woodfortono | (no subject)

[Tossing the sword aside and just watches you struggle.] About time you realize it's over. Guess there's only one thing left to do now.

[bares bloodied teeth and glares up at you, his breath harsh and labored]

I still think you're pathetic. [his voice choked]

I don't care.

[With that said, he's going to kick your head but just enough to knock you out.] Hate to say but, you're more troublesome to me if you're dead.

[You'll probably wake up in a few hours in a lot of pain. And unable to find your sword.]

[Not entirely certain how with it you are right now, Chiaki, but these are small and very quick footfalls.]

Chiaki?!

[groaning and sitting up, looking very worse for the wear, bruised and battered, his lips split and blood running down his face from the open scrape at his temple, his stomped-on hand wrapped around his chest]

[Dropping right to her knees so fast that she slides a little on the ground, reaching out to look over this whole mess.]

What happened to you?

[shakes his head and just leans on you a little, his whole body throbbing]

[I would argue, but priorities. Sliding an arm gently around his back, so she can shoulder one of his arms.]

We need to do something about all this. If I help you, are you going to be able to get up?

Yeah. [leaning on you] Thanks.

It's no trouble. [Not much, anyway -- the only problem really is the height difference, but there's little to be done about that, is there? Lifting him as gently as she can manage without jostling him too much.]

Let's get you cleaned up, alright?

Aa.

[he can mostly stand on his own once he's up, he just looks sort of dazed]

[Let's get you back to whatever is closer, your cabin or the cottage, so we can patch you up.]

Is your head alright? Are you seeing double, or anything?

I think I'm okay. [touches his fingertips to his temple and winces as they come away wet]

That's good, at least. I'm not really sure what to do for someone with a concussion, but the rest of it I can take care of.

Ah -- don't do that. [Reaching over to coax his hand away, and gently pulling him along.]

[squeezes your hand a little before he lets it go, looking out of it and deeply shaken but lucid for the most part, following you only a little unsteadily]

[My poor green. :( When they do finally get where they're going, she eases him into a chair just as delicately as she can, turning away for long enough to hunt down bandages and alcohol.]

[just sits and rests his head in one hand, curling in a little over his still-aching ribs and knowing that he's pretty much bruised all over but not really able to gauge much of the damage other than that]

[Comes back and sets everything out, propping the bag of cotton balls open and putting a hand on his shoulder.]

Um. I'm sorry, but if we're going to get to everything, you're going to have to ... that is, your shirt ... [Well, trying to be grown-up about it is acceptable, right?]

Yeah. [sits up and struggles out of his bloodied shirt, and he really is bruises all over but the worst spreading patches of mottled purple are on his back and chest, and there's an angry patch that's actually shaped like a boot print planted across his ribs]

[Helps him along as best she can, to try to make it easier on the achy parts, and sets the shirt aside. She takes a deep breath while she looks everything over, trying to keep her face neutral as she picks up a swab and dampens them with alcohol to she can start cleaning up blood and sanitizing cuts.]

We'll get some ice on that as soon as you're cleaned up. Just try to relax.

[tries not to flinch away from the alcohol, with limited success, his eyes narrowing at the uncharacteristic blankness of your face]

Oi. [his voice rough, but the sting of the antiseptic is sharpening his wits a little] You okay?

[She's as light-handed with it as she can get away with, pausing when he flinches to give him a bit of a break.]

I should be the one asking you that.

S'my own fault. [reaches up to take the cotton swab away from you gently and just wipe the blood away from the raw wound at his temple, his jaw clenching as the antiseptic burns against his skin]

It was Basco.

[Her hands freeze partway through wetting a fresh swab, just for a few seconds, before she soldiers on, careful with what she says as she reaches up to brush his hand away and clean the wound a bit more thoroughly so it can be bandaged.]

Did you go after him?

Nah, he jumped me. And completely kicked my ass, in case that wasn't painfully obvious. I don't think I even landed a hit on him.