Ah fuck, I didn't mean anything by it, just figured with the way magic works someti-- shit!
[This is the last thing he wants to get mixed up in and were he alone, he would probably have just hunched down in his chair and ignored the men, or tried to slip out the back. But he's not alone, so he's heaving himself to his feet to get himself between Alix and the fight.
Could she likely handle herself? Maybe, but it's not as though he hasn't noticed that she didn't exactly come out of the tangle in the sheep pasture unscathed.]
[ Lucky for her he's paying attention - both horse and spear are outside, meaning she doesn't have many options in terms of defending herself. Eskel's vigilance gives her enough warning to half turn in her seat to see what all the ruckus is about, ducking hastily as something that looks suspiciously like a broken chair leg goes sailing gracefully through the air where her head used to be and clatters off the wall in a shower of splinters and wood dust. ]
Oh come on. Really?
[ Bruh why can't everyone just get shitfaced in peace... Alix follows Eskel's lead after hurriedly drinking down as much of her lager as possible (look she's got priorities alright don't judge), one hand resting on his shoulder to make her presence known in the confused tangle of bodies and limbs. The last thing they need is to get separated in this mess. ]
[ Her touch on his shoulder tightens marginally in sympathy. As long as the shield holds, the indiscriminate fire won't pose as much of a problem... but it's double edged sword since the glow does tend to draw attention. There's a marked increase in bits and bobs rattling off his shield as other villagers pitch in with vicious enthusiasm. Yet another sacrifice to lay at my feet, she thinks dismally, applying steady pressure to guide him back with her around the worst of the brawl. ]
Just keep doing what you're doing. [ It's been a while since she's had cause to break out the supportive officer voice - a skill intended keep a skittish line from breaking in pitched combat. Alix is mollified to hear the calm authority in her tone hasn't gone thready with disuse, even if a hardened veteran like Eskel probably doesn't need the additional encouragement. ] Let me worry about the rest.
[ They skirt around the edges of the melee in lockstep; while doubtless several of the opportunistic drunks would've liked to take a shot at the mutant they find so distasteful, it's difficult to focus on someone across the room when your neighbor is trying their best to cave your skull in with whatever's readily at hand. One wiry youngster ducks in, full of piss and vinegar and red-faced in animalistic rage, thinking to take advantage of their careful retreat to win himself a badge of drunken glory by landing a sucker punch. Alix whips around on the spot, releasing Eskel.
The boy's knobbly fist glances off her cheek. A step in. Fingers lock around his wrist, jerking him towards her. And turn --
With equal amounts of drilled military precision and sheer vicious disregard for the damage done to both her knuckles and the person she's striking, Alix's fist snaps out and flattens the boy's nose with a wet 'crack', sending him tumbling ass over kettle in time to vanish under the stomping feet and flailing legs of his fellows.
Then it's back to calmly assisting Eskel maneuver - with the non-punching hand, notably - as if the brief burst of violence never happened at all. ]
[When she releases his shoulder, she loses the protection of the shield. Which may well be fine as he momentarily loses it (it's not really meant to be held for long periods anyway) as the youth's blood splashes across Alix and himself before the boy disappears back into the fray. It certainly doesn't endear them much to the rest of the room. The second her hand is back on his shoulder, he grits his teeth and pulls the shield up again and lets her guide him.]
[ Fortunately for them both it's merely a tense handful of seconds more before they're outside in the fresh air. None of the angry brawlers see fit to follow, and the only drunks on this side of the door are the ones so inebriated they're either leaning heavily on the wall for support, or blacked out facedown in the dirt.
Alix gives him an approving clap on the back with her good hand before sidestepping out of his personal space. ]
Here we are. Bit touch and go for a moment there, almost thought that one would get past me.
[Once the two strangers are out of easy pelting or punching distance, the mob gives up as it usually does. Outside the bar they're met with momentary looks but nothing more.]
Glad it didn't. Its hard to carry a person and cast at the same time. Assuming the kid coulda knocked you out, I guess.
[ An unusually gruff statement coming from her, but it reflects poorly on her honor to let a friend?travel companion?new acquaintance get clocked in the back so easily. So what is there to be sorry for? There is one other place to drink in the hamlet but her less than enthusiastic expression makes it plain that isn't an option. ]
Might as well lick our wounds while the trash clears out, I suppose. [ She jerks a thumb in a vague direction over her shoulder. ] Need to mend a couple things, stitch myself up, so on. Got your pay buried in my saddlebags somewhere too if you prefer to have it on hand.
I can help you, if you need an extra pair of steady hands.
[He offers flatly, without insinuating that she needs his help or that he has any interest in getting his hands on her in any way but to help. He just offers assistance because he knows what a pain in the ass it is to stitch up your own wounds.]
