bakerstreet | Patch You Up

( doing the patching )

[ooc: either role! assumed cr is lovely for gen and/or shipping, but i have nothing against first time meetings either!]

She'd be patching

[injured or attending is fine! assumed CR preferred]

[ either patched up or doing the patching is a-okay with me! ]

[Junpei is no stranger to weird monsters, or even pretty girls who fight them, but this one seems different. Her outfit is definitely fancier than anything he's ever seen Yukari or even Mitsuru in. She's really cute! And boy, does she kick ass!

[Maybe he shouldn't get involved, though. He can't just summon his Persona and barge in on this fight, though, can he? His gung-ho nature already got him in trouble once, he would definitely want to call Minato and the others before he tried getting involved. Besides, this girl and her friends (there's more of them??) seem to have things under control. He watches for a moment as the group takes on the beast, and then the one with the pink hair takes a hit and goes flying. She lands hard, skidding to a stop not far from where Junpei's holed up behind some bushes. Well, he can't not get involved now, right? A pretty girl needs his help! Adjusting his hat, he jumps out of his hiding place and takes to a knee beside the girl, searching her face a moment.

[Then he takes her shoulder and shakes it gently.]

Hey! Hey, miss, are you okay?

Wah--

[ megumi starts when she feels a hand at her shoulder, then presses a hand against her chest. ]

You scared me... ah! [ wait, a civilian! he shouldn't be here! ] W-wait, you should've run away! We've got this, don't worry--

[ she tries to get up, but those white boots of hers do a good job of hiding the sprain--or is it a break? her precure powers have her thrumming with energy, so sometimes she can't tell just how hurt she is... but she definitely can't stand. megumi's knees buckle when she tries to get up, and she grimaces as she grips her ankle. ]

Ah... I must not have landed well.

[He holds both hands up, as if to show her he's unarmed.]

Oh, sorry about that! I didn't mean to scare you. And are you kidding? Run away? [He puffs his chest out a little.] Junpei Iori does not run away! Especially not when there's pretty girls around.

[He catches her arm when her knees buckle beneath her, and frowns a little.]

Seems like maybe you haven't entirely got this. [He gestures at where the other girls are still taking the creature on.] Better let your pals get it this time, okay? It looks like they've got it covered for now. [He points to her ankle then, giving her an encouraging look.] Can I take a look?

[He actually doesn't really know a whole lot about first aid, but he can't just leave this alone, that isn't the sort of man he is!]

[ her eyes drift back over to honey, princess and fortune.

she hesitates, looking back at him. it's like when she was sick... she knows she can't exacerbate this, but she doesn't want to be out of the fighting so easily. ]

Um... okay. [ her shoulders sag a little, but she gives him a grateful smile. ]

Thanks. I'm Cure Lovely. [ her hands come to touch the top of her boot, and in a burst of light, it disappears.

oh, and that does not look pretty. her ankle's starting to swell. ]

Agh! [ oh god, she can't look. ]

Cure Lovely? That's an interesting name. [He says it completely benignly--it just doesn't sound like a Japanese name. He finds himself wondering where she's from.]

Whoa!

[When she magically disappears her boot in a flash of light, though, Junpei jumps back and falls right on his rump, startled.]

Wow! How'd you do that? [He reaches out tentatively and touches her knee very gingerly with one fingertip, as though he's making sure it's really there, and then his eyes move down to her ankle and he grimaces.] Oh, shit, that looks pretty bad. [And he's no good with Dia skills.] It's a shame Mitsuru-senpai and Yuka-tan aren't here. They're friends of mine, and they're much better with this kind of stuff. [He pulls at his little goatee, then holds up one finger.] Hang on, I left my bag back there, and I might have something useful in it.

[He dashes back to the bush he'd been hiding behind, and returns a moment later with his schoolbag. He drops back to his knees and rifles through it for a moment.]

Aha! Here, this might help. [He holds up a roll of masking tape, looking very pleased with himself.] I needed it for a project earlier today.

Edited 2015-03-25 02:37 (UTC)

[ well, saying that she's megumi aino is probably a bad idea...

his surprise has her laughing a little, at least until he sobers. ] Mm, they sound nice... [ completely distracted.

... is that masking tape? ]

I don't think that'll work...! It's too sticky.

[Junpei quirks his mouth to one side and looks contemplative. Nice? Thoughts of 'Stupei' remarks and 'execution' come to mind, and he makes a face.]

I dunno if I'd say nice, but... they're still good friends. I can depend on them, even if we don't always get along.

[Hm. She's got a point, though: masking tape on skin might be bad. He holds up one finger.]

Hold on, I'm getting another idea!

[He dives back into the schoolbag and pulls out a spiral notebook.]

