Red Handed [Honora]

[James Colt]

It started off with the best of intentions; a friendly spar between hunters to let off some steam. It probably would have stayed that way if James had managed to keep his mouth shut. As it happened, a few well placed taunts had the other hunter seeing red. This made the spar more fun, sure, but it also made it far more likely to end in injury. That didn't stop him from grinning as he dodged one of the black bear shifters massive paws, shifting himself and twisting around to deliver a smack to the other hunter's head, careful to keep his claws retracted. Of course, bears couldn't retract their claws, so what probably would have been a glancing blow to James' shoulder if they were both fighting with fists managed to open up four slashes. With an angry yowl James pounced the bear shifter, driving his paws into the chest and roaring in his face. The roar was enough to surprise the other shifter into staying still, and after pinning him for another few moments, James stepped off to let him up and shifted. The other hunter frowned at him, "You're bleeding." He said, pointing at the trickle of blood that was snaking down his left arm. James twisted around, trying to see where the blood was coming from. It wasn't too much blood, he'd certainly had worse before. "Don't worry about it, just a scratch," he grinned, "It'll take more than that to get the better of me." He wandered away with a careless wave, testing his shoulder to see how much he could move it. It didn't feel too bad, he suspected only the middle two claws had done any real damage. Still, he should probably see about trying to clean it out and bandage it. It'd suck if it got infected and stopped him from hunting, especially with things so tense in the Carna; the last thing he wanted was to have to explain to whoever ended up in charge of the hunters that he'd injured himself goofing off. Reluctantly he headed towards the medical ward. It wasn't that he didn't like medics, it was just he was so used to letting things heal more or less on their own it seemed like a waste to go to them for every little bump or scrape. Poking his head into the ward he saw it was more or less, empty. There were a few half conscious wounded and a medic watching over them, but no one was really paying attention to the entrance. He grinned to himself, better and better, he could just slip in, grab a bandage or two and fix it up himself. No need to get a medic involved, no need to answer pointless questions like 'how did you do this?' and 'what were you thinking you moron?'. Walking up to the closest pile of medical looking stuff he began rummaging through it to find what he needed. Ah, there was a bandage that looked like it would do the job, he held it between his teeth so he could keep his hands free to hunt for something to clean the wounds with. Antiseptic, alcohol, heck, clean salt water would be better than nothing. Now where did they keep it? A noise from behind him, someone clearing their throat, interrupted his search, and he turned around, doing his best attempt at looking innocent with a bandage between his teeth.

[Honora St. John]

She could feel a migraine forming at the base of her skull, and even the near non-existent light of Sewertown wasn't helping ease it. She'd just slept off a long shift in the medical bay – or, well, she’d tried to. But the sleep had been fitful at best. She’d given up on sleep after four hours of tossing and turning amid the noise and tumult of the tunnels. After years in the tunnels the susurrus of near constant activity that had once kept her up for hours on end had become a soothing comfort; almost a necessity she could not do without. But even the real-life white noise machine couldn’t help her sleep, not today. There was too much to be done for her to rest easy, especially with the recent murder of her Alpha and Beta. But that seemed to be in hand with Jocelyn stepping up to take the leads and get the cart righted and the horse back on track. Honora had to remind herself that the weight of the Carna wasn't on her shoulders alone, that they were a family and would get things done together. But she did have patients to tend to. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck, attempting to get rid of some of the tension as she swept into the medic wing. It wasn’t much, ramshackle and makeshift like everything else was in the dome – but to Honora it had become home. Keen eyes ran over each cot, assessing each patient with a quick once over to assure there weren’t any major issues. She nodded to Stern, a fellow medic who was as quiet as she was efficient. The girl ducked her in head in reply, and Honora turned back to her rounds, not expecting much more than that out of Stern when she heard the girl clear her throat. Honora turned to see Stern jerk her chin in the direction of the supply shelves, which were kept in an annex partitioned off with a curtain. Honora thanked Stern with another quiet nod and stole over to the partition, batting it aside and stepping through. The first thing she saw was the blood-stained back of a man, the next that he was rummaging through her supplies. Supplies were strictly monitored and off limits to non-medics, or rather Honora felt they should be. There was no standing Chief Medic, as the Carna had never really been able to keep one for long. They always seemed to get killed in raids or just…disappear. The position had remained empty for quite some time now, as no one really seemed willing to step into the spotlight that seemed to paint a target on one’s back, so to speak, so she and the other Medics relied on themselves to keep things orderly and efficient. And here this guy was digging his grimy, bacteria laden paws into her sterile, clean supplies. She herself had just taken stock and reorganized the shelves on her previous shift, and it had taken her considerable time. Which was a good thing, it meant they were well stocked after all. After a few seconds of taking in the situation and resisting the urge to plant a boot on his ass and kick him out (only because he was obviously injured and it went against her moral code to kick an injured man in the ass), Honora crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat. The main straightened up and turned around, a bandage clamped between his teeth. She felt her brow furrow even though she tried to keep her expression even, her lips pulling down in a frown. His face was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place a name with it. She was more focused on what was in his mouth, anyway. That was a whole bandage that he'd just…in his mouth, really? Now it had to be decontaminated, in her mind. Infection was the number one killer in the dome, and she’d seen a splinter turn into a rampant infection. The dome was crawling with disease and idiots like him was one of the reasons why. Most found her rigorous attention to sterilization (although what classified as sterilization in the dome made her cringe), but she would not have death on her hands over a simple uncleaned utensil. But she was a Medic, and had a responsibility to her patient. She looked him up and down with a quick glance, and not seeing any other fresh blood, she stepped forward and plucked the dangling roll of gauze from his mouth. “Shirt off.” She said, brushing past him to get the supplies she needed to clean and dress the wound. She turned back to him, holding a bottle of antiseptic to irrigate and disinfect the wound. She doused her own hands in it, clearly waiting for him to follow her orders. “Now.” ooc| Silfrvarg sorry it kind of poop :| my first post with her, so still figuring how she works haha

