and vax is here. actually, of course vax is here, because sometimes your friends disappear out of your (generic murdergame setting) for a few hours with no rhyme or reason and then come back injured. to say vax is testy is putting it lightly, but at least percy is back. ]
If you don't sit down and let me treat your injuries, Percival, I swear I will knock you out myself.
Actually don't, I think I'm already concussed. You might kill me yourself.
[ he says it dryly, with the same smug look he always tends to give, even through the blood that's definitely dried on his teeth and along the edges of his lips. are his guts done falling out of his body? not quite, but he's been bitten in half by a dragon, s o really. he's had worse. this is less a... bitten in half situation and more of a... there is a hole where it shouldn't be and thick, dark blood pooling over his coat.
(that's not how this works, percy.)
his eyes shift, a little more serious behind his very crooked glasses. ]
And Pickles isn't here to resurrect you, so you're damn lucky I don't.
[ this is really just grumbling, or, the vax brand of worry - or, really, the best brand of vax worry (TM) he can show to percy. he gets up from where he's sitting, moving to wherever he has been squirreling away first aid supplies and grabs a pack of bandages and a bottle of some kind of liquor, bringing it to set down on a night stand with a loud clunk of finality.
he points at the chair. sit your ass down. ] You really wanna go out from whatever the hell that is in this place? Of all things? [ gesturing at the injury!!! ] Sit. Down.
Between the both of you, she's got the better bedside manner.
[ that being said, he does sit himself down on the chair, wincing as he does so as the pain is really beginning to sink in. he's used to having to hold off, to wait, to keep steady when he's hurt and aching, but vax is fretting in his own way, biting, acerbic, and... he understands.
they've come a long way, haven't they?
he holds out a bloody hand, peeled away from where the wound is where he'd been applying pressure. ]
[ vax's bedside manner is terrible! just talking about pike makes him miss her though, as secretly (?) sentimental as he can be, and he lets it go after that, uncapping the whiskey and handing it over without much fuss.
mostly so he can put pressure on the wound instead. it's not super gentle. he is not, in fact, a doctor... but there is no way in hell he's going to let percival die. (it's not really just because vex is upset, no matter what he might start to claim otherwise.) ]
Drink up so you don't shout. Supposed to take the edge off proper.
[ as he takes it and immediately brings it up to his mouth and takes a much longer swig than he probably should, but he knows he'll need it. the wound is deep and his mind is worse for the wear for it. now that he's sitting, he has time to process, time to feel the wet sting go down his throat and intermingle with the sharpness of the booze.
he's not going to die, thankfully, but he sure fuckin' came close, not that he'll say that but it's clear from the ragged edges and the smell of gunsmoke that he has once again gone off the deep end and the adrenaline is the only thing keeping him talking.
pressure is applied to the wound and he wheezes. oh. ] Fffffffuck... [ healing doesn't feel like this, not from a healing word or a curative spell. addling sure, maybe a bit of a pinch and a sting, but gods this is infinitely worse without their beloved pike around. ] I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine—do your worst...
[ he's breathing through it. feathery bastard man. he knew something like this would happen. he's sorry, truly, but will he say it? fuck around and find out. no, he won't. ]
[ he's clearly not fine but vax, while a soft and cushy good boy on the inside, is still vax'ildan, and... they don't exactly have a choice but to be fine. neither of them can die here, after all.
(well. vax can. wouldn't be much different from home, would it?)
either way - he pulls a bit of a grimace but otherwise shoves a little more pressure against the injury itself and pulls the little suture kit he got from their chromatic overlords who we don't know yet out, tugging the thread with his teeth so it's taut before going to stitch him up. ]
Focus on the pain. [ because he can see it, he can see the way the light's trying to leave percy's eyes, and thinks don't you fucking dare backslide, i won't let you. ] Or talk to me. Pick one.
I'm going to talk you into the grave, don't you worry, so long as I'm breathing—
[ breathe, he tells himself, you have to breathe. his heel nudges whatever he can. a sign. i'm here, just hurting. ]
... I'm going to be a thorn in your side.
[ so he's chosen talking instead of focusing on the pain, searing and burning, leaking hotly under vax'ildan's palm. he laughs again, which doesn't help, a fresh half-gush even as he "ow"s and his fingers curl into his palms. the injury stops once vax applies more pressure, begins to work at preparing the needle and percy sees it. he hates it. he's dealing with it, taking another long drink from the bottle.
he almost offers it out, but he'd rather a sober surgeon than a shit-faced one. granted, vax has steady hands. he's picked locks with as much finesse as any tailor bets their reputation on their finest work. ] Don't just stab me like some pincushion, all right? A surgeon's hand and a rogue's hand surely aren't all that different.
[ sterile, clean, quick - he's no pickles, but he knows what he's doing. years of living alone with vex taught vax all kinds of useful skills. i'm going to talk you into the grave gets a huff of a laugh, humorless, the corner of vax's mouth lifting as he stretches across the room for a candle and sticks the tip of the needle in the light.
with vex, for vex. for percy, his friend, companion, teammate - his brother in law, he thinks. he hopes. for their sakes, for percy's sakes, for vex's when he's gone, he hopes. and that, more than anything, is why percy will stay a thorn in his side, and vax briefly glances up to lock eyes with him. ] Damn right.
[ no one's dying here.
vax's hands are perfectly steady, even if the left is bloodied now; he pulls the thread, looks down, and while percy's drinking, plunges the needle through to start the stitches so he doesn't see the first push. it's easier that way. ]
Might wanna keep with the compliments to the guy stitching up your fucking insides. [ this is delivered as dry as the desert. normal, normal. everything's normal - pull the stitch, close off the bleeding, fix percival. it's normal. ] Thankless bloody job, taking care of you.
