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Post by Arwen on Jun 21, 2005 7:19:10 GMT -5
Lomadia paused, glancing up in surprise, then smiling wryly. "You are correct... My blade's name is Loki. A viper... Swift and deadly. It is etched at the hilt," she stated as she poured water now over her hands and walked off momentarily to the weapon rack. Ah, yes. That one would do. The blade, a knife moreso than dagger, was short and thin, and its thickness would serve well in pulling that cloth out. But it was nowhere near clean. And there were none other that might have servd in this act.
"I believe you are going to have to wait a bit, unless you want a dirty knife stuck into your side," she stated coyly, lifting a brow. "Now on that thought, we could burn the infection off instead of using alcohol on it," she stated, again, in a teasing tone. "I'll cover this and go get a bit of wood for a quick fire."
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Post by Elladan on Jun 21, 2005 22:22:00 GMT -5
Cyrus feigned terror, eyes widening, brows risen. He hadn't taken her seriously, yet part of him cautioned against doubting her. Playfully, he backed away, or at least he thought he did so playfully, and grabbed the sword, phoenix eyes alight,
"I can wait. Either way I shall burn, I just prefer not to be branded." he said, looking of into the foliage, thought enveloping him.
He didn't care for healers, never did. It was something about the occupation, the blood, the gore, the disease. He gave them credit for their bravery, sure, he just prefered other company. I suppose he felt inferior around them, weak, soft hearted, ignorant. He had never been taught much about wounds and healing, just the basic training, stuff he, for the most part, forgot because he never wanted to know in the first place. Some of it stuck, precautionary, just in case he ever needed to assist himself.
Lomadia, however, was different. For the first, she wasn't a healer as far as he knew. She just knew how to heal. More convienince than occupation. She was also witty. Basically, he forgave her for possessing such knowledge, perhaps replacing the attribute with other dominating qualities, perhaps just because he wanted to.
It was his flaw, or one of them, and as always he tried to get over it. He was uneducated on the matter, thus a reason to forgive him. Otherwise he was just a clown.
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Post by Arwen on Jun 22, 2005 14:06:34 GMT -5
Lomadia moved towards the treeline, favoring the injured leg slightly, of course, and moved enough wood to make a small fire to their position, then foraged through the shed for a bit of flint. After a few long minutes, she did manage to find a piece and start a small fire on that pile of wood (with the help of her sword beside the flint), then rinsed and heated the thin blade. Slyly, she turned her gaze to him, then brandished the superheated dagger in his face before laying off long enough to stand again, shift her weight from one leg to the other a few times as if to force her body to get used to the pain, then squat again.
"Ready? Hold this. With the hilt between your teeth if you need to; use it as a dowl. And do hold still."
She uncovered the wound and lifted the skin in a salute before taking a quick swig herself and immediately lowering the opening to his side, pouring it steadily over the cut for only a moment before pulling away again and mopping at the area around the wound with a new piece of bandaging and motioning for the blade with a free hand while the other held the cloth and a bit of pressure about most of the wound. "Quickly... I promise you the alcohol is worse than the blade."
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Post by Elladan on Jun 25, 2005 18:03:55 GMT -5
He winced, leaving the blade in his hands, gritting his teeth in agony. His body started, and the previously loosened hands clenched desperately to whatever surface they beheld; one the hilt, the other the ground. He could feel every ounce pour onto his flesh, searing his skin and reddening it even more so than before. Naturally, the pouring came to an end, but the burning remained.
He looked up as she made her promise, eyes expressive of the battle he fought for tolerance, lips thin and tight, brows furrowed still. His laughter had been silenced, his mirth capped.
“Commence,” he uttered in reply. Then, having nothing else to say, he resumed staring at the ground, ready to bear that which was ahead of him.
He despised pain.
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Post by Arwen on Jul 9, 2005 17:20:35 GMT -5
Taking the dagger again, she handed him the skin, and thrust the blade into the fire for a moment more. Then, movements full of the purpose thrown upon her own hands, she leaned over him, delicately as possible, and placed the blade carefully into the wound in a way so careful in her movements that it should be impossible to feel the warm metal through the stinging of strong liquor. The edge of the cloth was in sight, and not deep, therefore she had no trouble in locating it with the tip of the blade, and snagging it. At that victory, she carefully began to remove the cloth, sure to take all of it with, and not drag it upon the already sore place too much.