[James Colt]

James raised an eyebrow at the woman who had cleared her throat behind him. Clearly she was a medic, and, judging by the frown she was trying to hide, she was annoyed with him. He took the bandage out from between his teeth and grinned at her impudently, he hadn't even needed to open his mouth this time. "Hey, that's a little forward," He protested, "Usually I try to exchange names before I start stripping off clothes." He looked her over with an exaagerated leer, "Although I might make an exception for you." Reluctantly he started to wriggle out of his black shirt, trying not to wince as his shoulder and back twinged in protest. He looked at the tears in it and frowned, black didn't show blood too well at least, but he'd have to mend the tears in it now. There were four slashes in the fabric, which sort of indicated there were four slashes in his shoulder. Curious, he twisted around to try and see his back. After a bit of twisting he caught a glance of the fresh wounds on his left shoulderblade, almost criss crossing with some of the older scars. There were four new cuts, and his back was already slippery with blood, but the outer two were only shallow, they'd probably heal on their own. He twisted his arm around and tried to poke at one of the middle ones, but he wasn't quite that flexible. "It's not bleeding too badly," he commented, "Shouldn't be that hard to patch up, I'm sure a clever little medic like yourself will have no problems fixing it." He was sure he'd seen her around before, maybe last time he had the pleasure of staying in the medical ward, although if she'd been directly involved with his care the last time the little frown would probably be a bigger frown; he certainly wasn't the most well behaved of patients. She seemed sort of serious, he smirked to himself and wondered whether if he annoyed her enough she'd lighten up a bit. She'd probably just get mad, but it'd be fun to see either way. Still, he was hear to get patched and antagonizing the person who was going to be poking around your wounds probably wasn't the smartest behaviour. He supposed he'd save the serious annoying for after he'd stopped bleeding. "Y'know I probably could've fixed it up myself if I'd been able to find the disinfectant. Who the heck organizes this stuff anyway?" ooc: Don't worry, that was fine. Sorry if mine is a little short this time.

[Honora St. John]

Honora resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his comment and his obstinate leer, instead fixing him with a stare that could chill the very depths of hell were her eyes not glinting with the slightest humor. She didn’t find him funny, but one had to make do with what was at hand. “Be still my beating heart,” she deadpanned, and helped him off with his shirt. She was initially concerned with all the blood that had already coated his back, but her quick eyes were able to catch that the wound wasn’t too serious, and the worst of the bleeding had stopped—before he started twisting this way and that to look at his own wounds. She grimaced as she watched him trying to crane his neck to get a peek, rolling her eyes when in his efforts he managed to start the bleeding up again. “It wasn’t bleeding badly, until you started trying to get the gold in gymnastics,” she said, grabbing hold of his shoulder where he was uninjured and straightening him up and about. “You’ve only gone and started it up again. But you’re right. Won’t be too hard to patch up, if you'd stop wiggling so!" She said, her tone that of a stern mother lecturing an obstinate toddler. "Middle one is going to need stitches though, I’m afraid.” She did a quick inspection, critical eyes roving over the plane of his back to examine any other areas of injury. She didn’t see any bruising or sign of internal bleeding, but that was near impossible to detect anyway. There wasn’t any sign of fresh injury, but as her eyes trailed over his skin she could see the all too familiar marks carved into him. Scars ran down his back, long—a small chill ran through her as she realized they might’ve been left there by a whip. She wondered at his past, fingers twitching as she kept herself from tracing her fingers over the faded lines etched into his back. What kind of people did such things? What pain had he known? His voice brought her back round, and she narrowed her eyes at his criticism of her organization. She decided not to rise to the obvious jab and instead went about her work cleaning the wound, perhaps dabbing a bit too harshly with the stinging antiseptic he couldn’t seem to find. “No one but Medics are supposed to be back here,” she said simply, her tone indicating that next time there would be consequences for rifling through her supplies. She grabbed the curved needle from her pack, threaded it, lit a match and sterilized it in the flame. “What are you, Hunter? Scout? And how’d you get the wound, anyhow? Enemy combatant, or did the food fight back?” She asked, prepping the gauze and precious little bits of tape she would use to keep the bandage in place. “This might hurt a bit,” she said, pinching the torn flesh together lightly and sticking the needle through. She could feel his muscles tense, though she wondered with all those scars if he had built up immunity to such a trifling pain. Though, she’d had her fair share of stitches and it hurt like a mother without topical anesthetic. “I suppose I should get your name, for records sake. I know I’ve seen your face before, likely skulking in the shadows waiting to ruffle some lady’s petticoats,” she said with a smirk. “Jack, was it?” ooc| Silfrvarg sorry it took so long, chica. ): Hope it's alright!