Here, look, I can wrap a couple sheets of paper around your ankle, and wrap the tape around the paper! Then it's not stuck to your skin--it'll be like a cast! [He is so smart. He bets even Mitsuru would have to praise him for being smart about this.] Come on, let's give it a try--you can't walk on it like it is, it'll just make it worse.

[ oh!

she brings her hands up to her chest, looking pumped. ]

Oh! That's a great idea! [ he is smart, after all! she'd been dubious when he brought out that tape, but... she can definitely deal with this. ]

You're pretty crafty, Iori-kun!

[Hey, he's totally smart! Just because he doesn't do that great in class doesn't mean he's stupid! ... Right?

[He pulls a couple sheets of paper out of the notebook and tears off a length of the tape, then gently secures the paper around her ankle.]

Hehehe, I have a lot of good ideas! My friends kind of think I'm just a goofball, but I can be useful, too, you know? [He starts wrapping the tape around the paper over her ankle, making it snug but not too tight. It's definitely not a permanent solution, but hopefully it'll be enough to get her to a doctor.]

So, Miss Lovely, you and your friends are like superheroes, huh?

Hehe, of course! We're the Precure!

[ when she thinks of her friends, she thinks of their heroics--of yuyu's kindness, of hime's courage, and of the hope iona harbors for the future. she gives a wince as he starts to wrap the paper and tape around her ankle. ]

A-a-aaaah... it really hurts. I hope it's not too broken...

[Prefer the injured role but good to play the one patching up. Medium to longer tags preferred.]

[Prose or brackets preferred? I'll start if you want.

[Thanks for asking! Long-ish prose tags are what I'm looking to play out and yes, I'd like it if you could do the starter.]

Izumo smelled the blood even before he turned around. The iron tang of it, heavy in the air...but not enough to worry Bucky was seriously injured. "What did you do this time?" he asked, as he turned, brow furrowed.

Where had he put the bandages? He'd brought new supplies but he'd been in a hurry and pretty distracted two days ago when he'd put them away...a little bit of Bucky's fault there but Izumo hadn't been complaining at the time: it was nice to hear Bucky laugh, all pleased with himself like that. Izumo enjoyed listening to him laugh.

Izumo uncurled himself from the couch and padded over, already looking his friend up and down for visible injuries. "And why did you come to me? You know Steve's better at this sort of thing...."

"Thanks. It's not always my fault." Bucky shoots back as he scowls at him from the doorway. He kicks the door shut with a heel, and cradling his arm, limps into Izumo's place; compared to the place he's got with Steve, Izumo's managed to get himself a swanky place. Even got a real kitchen, not some part barely sectioned off that doubles as a living room and entry either. How Izumo gets the money, Bucky doesn't know. He doesn't ask.

He'll try not to get a mess on the table, but as Bucky slumps down in a chair, he's thinking it's not as bad as it looked at first. Really, maybe he just needs to slap some bandages on it, throw some iodine on it and call it a day. There's a gash running down his shoulder that's going to scar pretty bad probably, and his favorite jacket's heading for the dump at this point, but Bucky thinks it's worth it, considering what that punk said about Steve.

Bucky meets Izumo's eyes. "Steve's exactly why I'm here. Last thing he needs is to see this. You got any iodine or something? Bandages? I'll be out of your hair in ten, promise."

"It'll take longer than that, the way you're holding your arm," Izumo retorted, trotting into the kitchen. He wasn't put off by the biting retort: in fact he was cheered by it. Bucky couldn't be too bad off if he was feeling up to being smart. Izumo poked his nose into the cabinets, and on the second try came out with the box of bandages and iodine and other wound-cleaning supplies. "I will admit you don't always start it, but hell, you always finish it, boy."

He set the box on the table and grabbed a clean dishrag from a drawer, wetting it at the sink. He had planned to wipe Bucky's face, but the bloody jacket caught his eye instead and he set the damp rag on the table.

"Let's get you out of your jacket..." he muttered as he reached to help. He hissed at the bloody shirt beneath. "What, did they have a knife? Anywhere else this bad?"

As he asked he hung the jacket over the back of a chair and reached for the buttons of Bucky's shirt too, frowning. He hoped it didn't need stitches - he sucked at those. Sprains and bruises and little cuts he could manage as well as anyone, but worse....well. He was no nurse.

Bucky grimaces down at the ripped fabric of the jacket. He was hoping to get out quick, not have someone fussing over him too long. Bucky's mouth twitches into a smirk as he watches Izumo root through the cabinets one by one.