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quoth the raven turn down for what is my favorite
and vax is here. actually, of course vax is here, because sometimes your friends disappear out of your (generic murdergame setting) for a few hours with no rhyme or reason and then come back injured. to say vax is testy is putting it lightly, but at least percy is back. ]
If you don't sit down and let me treat your injuries, Percival, I swear I will knock you out myself.
[ BT ]
no subject
[ a pause. ]
Actually don't, I think I'm already concussed. You might kill me yourself.
[ he says it dryly, with the same smug look he always tends to give, even through the blood that's definitely dried on his teeth and along the edges of his lips. are his guts done falling out of his body? not quite, but he's been bitten in half by a dragon, s o really. he's had worse. this is less a... bitten in half situation and more of a... there is a hole where it shouldn't be and thick, dark blood pooling over his coat.
(that's not how this works, percy.)
his eyes shift, a little more serious behind his very crooked glasses. ]
no subject
[ this is really just grumbling, or, the vax brand of worry - or, really, the best brand of vax worry (TM) he can show to percy. he gets up from where he's sitting, moving to wherever he has been squirreling away first aid supplies and grabs a pack of bandages and a bottle of some kind of liquor, bringing it to set down on a night stand with a loud clunk of finality.
he points at the chair. sit your ass down. ] You really wanna go out from whatever the hell that is in this place? Of all things? [ gesturing at the injury!!! ] Sit. Down.
no subject
[ that being said, he does sit himself down on the chair, wincing as he does so as the pain is really beginning to sink in. he's used to having to hold off, to wait, to keep steady when he's hurt and aching, but vax is fretting in his own way, biting, acerbic, and... he understands.
they've come a long way, haven't they?
he holds out a bloody hand, peeled away from where the wound is where he'd been applying pressure. ]
Give it here, doctor.
no subject
[ vax's bedside manner is terrible! just talking about pike makes him miss her though, as secretly (?) sentimental as he can be, and he lets it go after that, uncapping the whiskey and handing it over without much fuss.
mostly so he can put pressure on the wound instead. it's not super gentle. he is not, in fact, a doctor... but there is no way in hell he's going to let percival die. (it's not really just because vex is upset, no matter what he might start to claim otherwise.) ]
Drink up so you don't shout. Supposed to take the edge off proper.
no subject
[ as he takes it and immediately brings it up to his mouth and takes a much longer swig than he probably should, but he knows he'll need it. the wound is deep and his mind is worse for the wear for it. now that he's sitting, he has time to process, time to feel the wet sting go down his throat and intermingle with the sharpness of the booze.
he's not going to die, thankfully, but he sure fuckin' came close, not that he'll say that but it's clear from the ragged edges and the smell of gunsmoke that he has once again gone off the deep end and the adrenaline is the only thing keeping him talking.
pressure is applied to the wound and he wheezes. oh. ] Fffffffuck... [ healing doesn't feel like this, not from a healing word or a curative spell. addling sure, maybe a bit of a pinch and a sting, but gods this is infinitely worse without their beloved pike around. ] I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine—do your worst...
[ he's breathing through it. feathery bastard man. he knew something like this would happen. he's sorry, truly, but will he say it? fuck around and find out.
no, he won't. ]no subject
(well. vax can. wouldn't be much different from home, would it?)
either way - he pulls a bit of a grimace but otherwise shoves a little more pressure against the injury itself and pulls the little suture kit he got from their chromatic overlords who we don't know yet out, tugging the thread with his teeth so it's taut before going to stitch him up. ]
Focus on the pain. [ because he can see it, he can see the way the light's trying to leave percy's eyes, and thinks don't you fucking dare backslide, i won't let you. ] Or talk to me. Pick one.
im taking him from 69 before his rez so rip
[ breathe, he tells himself, you have to breathe. his heel nudges whatever he can. a sign. i'm here, just hurting. ]
... I'm going to be a thorn in your side.
[ so he's chosen talking instead of focusing on the pain, searing and burning, leaking hotly under vax'ildan's palm. he laughs again, which doesn't help, a fresh half-gush even as he "ow"s and his fingers curl into his palms. the injury stops once vax applies more pressure, begins to work at preparing the needle and percy sees it. he hates it. he's dealing with it, taking another long drink from the bottle.
he almost offers it out, but he'd rather a sober surgeon than a shit-faced one. granted, vax has steady hands. he's picked locks with as much finesse as any tailor bets their reputation on their finest work. ] Don't just stab me like some pincushion, all right? A surgeon's hand and a rogue's hand surely aren't all that different.
[ a cough, more blood. messy bitch. ]
oh big rip
i'm going to talk you into the grave gets a huff of a laugh, humorless, the corner of vax's mouth lifting as he stretches across the room for a candle and sticks the tip of the needle in the light.
with vex, for vex. for percy, his friend, companion, teammate - his brother in law, he thinks. he hopes. for their sakes, for percy's sakes, for vex's when he's gone, he hopes. and that, more than anything, is why percy will stay a thorn in his side, and vax briefly glances up to lock eyes with him. ] Damn right.
[ no one's dying here.
vax's hands are perfectly steady, even if the left is bloodied now; he pulls the thread, looks down, and while percy's drinking, plunges the needle through to start the stitches so he doesn't see the first push. it's easier that way. ]
Might wanna keep with the compliments to the guy stitching up your fucking insides. [ this is delivered as dry as the desert. normal, normal. everything's normal - pull the stitch, close off the bleeding, fix percival. it's normal. ] Thankless bloody job, taking care of you.