Favour for a favour, eh? [ A flicker of good humor returns - banked low like coals, still warm under the pervasive exhaustion. ] Might not feel the pain anymore, but it'll scar up all the same. I'd appreciate it.
[ Self-admitted "fleshy" arts specialist or not, she doesn't think he has an ulterior motive screened behind the courtesy, so the acceptance comes easily in turn. It's doubtful anything useful can be augured from her injuries anyway; pointy thing went in, messed about, and came out again, case solved.]
Obviously I can't promise it'll be pretty. But it'll be closed up anyway.
[He gestures to a scar on his forearm that is indeed an gnarly scar, stitched with his non-dominant hand while laying at the bottom of some dank cavern or another.]
Gave up on maintaining 'pretty' years ago, don't you worry. I won't bemoan the crooked bits. [ That is indeed an impressive scar he's sporting though! Reminder to self: ask about it later, preferably once the drunks have cleared out.
Alix leads the way to the stable a short walk down the road, ducking into her charger's stall briefly to gather the necessary needles and thread - both suture and tailoring - as well as a fat leather purse that jangles with each step, stuffed to bursting with the same mismatched coins as the ones she'd delivered to Kaer Morhen's doorstep. ]
As promised. [ The purse gets held out to him as she draws level. ] Pocketed a few candles for light too, if you can be convinced to show off your little parlor trick one more time.
[He weighs the purse in his hand a moment before tucking it into his jacket. Well, certainly no rush to go back to burning down ghoul nests, then.]
If I'm doing the work, we won't need the candles.
[When he glances at her again, he's opened the cat-like pupils of his eyes to their full aperture, only a tiny sliver of gold remaining at the edge of dark wells.]
But if you want them, yeah I can light them for you.
[ She gives him a mildly surprised look like the thought hadn't occurred to her. That would explain how he'd found her tracks in the middle of the night in a snowstorm... the more she studies the otherworldly gleam of Eskel's eyes in the dark, the more sense it makes that they ran into each other in the first place. ]
Huh. I keep forgetting your night vision is leaps and bounds better than mine. [ Alix carefully pulls the needle from where she'd put it in her lapel and fishes the bobbin of thread from her pocket next. ] Forget the candles, then. Not too keen on getting an audience for this.
[ After handing him both needle and thread with a polite 'hold these please?' she sets to unbinding the linen strips hiding her wounds and shedding her torn coat, leaving Alix in a simple, unadorned vest instead. Several ugly cuts and gashes adorn her arms from bicep to wrist, some deep, others superficial. ]
Good question. Never let it get bad enough to find out, to be honest.
[ Alix frowns slightly in thought. Whether out of habit or distaste for being covered in muck for any longer than she has to be, routine hygiene upkeep seemed to have neatly dovetailed with nipping festering wounds in the bud. In an academic sense it would stand to reason some decomposition is bound to happen -- she still bleeds after all, even if it's dark, venous blood down to the last drop. ]
It takes me longer to heal than it used to before all this happened, but things like venom or poison aren't as effective either.
[ Cue a perfunctory gesture at herself with the arm he isn't examining, her skin cool to the touch. ]
So, it stands to reason an infection might be too slow to spread by the time the wound gets rinsed out, I suppose. You'll have to forgive me if I'm not eager to test what the festering threshold is.
Fair enough. I've not met someone like you before, can't help wondering. Let me get some strong spirit out of my bags to clean the injuries. No need to take chances.
[Were they closer associates, he wouldn't mind studying the outcome even if she'd likely find it unpleasant. Sometimes his curiosity can get the best of him.]
[ Watch her immediately mount her horse and get the hell out of dodge the moment that suggestion comes along. No offense to Eskel or anything, but slowly rotting for a scientific experiment wouldn't sound like a good time to her, close associates or not! ]
Yeah, I get where you're coming from. Professional interest and all that.
[ Theoretical talk aside, Alix glances down at her arm at the angry red cut he's chosen to work on first, like she can't quite decide if it's that serious an injury or not. He's treating her with more courtesy than she affords herself. ]
If you feel that's best, then I won't stop you. Seems a bit wasted on me though. Won't you need those spirits for an emergency?
With what you just paid me, I can afford to replace it, don't worry about it.
[He wanders away for a moment, saddlebags jingling a few stalls down. He comes back with a bottle that reeks of pure spirit when he uncorks it with his teeth. Clearly meant for alchemical applications, not for drinking.]
It's gonna sting like hellfire.
[He warns, just before he splashes a bit of the contents over the wounds.]
[ Her entire arm visibly tenses as the clear liquid seeps into the cut - a kneejerk reaction to his warning - before relaxing again once the promised pain fails to appear. It's not nothing per se, just... less. An echo of sensation several times removed from the real thing. ]
Tingles a bit. [ Alix admits, keeping her arm carefully elevated. ] That's a novelty in itself.