"Yeah well, some guys need to learn a lesson." is all he says with a careful, pained shrug. Steve's thing about standing up to bullies and just taking it over and over is fine, but personally, Bucky's secretly thought that the only way to make it count was to grind a punk's nose so much into the dirt that they didn't think about getting up to do it all over again. Izumo comes back a moment later, then his eyes land on the tattered sleeve of the jacket. With a wince, Bucky carefully, gingerly, shrugs out of it, gritting his teeth as he breathes through them when the fabric catches on the gash on the way off, while Izumo helps.

"Just this arm," Bucky tells him, though he catches at Izumo's wrists when he tires to go for the shirt. Bucky stops him, then starts popping the buttons himself one by one. He gets one sleeve off. Figures that's good enough.

He darts a glance at his arm, and seeing from the large smudges or red and the deep gash, he kind of wishes he hadn't. "Got shoved into a dumpster. Part of it must've been sticking out."

Izumo grimaced and snatched up his cloth to wipe Bucky's arm off, clearing the blood away to get a better look at the gash. "Or something," he muttered, and peered anxiously at the cut. Ragged edges, but it seemed to have mostly stopped bleeding. "Oh, Bucky, that might need stitches."

He leaned back and got out the iodine. "This is going to hurt like hell, you know," he warned, as he wet a piece of gauze with the brown stuff, wrinkling his nose at the cutting scent.

He reached out and caught Bucky around the upper arm, just above the elbow, to keep him from jerking away too much. "Ready?"

Edited 2015-03-27 05:22 (UTC)

It's not that bad. Bucky can tell himself that as long as he doesn't look directly at it or at the face Izumo's making, but morbid curiosity has him sneaking peeks anyway as the other man ducks his head and begins to clean at the borders around the gash. Once or twice he gets a little too close, and this jagged, low pain crawls up along his shoulder. Bucky's jaw tightens.

"Don't suppose you know a thing about stitches, do you?" Bucky asks, half-hoping he does, half-hoping he doesn't because he doesn't trust Izumo nearly enough to stick needles into him. He eyes the gauze soaked with iodine, reluctantly. And that's gonna hurt like a mother.

Bucky clenches his fingers into a fist and looks straight head, levelly at the corner of the room. "Ready."

Izumo waited until Bucky tensed, then laid the iodine on. Blood well up with the brown stains, as Izumo tracked it across the wound, fingers clamped tight on Bucky's arm to keep him still as possible so he could be finished quickly.

He waited until he was through and Bucky's breathing had leveled out before he addressed the comment on stitches. "I know enough about stitches to know I do a damn poor job at them. If you don't want it to scar badly, you need someone else to stitch it up." He wiped up a fresh drip of blood, then let go of Bucky's arm. He moved to the sink to rise his wash rag out again.

[Either role works!]

[could go either way, really.]

[Maybe a little patching for both? Canon if you like? Or modern AU?]

The ANBU were often sent along to follow shinobi into an exceptionally dangerous mission. With the intel Itachi had received on this 'Akatsuki' so far, he knew that Kakazu and Hidan were no easy targets. He could have sent his subordinates, but instead decided to go himself.

What he wasn't expecting was being forced, wounded and injured, into a retreat.

He helped Izumo get away, but neither of them did so unscathed.

"We need to keep going. I doubt my genjutsu will hold someone like Kakazu for more than a couple of hours." he kept a hand pressed to his side where his armor had broken. "...Are you badly hurt?"

Izumo coughed and rubbed his throat. Being choked was really not his favorite thing in the world, but he'd live. He'd just have fantastic bruises to explain. The bruised ribs were going to be the worst, really. The few cuts on his shoulder and side from being thrown paled in comparison to the rest.

"Nothing too bad. What about yourself? That was a bad blow."

He resolutely put thoughts of Kotetsu out of his mind. He'd been alive when Izumo had last seen him, and that would do. He and Itachi needed to focus on staying in one piece to get home.

The scythe that Hidan wielded could do some serious damage, even with the blunt end. It was the fact that it impacted incorrectly, even if it did hit with enough force to break armor, that saved Itachi.

"He was aiming for blood." Itachi lifted his hand briefly, only to wince at the movement. "If he got even a drop, we'd have been done for."

There was a pained sigh. The rush of battle was beginning to fade.

"Definitely bruised... May be broken."

"I really hope not. I'm no healer." Izumo grimaced. Broken ribs could be tricky things. Bruised, not as dangerous. It was easy for a broken rib to shift and cut something important internally.... Especially since they had to be on the move, and could possibly face another fight.

"I have some bandages...shit." Looking down as he reached for his belt-pouch, he noticed the blood dripping off his fingertips. One of those cuts he'd shrugged off as nothing was clearly deeper than he'd first thought, to still be bleeding that much.

Neither was Itachi, and unfortunately, it was a danger he would have to accept. They needed to put as much space between them and those Akatsuki as possible before they could stop to at least patch each other up.

