I'm not hiding anything. I'm not going to die some ignoble death by curling up in a corner and bleeding out, I'm well aware of my limits.
[ this is so stupidly defensive considering that's exactly what he tried to do but okay I guess we're pretending that didn't happen now. if he says it confidently enough surely others will start to believe it too. ]
Is it only ignoble if you die? What if you get infected with strange space diseases instead?
[Also blood isn't a good thing to lose.]
Right. Can you lift it up for me?
[It seems like she could get most of it without making him remove anything.
Once he complies she'll move to his back, gently cleaning the worst gashes first. There's a tiny "hmm" as she takes in the damage, just thoughtfully commiserative. She's not squeamish about this stuff anymore, and when you're just cleaning the aftermath the emotional heat of witnessing the act isn't there.]
[ what does this even mean. oh well, time to never find out because he's lifting up the back of his shirt for her - he doesn't pull it over his head because, horns, but that's probably better anyway. it's a mess back there, dried blood and the myriad swirling colors of the tattoos, criss-crossed with the medi-tape he's applied messily. ]
Aye. The others were fooling around. I-- [ well, he's about to blame them, but. ] Made a slight error.
What if you catch the one that turns you into a goat?
[Just kidding. Those probably are just spells. Unless?
She gives him a querying look from behind at the start. Then he changes tack. Takes credit where it may be unflattering, but due. Rosamund returns to dabbing with a smile curling the edges of her lips.]
That can happen. Especially with explosions. Sorry, this one might sting a little.
[And lo, it does, being a deeper gash than the last few. Better to get it cleaned up now than fester later though, and she makes quick and careful work of it.]
I'd heard it was some kind of crazy other lives you lived? As the, um— [Help] —Jonker and Goob Gop?
No one's dared to turn me into anything yet, and for good reason.
[ he would pizza rotate them. he ...... is not super stoic about pain right now. he is during a fight, he'd be a shitty blood hunter if he wasn't, but he's kind of a drama queen otherwise and shifts when it stings, expression tightening and then loosening again. ]
Kitewoman. Boops. And Goop? Gloops. Something. It was incredibly stupid. But I suppose one doesn't question the logic of a dream while you're in it. We believed ourselves prisoners, and that to earn our freedom, we had the choice of obeying or death. So we struck out on our question - to quell the source of necromancy in the region. Your common, shambling corpses and such.
[Sorry, she thinks it would be at least a little funny.
She does pull back if he winces too much though, waiting for the sting to subside. Her eyes flick up for a moment, over the winding tattoos above, some perforated by the damage. They're quite lovely, she thinks. Sinbad had had a few if she remembered right. Did they mean something in particular?]
Um... [She won't fight him on the names. Good lord.] Yes, shambling undead. I'd heard a bit about that. Dion said there was a wealthy man to blame. And did you succeed?
[Also forgive her.]
I just don't understand why your hair changed colour, too. Was that the style there?
I'm always tempting fate, wouldn't be different than my day to day.
[ he relaxes after a bit, reaching back to feel where the injuries are - it's probably better not to touch, but he wants to feel the damage. the tattoos are bright and numerous, and still dotted with the red eyes - though funnily enough, every injury is just shy of cutting through one of those. ]
Apparently. [ he's washed out some of the green, but some of it is lingering. he grimaces at the thought. ] As for the succeeding or not, I suppose that depends on who you ask. We certainly obtained this.
[ he'll dig in his coat pocket for ... a card. It is a United States of America Green Card. yay ... ? ]
Then don't be surprised when it catches up with you~
[He's so funny.
Of course the eyes drew her attention, red is an eye-catching colour in any circumstance. And now that she's moving onto the lesser cuts she realizes that these are exceptions to the broad spray of damage. Rosamund frowns. Her hand hovers over one, just for a moment.
She doesn't dare touch down. She moves onto the next gash, and then swaps to readying bandages.]
What's that?
[She leans to look while her hands are occupied.]
..."Permanent Resident?" Does that mean...could you possibly be going back there sometime?
if she's looking, the skin on the eyes is ... different. smoother. a weird texture that isn't quite skin, but not not skin either. but it doesn't move or glow or do anything but exist. ]
Not likely.
[ scoffing! scoffing. death to America. ]
Just means it was all for nothing. This, and a toy for children.
[ he does say this with the tone of a joke so. idk maybe they are all friends. or at least they all seem to have a handle on lucien's personality problems now.
at the tattoo question he pauses, pulling his shirt back down and turning his head up so he can try and catch the look on her face. ]
Some are meaningless, as far as I'm aware. I didn't put them there. Well - I chose none of them, really. But I expect you're asking about the eyes, aye? [ they are the most interesting ones, in the end. ] They mark me as Chosen, and through them I was granted gifts. I can read and sense minds, speak to others with the eyes, defend myself. Magic can't be used against me. [ a bit of a grin. ] That one's fun when you've got an uppity mage who thinks he can show off spells without any consequence.
If you didn't choose them, then who did? [She moves around to his front, ready to take care of the injuries there. Starting with his face, preferably, but she'll look to anything else more serious first if need be.] I mean, it sounds very useful. Being able to repel magic would be such a great advantage, I'm a little jealous if you don't mind me saying. Not of the whole — just the effect. Not the situation.
