woodfortono | (no subject)

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.

[Hesitates.] Then I don't think I can understand how this would be your own fault.

I pissed him off in the first place. [swiping at his split lip and making a pained little sound as he shudders, breathing hard] It was stupid. [looking up at you sharply] Kotoha, he wrecked me. It wasn't a matter of me not training enough when I was here, or some strategy I could have used--I didn't even see him move half the time.

Tono-sama warned me that he was trouble, but I didn't think that he'd be capable of that kind of thing.

Stop doing that, you'll split it further. [Moving his hand aside again, and holding it down while she dabs at the wound on his mouth.]

He could have killed me. [his voice very soft] It wouldn't even have taken him any effort, he could have just... done it. He didn't even break a sweat.

[She stops what she's doing, rather suddenly, and for more than just a couple of seconds -- holds her breath.]

No, Chiaki. [Her voice shakes, she doesn't mean it to but it does.]

Shit. Shit.

[stands abruptly and walks a few paces, his back to you as he presses the hell of his hand hard to his forehead, his shoulders tense and his chest screaming as he sucks in deep, ragged breaths, fighting dizziness]

Sorry. That was an awful thing to say. I just--sorry.

There's nothing to apologize for, you're just wrong.

[Takes a deep breath, draws herself up a little, moves to clear away some of the bloodier swabs and bandage wrappers so she can continue.] You're going to make yourself worse. Please sit back down.

I'm all right.

[sounding disgusted with himself]

He didn't even really hurt me that bad. He just wanted to make a point.

Then that makes him a coward, and he has to live with that.

And you still need to sit. If you won't let me tend to the rest you at least need to stay still and put ice on the worst of that.

I don't need ice.

[rubbing his forehead gingerly]

I just need to sleep. I'll be fine.

Yes, you do, but you still need to ice that or you'll feel much worse when you wake up.

Please sit.

[his back stiffening before he turns around, his face set]

Fine. [snapping, stalking back and throwing himself down in the chair again, ignoring how the movement jars his entire body, his ribs aching as he sits there and breathes hard, not looking at your face, his hands trembling faintly]

[She tenses only a little when he snaps, tries not to flinch when he slams himself into the chair, but she goes to fetch a cold compress rather dutifully, wrapping it in a hand towel so it won't be so harsh on his skin.

Her hands are still slow and gentle when she presses it to the worst of the bruising.]