Itachi glanced over. "Keep pressure on that. Let it soak into your sleeve if you have to!"

He quickly explained what they'd uncovered about Hidan and his ritual. Blood played a large part in it. With a few drops of someone's blood, he could essentially link their bodies together, even at a distance.

"I have an ally who lives in an old stronghold outside of the village. Follow me. We'll be safe there."

Izumo dug an emergency pressure dressing out of his belt ouch and hastily applied it. It's need better care and cleaning out later, but he needed to be able to run, and - worst case scenario - have both hands free to fight. He nodded to Itachi's words, memorizing the perinent information about Hidan.

Izumo had an excellent memory.

"Right. Lead the way." he agreed. A nice safe stronghold sounded like a grand idea to him. Here was hoping that ally possibly had a small army at their disposal. That might be what it took to get the two Akatsuki down.

Itachi hurried, making false trails as much as he could while not diverting from the quickest path.

There wasn't an army at the end of the journey, but there were certainly enough weapons to arm one. That, a little old lady, and a massive herd of cats. It definitely necessitated an explanation, but Itachi didn't give one. Neither did the old woman. She just beckoned them in and barricaded the door again.

They were safe, for the time being.

"...Now, the pain comes..." He muttered, shedding the remnants of his armor.

Izumo was not a lover of cats. Cats, in his opinion, were bastards who could not be trusted. And they ate mice.

Izumo liked mice.

He stayed as far away from the cats as possible, and edged closer to Itachi than was strictly necessary. They could eat Itachi first. "Need help with your armor?" he asked, already reaching out. Bruised or broken ribs were painful, and made getting out of stiff armor (or flak vests) difficult. It was much less painful with some extra help.

By this point, Itachi was starting to notice that even breathing hurt, so he simply nodded to Izumo. "Thank you..."

The broken armor soon fell to the ground. Itachi pulled up his shirt, feeling the injured area. It was swollen, but despite the pain, he couldn't feel any dents or large protrusions. Nothing was grossly out of place, or if it was, he'd managed to unknowingly snap it back in while running.

"Might have been lucky..." He turned to help Izumo with his vest. "Probably just... a small crack. Or a large bruise..."

"I hope it's only bruised, but I'm no medic..."

Izumo hissed curses under his breath as Itachi helped him. Izumo had never been particularly good at dealing with pain...he was a wimp, and freely admitted it. He sat for a moment with his hand pressed over his own bruised ribs.

The disrobing started his arm bleeding again, he realized, as he felt blood trickling down the back of his arm.

Itachi tried to be gentle, slowly easing the vest off his injured comrade. He wasn't a medic either, but knew enough basic first aid to handle most small wounds. He had some supplies in one of his pouches, and Nekobaa would give him anything he asked for.

"Here... I can get that..." A large breath made him wince as he cleaned the wound. He unrolled some bandages, and started wrapping Izumo's arm.

A few more curses, some aimed specifically at Itachi's family tree, ensued during the wound-cleaning. Izumo was trying, he was, and at least he hadn't kicked Itachi in the shins like he really wanted to. (It wouldn't have helped but it would have made him feel better.) After all the, bandaging was a piece of cake, and Izumo sagged where he sat, running a hand over his face.

"Y'know, never would've expected you to be so nice." Well, Itachi was polite, yes, he'd expected that, but actually genuinely nice, he had not.

Itachi ignored the outbursts. Pain always makes one say things they don't necessarily mean. But when he had finished, he was a little shocked at Izumo's statement.

Given that public perception of the Uchiha clan was marginal at best, and he rarely interacted with anyone outside the clan when he was off duty, he should have expected something like that. But still... it made him blush a little. (Not for long, though. Pain took the color from his cheeks almost as quickly as it appeared.)

"A shinobi is only heartless... in battle..." he winced, hissing when he finally stood again. "I will see if Nekobaa... has any ice."

He didn't want to risk taking painkillers and then needing to move out. So the next best method of pain relief would have to do.

"You got hit harder, you sit, and rest," Izumo told him, and wobbled to his feet. Oh, hey bloodloss, that was a fun dizzy feeling. He blinked and wobbled but stayed on his feet "I'll go ask."

Then, because he couldn't resist, as he turned to go, he added over his shoulder. "Nice, and cute when you blush." He really hand't expect that, and it was ridiculously endearing. He'd never be intimidated by Itachi ever again after this.

Itachi started to question him, but Izumo was right. Lowering himself back down was more painful than getting up, and he was too busy questioning that fine line between bruise and fracture.

Fortunately, this time, he was grimacing too much to blush from the second assertion. Cute was a word usually reserved for puppies, kittens and adorable little brothers. It certainly wasn't ever directed at him.

