monkls​:

open starter. (can be talking to your character or another character within hearing range)

lark bit his lip, focusing on helping to patch up another wound from the attack that left their party in shambles. they hadn’t been in this group for but a week and it already felt like they would not last the night.

“i’m always astounded how people don’t have basic medical knowledge,” he shook his head. “stop touching open wounds, alright? it’s bad. if you’re going to try, at least wash your hands first.”

“never really went to school,” avarice slurred over a flask of something she found in her knapsack (it smelled like a distillery and it did a suitable job of quelling an all-over body ache, so she figured she was alright). “and there’s not much by way of medicine training on ships other than—” her uninjured arm whipped around and nearly smacked the poor man in the face as he worked on their fellow party member. “one. eat some fruit so your teeth don’t fall out and two. most ailments can be fixed with ale, sleep, or a fuck.”

“why do you care so much, anyway? better for you that people don’t know how to take care of themselves; you’ve got a skill you can market.”

crvsaders​:

vyktor catches the tooth from avarice, glancing at it and grinning up at her. “I CAN MAKE YOU A NECKLACE OF THIS IF YOU’D LIKE,” he says, reaching in his pack for some tools. he’ll start with hollowing out the tooth for her.

his leg isn’t badly injured, but it does hurt, a bite in his leg bigger than avarice’s but still probably just as painful. he leans back against the tree.

“WHAT A WONDERFUL START FOR AN ADVENTURE, EH?”

“AW, FOR ME?” avarice laughs, clasping both hands over her heart. the action pulls at her wound and she hisses, before tying a length of linen around her arm. then, because she can’t be in debt to someone, anyone, ever, she crouches down to examine vyktor’s wound.  

reaching for the rest of the clean rags and hot water she’d initially claimed for herself, avarice nods. “IF I BELIEVED IN OMENS, I’D SAY THIS WAS A BAD ONE.” the best she can do is dab at the bite to clear the blood, but it’s looking a little better as it becomes clean. “I DIDN’T EXPECT THIS TO BE ALL FAERIES AND SUNSHINE, HOWEVER. DID YOU?”

redwiizard​:

          she doesn’t bother moving, letting the tooth hit her leather bodice and fall to the floor. there is a metallic taste floating in the air, the blood of allies and enemies mixing seamlessly as it dries. it’s enough to make carmeliee wave her hand with something akin to irritation and will all of the dirt from her clothes to disappear, looking as pristine as when they first started traveling. she prefers the blood on her hands to be metaphorical. ❝ charming. ❞ the comment is barely more than a mumble as carmeliee takes a step closer to look at the wound. it doesn’t look great, but then again, she’s not a healer. ❝ do you have any bandages? ❞

what a priss, avarice thinks, opening her mouth to voice the very thought before she thinks better of it: she has to at least try and get along with these people. magic users are so interesting, anyway — all the tiefling has ever been able to do with her infernal heritage is see in the dark and get a tingle in her back whenever she comes across a demonic cousin, and she’s not about to sell her soul or spend hours poring over books to learn anything else. she holds her hands up in a ‘surrender’ gesture before rifling through her pack.

“hmm, let’s see...” there’s a few scraps of cloth she uses as handkerchiefs, one of them dirty, a handful of copper coins, and... “aha!” she brandishes a pocket flask, full to the brim of liquor that smells like bad decisions and lightning. “disinfectant and pain potion, all-in-one.”

“m’fine, really, this will heal on its own. wouldn’t say no if you could woo-woo the blood away, though. i like these clothes.” 

Postcolonial Love Poem, ‘Wolf OR-7′ by Natalie Diaz

[ID: I confuse instinct for desire - isn’t bite also touch?]

only once the adrenaline wears off and their motley party is roaming about their camp does avarice notice the jagged lines of wolf bites on her arm. her blood, pearlescent, white, and gleaming in the firelight, drips steadily on her boots where it mingles with the dark red viscera of the wolves she gored earlier. there’s a tooth sticking out of the deeper part of the wound, and she pries it out with a grimace before tossing it at the person nearest to her. 

“here, catch!”