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Veryl limped laboriously back to the safe house, the knife wound in her leg burned with every step. Blood had already soaked through the torn cloth she had taken from her own shirt and tied around it to staunch the bleeding. Though the blade hadn't been necrotic nor had it nicked anything important, it still hurt like shit. The fight had been completely unwarranted, just a small errand for her contact that should have ended cleanly.
She hadn't counted on the slimy bastard trying to take advantage of her, then decide to stab her leg as a last ditch effort when she'd rebuffed him by putting him on the ground. She'd have to contact Elek first chance she got, to clean the body up. If the lecherous idiot had just stayed down, she wouldn't have had to slit his throat.
There was no doubt she made for quite a heinous sight walking the cobbled path in the rain. She felt the sticky residue of blood on her face mixing with the fine mist that cooled her aching head. More than one person had seen her and immediately turned around to retrace. It was common place to look the other way in Dock Town, both a mercy and torment.
Slowly and ever slower did she finally reach the hidden doorway of the safe house. The Shadow Dragons had them everywhere, almost as many places as the Threads. She danced a fine line between the two, but more often found sanctuary within the bosom of the Dragons and their ilk. The Threads played things a little too loosely and left her in the cold more often than she was comfortable with. This particular sanctuary had been her payment for her first job with the Dragons: helping to locate missing artifacts and spirit wrangling.
It wasn't that they didn't trust their man, Jericho Mercar did a fine job of it on his own. But together they'd been able to find the artifacts and subdue the spirits without causing undue harm to those in the surrounding burrow. The mission had lasted several weeks and the artifacts, Nevarran in origin, were safely returned to an awaiting liaison. Afterward there had been celebratory drinks at the Swan and an exchange in knowledge of dance steps. Jericho felt like an old friend and it was one of the easiest evenings she'd spent in her recent experience.
It felt strange that those were the kind of memories she reached for these days when things got too difficult to manage. Such as this moment, as she sunk her weight against the hard plaster of the wall just inside the doorway, having barely kicked the door itself shut. She slumped there, breathing heavily, hissing as she moved her leg out of a folded position. The recollection of smiling through the night, a rare occurrence since she'd reached Minrathous, all because of a singular presence— that's what made the pain she faced, bearable
And there was plenty of pain to be had. There was no telling where her first aid kit was, the bits and pieces of it scattered around the flat. Everything felt heavy, and dragging her leg around sounded like a bad time at this very moment. A little rest… just for a second.
A jiggling of the iron doorknob startled her. Eyes snapping open, Veryl tensed, adrenaline already pumping to subvert the flaring sear she felt. In a moment, she was crouched, her bad leg held out awkwardly, but still poised to lunge as the door started to press open.
"Ver, it's me." A soft masculine voice reached out to brush against her nerves, calling quietly into the room. A familiar tenor and enunciation. A deep sigh of relief had her collapsing back against her refuge. Jericho. The fight drained out of her, quicker than she would have thought possible, were her history to be considered. She found she couldn't bring herself to care.
"Venhedis, what's happened?" Jericho spoke as he quickly shut the door behind himself and secured it before crouching next to her. Nervous hands didn't know where to touch, what might be hurt, so he fluttered them about. His light eyes watched her face as she blinked long blinks in his general direction.
"Just a meeting gone wrong," She explained through clenched teeth, the common language broken and thick with accent. Her nostrils flared as she breathed through repositioning herself again. Blood now seeped steadily from the tie around her leg; it was no wonder she felt so tired. Veryl rolled her head against the wall and gave the man a sleepy smile, "you should see the other guy."
Jericho frowned, not at all pleased by her attempt at humor. Veryl sighed and looked skyward, "I'm fine. I was just resting for a minute before I went looking for my kit." She looked at him again and rested her free hand on his arm, quickly removing it when she realized there was blood there, too.
The worried lines in his skin etched deeper as he considered her face and her leg. He traded looks from one to the other, grimacing when she lifted her palm from the tie. "How bad is it?" He asked.
"Not as bad as it could be, he missed the main artery by about this much." She held her thumb and forefinger in the air, the space between them nearly indiscernible. She wondered if her casual brush with death would phase him but he was already up and moving further than she had made it into the room. His head on a swivel as he looked around the space, searching.
"I just need the metal box, it's around here somewhere." Her call followed him. She'd learned enough in all of her years to make sure the needles and thread stayed together. If nothing else, she could count on that. Bandages were more likely a sparse commodity, she'd have to make her own.
There were some shuffling noises, the distinct sound of colliding objects, and a few of Jericho's own mumbled swears. No one had ever accused her of being tidy, if anything the negative inclination had only grown since leaving home and her collection of personal things expanded. He returned with the metal box in hand and she accepted it gratefully.