With all of it removed a short few moments later, she sighed, shakily dropped the knife (for during the operation she had bitten her lip, and slowly become more palid), and pressed the folded bit of bandaging back over the wound again gently as she collapsed on herself, shaking once more. How strange this woman was, to put on the brave face of the hero when it was needed, for but a few moments before she showed herself for the true emotions again, frightened and of no particular bravery, especially when it came to blood. "Mmn... By my blade, sir, you've had me in for the day," she nearly whispered, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead tremulously. "You are alright?"
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Post by Elladan on Jul 9, 2005 19:41:42 GMT -5
"Looks like I'll live," he joked, swallowing the last tense bits of throbbing pain mirthfully, "it seems, rather, that the question pertains to you. You seem a ghost, pallid and cold, trembling and white, and I would mistake you as one if I had not just before spilt your living blood to prove otherwise...”
His brows furrowed, though he smiled still, eyes alight with gratitude and relief, “You’ve earned your drink, I’d say, not that it mattered.” He glanced over at his tunic with a certain disgust, glaring at the rips and stains. What a troublesome article it proved to be in battle, he thought, and couldn’t be blamed for thinking so. Certainly the poor boy did not want for that experience again.
A sudden emotion struck his face, realization, causing him to reach fondly for the tunic and slip it on. No right minded man walked into any tavern shirtless. He would have to be drunk, poor, or robbed to do so. He was only wounded, now cured, not drunk...yet.
“Tell me you won’t faint? I can’t do much for you. I’m no healer, remember. I can only carry you.”
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Post by Arwen on Jul 10, 2005 7:52:05 GMT -5
"Well carry me, by all means," she managed in a way almost as playful as his while she stood, tossing the dagger to the side by the weapons rack. Someone would find it and clean it. Loki, she sheathed at her belt, and the skins she returned to their place in the small white-stoned building. "You must allow me to make sure this bandaging doesn't come off first though. Just a quick fix, Cyrus," she stated softly, reaching forward to lift his shirt-tail and hold the bandaging out behind him. "I'll just wrap it around once or twice." Quickly, she wrapped it about his body, then tucked it in on his opposite side after tearing the excess off. "There. You'll need to have it rebandaged pretty often, but that will do for now.
"The Atele-Avele, then? It is closest and they should have a supply of good rum. Mmn..." So quick to jump from subject to subject! But suddenly, she was back to one relating to the first again. "I put on a show of being much stronger than I am, friend. I suppose there is something about my personality that serves to... hide that fact when need be. I'm just a simple girl beneath all that, if you believe it for a moment. I don't know how I put up with pain in a fight, much less help another after the fact. In the end all that's left is this ghost you see before you now. It will fade in a few minutes, though, and I assure you I am capable of walking, even though you might not believe me to be so."
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Post by Elladan on Jul 10, 2005 16:08:27 GMT -5
"Simple?" he repeated in a contradictory tone, lifting his frame with the help of one arm while the other gripped the bandaged wound, “simple girls have no want for battle, last I could recall, and if they do, they aren’t such vipers.“ He gave a wink, laughing afterwards.
“As for strength, don’t you think more courage lies in dealing with matters despite fear than confronting them fearless? Or, to pun it, dealing with matters with ghosts aloof rather than confronting them spookless?” At this point he began walking, heading for the tavern, smiling assuringly, “as for not knowing how to put up with pain, much less help others afterwards, ahem, either I’m a living example of the abilities you didn’t know you had, or you fooled me greatly” he patted his wound to point out his reference, chuckling softly.
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Post by Arwen on Jul 10, 2005 17:19:23 GMT -5
"Oh, no, I am aware of the abilities that I have--it is just the ability to use those abilities that vexes me. That is... I do not know how I find myself capable of using those abilities that lie within me and hold off turning into this wretched spirit of a being until afterwards. I... love that I can help people, and I love the display after the fact... And yet I despise the actions wrought into play as I am called to help. I love a good spar, and I love the feeling afterwards, but for some reason, I hate it at the same time--even if it be with training blades of no danger whatsoever. I am indeed simple, though a matrix, I suppose, at the same time. Understanding that simplicity--even my understanding of it--is rushing through an enigma that is difficult to take in all the aspects of.
"But I suppose that you are correct on the issue of... tackling something with and without the shadow of a ghost present. It is the act of despising the whole thing that causes me to feel a cowardice inside myself though, and on a related key, causes me to think myself a coward, though I know there is no cowardice in facing blood with a keen spirit to help another."
She traced her fingertips along the hilt of her sword, shaking her head slightly as she fought for control over her own body. Hmm... There was much thought to this. It seemed that her words were an enigma in themselves, now that she thought about it. Reflecting back over her own words, she managed the softest of almost forced smiles. Well. One could only hope that this keen elf would understand what she herself barely did.
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