05-01-2010, 10:04 PM
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Set in Drifter Bay.
It wasn't healing right. Or maybe he was just doing something wrong. Most of what he had to treat before were straight-forward—cuts from blades, claw slashes. That was because he used to fight in Optime form more often, with other Luperci doing the same. He wasn't sure how to treat this, the shredded lacerations of a wolf-bite. Snake's knowledge of first aid was very, very limited. He knew to keep the wound clean and well-dressed and not strain it and eventually it got better. And that had worked most of the time, all other times except now. And it was starting to get on his nerves.
He couldn't stand to stay in Inferni anymore—it was beginning to irk him as well. There was nothing to keep him there for now; he surely had his loyalties, but he wasn't on call for the war anymore. He could wander as he wanted, so he drifted to Drifter Bay. He just needed to get out. There was something unsettled and chaotic in the Hydra now and he didn't know what it was and it was driving him crazy. Sometimes he thought that it was his lack of a place to go every night—his routine had been stolen with the fires in the landfill. He hated not having a place to go, almost as much as he hated sleeping on the Goddamn ground. He could go on about how badly his back hurt, but it didn't compare to his side. He was broken. He hated being broken. He only found contentedness in a few things, and health was one of them. Home was another. Needless to say he was not happy.
The Hydra paused in his walk down the jagged shoreline, realizing with a frown that the cigarette he had been smoking was done for. He tossed it into the waves, looking out across the bay. It was getting warmer steadily, but not quick enough—he hated the cold. Without much conscious thought he wandered towards the water, glancing down at the washing surf. His thoughts churned slowly as he watched it blankly, then a vague memory from far past. His mother saying something about salt water helping wounds heal. With customary frown impressed in place, Snake unwound the bandage from his torso and placing it in the surf. A critical green eye surveyed it before he set to trying to at least clean the cloth a little. Jesus, he hoped this thing healed right—it hurt like a bitch now in the misty rain.
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Set in Drifter Bay.
It wasn't healing right. Or maybe he was just doing something wrong. Most of what he had to treat before were straight-forward—cuts from blades, claw slashes. That was because he used to fight in Optime form more often, with other Luperci doing the same. He wasn't sure how to treat this, the shredded lacerations of a wolf-bite. Snake's knowledge of first aid was very, very limited. He knew to keep the wound clean and well-dressed and not strain it and eventually it got better. And that had worked most of the time, all other times except now. And it was starting to get on his nerves.
He couldn't stand to stay in Inferni anymore—it was beginning to irk him as well. There was nothing to keep him there for now; he surely had his loyalties, but he wasn't on call for the war anymore. He could wander as he wanted, so he drifted to Drifter Bay. He just needed to get out. There was something unsettled and chaotic in the Hydra now and he didn't know what it was and it was driving him crazy. Sometimes he thought that it was his lack of a place to go every night—his routine had been stolen with the fires in the landfill. He hated not having a place to go, almost as much as he hated sleeping on the Goddamn ground. He could go on about how badly his back hurt, but it didn't compare to his side. He was broken. He hated being broken. He only found contentedness in a few things, and health was one of them. Home was another. Needless to say he was not happy.
The Hydra paused in his walk down the jagged shoreline, realizing with a frown that the cigarette he had been smoking was done for. He tossed it into the waves, looking out across the bay. It was getting warmer steadily, but not quick enough—he hated the cold. Without much conscious thought he wandered towards the water, glancing down at the washing surf. His thoughts churned slowly as he watched it blankly, then a vague memory from far past. His mother saying something about salt water helping wounds heal. With customary frown impressed in place, Snake unwound the bandage from his torso and placing it in the surf. A critical green eye surveyed it before he set to trying to at least clean the cloth a little. Jesus, he hoped this thing healed right—it hurt like a bitch now in the misty rain.