bakerstreet | → minor injury

→ minor injury

You or your meme partner has been hurt, but don't worry! This time around it's not that bad. You can still limp your way out of this mess.

INJURIES.
1. Sprain/strain. How did you screw up walking?
2. Broken bones. Simple fractures still hurt.
3. Cuts. Hopefully one of you has a sewing kit.
4. Burns. Location, location, location. Let's pray this one isn't on your ass.
5. Concussion. No, they're most likely not holding up fifteen fingers.
6. Other. I'm not a doctor.

HOW'D IT HAPPEN.
1. Stupidity. You did this to yourself.
2. Accident. Is an unintentional attack still an attack?
3. Attack. Don't lie, you deserved it.
4. Other. It's probably still your own fault.

WHERE'D IT HAPPEN.
1. Home. Did you remember to invest in a first aid kit?
2. School/Work. This should be excellent for getting you out of doing stuff!
3. Outdoors. Predators like the smell of blood. Clean up asap.
4. In the water. Hopefully there aren't any sharks!
5. Other. Like a hospital. That'd be handy.

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[I'm still voice testing him, but I'm OTA!]

[Shall we go with canon, Jeyne treating Robb's arrow wound?]

[ooc: Yes, definitely!]

Any time there was fighting, there would be casualties. Robb wished it didn't have to be so black and white - death and destruction just so he could say he was victor. He never wanted it to come to this and still wished he could back out from it.

Perhaps it was the wound talking, as he made his way towards camp and sat down. He glanced down at the blood still oozing from the site and was sure it wasn't too deep and was ready to pull the arrow out himself. That's what warriors did, wasn't it?

Jeyne, much to the chagrin of her parents, had insisted on assisting with all injured soldiers, not just the ones who had fought for them (and lost). She moved amongst the wounded with a case of supplies slung over her shoulder, helping those that she could, and attempting to comfort those that she could not. She had never seen horror on a massive scale before. She felt certain she would cry herself to sleep that night.

As she pulled a bloody blanket over the face of one she had not been able to save she saw a young man with an arrow still in his shoulder walking through the camp. He did not move as if he was in extreme pain, but she felt he must be in that condition. He seemed rather alone to her, without anyone to help him remove the arrow, everyone being preoccupied with their own tasks and injuries.

She closed the case and picked it up, then walked over to where he was sitting, armor sitting at his feet as he inspected his wound.

"Do you need help with that?" she asked, then smiled softly. If she had known who he was she would not have addressed him so informally, but to her he looked like any other soldier - dirty, bloody, and tired. His armor was finer than most to be sure, but she was not looking closely at it. She only looked at him.

So lost in his thoughts, Robb doesn't even catch her informal greeting. He's been watching the blood ooze and trying to place a metaphor of how this reflected upon his current situation. Glancing upwards, he forgets to smile as he looked at her dark eyes upon him.

"You don't need to help." He's being stubborn, frustrated he even found himself in this situation. He's completely missing the point that she was dressed differently from others and blood stains all up and down her dress.

Curiously stopped him, though. "What's in the box?"

Jeyne's apron is a similar shade of grey to her dress, and yes both are heavily stained with blood, amongs the mud and sweat. If he looked closely he would see yellow shells embroidered around the neckline and cuffs, the symbol of her house.

"You need someone's help, ser. An arrow can do more damage coming out than it did going in, if not removed properly." Yet another over masculine soldier who refuses to be helped. She has seen men who would rather lose a foot than admit that they need assistance. She will never understand that.

She set the box down and knelt next to it, putting her more on his eye level. "Clean bandages, herbs, silk for sewing up wounds and what's left of our supply of milk of the poppy. I took all the maester could spare. So you see, I do know what I am doing. I can help you, if you will allow me."

He watches her closely, watching how her hair falls out from her ears and the dried blood caked in the strands. As she talked, his eyes moved from her face to the box, looking at her supplies.

"There's probably other soldiers you should treat." Although he was now king, he still thought it more respectful to help others. Then he pauses, "Save the milk of the poppy for someone else." He needed to feel everything and be in his right mind. There were many discussions that would continue to plague him even after this small victory.

He already knew there were messengers out looking for him.

Ah, a noble soldier, then. He was the first to tell her to treat other people first, and she had helped dozens that day. She was tired, but she did not let it affect her patience. Regardless of what he wanted, this man needed her, and she would not leave until the arrow was removed.

"I have been helping others since the moment the battle ended. It is your turn now. As for the milk of the poppy, that is your choice. You may change your mind at any time." Many did, once the reality of the pain became evident.

She began rifling through the case for the things she would need - bandages mostly, and a strip of leather for him to bite down on if the pain was too severe.

"What is your name, brave ser?" she asked, looking up to see the sun glinting off of his curls. A few were plastered to his forehead with sweat but the rest flowed free, and though in need of a wash they were a beautiful shade of auburn in the setting sunlight.

"Do you not recognize my armor?" He asks this more amused than anything, and rather found it refreshing if she didn't recognize it. He was tired and worn not only from battle, but from being ill prepared as a king. So many kings are groomed for this role, but his was cut rather short.

"Robb Stark, king of Winterfell." He watches her closely, looking for her reaction. Would she be impressed? Offer an apology? Typically he did have a knight following him around, but it was something of a relief to finally be alone.

"What house are you from?"