Izumo came pattering back in, one icepack tucked under his arm, against his ribs, and another in hand for Itachi. He wandered over and offered it out. "Anywhere else hurt I need to look at for you?" he asked, trying for more cheerful than he felt: ice and hurt made him grumpy, but he knew it'd help with both the swelling and the pain.

Itachi was leaning back on his palms. It was a more comfortable position, but not by much if his facial expressions could be trusted. He winced as he reached out for the ice pack.

"...this is it." He replied, but before he could grab it, he started coughing.

Now, that was agony,

He turned away, covering his face with his outstretched arm. The twisting of his waist only made things worse. Pained gasps punctuated the already sharp series of coughs he was practically begging the other shinobi not to hear.

Izumo cringed and scooted closer fast as he dared. "Hey whoa, no, bad, no coughing. Try to take slow deep breaths okay?" For what help that was - a coughing fit with injured ribs was awful. Between the pain and the itch to cough...yeah, telling Itachi to take slow deep breaths was useless advice right now but it was the only thing Izumo could offer.

That and a hand on Itachi's back, trying to help steady him. Izumo's hands were narrow and spindly, long fingers and bony palms, but his touch was firm and careful.

Itachi looked up, trying to take that advice. A trickle of blood dripped down his chin. With it came a terrible realization,

"Maybe... the bruising went... deeper than I thought..."

Just because there didn't appear to be a fracture didn't mean there wasn't internal injury. Anything powerful enough to shatter ANBU armor was capable of deadly force.

"Oh fuckin' hell if you die on me Fugaku will murder me," Izumo blurted out, horrified. "Never mind what the Hokage will do to me..."

Because coughing up blood meant something bleeding in the lungs, and Izumo was no medic but he knew that was seriously bad and probably fatal if it wasn't small. Izumo had no way of knowing how bad the bleed was, if it was just a few tiny broken vessels, just a little bruise, or something ruptured that could end with Itachi suffocated or bled out entirely. For a moment the hand on Itachi's back was rigid with fright before Izumo wrestled it back down and remembered to breathe.

Mission, partner, no time to panic, he needed to think and not lose his head.

He dragged in a rattling breath, cutting it short as it strained his own ribs. "Kotetsu and I already sent for help. It's possible they could track us but it'll be slow. Are we safe enough I could backtrack and fetch them sooner, or should I make a run for a medic myself?" It was mostly Izumo thinking out loud, not really a question he expected Itachi to answer. His hand smoothed unconsciously down Itachi's back, then back up, rubbing soothingly.

He may not have expected Itachi to answer, but the ANBU captain was full of surprises. (Both good and bad, it seemed.)

"No... You're injured too..." He countered. "Your speed... movement is hampered... Have Nekobaa send word to the Uchiha. Her nin-cats... They won't be traced. And this place... My clan knows this place..."

He paused, catching his breath between thoughts. The fact that he had to catch his breath while sitting still was very worrisome.

"If you're that scared... of my father..." Itachi couldn't really blame him if he was. Fugaku was still rumored to be a traitor, and the ANBU actually kept him under surveillance. "Send for Team 7. Sasuke and I... we used to come here a lot... as children..."

Izumo facepalmed. "Sure, because Sasuke will kick my ass just as bad for letting his brother get clobbered by the Akatsuki. And he could do it, too, brat." This more affectionately than annoyed. Izumo didn't mind Team 7 all that much; they were brats but they were good-hearted brats, in his opinion. "You, breathe and please do not die because I like my life. I'll go talk to the old lady and her creepy cats."

One final rub along Itachi's back and Izumo went to run his errand at the fastest possible pace he could manage with his ribs aching like they did. Despite his words, he did not send for Team 7: next Sannin in training they might be, but they were still inexperienced kids, and Izumo wanted somebody with a little bit more experience and firepower (oh that was a good pun, he'd have to try it on Itachi at some point) to help them out. Fugaku it was, even if Izumo was not looking forward to seeing or living through the response to "hi we damaged your genius clan heir a lot." The Uchiha were only slightly more laid back than the Hyuuga, but not by much.

Izumo came hurrying back and pattered up to Itachi to make sure he was still breathing, as ordered. "Hey, hey, okay?"

In the time Izumo was gone, Itachi found a semi-comfortsble position on his back. Breathing hurt, so his breaths were shallow. But they were still there.

"Did you... send for help?" He asked, pausing for a silent prayer that nothing should happen to those on their way.

"I did. Your father, in fact." Izumo gingerly sat down beside Itachi, lowering himself in painful stages punctuated with sharp vile curses. At last, he got down and eyed Itachi to make sure he really was still breathing.

"Just try not to cough or die or anything, please, that was a nasty cough."

