[P] Show the fake love and then play with your heart
Set in Irving shortly after this thread (Tora beats up Skeleton, feel free to be vague or specific as you'd like!)

As with everything in Skeleton’s life, violence came when he least expected it and was always unflinching in its dealings. He hadn’t expected to be assaulted by that wolf when he tripped over him (near him? Some details were hazy) and he hadn’t been expected to be hunted by a fellow coyote, either; but here he was. It seemed as though no matter how much he tried, he always wound up the victim despite his best efforts. Perhaps it was that he hadn’t done too much to not be a victim. He had no real way of defending himself and his former protector, Carnivore, had abandoned him and the Gang at some point during the recent conflict. He knew he had to learn to take care of himself, and yet, he hadn’t. He couldn’t even ride a horse for fuck’s sake.

After the assault, he’d dragged himself back to his house in Irving and holed up, trying to lick his wounds. Unfortunately, they seemed to require more than what he could offer, but he wasn’t sure what to do next. In the past, he and Carnivore had patched each other up, but he didn’t have her anymore. He didn’t have anyone these days, it seemed. He supposed he was in a pack now and he could ask for help, but… from whom? And worse still, if he did, what could he say? Someone just didn’t like the cut of his jib and decided to attack him?

He managed to haul himself out to the decaying porch in front of his house, but that was probably as far as he’d make it. He had to figure out whether he’d reach out and find… someone to help or if he was just fine rotting away in his stupid house.)

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While it wasn't exactly what he'd anticipated when he'd initially joined Del Cenere, the witch was finally feeling comfortable in his role about the pack. It wasn't official, not yet, but he'd gone from somebody first seen as obscure or offensive to a fairly respected man in his study.
Though most didn't understand Voodoo and had no real interest in it specifically, Sugabear [i]had[i/] at least noticed more Ashen stopping by his tent with questions and minor ailments they had heard he could assist them with.

Some became loyal visitors, coming to the swampy hybrid for advice or with inquiries of his crafts. He was no one of too great importance right now, but it was growth nonetheless.
And that was better than what he'd had living in the watershed.

Boo had continued her experiment with berry wine, giving more packmates yet another reason to drop by curiously to the Perrin du Lac's temporary set-up (Bear had shown himself useful enough to be able to lay claims to a more permanent living quarters, he just wasn't quite sure where exactly he wanted to plant his feet).
If enough word got around, the pair could really make a name for themselves among this rough and rowdy crowd.
It had taken time and it was a difficult start, but they were finally starting to see progress and looked forward to the future.

It was growing colder as winter dropped blankets of snow around the territory. If it hadn't been for his heavy cloak (ratty as it was) and his hot tea, Sugabear would have dreaded the season far more than he did already.

He sat on a crude log stool, tattered cloak draped over his shoulders and steaming clay cup of chicory 'coffee' keeping his hands from freezing up in the frosty air.
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Skeleton didn’t get too many visitors his way in Irving, on one hand because he hadn’t invited anyone (he had yet to host his housewarming, after all) and also because the pack’s residents primarily made their homes in Charmington, whereas Irving seemed to invite fewer pack mates. Thus, when someone finally wandered by his home, Skeleton seized the opportunity to socialize.

He waved at the hybrid, recognizing that his scent distinguished him as both a longtime member of the pack and as one who was ranked higher. He pushed off from the railing of the porch, finding it was not as sturdy as he would have liked, and hobbled over to where the fellow had taken a seat on a log.

“Hey there,” he called out. He could smell that the fellow was drinking a chicory drink, but he wasn’t too sure why—was that something folks did these days? “What’s the… drink about?” he asked. He assumed it tasted good enough to drink, but he’d never smelled it in this form and he was curious to know more.

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He enjoyed getting to venture out. When it was prime time for it, the marshy mongrel used the excuse of harvesting herbs to escape from his home and travel. With a blanket of snow and a chill in the air that was far less hospitable than sunshine and soil, that pastime was postponed.
It wasn't as if he was miserable where he stayed (though he was ready to move), but he'd grown up in such an isolated area and lived in a smelly, rotten shed with his mother, uncle, and two siblings; getting time to himself and away from the routine was necessary to retain his sanity.

The cold made it a little more difficult to travel too far though, and he frequently took breaks to sit and warm up within his cloak. He'd pick the melting snowflakes out of between his toes, rest for a moment to catch his breath, and then carry on either further through town or head back home.
He wasn't entirely sure yet; he may just wander out until his coffee was gone.

