[PRP] Sabotage (Muerte x Zeffer)

[Melancholies]

The supplies fell with a scuffle as Muerte dropped them down next to Zeffer onto a small table, regarding his question with a snort now. He made no move to readily answer—not yet, anyway—as he attempted to make some sort of order of the things he'd gathered. Gleaning over them one last time, making sure his mental checklist was in order, he eventually returned to the cabinet for a final time, rummaging around until he found a thick piece of leather; he took the time to inspect it, flipping it over in his palm, before he gave another noise of moderate satisfaction.

He almost doesn't here the blueblood offer his name when he walks back over, eyeing the arrow, deep in thought. The question registers, but like the last, he lingers on an answer as he takes a seat for himself, adjusts his glasses, and trades the leather for the pair of scissors. The arrow seemed deep, but not enough that it hindered mobility; this was good. Something that could cause permanent nerve damage could ruin a troll, since physical physique was held to such high standards. Then again, he was a blueblood, and highbloods always managed to get around the strict social code easier than anyone else. He gave a distasteful frown.

"Remove the jacket, for starters," he says, not even waiting as he starts to cut away at the shirt underneath, "The arrow appears to be deep, but given the range at which it was shot, it's lucky that it's not worse. Be grateful."

He gave a small pause, as if considering his next words carefully, "Arrows tend to be difficult; they are meant for going in rather than coming out. I'll have to pull it, and should all go well, the head will still be attached. If not, then we're looking at the prospect of impromptu surgery." the last part gives him a certain gleam to his eyes, then, looking rather excited about something so... morbid. "Well see."

Muerte grew quiet again, then, before solemnly adding, "...Muerte Perist, to answer your question. You'll want to bite down on this" the leather appears in his hand again as he offers it to Zeffer, "I can promise, it will hurt."

Kamileunaire

 

[kamileunaire]

While Zeffer usually would have been a lot more talkative, and possibly impatient about such long pauses in the conversation, he was distracted enough that the greenblood's silence barely registered at all. He remained seated in the chair, panting quietly, only glancing down to look at the implements when Muerte set them on the table. His mind was a tired blurr of pain and scattered thoughts, and he was trying hard to ward off the anxiety creeping around the edges of his mind. He knew that if the greenblood had any ill intentions it was the prime time to act on them, and he didn't want to drop his guard, even for a moment. He had to remain lucid and alert as possible.

The blueblood's body language did little to betray such thoughts, however. He remained slumped until the doctor reached down with the scissors. Zeffer barely managed to avoid tensing up at the motion, but realized immediately what they were for. His shirt, of course. Can't treat a wound with all the clothes in the way, can he? At the other's bidding, he carefully began to work his jacket off, hissing softly at having to move his injured side. He let it fall to the floor as he sucked in a breath, forgetting about it instantly and focusing on what the greenblood was doing. "Yeah, that's true. Can't believe that ******** was fast enough to tag me like this. Any lower and it would have hit a lung, I'll bet." Zeffer laughed weakly through gritted teeth. He was lucky, but that didn't stop it from hurting any less.

He went quiet so as to listen to the doctor's explanation, squinting in concentration. Zeffer was vaguely impressed; at least the doctor had the decency to explain the situation before diving right into treatment. The greenblood seemed to know what he was talking about, but the last bit of information startled Zeffer. "Surgery?! ******** you just use some tweezers or something?" He smirked anxiously at the look in the doctor's eyes, sincerely hoping that it wouldn't have to come to that. No matter how legit he seemed, was he really qualified to cut someone open?

