It was a good thing that senshi phones, or at least those like the phone Viatrix had given them some months ago, could do voice-to-text. Róka's hands were -- occupied. Or one of them was occupied, and they were attempting to move the other as little as possible, which was essentially the same thing.
Seiana_ZI
encke?
this is róka, to clarify.
this is róka, to clarify.
The axe wound on their shoulder was about as clean as it was going to be sans a second pair of hands; it was a difficult angle to attend to solo, even as bendy as Róka was. They'd already gotten their shirt and corset off, which had been trial enough to do mostly one-handed, and the less said about their gloves the better. Senshi uniforms truly had not been designed to be taken off or on in any way but by magic.
Seiana_ZI
you have healing magic, correct?
It was less subtle than they would've preferred to be about it. But the way they'd twisted to try and stop that General's blade from contacting bone -- it was a larger gash than they'd anticipated. Not something they'd no experience with, but still an annoyance to face in this skin, armorless, unprotected -- and certainly asking for aid was unideal, but Encke had already seen them at their weakest and hadn't broken their fool neck right then and there, for some reason. The gamble was worthwhile that he would refrain from doing it a second time going.
(Perhaps there was a worthwhile way to die out there, somewhere; catching an infection was not it. Any loss in function of their arm would be unacceptable, no matter how ambidextrous they had long since taught themself to be. Certainly on any tactical level they were a fool, and she could have killed them if she had been just a bit more clever or if they had been any slower, or if she'd even properly given chase. Not - acceptable. But on any other level they barely felt like themself, to be so safe, drifting through the motions of maintenance for all the fishing lines they had hooked out in the sea of the city.)
...The damned wound was bleeding through their makeshift bandages. That shirt was supposed to be absorbent -- it'd hold long enough. Hopefully Encke wasn't too far. And if he was -- they'd manage. They always managed.
And hopefully Encke wouldn't waste his time commenting on their scars. People always wasted time. It wasn't as if there was anything anyone could do about marks a thousand years old, but the freshest of those old things were -- unusual.
Seiana_ZI