Fugaku would arrive without problems, he was sure of it. The man was not the head of the Uchiha clan without good reason.

All Itachi could really do now was console Izumo. He could promise to try, for what it was worth. Unfortunately, coughing was an involuntary reaction, one that appeared at the worst of times - such as in the middle of that exact promise.

"It's... it's going to... be... be all right..." he sputtered through a nasty cough. (Not exactly helping...)

"Not if you keep coughing," Izumo whimpered, and cupped a hand over Itachi's shoulder. "Hey, hey, breathe, please, c'mon. Deep breaths, remember?"

The only consoling Izumo needed was Itachi's continued health and life, but since that was currently unassured.... He rubbed his other hand over his face.

[No incest. Can be played from 16 or 22. No underage. Prefer playing him as an adult. No preference for who is in need of patching]

Edited 2015-03-23 20:33 (UTC)

Getting into trouble. Getting out of trouble. It was like breathing for Hermes - it was how he knew he was alive, and it came just as naturally as the inhale and the exhale, but sometimes he took a breath too deep and found himself choking as it all went down the wrong pipe. In his journeys across creation, his breaking and entering into places that were older than Olympus and long-forgotten, he had woken something up, something on par with Gaea's youngest and most horrid children. It was something that could have probably had a fair fight with Typhon, and it was hungry after its nap. Hermes had no intention of being a snack.

So he slipped away, thinking that in this far-off corner of multiversal space it would stay lost and unable to follow, but follow it did, bellowing at him with black fire and and roars that sent chills down his spine. He could feel the unnatural heat blazing past him at times, and it finally managed to land a hit, clipping one of his shoulders. He yelled in agony, losing focus on his power and finding himself suddenly falling out of the sky in some world parallel to his own.

He didn't know what was different here - he was already blacking out from the pain as he tumbled through the sky - the crash wouldn't kill him (that much he knew), but the wound might. He barely felt the impact as he struck hard into the earth in some field (burnt grass had a distinctive smell), digging a crater several meters in radius and making a sound louder than a house collapsing. He was still breathing, should anyone stumble upon him. At least he had that going for him.

There were some very real benefits to being High King.

Only one of those benefits was that, while out with their army patrolling the northern border of their country and a great crash sounded, there really was no one capable of stopping him from investigating.

Arguing with him, yes. Insisting that he not go alone, yes. Stopping him, no.

The accompaniment was for the best. Far easier for the centaurs to carry the unconscious man out of the crater and back to their camp than it would have been for Peter alone.

Prudence said that anyone who had survived such a fall be treated with caution. Peter wasn't particularly prudent.

He made sure the best that could be done to make him comfortable and treat his injury was done. The Centaur guards stayed outside the tent at his stubborn refusal to let them loom. Peter stayed inside, where he watched the stranger's breathing.

And waited.

Time passed, never out of his notice. His clock went ticking even if everything else went black; a deep, soundless tick-tick-tick within his being that made him aware the space between the crash and the brightness of candlelight as his eyes creaked open. He wasn't uncomfortable - it was hard to be truly uncomfortable when you'd spent so much of your early years in a cave. No amount of life on Olympus and in the beds of well-off mortals could make up for that.

He extended his senses and gave a quick scan of the area - one mortal, human, nearby, and outside... centaurs? Hermes lifted his head a little and looked around for the human, eventually finding a man (a young one, but a man, nonetheless) watching him.

"Funny, I don't often wake up to people watching me in bed," he said as he rolled onto his side and sat up some. If the wound was bothering him, he was doing a good job of hiding it. "Actually, not true, but it's not often there's not a gun or a blade aimed at me. Does this mean we're friends?"

He turned from the doorway where he'd been speaking with the guards, by way of letting them know that it at least appeared as though their 'charge' would be waking. Rather than the alternative, which was dying.

He lifted his eyebrows and shrugged with the pretense of casualness. "Not yet, but certainly not enemies." Also not yet. Not until there was some action to sway him one way or the other. He was ... not without suspicion, but less so than centaurs.

He moved closer to the cot he was laying on, but didn't touch. Didn't offer a hand, yet, either. "How are you feeling?" It was a wound. Whether he responded strongly or not, it was there and must hurt.

"If you're referring to my back, then better than when I first got it." The smile didn't fade, but it hid the deep tremor that was rolling through his mind at the memory of that creature. Who knew if it was in this world now, or still waiting in the spaces between the worlds for him to try and make his way back? He would have to deal with it eventually, but he planned on doing that on his terms, and preferably with the backing of his family.

"So I'm going to assume that you're someone relatively important to have yourself a place like this, even when you're hoofing it with the party animals out there." He took another quick look around the interior of the tent. "What's the local term here? Duke? Prince? King? Tsar? You're not an emperor, are you?" Hermes laughed, and that would just be the start of his irreverence.