[ Considering the unique circumstances she finds herself in, that confirms the trickle of alcohol would definitely be burning like a motherfucker if her nerves weren't deadened. ]
Whoa, really? 'Cause that shit stings like a bastard to me and I'm used to it.
[Still, he'a glad it didn't hurt her too much and he works with practiced, efficient fingers to clean and stitch up her wounds, wrapping them carefully to protect the stitches.]
There you go, so much easier than doing it yourself.
Hm... one could argue being alive comes with its own fair share of inconveniences.
[ There's an undercurrent of bitterness there as Eskel ties up the last of her more serious wounds, though it's directed inwards at herself rather than at him in particular. Once she's sure he's done, Alix flexes her fingers a couple times to confirm no tendons have been adversely effected, before sweeping her coat over her shoulders again, refraining from pulling her arms through the sleeves this time like some expensive (but still ragged) cloak. ]
Ever thought of a career as a chirurgeon? You might have some success there, if being a witcher grows tiresome.
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[This is the last thing he wants to get mixed up in and were he alone, he would probably have just hunched down in his chair and ignored the men, or tried to slip out the back. But he's not alone, so he's heaving himself to his feet to get himself between Alix and the fight.
Could she likely handle herself? Maybe, but it's not as though he hasn't noticed that she didn't exactly come out of the tangle in the sheep pasture unscathed.]
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Eskel's vigilance gives her enough warning to half turn in her seat to see what all the ruckus is about, ducking hastily as something that looks suspiciously like a broken chair leg goes sailing gracefully through the air where her head used to be and clatters off the wall in a shower of splinters and wood dust. ]
Oh come on. Really?
[ Bruh why can't everyone just get shitfaced in peace...
Alix follows Eskel's lead after hurriedly drinking down as much of her lager as possible (look she's got priorities alright don't judge), one hand resting on his shoulder to make her presence known in the confused tangle of bodies and limbs. The last thing they need is to get separated in this mess. ]
Stay or go? This could get nasty.
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[There's the rest of the chair. There's a surge of golden light and it splinters off the quen shield he throws over them.]
He's throwin' spells!
Fucking mutant!
[Eskel flinches, unhappy to have made a spectacle of himself.]
Yeah alright, time to go.
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Yet another sacrifice to lay at my feet, she thinks dismally, applying steady pressure to guide him back with her around the worst of the brawl. ]
Just keep doing what you're doing. [ It's been a while since she's had cause to break out the supportive officer voice - a skill intended keep a skittish line from breaking in pitched combat. Alix is mollified to hear the calm authority in her tone hasn't gone thready with disuse, even if a hardened veteran like Eskel probably doesn't need the additional encouragement. ] Let me worry about the rest.
[ They skirt around the edges of the melee in lockstep; while doubtless several of the opportunistic drunks would've liked to take a shot at the mutant they find so distasteful, it's difficult to focus on someone across the room when your neighbor is trying their best to cave your skull in with whatever's readily at hand.
One wiry youngster ducks in, full of piss and vinegar and red-faced in animalistic rage, thinking to take advantage of their careful retreat to win himself a badge of drunken glory by landing a sucker punch.
Alix whips around on the spot, releasing Eskel.
The boy's knobbly fist glances off her cheek.
A step in.
Fingers lock around his wrist, jerking him towards her.
And turn --
With equal amounts of drilled military precision and sheer vicious disregard for the damage done to both her knuckles and the person she's striking, Alix's fist snaps out and flattens the boy's nose with a wet 'crack', sending him tumbling ass over kettle in time to vanish under the stomping feet and flailing legs of his fellows.
Then it's back to calmly assisting Eskel maneuver - with the non-punching hand, notably - as if the brief burst of violence never happened at all. ]
Ground's wet here, watch your footing.
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Alix gives him an approving clap on the back with her good hand before sidestepping out of his personal space. ]
Here we are. Bit touch and go for a moment there, almost thought that one would get past me.
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Glad it didn't. Its hard to carry a person and cast at the same time. Assuming the kid coulda knocked you out, I guess.
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It'll take five summers more working the fields before he'll have enough arm power to make it count. That was practically a love tap.
He was aiming for you - I was just in the way.
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[He grimaces and resists the urge to inspect the spot where the boy had hit her.]
Well, guess we better find somewhere else to be until the heat dies down. Don't imagine a town this small has an alternative drinking establishment.
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[ An unusually gruff statement coming from her, but it reflects poorly on her honor to let a
friend?travel companion?new acquaintance get clocked in the back so easily. So what is there to be sorry for?There is one other place to drink in the hamlet but her less than enthusiastic expression makes it plain that isn't an option. ]
Might as well lick our wounds while the trash clears out, I suppose. [ She jerks a thumb in a vague direction over her shoulder. ] Need to mend a couple things, stitch myself up, so on. Got your pay buried in my saddlebags somewhere too if you prefer to have it on hand.
