cake I'm really sorry for being so slow, guys, things have been crazy lately. :x
cakeThough in many ways his mind was fractured, whenever he needed to focus or control himself he could do so; this was the trait that had played a large part in earning him redemption from a life of despair and regret. At that moment, there was nothing in the world but the wounded man and the blood that stained the very air around them. There was nothing cluttering his thoughts regarding the lady with the blue markings, no questions of why or what the coyote meant to her; these were things best left to Fate, either way, and Bane knew that well. If he noticed the coyote's chagrin at being handled by a stranger, (much less a wolf, this being the way his mind worked,) he didn't give any sign of it at all. People did strange things. As a doctor, he wasn't there to give query concerning their motives. His life's work was to heal.
cakeGloves first. He put them on while his brain quickly worked to prioritize the steps necessary to stabilize the man. No other injuries from what he could see, and if there were none would be as bad as the neck wound. He listened to what they said with enough attention to absorb, and nodded as they finished; noting, as if mildly impressed, that the coyote seemed very calm considering everything. People handled things differently, but most would be experiencing symptoms of shock by now. Part of handling emergencies like this involved talking the victim through it, giving the feel of a controlled situation; he sensed that here this wasn't necessary.
cakeOnly a brief second had passed before they finished speaking. "There's water in the kitchen," Bane told the blackbird, "could you bring him some?" He may or may not drink it, but that was irrelevant. Turning, he focused his full attention on the coyote. "Your jugular is severed." He stated this casually as if it were no more than a papercut. "Explains the constant bleeding." It bled in time with his heart; with each beat, the blood seeped out onto the coyote's hand. He would have to suture the vein before stitching the skin itself; not easy with such an inconsistent wound. Moving away briefly, he returned to the man with two pills; these (the only anaesthetic he had available) he placed on the table next to the man. "Painkillers. They're yours if you want them." He wouldn't question it either way.
cakePerhaps a minute later, he was at work, his large hands somehow well-suited for such delicate tasks. It wouldn't take long, and the bleeding stopped quickly enough; he had had enough practice with this sort of thing, and it came back to him easily. The rest of the wound would have to wait; for the moment, ceasing the bleeding was more important. There was nothing, after all, he could do for excessive blood loss, except pray.
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