Before he could make any further comments, he was being offered the bit of leather. He took it and licked his lips, trying to ignore the sudden dryness in his throat and mouth and giving a grin as he finally learned the greenblood's name. "Muerte...thanks. Wouldn't expect it not to." a soft sigh escaped him as he brought the leather up to his mouth and bit into it, trusting that he would receive some kind of warning before Muerte pulled the bolt out.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

Tweezers; Muerte could only give a rather morbidly amused snort at the idea of rooting around for an arrow-head with a delicate pair of tweezers. Possible, perhaps, but it definitely wouldn't be the most painless route to go—not that Muerte would mind, of course. The part-doctor-mostly-scientist was very proud of his would-be profession, but that didn't stop him from preforming based on his own means for his own gruesome pleasures.

Still, he didn't get the opportunity to put his skills to work on live bodies, and if anything, experience was very essential to a job well done; books and notes and essays on the stuff could only do so much, as living the procedure was far different as any notable troll could tell you, having experienced such things themselves.

Digresses aside, the greenblood set his sights on the unsightly protrusion, grabbing onto the arrow rather gingerly while using his other hand to grab the bluebloods arm, both as a means of supporting himself when he yanked the damn thing out, and also to keep the area as steady as he could, knowing the pain would probably be nothing short of immense and movement would only make the pain so much worse. He paused for a moment, wanting to leave himself unexpected; he knew if he told the blueblood to expect it, he'd only tense up, and pulling something sharp through tense muscle was far more difficult (not to mention that much more painful) than extracting when relaxed.

So,

A subtle switch in demeanor, the greenblood's only cue is perhaps the small inhale as he pulls on the arrow with as much strength as he can muster, which thankfully proves to be enough. The arrow has a second of resistance before finally giving way, exiting in much the same fashion as it entered.

He almost looks disappointed when he sees the arrow's metal tip is still fastened to its wooden body, though he keeps the feeling subdued as he looks the projectile over briefly, "No surgery necessary."; dismissing it quickly, Muerte set the object down onto the table with his other supplies, reaching for a small cloth he had gathered up previously, dabbing it with hydrogen peroxide before cleaning the wound and the now fresh blood. He'd get started with the stitches momentarily.

"I assume you're holding up." the greenblood says, more of a statement as his tone seemed to leave no room for doubt, as if answering his own question.  

[kamileunaire]

Zeffer only gave an uneasy chuckle alongside the doctorly greenblood's dismissive snort, reassuring himself that, sure, tweezers could work in a worst case scenario. He really hoped it wouldn't have to come down to surgery though. He'd find a way to bust out of the guy's hive before he'd let himself be put to sleep, or however that part worked. Sure they'd struck up a deal, but it didn't mean Zeffer trusted the little creep with his life.

The laughter halted abruptly as Muerte grabbed onto the arrow, and Zeffer gave a low hiss, seeming to deflate nervously as the pain spiked again. He averted his gaze, losing his nerve for a moment and waiting for Muerte to say something about what he was going to be doing, trying his best to keep as calm and relaxed as he could - he was going to get a warning, right?? He was about to turn his head back to the greenblood, beginning to murmur some garbled question through the letter, when the other's grip tightened and -

A muffled screech tore its way from his throat as Muerte yanked the damnable thing out, a horrible jolt of pain shooting through his chest as it was finally removed. A little gush of blood came along with it, streaking blue down the stormchaser's front as he slumped into the chair, panting heavily. The pain and surprise had been enough to daze him, and he reached up to touch the blood, rather glad that he'd had the leather to bite down on. He didn't even watch as Muerte inspected the arrow, but the greenblood's voice were what finally brought him back.

"That's a relief." He spat the leather out and set it on the table, his voice snarkly even though he knew that it wasn't Muerte's fault the procedure had been painful. He hissed again at the application of the medicine, and his nose wrinkled at the smell. "I'm fine...could have at least warned me, though." Zeffer commented, managing a pained smirk.  

[Melancholies]

Letting the snark roll off his back for once, Muerte was quick to dispose the current cloth and reach for a new one, coating it in some other sort of substance. It was a weak anesthetic, one that surely wouldn't dull the pain rooted deeply into the bluebloods flesh, but it would at least provide some relief once he got to the sutures and stitching. He was doing the b*****d a favor here.