[James Colt]

James had started to shiver a little as the cold air hit his chest; shirtless in winter wasn't exactly a good way to stay warm. Annoying the medic was a good distraction from the discomfort though. The stare she sent his way probably meant she didn't find his antics amusing. If he were a different sort of person it would probably be a hint to stop fooling around and be on his best behaviour. As it was, it only made him wonder what it would take to make her crack a smile; he liked a challenge. He smirked as she scolded him for re-opening his wounds, "But Doc, if I stop wiggling it'll be too easy and you'll get bored! What sort of a ring-mate would I be if I let my comrades suffer the agonies of boredom?" He shrugged when she mentioned stitches, he wouldn't have bothered with them himself, but that was mostly because the back of his shoulder was a pain in the arse to reach, and he wasn't going to let anyone who wasn't a trained medic poke around there with a needle where he couldn't see them, the last thing he needed was a sloppy patch job that would get infected later. At least with an actual medic he could be pretty sure she was competant. The feeling of eyes running over his back and shoulders made him stiffen slightly. Usually, he wouldn't mind a pretty little doctor staring at him, hell, he'd leer and flirt for all he was worth, but there was a reason he didn't wander around shirtless even in summer. He knew she wasn't checking him out, she was looking at the scars, likely assuming all sorts of things. Of course, most of what she'd be assuming would be pretty close to the mark; there was no way you got scars like these in a friendly manner. It wasn't that he was ashamed of his scars, not really, he knew he certainly wasn't the worst scarred shifter in here. These scars though, the ones he'd been carrying for close to a decade, they were almost... private. He wasn't a fool enough to believe that the scars defined him, but his experiences did. Each faded line was a story, his personal history played out in dull read and silvery white. No one else knew the full story, oh sure, he'd told bits and pieces of it to Grey when he was drunk, feverish or both, but he was the only one who knew it all. He was going to make damned sure it stayed that way too. Apparently his disparaging comment about her organisation skills got her attention back on the job, a fact for which he was almost pathetically grateful. He felt professional hands on his back, cleaning out the wound, perhaps a little harshly but he supposed that's what happened when you went out of your way to annoy your medic. She was talking again, asking where he got the injury, probably in an attempt to distract him from the fact she was about to stick a needle in him. He smirked, "Hunter, and if my prey manages to do this to me I'm in the wrong line of work," he smirked cockily, "It was a friendly training accident, I zigged when I should have zagged, which I 'spose would be fine if my partner shifted into something that could retract it's claws, but I guess I'll dodge better next time." As she began to prepare her things behind him he couldn't help but tense. He forced himself to relax, he knew from experience tensing up just made getting stitched up worse. The medic began to speak again, and he had to admit, it sort of worked, having something to focus on other than the thought of a needle being repeatedly shoved through his skin without anesthetic. Still, he couldn't help but wince a little as she pinched the skin together and the first stitch went in. He quickly covered it up with a pout, hoping she hadn't noticed, but who was he kidding, she was a medic; it was her job to notice. Being careful not to move around to much he clasped his right hand to his chest and threw a wounded look her way, "I'm hurt doc, deeply hurt. I might just cry. As if I'd discriminate like that! I'm an equal opportunity skulker thank you very much! And it's James. What about you? Can't just go calling you doc, can I? Although tiny doc might work?" ooc: mo money Sorry this is a little late, I haven't been able to sit down on my computer and format it properly until today.