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I'm not hiding anything. I'm not going to die some ignoble death by curling up in a corner and bleeding out, I'm well aware of my limits.
[ this is so stupidly defensive considering that's exactly what he tried to do but okay I guess we're pretending that didn't happen now. if he says it confidently enough surely others will start to believe it too. ]
The back. Got the metal out, but--
[ he hasn't gotten into the pod yet. ]
no subject
[Also blood isn't a good thing to lose.]
Right. Can you lift it up for me?
[It seems like she could get most of it without making him remove anything.
Once he complies she'll move to his back, gently cleaning the worst gashes first. There's a tiny "hmm" as she takes in the damage, just thoughtfully commiserative. She's not squeamish about this stuff anymore, and when you're just cleaning the aftermath the emotional heat of witnessing the act isn't there.]
Did something blow up?
no subject
[ what does this even mean. oh well, time to never find out because he's lifting up the back of his shirt for her - he doesn't pull it over his head because, horns, but that's probably better anyway. it's a mess back there, dried blood and the myriad swirling colors of the tattoos, criss-crossed with the medi-tape he's applied messily. ]
Aye. The others were fooling around. I-- [ well, he's about to blame them, but. ] Made a slight error.
no subject
[Just kidding. Those probably are just spells. Unless?
She gives him a querying look from behind at the start. Then he changes tack. Takes credit where it may be unflattering, but due. Rosamund returns to dabbing with a smile curling the edges of her lips.]
That can happen. Especially with explosions. Sorry, this one might sting a little.
[And lo, it does, being a deeper gash than the last few. Better to get it cleaned up now than fester later though, and she makes quick and careful work of it.]
I'd heard it was some kind of crazy other lives you lived? As the, um— [Help] —Jonker and Goob Gop?
no subject
[ he would pizza rotate them. he ...... is not super stoic about pain right now. he is during a fight, he'd be a shitty blood hunter if he wasn't, but he's kind of a drama queen otherwise and shifts when it stings, expression tightening and then loosening again. ]
Kitewoman. Boops. And Goop? Gloops. Something. It was incredibly stupid. But I suppose one doesn't question the logic of a dream while you're in it. We believed ourselves prisoners, and that to earn our freedom, we had the choice of obeying or death. So we struck out on our question - to quell the source of necromancy in the region. Your common, shambling corpses and such.
no subject
[Sorry, she thinks it would be at least a little funny.
She does pull back if he winces too much though, waiting for the sting to subside. Her eyes flick up for a moment, over the winding tattoos above, some perforated by the damage. They're quite lovely, she thinks. Sinbad had had a few if she remembered right. Did they mean something in particular?]
Um... [She won't fight him on the names. Good lord.] Yes, shambling undead. I'd heard a bit about that. Dion said there was a wealthy man to blame. And did you succeed?
[Also forgive her.]
I just don't understand why your hair changed colour, too. Was that the style there?
no subject
[ he relaxes after a bit, reaching back to feel where the injuries are - it's probably better not to touch, but he wants to feel the damage. the tattoos are bright and numerous, and still dotted with the red eyes - though funnily enough, every injury is just shy of cutting through one of those. ]
Apparently. [ he's washed out some of the green, but some of it is lingering. he grimaces at the thought. ] As for the succeeding or not, I suppose that depends on who you ask. We certainly obtained this.
[ he'll dig in his coat pocket for ... a card. It is a United States of America Green Card. yay ... ? ]
no subject
[He's so funny.
Of course the eyes drew her attention, red is an eye-catching colour in any circumstance. And now that she's moving onto the lesser cuts she realizes that these are exceptions to the broad spray of damage. Rosamund frowns. Her hand hovers over one, just for a moment.
She doesn't dare touch down. She moves onto the next gash, and then swaps to readying bandages.]
What's that?
[She leans to look while her hands are occupied.]
..."Permanent Resident?" Does that mean...could you possibly be going back there sometime?
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Not likely.
[ scoffing! scoffing. death to America. ]
Just means it was all for nothing. This, and a toy for children.
no subject
Perhaps the meaning was the friends you made along the way?
[Are they friends...
Regardless, she's finished with his back, patting his arm and urging him to lower the shirt.]
Lucien, if this is poking at something I shouldn't be, just say the word, but. [She frowns.] Do all these tattoos mean something?
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[ he does say this with the tone of a joke so. idk maybe they are all friends. or at least they all seem to have a handle on lucien's personality problems now.
at the tattoo question he pauses, pulling his shirt back down and turning his head up so he can try and catch the look on her face. ]
Some are meaningless, as far as I'm aware. I didn't put them there. Well - I chose none of them, really. But I expect you're asking about the eyes, aye? [ they are the most interesting ones, in the end. ] They mark me as Chosen, and through them I was granted gifts. I can read and sense minds, speak to others with the eyes, defend myself. Magic can't be used against me. [ a bit of a grin. ] That one's fun when you've got an uppity mage who thinks he can show off spells without any consequence.
no subject
If you didn't choose them, then who did? [She moves around to his front, ready to take care of the injuries there. Starting with his face, preferably, but she'll look to anything else more serious first if need be.] I mean, it sounds very useful. Being able to repel magic would be such a great advantage, I'm a little jealous if you don't mind me saying. Not of the whole — just the effect. Not the situation.
What was the situation?