Swampy-green eyes had noticed the stranger, but he wasn't sure that he'd seen him before. He was lower ranking, but had been a member for at least as long as the Perrin du Lac witch had been. It was hard to tell by scent alone, and he hadn't gotten enough of Del Cenere's history to pick out who it's founders were.

Despite taking pause just to rest his feet, Sugabear wasn't displeased with being talked to. In fact, he'd only kept quite to offer the other the chance to speak first, as the prince was the one intruding.
Bonjour. He started with a smile, before a shiver ran through his body and he took a brief sip of his drink. Oh, d'is? Jus' somedin' warm. He'd nodded, though he finally took notice of the stranger's odd state.

He looked rough, and not just from exhaustion. It looked like this male had been in a fight, though the Elegido couldn't be sure that it wasn't some consensual sparring this acquaintance took part in.
...You okay d'ere? He braved asking, hoping not to insult the Ashen, but genuinely fearing the wounded male would collapse if not careful.
And while before his pack life Bear would turn away and ignore the trouble, he was becoming a respected healer now.
Now, he had something to be useful for.
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The fellow seemed friendly enough, but once he started to speak, Skeleton felt something in his brain start to screech to a halt. He could tell that the fellow was saying something, he just had no idea what. It took him a few seconds, but eventually he realized that only the first word hadn’t been in English and he was able to puzzle the rest out once he reminded himself that he could understand people who spoke with an accent.

The fellow then gave him an appraising glance and Skeleton let out a nervous chuckle, worried he was being assessed for his poor response to the accent. He considered the question, then realizing that it was more likely with regard to his sorry state.

“Oh, uh, yeah I guess,” he replied with a nervous laugh. “Someone thought I was trying to steal their horse. I can’t even ride one, so I… was not. Either way, he didn’t care,” he explained.

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While he had never considered his lifestyle or accent strange, he had quickly gotten used to pondering glances.
There were run ins when he was living as a loner, of course, but typically they were without a pack as well and just as obscure, if not simply unphased by the uniqueness of the voodoo practicing family in the swamplands.
But here, within a larger community, Sugabear had suddenly felt like he wasn't like most other canines they were used to.

Outside of his family, he'd yet to find anybody who spoke in the same way as the Perrin du Lacs. Their French-derived language wasn't quite as flowery as it's ancestor tongue, but was close enough to be understood as at least similar.
But the accent that it came with was something else. It was a rough muddy sound that he found pleasant and familiar, but others seemed often to misunderstand what the witches were trying to say.

The prince lifted a brow to the stranger's explanation, An' he didn't care t' ask first? Seems t'me d'ey's more wrong wid him den dhey's wid you d'en. He hummed and took another brief sip of his chicory coffee.
Y'see, ya can fix up a few cuts an' bruises, easeh. Perhaps that was his way of offering his assistance, without being too forward about something that could be considered a little too intimate for some who would rather heal on their own.

...But it's 'ard t' fix d'at sorta attitude. The Elegido finished, shifting the warm clay mug in his grasp.

He let a brief moment of silence take over, contemplating being more obvious in his invitation, before figuring it would only be considered polite to lend a hand.
They were packmates, after all. Do you, uh... He shrugged, not used to being so hospitable for he had nobody before to be hospitable toward, ...Do ya need some patchin' up?
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He hadn’t expected humour, but at the fellow’s comment, a quick laugh burst forth before Skeleton realized what he was doing. Maybe it was because the entire situation had been so fucked up or maybe it was because he hadn’t really thought about it that way. He let out another small chuckle at his own expense and then said: “oh, uh, sorry, you’re probably right.” He sighed. “It’s the hazards being out of the parklands. You never know what’ll happen,” he explained. Getting the shit kicked out of you because you tripped and bumped into someone? Check. Getting assaulted for no reason? Check again. Being a loner sucked, but at least the random violence wasn’t nearly as bad as it had once been. No, now they had purposeful violence, like that of the conflict with the del Mars; how comforting. He considered the suggestion that cuts and bruises were easy to fix and nodded silently. He’d been doing more or less that since the assault: he’d holed up in his den and was doing his best to lick his wounds. Maybe it was working, maybe it wasn’t; he wasn’t any kind of herbalist or doctor though, so he couldn’t really be sure. Sometimes things just hurt for a while. Eventually, it had to stop, right?

Skeleton found himself chuckling again, this time about the bad attitude. “Ah yeah, but I don’t think he’s open to that kinda feedback,” he replied, doing his best to joke along.