He rubbed at his neck as she slid open the top, "I can't… I don't know how…" He started a few different times, hinting toward something she'd already surmised.
She smiled up at him, "Could you grab the bottle of vodka on the counter?"After retrieving the tall bottle from the kitchen, he was quick to fetch each item she requested. The scissors — pulled from a pillow, stabbed there for safe keeping; a small vial of antiseptic— found near the bath; the bed sheet— half off the bed. Once she had everything she needed within easy reach, she got to work.
First, she cut through the pant leg, saving the full removal of the garment for later. Next, she tore at the bed sheet, hoping it was sterile enough. While she cleaned the site and prepared it, she half-focused on distracting her guest from what he was actively witnessing. Lowered dark eyebrows had his face looking a little too concerned for her liking.
"What brings you by? I didn't think the Shadows needed me any time soon." Her accent was still stuck on her words, but she didn't have the extra brain power to spare for tempering it.
Jericho swallowed thickly as he turned his eyes from where she worked and met hers. "Viper sent me, wanted to see how things were faring on the Breakthrough job."
Veryl sighed, "It's already got a name? I haven't even finished compiling my research." And by research, she meant threatening back alley thugs with pain until they gave her what the information she wanted. The Shadows knew well that no plans could be made until she'd done what was requested of her and found a reliable source for them. When her part was completed they could move on with whatever covert operations they didn't let "sticks from Nevarra" in on. Tarquin's words.
"He's just looking for an update." Jericho explained as he opened the bottle of vodka she handed to him and she started pulling thread from it's spool. "Something's shifting and I think they're just settling priorities. So he sent me your way."
"Viper's got a sixth sense," she muttered absently. She took a swig from the bottle and passed it back. They both settled into a tense silence as she girded herself and started in closing the wound. Of all the habits she'd picked up in her years down south, this one stayed the freshest. Reminders were frequent, as were the many scars that littered her body.
After several long pauses for pulls of the numbing liquid and the life slowly draining from her body, she snipped the tied off suture. Idle chatter was intermittent as Jericho had made himself busy by ripping new strips of cloth from the bed sheet, they both worked to wrap several pieces around her leg and secure it.
"Next is the fun part." Veryl laughed lightly, a little giddy and light headed. Jericho gave her a soft smile but didn't laugh, clearly worried about not only her health, but now her mental state.
A soft touch of his hand against the hair that fell into her eyes, his fingers sifted the tresses back behind her ear, "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" He helped her to stand, pulling her arm up and over his shoulder. Methodically, they made their way further into the flat.
The 'fun part' had Veryl hissing and whimpering softly as they worked in tandem to remove her clothes. The breeches were done for, having been cut beyond mending — not to mention caked in blood. She stepped out of the other leg as Jericho removed them from her person. A colorful complaint about someone's mother, Veryl didn't care who's, left her mouth when her foot got stuck and she twisted her leg wrong.
He caught her about the waist as she fell forward, strong hands easily accepting her weight against him. Gently, he guided her back to the bed and sat her on it's edge. Her eyes were growing heavier as he continued to work. Though, it didn't slip past that he kept his own eyes trained on her face more often than not. Even as he removed her clothes and bared her skin to the frigid air, he seem to subvert his attention to preserve her privacy.
Before long she was down to her smallclothes, shivering and starting to feel that familiar ache of her body trying to fix itself. Jericho searched across her room for something she indicated being clean. He held two up for her inspection, the right she gently shook her head and almost fell over. He caught her again. She vaguely recalled him asking if that meant the garment in his left was cleaner. It must have been, for he started to slide it down over her head and gently pull her arms through.
Once the shirt was in place and pulled down to cover as much as it was able, he encouraged her to scoot further into the bed. The old straw creaked and protested within it's fabric confines, but Veryl couldn't seem to muster a retort for the mattress; it felt like a cloud. She told her companion as much and he finally laughed outright.
She drifted in and out of consciousness, aware of when his warmth left and came back with a cool cloth with which to clean her face and hands. He delicately brushed away at her skin. He was gentle along her forehead and cheeks, and thorough about her fingers and nailbeds. Her skin was finally relieved of the tightness caused by dried blood. Damn, she still needed to get a note to Elek. Shrugging to herself, she decided it could wait.
Alertness moved further and further out of reach as Jericho made up his mind to stay, something she was sure had to do with the pleading request on her part. After locating the only other blanket in the room, a scratchy fabric she avoided like the plague, he crawled into the bed next to her and wrapped her up in his arms. The touch of the blanket as it spread over them was thwarted by the barrier of his body.
Within the circle of his hold, the shivering ebbed away, the pain calmed it's throbbing ache, and the sleep, blessedly, came quickly.