Her reaction was too pronounced to be hidden. Her eyes grew wide and she nearly dropped her handful of clean bandages into the dirt. She was grateful she was already on her knees, as it made it easier to bow at his feet and beg for forgiveness.

"I am so sorry, your grace, I did not recognize you. I would never have addressed you informally. Please, please forgive me." She was almost afraid to confess as to who she was. Once her mother heard of the mistake her daughter had made there would be no end to her wrath.

"I am Lady Jeyne, of House Westerling. This is my home you have just conquered, your grace. Congratulations on a battle well fought." Her hands were shaking as she tried to regain her composure. It took every bit of strength of will inside of her to raise her head once again and look into his eyes. From what she had heard of kings, she did not feel it likely she would escape without at least a lashing. What she saw in his eyes, though, surprised her, and she spoke next upon impulse, again without thinking.

"That arrow still must come out, your grace. Unless you would like to rule as the one-armed King of the North."

"You don't have to bow before me." He moved to help pick up some of the dropped bandages, but the pain flared in his shoulder from his injury. Right now, he didn't care if formalities were used.

His stomach churned at her reply. "It's not much of a victory." He added, squeezing the spun fabric held in his hands and held it out towards her, "Just tell me what I need to do."

His modesty was a surprise. She wondered if he was still more boy than king. He did not even wear a crown.

"Stop moving, please, that's most important. It would be easier if you were lying down, your grace, but we will make do with what we have." She called to a servant girl she recognized nearby and ordered to bring boiling water. It was a luxury she had not been able to acquire for most of her patients, but the young king was special. He held her family's fate in his hands. She pulled scissors from her case and a small vial of dark blue liquid - a brew she'd made herself from herbs and wine to combat corruption.

"I need to cut off your shirt, so that I can see the wound clearly. Then I will likely need a strong man to hold you still while I pull the arrow out."

His dark blue eyes watched her closely, and he seemed very passive for a moment before relenting. "I've seen your work, perhaps from afar on the other soldiers, but I can see you're kind and just." He wasn't sure where this praise was coming from, but didn't want to intimidate her just because of his title.

"Do as you must." He told himself he wouldn't move when she pulls out the arrow, that another person would be unnecessary. He deserved to feel every last bit and to suffer as his men do to fight this war.

Jeyne tried not to let his praise inflate her ego, or the fact that he spoke to her informally lead her to think he saw her as anything but just another lady. It was a battlefield and he was in pain, he could be excused for not saying 'my lady' as was proper.

"Thank you, your grace." She smiled softly, because she did appreciate the compliment, before going about her work dismantling his shirt. She pulled the sleeve off and sliced across the shoulder, leaving the rest to hang from his uninjured one.

The servant returned with a pot of boiling water, which she set on the ground next to Jeyne. By the time she was finished pulling out the arrow it would still be hot, not but scalding.

"Sit up as straight at you can," she instructed him before standing up to get better leverage on the arrow. She braced one hand against his shoulder, took a firm grip of the arrow, and pulled it out in one swift motion, being careful not to turn or twist it in any way.

He watches her silently, watching how she calculated everything in her head. Everything had to be perfect for this to work, and he knew she had a trained eye for this, just by how much she cared and the appearance of others after her handiwork.

Doing as she instructed, he sat up as straight as he could, remembering the days as a boy being told how to be a proper little prince and look the part. How times had changed, sadly.

There's a swallow and a nod towards her, indicating he was ready. Robb told himself he wouldn't flinch, cower, or show any signs of weakness with her doing her handiwork, but that went all out the door as he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes tightly as she pulled it out. Unknowingly, he had held his breath as well and released it once the arrow was out.

She was relieved that he did not shout. She disliked causing others pain, even if it was in the course of making them better in the long run. She discarded the arrow on the ground and reached to dip a cup into the hot water. With the arrow removed, blood flowed more freely from the wound. The edges were just too far apart to pull together. She collected a wad of bandage from her case and pressed it against his shoulder.

"I need you to lie down now. Here will have to suffice." She was certain the log he sat upon would not be comfortable to lie down on, but there was little choice. It would be too difficult to move her case and the water and his armor somewhere else.

[ the sounds of the forest had always calmed theon as he hunted. he and robb and a few other northern men decided to make the best of the weather, and rode into the forest together, eventually splitting up for better coverage of the land.

theon drew his bow, notching his arrow and pulling it back at a small rabbit in front of him. he shot, but hearing a scream in the distance caused him to lose his concentration and the arrow only stuck in the dirt. he cursed, frustrated, but he climbed onto smiler, riding quickly to the sound of the noise. ] Robb? [ he frowned at the sight of his friend collapsed on the ground, clutching his arm. ] Did you fall, my lord?

[Gods be good, Robb happened to find a piglet during his search. However, foolishly, he messed up and his arrow missed and he ended up chasing said piglet, slid down a higher elevation in the land. He had lost his footing, falling backward and landing on his arm.]

No!

[His pride was hurt as he looked at the mud smears on his boots and arm, and he was rather frustrated in his embarrassment.]

There was a piglet, running off that way.

[He pointed in the direction it indeed had run, but it was obvious that he had been chasing it, slid, and fallen. His horse wasn't even around.]

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→ minor injury

Robb Stark | Game of Thrones | OTA

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hahahsdjfdggk i hope 2/2/3 is okay. this is an awful starter

it's definitely not awful!