his gaze back on the door and called out, "Get yer skinny, pale scientist ass in here, Lloyd!"

[evasivepudding]

Lloyd chuckled to himself as he pushed open the door, not offended in the slightest bit. "And I'm happy to see you too, Sokaro," he countered, smiling up at the taller man. "At least I know that my ass, being pale, skinny, and part of a scientist, is forever safe from youHis face abruptly became serious as he spotted Yatilla, lying pale and exhausted on the bed. The signs of blood loss were brutally clear, as well Yatilla's obvious pain

[bloodstreaked]

If it wasn't for Sokaro, the chance of Lloyd getting anywhere near the warrior in his wounded state would of been impossible. Even with the comforting presence of the older man beside him, he looked about ready to have a violent fit. Yatilla was breathing heavily, the expression on his face strained and pupils mere pinpoints. The closest likeness to his body language was that of a cornered, threatened animal.

"I don't want any drugs." it sounded as if he had been swallowing glass, his voice painfully coarse and low. "Do what you have to do."

The prospect of more pain didn't help his fevered sweat, but he was far too stubborn to allow himself more vulnerability. Unconsciously his hand had latched onto Sokaro's arm for support, sharp nails digging drawing blood easily.

"Just do it fast."