09-01-2011, 02:16 AM
ooc: Wow, your rp really inspires me. I already love this thread.
700+
IC:
When one foot was off the ground and the Tundra woman was poised to rush off, the woman suddenly cried out 'wait!' Orin jerked to a stop and turned back to her, staring down at the woman with concern. The gray wolf's condition was horrifying, how could she afford to dawdle? Orin was about to ignore her request and run for help anyway, but something in that broken face made her stop. Perhaps it was the depth of need in the woman's tortured eyes. Something there held her steadfast.
“I won't leave you alone,” she promised as she crouched next to the woman. Why didn't she want help? If not for the woman's bandages, Orin would have sounded the alarm then and there, thinking someone must have come into d'Arte and attacked the woman. But the bandages were there, these were aged wounds that somebody was caring for. Still, they looked like aged wounds that would renew if she stayed out here like this.
Not all that bad? Orin looked her over again. Maybe she hadn't seen herself in a mirror yet. Well, I sure as hell am not going to be the first to show her. Yet something in the back of Orin's mind told her that the girl wouldn't be all that shocked. Some of her markings were old, healed-over wounds that were now bare scars where fur would never grow again. It was horrible; it was ugly. The second Orin birthed the thought in her mind she felt ashamed, and she banished it, mentally admonishing herself for insulting the helpless woman. She shouldn't think these things about someone she didn't know, about someone who couldn't help how they looked. Still, it was there, niggling at the back of her thoughts and tearing at her conscience.
She supported the woman as she adjusted, helping her roll over like she asked and making sure it was as gentle as possible. Her small hands were careful when she touched the gray one, but she couldn't help but cringe, knowing she must be hurting her bruised flesh no matter how hard she tried not to.
A fire – so that was this woman's monster. Some fiend followed each of them, as Orin learned, but this one was a different kind of beast. She wanted to make some comment to ease the woman's trouble, but there was nothing she could say that would take away what happened. Before she had to think of something, the woman continued with her introduction.
“Ah!” Orin gasped and covered her mouth. “AniWaya? I heard about you when you first came here. Isn't there another... there were two of you, right?” Her golden eyes began to well with tears and she fought to hold them back. The woman's plight caught Orin so off guard. Their story had touched Orin so much so that she had gone on a mission to the Tribe lands just days after Shiloh and her mate sought refuge in d'Arte.
Orin's eyes flicked to the bare, fire-gnarled fingers that brushed her own, but didn't pull away from the touch. If she was still feeling any revulsion from the scars she wasn't showing it right now. “I'm Orin Takekuro, a founding member of Cercatori d'Arte.” Why did she introduce herself like that? It caught her off guard, but she shook it off in a moment.
“I... I want to help you but honestly I'm terrified of hurting you more. Won't you let me get someone else?” She saw a look in the woman's pale green eyes, and whether it was real or imagined, it captured Orin. How could she deny helping the woman? Just one look at what some monster had done to her mangled body, and Orin was dedicated to the cause. “Never mind. I will help you. But you can't say that I didn't warn you. I'll do my best. Where did you come from?” She asked as she took the woman's arm and, when she looked ready, slung it over her shoulder. “Do you have a tub back there?”
She situated for a second, and then made eye contact with Shiloh, ready to help the woman to her feet as soon as she gave the signal. “Whenever you're ready.”
700+
IC:
When one foot was off the ground and the Tundra woman was poised to rush off, the woman suddenly cried out 'wait!' Orin jerked to a stop and turned back to her, staring down at the woman with concern. The gray wolf's condition was horrifying, how could she afford to dawdle? Orin was about to ignore her request and run for help anyway, but something in that broken face made her stop. Perhaps it was the depth of need in the woman's tortured eyes. Something there held her steadfast.
“I won't leave you alone,” she promised as she crouched next to the woman. Why didn't she want help? If not for the woman's bandages, Orin would have sounded the alarm then and there, thinking someone must have come into d'Arte and attacked the woman. But the bandages were there, these were aged wounds that somebody was caring for. Still, they looked like aged wounds that would renew if she stayed out here like this.
Not all that bad? Orin looked her over again. Maybe she hadn't seen herself in a mirror yet. Well, I sure as hell am not going to be the first to show her. Yet something in the back of Orin's mind told her that the girl wouldn't be all that shocked. Some of her markings were old, healed-over wounds that were now bare scars where fur would never grow again. It was horrible; it was ugly. The second Orin birthed the thought in her mind she felt ashamed, and she banished it, mentally admonishing herself for insulting the helpless woman. She shouldn't think these things about someone she didn't know, about someone who couldn't help how they looked. Still, it was there, niggling at the back of her thoughts and tearing at her conscience.
She supported the woman as she adjusted, helping her roll over like she asked and making sure it was as gentle as possible. Her small hands were careful when she touched the gray one, but she couldn't help but cringe, knowing she must be hurting her bruised flesh no matter how hard she tried not to.
A fire – so that was this woman's monster. Some fiend followed each of them, as Orin learned, but this one was a different kind of beast. She wanted to make some comment to ease the woman's trouble, but there was nothing she could say that would take away what happened. Before she had to think of something, the woman continued with her introduction.
“Ah!” Orin gasped and covered her mouth. “AniWaya? I heard about you when you first came here. Isn't there another... there were two of you, right?” Her golden eyes began to well with tears and she fought to hold them back. The woman's plight caught Orin so off guard. Their story had touched Orin so much so that she had gone on a mission to the Tribe lands just days after Shiloh and her mate sought refuge in d'Arte.
Orin's eyes flicked to the bare, fire-gnarled fingers that brushed her own, but didn't pull away from the touch. If she was still feeling any revulsion from the scars she wasn't showing it right now. “I'm Orin Takekuro, a founding member of Cercatori d'Arte.” Why did she introduce herself like that? It caught her off guard, but she shook it off in a moment.
“I... I want to help you but honestly I'm terrified of hurting you more. Won't you let me get someone else?” She saw a look in the woman's pale green eyes, and whether it was real or imagined, it captured Orin. How could she deny helping the woman? Just one look at what some monster had done to her mangled body, and Orin was dedicated to the cause. “Never mind. I will help you. But you can't say that I didn't warn you. I'll do my best. Where did you come from?” She asked as she took the woman's arm and, when she looked ready, slung it over her shoulder. “Do you have a tub back there?”
She situated for a second, and then made eye contact with Shiloh, ready to help the woman to her feet as soon as she gave the signal. “Whenever you're ready.”