"I find it disappointing, actually." he says, so completely earnest it's a little reprehensible given the situation and the morals of it all. He just rolls his eyes, cloth in hand replaced with the proper equipment for stitching, meandering a moment while the anesthetics kicked in.

"Besides, had I warned you, you only would have tensed up. It would have made it harder." He explains casually, "And more painful. Shush."

If anything, his sarcasm is dull, bark without bite. It's softened a little by the gratitude Zeffer expressed earlier; he did like credit where credit was due, and he was good at what he did and well he should be grateful, dammit. But it was rare that he put his skills to use to save, to help, to heal, and hearing an expressed thanks fed his ego and was a little gratifying, to say the least.

Off to the side Muerte finds himself looking at the glassy, messy gaze of the purpleblooded corpse in his lab. He'd have to figure out something good to use this one for; it was rare he got highbloods, purple especially, and so fresh and finely intact to boot. Sighing, he just quietly gets back to work, weaving the surgical thread through skin. An idea strikes him then, and his eyes gleam slightly in the darkness of the room. Though Muerte wouldn't readily admit it, it was obvious that he wasn't especially.. cut out for fighting. He was weak, physically, given a brain rather than a body. While he wasn't sure what Zeffer's intentions were for striking down the highblood, he was at least far more capable than he was. Certainly he had no need for any bodies that he felled, should he fell more...

"I have a proposition," he announces, mid-work, eyes focused and talking evened and slow, "I haven't the slightest clue why you killed that sorry b*****d, and I really don't care either, but should you find yourself in similar... predicaments, I'm certain you have no need for them dead, hmm?" He gives a glance up at the injured troll, the implication hopefully going through, "I can offer any of my services, at any time, for merely a promise. If you plan on continuing whatever theatrics you're involved in, anyway."

Cutting off the excess thread, the doctor pulled back, looking over his handiwork, giving the blueblood another look in the process. Doctors were scarce and a novelty; having one around was what he hoped sounded like an enticing idea. Even if he didn't bite, it wasn't much of a loss to Muerte, just a boost if they settled some kind of deal. He'd made it along this far alone anyway, and could continue getting bodies at his own volition if he needed.

"So?"

Kamileunaire

 

[kamileunaire]

Zeffer ignored the bit about the little jerk being disappointed about a missed opportunity to slice into his chest, and let the entire topic die with a sigh of relief. He would have been out of there like a flapbeast out of a cave anyway, and he stuck his tongue out, face scrunching as the anesthesia kicked in. It felt weird, but he knew it would help.

"Point taken." Zeffer said gruffly, and followed Muerte's line of sight after a moment, to the body strewn over the table. It was a good distraction from the decidedly unnerving process of his flesh being sewn together, and he only felt the pull of the needle at first, before a very succinct sting settled in. Only a low hum of agitation left his throat, and his eyes went half shut, as he ruminated over what he had done. Muerte's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked up, trying his best to avoid looking down.

"Oho. Your services, huh?" Zeffer smirked lopsidedly, looking more tired than he had before. He couldn't deny that the little greenblood intrigued him, but a troll that could fix up wounds like he could might prove to be quite an asset. The blueblood wasn't exactly the most careful kind of troll, and it was always nice to have more friendly acquaintances around the Fronds, anyway.

"Whaddaya do with 'em anyway? Cut 'em up? Can I watch sometime??" He leaned in, eyes glistening with mischief and curiosity. Even when Muerte had finished stitching up the wound, he still refused to look down. "I don't need them, you're right...so sure, I'm down. Don't know how often it'll happen though - it takes a lot of planning. But if you're still interested?"

He shrugged, and then winced, as the pain shot up from the freshly-closed hole. It got a snort out of him, a laugh at his own stupidity, and he leaned back in the chair, slowly pulling his coat back on.

melancholies