There was a brief lull and Skeleton found himself considering the smell of the fellow’s drink once again. Something warm and slightly spiced if his nose was correct.

“Uh,” he said, stumbling over the invitation. “I mean, you know how? That would be… good,” he replied slowly. “I just kind of… dragged myself home and just sorta stayed… there… So uh, yeah, that would be… nice,” he said, finally and awkwardly.

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It didn't happen often that somebody found amusement in his dry humour; he was refreshing. While he always spoke casually, rarely letting emotion twist his lilt one way or the other, often times his wit went unnoticed, or perhaps seen as seriousness where it was jest.
So to the other's laughing, the swampy mongrel smiled and gave an appreciative nod.

Oui, I... Am very aweh of dat. The prince responded, taking a quick sip of his steamy beverage.
I was a loneh for most of my life. He explained, not that the stranger had asked, but he felt it better validated his reason for understanding what hazards this male was talking of, It was a risk meetin' anybody ya didn't know out d'here. Neveh knew how'd ya return 'ome.

It wasn't especially rough for the coywolf, but he'd plenty run ins that had almost ended badly.
One of the times he'd left with Morrigan, in fact, the pair had come across the path of a bear; while they'd escaped to tell the tale, it was a frightening and stressful situation that could have been concluded with a far worse ending.

Sugabear hadn't been too involved with the Del Mar dilemma, deciding instead to keep himself out of the tension as long as possible before he'd finally had enough of sitting around and doing nothing.
But he'd seen those injured after coming from their fights, recalled the funeral held for their lost companion, and sorrowfully offered condolences to a young couple who lost everything but each other.
He was a lucky one, but he'd knew what leaving the packlands could lead to.

Thankfully, he was brought back to a more cheerful addition to his previous joke.
The Perrin du Lac mutt laughed under his breath before speaking up, It would seem not.

The male seemed just as uncomfortable to accept the Elegido's offer as Sugabear had been giving it, which actually made the witch prince feel a little better about having been nervous. It wasn't a look he liked on him, so any excuse he had to slip out of awkwardness was welcomed.
Well... He said with a nod, approaching the other so that he could better inspect and tend to his wounds, Best get stah'ted d'en.

He came over to the stranger and took a better look, tutting as he shook his head.
Ain't good t' jus' leave wounds like d'at. D'ey could get infected, 'specially if d'hey are in places where t' skin moves a lot. Sugabear explained, It could cause d'em to reopen. An' as for bruisin'...
The coywolf stood straight, hot chicory coffee still in his hand, It's best t' make sure ya ain't broke somed'in'.
Something like a broken digit would easily be passed off as a mere sprain, but could lead to bigger issues in the future if it hadn't healed right. Maybe this fellow wasn't in the worst condition he'd seen, but it was no reason not to at least check him over and be sure.
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Skeleton's range of motion is gonna suck, so feel free to have Sugabear notice that he can barely move his arms (Skeleton can't tell he's so badly messed up XD)

Skeleton nodded at the fellow’s confirmation of the dangers of life as a loner. It seemed as though they shared a common path: loners, then eventually, members of Del Cenere Gang. He wondered how he was handling the transition to pack life. Perhaps that loneliness that had been gnawing away at him, that he couldn’t ever fit in to the pack properly because he just didn’t know how, maybe he could… talk about it with someone who understood. Maybe.

Eventually, though, the conversation turned to discussion of Skeleton’s wounds. While it wasn’t too comfortable talking about how grievously he’d been injured in the incredibly one-sided fight — in fact, it was probably more accurate to call it a beat down than a fight — at least it wasn’t too painful. And maybe they’d even have something in common to discuss: how fucking awful it was to be a loner.

As his fellow packmate explained the dangers of leaving wounds to fester, Skeleton ducked his head in embarrassment. “Ah, I uh… I see,” he replied slowly, wondering just how much of his ignorance he should reveal. “I used to have my sister around and we’d patch each other up, but with her gone, I guess I haven’t really been able to do that myself as much,” he explained. He considered the suggestion to check for breaks and held up his hands, palms toward the sky, to consider his hands. He hadn’t really struck the wolf at all, so his hands were probably fine. He turned them over and flexed his fingers: those were fine too. He took a step back so that he wouldn’t accidentally clothesline the dude and started testing out his range of motion, gently swinging his arms forward and back, raising his arms up and down, and then pausing. He could feel a twinge in his side somewhere near his back.