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[He offers flatly, without insinuating that she needs his help or that he has any interest in getting his hands on her in any way but to help. He just offers assistance because he knows what a pain in the ass it is to stitch up your own wounds.]
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[ Self-admitted "fleshy" arts specialist or not, she doesn't think he has an ulterior motive screened behind the courtesy, so the acceptance comes easily in turn. It's doubtful anything useful can be augured from her injuries anyway; pointy thing went in, messed about, and came out again, case solved.]
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[He gestures to a scar on his forearm that is indeed an gnarly scar, stitched with his non-dominant hand while laying at the bottom of some dank cavern or another.]
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Alix leads the way to the stable a short walk down the road, ducking into her charger's stall briefly to gather the necessary needles and thread - both suture and tailoring - as well as a fat leather purse that jangles with each step, stuffed to bursting with the same mismatched coins as the ones she'd delivered to Kaer Morhen's doorstep. ]
As promised. [ The purse gets held out to him as she draws level. ] Pocketed a few candles for light too, if you can be convinced to show off your little parlor trick one more time.
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If I'm doing the work, we won't need the candles.
[When he glances at her again, he's opened the cat-like pupils of his eyes to their full aperture, only a tiny sliver of gold remaining at the edge of dark wells.]
But if you want them, yeah I can light them for you.
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Huh. I keep forgetting your night vision is leaps and bounds better than mine. [ Alix carefully pulls the needle from where she'd put it in her lapel and fishes the bobbin of thread from her pocket next. ] Forget the candles, then. Not too keen on getting an audience for this.
[ After handing him both needle and thread with a polite 'hold these please?' she sets to unbinding the linen strips hiding her wounds and shedding her torn coat, leaving Alix in a simple, unadorned vest instead. Several ugly cuts and gashes adorn her arms from bicep to wrist, some deep, others superficial. ]
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How is your body with infection?
[He asks after a while, voice like a bolt sliding in a rusted lock.]
Do your wounds fester?
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[ Alix frowns slightly in thought. Whether out of habit or distaste for being covered in muck for any longer than she has to be, routine hygiene upkeep seemed to have neatly dovetailed with nipping festering wounds in the bud.
In an academic sense it would stand to reason some decomposition is bound to happen -- she still bleeds after all, even if it's dark, venous blood down to the last drop. ]
It takes me longer to heal than it used to before all this happened, but things like venom or poison aren't as effective either.
[ Cue a perfunctory gesture at herself with the arm he isn't examining, her skin cool to the touch. ]
So, it stands to reason an infection might be too slow to spread by the time the wound gets rinsed out, I suppose. You'll have to forgive me if I'm not eager to test what the festering threshold is.
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[Were they closer associates, he wouldn't mind studying the outcome even if she'd likely find it unpleasant. Sometimes his curiosity can get the best of him.]
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Yeah, I get where you're coming from. Professional interest and all that.
[ Theoretical talk aside, Alix glances down at her arm at the angry red cut he's chosen to work on first, like she can't quite decide if it's that serious an injury or not. He's treating her with more courtesy than she affords herself. ]
If you feel that's best, then I won't stop you. Seems a bit wasted on me though. Won't you need those spirits for an emergency?
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[He wanders away for a moment, saddlebags jingling a few stalls down. He comes back with a bottle that reeks of pure spirit when he uncorks it with his teeth. Clearly meant for alchemical applications, not for drinking.]
It's gonna sting like hellfire.
[He warns, just before he splashes a bit of the contents over the wounds.]
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Tingles a bit. [ Alix admits, keeping her arm carefully elevated. ] That's a novelty in itself.
[ Considering the unique circumstances she finds herself in, that confirms the trickle of alcohol would definitely be burning like a motherfucker if her nerves weren't deadened. ]
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[Still, he'a glad it didn't hurt her too much and he works with practiced, efficient fingers to clean and stitch up her wounds, wrapping them carefully to protect the stitches.]
There you go, so much easier than doing it yourself.
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[ There's an undercurrent of bitterness there as Eskel ties up the last of her more serious wounds, though it's directed inwards at herself rather than at him in particular.
Once she's sure he's done, Alix flexes her fingers a couple times to confirm no tendons have been adversely effected, before sweeping her coat over her shoulders again, refraining from pulling her arms through the sleeves this time like some expensive (but still ragged) cloak. ]
Ever thought of a career as a chirurgeon? You might have some success there, if being a witcher grows tiresome.
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[He mulls over her remark. So she's something dead then, a kind of revenant...but one that had thought and reason and even wit.]
Now what? Sounds like things are still rowdy at the tavern, to my hearin'.
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