"Emperors are usually less generous."

"To begin with, a place like this is a tent. Your expectations of loyalty are relatively low." That was said in a tone that recognized that it was, at least, a very comfortable and nice tent. "The follow up and more serious part of that is the party animals out there are people and you'd do well to remember them as such."

And, just possibly, explain how the hell he knew who was out there, though that could wait. For a bit. While he found out more. "What my position or my authority is really not immediately relevant to this discussion." That was just... a bit of caution among being foolhardy in having brought this person here. "What gave you the wound on your back?"

Hermes' eyes widened just a tad at the defense of the centaurs. Well, this certainly was an interesting mortal. His experience of mortal opinions on those creatures involved a whole lot of relegating them to the state of beast or worse. His smile grew.

"Forgive me, my lord. I will make sure to remember that centaurs are people too. And as for the fact that this is a tent: the kind of place is irrelevant. The quality and care are, and this is... considerable." Hermes' features hardened a little at the final question, however. He moved quickly to sit up, not even wincing even as the wound stung and burned anew with the sudden movements. Common sense said it would have hurt, however.

"I don't know. Never saw anything like it before. There was nothing big and mean flying around where you found me, was there?"

Those centaurs were his army, by and large. He lived with them at times more than his family, and he trusted them with his life and they trusted theirs. Of course they were people.

He moved when the man sat up, but moved toward rather than away from him. It was not a defensive move; he was moving himself into position to help, should it be necessary. At least he was able to get a more proper look at the wound, now that he was upright, and he took advantage of that opportunity.

"You were the only thing we found. Nothing else, save a crater from your apparent impact." Which was bloody weird, if he said so himself. "My name is Peter. I am the High King. My siblings are also Kings and Queens. We are also the only people of our sort that you will find here, save traveling very far to the south." Something Susan did with some regularity and Peter did very, very rarely. "Where did you come from?" He paused. "Who are you?" What are you?

He was probably not actually a star, being on the ground and not on fire but having survived.

Edited 2015-04-06 00:20 (UTC)

Only thing. So they were safe, for now. Hermes considered that for a second and then mentally shrugged it off. As for answers, well- he was in the habit of lying and misdirecting, of telling tall tales, but this High King had shown him hospitality without it being asked for. There were old customs among his kind that ran as deep as blood and bone - hospitality was one of them. Peter's act deserved at least some honesty.

"I think you'll find that you and I are very different. My name is Hermes and I am an Olympian." His eyes took in all the little movements and gestures that might give away recognition or any thought Peter might have that Hermes was lying. That he journeyed with centaurs was interesting, but it didn't mean that he would be believed.

"As for where I came from, weellll..." Hermes lifted a hand lazily and pointed up.

There was a flicker of recognition, though it was in response to Olympian, rather than the name Hermes. He'd been gone from a world where Greek Gods and Goddesses were the stuff of myth and legend for a long time. Barely remembered that world at all, in truth, or anything about it. Still, it rang a bell of familiarity, and had him inclining his head with a frown as he tried to chase it down. He did get, at least, the gist of it. Magical, powerful, and worthy of respect and some degree of caution.

...Having forgotten was part of the magic of Narnia, at least on he and his siblings. Not a matter of being forgetful.

"You know I did gather the last from the size of the hole you left when you hit the ground." Dry, wry, but not biting at all. "I suppose if you recognized the centaurs, you would have recognized gryphons or phoenix, had that been what attacked you. Turn around and let me see if that wound needs a fresh bandage."

"The hole in the ground is only part of my origins," he said lightly as he turned enough to show off his back. He could sense some of the extent of his wounds, and while they hurt, he was a god after all. Give him some time and he would heal - if he had access to ambrosia or nectar, that would be even better, but he would just have to make do with time.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I came from another world? And I don't mean one that's circling up there with the stars." Divulging these sorts of secrets was usually pointless - mortals rarely believed these days that the world was bigger than they knew, unless they were true believers in him or those like him. They only believed when they saw, which he had to give them some credit for. Stubborn for mayflies. Of course, he was unaware that maybe this king hadn't been born in this world.

"There are probably worlds out there where you're a beggar, rather than high king."

"Yes," he said, patiently. "I really did gather that." If he had access to Lucy's little vial, they'd have healed faster, too. Given how unnecessary that appeared to be, it really was for the best that it stayed in his littlest sister's hands.