“It feels like… my rib is slightly… out of place? Can that happen?” he asked. He reached up with his right hand to try and feel his left side. “It’s tender. Maybe a broken rib? Or something else?” His entire back was covered in bruises and welts that began near his left elbow, extended up the back of his left arm, spread across his shoulders and then left a minefield of bruises across his back. If he wasn’t sure whether his rib was bruised or broken, it was perhaps because so many other things felt awful, too.

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The witch shook his head, disappointed by the stranger's disregard for his health. While he had only just met this individual and was trying not to judge him too harshly, ignoring treatment more often led to worse results, not better. What could start off as a minor cut could get infected and lead to amputation. Or a broken bone would go unnoticed if one merely thought it to be bruising, and it would eventually heal in a strange and disabling position.
Wid healeh's in t' pack, ya should 'ave sought out some 'elp... The prince mumbled, watching as the rusty male before him checked for discomfort.

Sugabear didn't like to lecture him like a pup, but why not use the resources provided by pack life? They both understood that life as a loner was difficult, and one of those reasons was because one could not master everything; it was better to have a community of various collected knowledge so life was tremendously easier.
The coywolf knew he wasn't the only one capable of assisting this fellow, either. So he'd had his options when his injuries were considerably more minor.

Now, however, it seemed the male's waiting had made things more difficult.
Oui, it can. The Perrin du Lac witch answered with a heavy sigh. If I may?

He set his mug down on the railing of the porch, gesturing to let the stranger know that he was requesting to feel the problem area himself.
Once he could touch and poke around, it was obvious the Probado was in far worse condition than he'd seemed to be from afar, during the start of their conversation.
Sugabear shook his head, before clicking his tongue, Not good. We'll wanna get dat wrapped. He said, also noticing the large area of welts and purple skin underneath dust-coloured fur, Wouldn't 'urt t' 'ave dis whole area cleaned up real nice, as well. Ya got any means t' fresh wateh? They could go back to the mongrel's tent, but it was a troublesome trek for somebody as beat up as the other male.

It was best to stay put and just whatever resources he could find for now.
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Skeleton knew the fellow was right and he’d known he should have sought help, but once he’d made it to his home in Irving, he told himself he’d rest for a moment before heading out to find someone. By the time he’d mustered up the energy, more time had passed. It had been a bit hard, too, to focus on much and he had probably forgotten about it entirely for a solid day. Either way, he was attempting it now, so better late than never, right?

“Yeah, you’re right,” he conceded eventually, not really having much of a defence. The coyote hybrid turned to study his wounds and affirmed that his ribs could be out of place. While that wasn’t great news, Skeleton was glad that he hadn’t somehow misremembered how ribs worked. He had been somewhat sure it was possible, but at the same time, his memories and thoughts had been foggy the past few days and he’d half wondered if he’d dreamed it up.

At the request for permission to inspect further, Skeleton nodded his head. He took in a deep breath to prepare, but then realized that was probably a silly idea and let it out slowly. The fellow set his cup down to inspect Skeleton’s wounds and he was pleased that the fellow’s touches were light enough to not cause a flare up in pain. After a few moments, he clucked his tongue and dished out his recommendations.

“Fresh water? Yeah, next to the sawmill. If you follow the human trail thataway—” he gestured to his right “you’ll find some old greenhouses. Next to them’s the sawmill and there’s a river running next to it. I’ve got a pail in my house you can use, but uh…if it’s okay, I might just stay here,” he added with a sheepish laugh.

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He wanted to scoff.
Probably? He knew better; he knew he was right.

But he didn't want to insult the other by appearing too full of himself. In most cases, Sugabear was quite humble, or simply had no strong opinion to fight. When it came to health, however, something he was interested in and had spent a significant time studying, he could be sure of a few things at least.
So instead he let out a soft sigh.

Hope d'ats not too far, d'en. He mumbled, eyeing the direction that had been pointed out to him. He'd heard only vague stories of humans, and wondered for a moment if this other knew more information about the mysterious creatures (cryptids? monsters? he was unsure which fit best), at the mention of a trail made for them or by them...
He shook his head. It wasn't the time for prying into stories.

Sugabear looked toward the opening of the house, before turning back to the injured Ashen.
Ya can stay d'ere, but i'd need ya pail. I can fetch t' wateh, but i'd still need somedin' t' wrap ya up wid. If ya don't have no bandages, perhaps ya got somedin' like... The prince shrugged, thinking of anything that could be used as a substitute, Lead'eh? Uhm... Rags could work too.
Even some old clothes stripped into a sort of make-shift bandage could do something as simple as hold the rib in place as the Probado healed.
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