Satisfied after looking them over -still without touching- he stepped back. "I'd believe that you were from another world quite easily. There aren't really worlds circling the stars here, for a start. Our stars are people." Which was, actually, true, for as fantastical as it sounded. "I think there were in the world I came from." Probably, but only because of how true that sounded and how not true it was, here. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"People. Huh, that's an old one." Hermes took the chance to get back to lying down once Peter pulled back. "Haven't met stars who were people in a couple of thousand years." Whether he was being flippant or not probably wasn't clear. There always seemed to be a kind of smirk around Hermes' mouth, even when he let his eyes drift shut like he was doing now.

"I could do with some water, your majesty." He cracked an eye open and his smirk grew just a little more. If he wasn't flippant before, that majesty was about ready to flip across the continent. "Tell me how I return the favor and I'll get out of your hair."

Peter wasn't sure if Hermes is being flippant or not, either. He'd seen little of what he would consider a sincere reaction from the man so far, be it pain or anything else. That made him disturbingly hard to read.

The... patronization or irony or whatever it was that all but dripped from the 'majesty' was clear, at least.

He ignored it. Pointedly, and very pointedly. Yes, it bothered him, no he wasn't going to start making snide remarks back. Not yet, anyway.

He got the man a cup of water and nearly said there was nothing to be done to return the favor, but just before he handed it over thought of something. Sort of. "You owe me nothing for a cup of water and very short conversation, but I'd very much like to know what you did to ...agitate whatever it was that came after you. Do you think it will try again?"

Hermes took a good long drink of water, letting the coolness of it sink and spread through his limbs, taking away some of the ache that did creep into his body. Immortal did not mean immune, at least not 100%, and that creature's flames did have a strong effect.

"Mm," he hummed softly as he brought the cup down from his mouth and toyed with it some in his hands. "I stumbled upon its bed. Out there, in the space between worlds. Some civilization managed to build in that place - I imagine the creature cleared them out long ago and decided to take a nap."

Leave it to Hermes to disturb some terrible beastie. He arched a brow and gave Peter a curious look.

"No. I'm sure if it could have followed me, it would have. It may be a creature that can only live in those spaces. You're safe."

Peter looked around Hermes to check his back again, and the state of injury that was still there. He was curious about the speed he was healing, but there was some concern, along with the curiosity.

More than some, really.

"Believe it or not, my asking was not soley motivated by concern of a fire breathing monster that can knock gods from the heavens descending upon us." He could be a smart-ass, but he was a very polite one. "Though it is good to know that even fire breathing monsters can be cranky when abruptly woken from sound sleep."

"You should see some of my brothers when I interrupt their bedtime. They put my ability to dodge blades to the test." And then, after starting to laugh at his own words, Hermes winced - that seemed to be testing his injuries far too much. His smile died down somewhat and he set the cup down to the side. Then, without consideration for the fact that he was in the presence of a king, he settled down and rolled onto his belly, just to let the burn air.

"So are you out in these parts for little old me or were you planning to hunt or something leisurely like that? I don't remember seeing a castle or anything like that on my tumble, but I could have missed it." His head was resting on his forearms, his eyes turned toward Peter.

[probably the one being patched up! assumed cr only, please.]

Edited 2015-03-23 20:54 (UTC)

[Either role's fine.]

[ooc: Either / or.]

[ooc: Probably the one doing the patching.]

[Ooc: definitely being patched.]

Okay... So explain to me again how you managed to do this?

[Yang was standing there with bandages and disinfectant, looking a bit bewildered by his injuries.]

No big deal. I was fighting those Grimm things and they kept bringing more of their friends. Didn't know they came in so many sizes.

[Despite looking like a mess given some blood and cuts, he still smiled like it was nothing. Just...don't ask him what happened to the forest.]

( ooc: she's a zombie sooooo, yeah. )

[probably the patched, but he's got patching skills, too]

Edited 2015-03-24 00:36 (UTC)

((ooc: Probably the one doing the patching))

((ooc: Open to either role))

[Can be the one doing the patching or being patched up]

[Open to either... fair warning though: His bedside manner is so-so and he's pretty grumpy when he's achey.]

[ Open to either! ]

Patch You Up

chi-chi ( dragon ball ) f/m

rapunzel | tangled | m/f for shippy things, ota for gen

Levy McGarden - Fairy Tail - F/M

Tifa Lockhart / Final Fantasy 7 Collection / OTA

Warsman | Kinnikuman | ota

megumi aino + happinesscharge precure!

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Bucky Barnes | MCU |

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Darcy Lewis | MCU

Itachi Uchiha - Naruto - OTA

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Assuming a universe where Itachi didn't commit a massacre...

Works for me!

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Peter Pevensie | The Chronicles of Narnia | M/M

lemme know if I should change anything up

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Archie | Pokemon: Alpha Sapphire | ota

Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow | MCU

Margaret, a Princess | OC | OTA

Amelia Atwater | OC | OTA

Matthew, a Prince | OC | M/F

Meredith | OUAT OC | OTA