brave_kreyu | OOM: All Skate Skellig Dream Magic Weirdness?

There is one bandit that hasn't run by the time Skellig goes to his knees, the leader, the one Skellig stunned at the very first. He makes the terminal mistake of moving, trying to stand up, when he's between Kreyu and Skellig. She can smell his distress, has no time for HUMAN niceties She stabs him with the claws of her transformed hand, not even noticing the sharp edge of metal on his stolen breastplate drawing her blood in a gash on that arm.

She was born from earth, air, fire, and water, and her blood is on the earth now as she moves toward him. She's steady, bright, a sun pulling him into her orbit. Both of her hands are covered in her own blood when she grabs his dominant hand in hers. (That hand will never hurt, never ache or be stiff again after this bloody baptism. There is POWER in a dragon's blood.) "Skellig, it's okay. I'm right here."

"My dragon."

Skellig isn't sure if he actually speaks the words (he does) or if he is merely imagining it, part of whatever bizarre fever dream or hallucination he's participating in. He grips her hand tightly, tired muscles suddenly feeling strong, his worn bones in his fingertips losing the end-constant ache and pain that plague him. He notices, but that's not where his focus is.

She is pulling him back into the here, the now. Wherever this here and now even is.

The sun is still blazing overhead, and he is just so tired, and her blood scent is overwhelming him since she is right here.

"My dragon." He shakes his head hard, blinking spots from his vision, looks at her with eyes that are still wild, but there is a different sense of understanding there which he lacked before. Then his attention falls to her shoulder, her arm, her blood still oozing from her flesh. He nods. Get me up. He's moving without speaking, trying to stand.

Kreyu blinks, confused, when he says those words. HOW did he know? Why does it feel RIGHT? Why does it make that aching want in her gut worse?

She shoves those questions aside, helps him stand. The arrow shifts painfully in her shoulder, but she ignores it for now. As he rises, she grabs his other hand, takes THAT one in both of hers. She leads him gently back to her house. That hand too, is mending, as they walk.

Hopefully, the karma will help, or at least not make things any worse.

Once they have escaped the glaring inferno of the sun, he allows his eyes to adjust to the lower light of the interior space, before glancing around looking for something, anything he can to stop the bleeding from her arm and shoulder.

Since nothing is readily available, he turns her towards him, placing his hands on her gashed arm, fingers curling over the wound.

"This will hurt," he warns.

It is more a courtesy than anything, since he is already fairly tapped out energy-wise. If he had more in his reserves he would go easier, slower, use greater finesse. But he does not, and she is bleeding all over his hands, and he knows it needs to stop. He throws what he has into her arm, his focus on the damaged tissues, the veins that have been torn by the sharp metal, knitting the fibers back together with what strength he can muster. Tendons rejoin, her fingers regaining full function, and then more muscle, more skin.

Once he is done, he sways on his feet, gripping tightly to her arm to maintain his balance.

It does hurt, but the end result is worth it. "Easy, Skellig," she tells him. "I'll be alright for a little while, you can rest. My shoulder can wait."

Her smile is wry. "So long as the arrow is in place, it won't bleed much if I'm careful, a fairly effective plug."

She moves both of them slowly to a chest, fishes out scraps of fabric, something that smells medicinally sharp, and a small bronze blade about the size of a pocketknife. "Good thing I drew some water from the well earlier, wouldn't want to try it now."

Still mildly disoriented, he follows her.

"Your shoulder will be...more difficult." Skellig nods lightly, looking at her shoulder, at the arrow, before he cocks his head and studies her slightly, and what she has gathered in the meantime.

(When did she gather these things? He can hardly remember.)

A shiver runs hard down his spine and continues to cause his hands upper arms, forearms, hands to tremble as his adrenaline surge starts to work down his body.

"It will be more difficult, yes." Kreyu knows that SOMEONE is going to have to cut that arrowhead out of her.

"We should sit for a bit," she says. She does have two chairs for them to sit at, thankfully. She uses the water on the table to clean the blood off of her hands, offers him clean rags and a bowl of water to do the same to his own.

"Can you feel the Karma here, pull it into you where you're empty?" It's thick here, waiting for him to taste, to take.

Skellig settles into a chair and does the same, working on 'autopilot' to clear the blood from his hands and wrists, his forearms. His mind is blank, for a brief period, contemplating her words as he cleans his skin.

After a few moments, he nods.

"I...I think I can. It is not entirely the same, but all the while..."

It is painstakingly, frustratingly familiar.

"Familiar but new, all at once," she replies.

"I'm, I'm not sure how you figured out I'm a dragon," she tells him. "Does that, are you afraid of me, now?"

"There are many reasons I could fear a being such as yourself," Skellig studies her facial features, the wound on her shoulder, her body before him, exposed as she is in this moment. "But I do not feel fear."

He extends his hand.

"I heard an echo, with the words - my dragon - it is if I had said them before, though that is not the case. But it drew my focus, sharper."

She touches his hand, gentle, careful, as if she's uncertain of her reception. "I'm so glad," she tells him. "That you are not afraid of me."

Those words, 'my dragon', make her heart speed up, make her WANT. "When you kissed me, I, nothing has ever felt that good before."

An understanding that she has no words for echoes through her from elsewhere, makes her breath catch as if in pain. An understanding of the dangers power and position can bring to relationships between people. An understanding that coercion can wear a thousand faces more subtle than a naked threat. "You are..vulnerable, right now. I could not bear it, if you thought you needed to, to sate my appetites," she flushes as red as her complexion will allow. "to protect yourself, or as a kind of repayment."

She looks down, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. "I would not want anything of you that you would not offer me gladly if our positions were reversed, Skellig."

Edited 2024-03-23 00:43 (UTC)

"I would not offer you..." Skellig intertwines their fingers (it is familiar, the way his thumb runs over her knuckles, the way her hand seems to fit in his just so) and looks at their hands. "I am not afraid of what you would ask for."

His words still aren't fully in order, but the meaning is something he is still striving for, as he recovers from their fight in this space.

"I am vulnerable," he admits. "But I am not afraid. And I while...I am not entirely certain of just how I have gotten here...I am here." He glances up at her, his hair falling into his face slightly, trying to lean to catch her gaze. "Your kiss brings a great comfort to my soul...it is as if it realigns my system, with where it should already be."

The scent of blood still fills his nostrils, and he knows they will need to deal with that shoulder. But that can wait a moment.

"I am not afraid."

He manages to catch her gaze, and she gently brushes his hair out of his face as though she's done it a hundred times.

"Oh," a breathless sound, but full of wonder, of joy, of a years long ache finally starting to fade.

She laughs, soft, joy bubbling over. "I would like to kiss you, Skellig." She leans in toward him.

They have defeated the group of fighters, and just killed several of them. While many people would find the current mood to be...less than pleasant, for this sort of activity...they are far from 'normal' people.

"I would welcome that, Kreyu."

Recalling her earlier hesitation, his own also creeps up a bit as he allows her to initiate the kiss. Clearly, she is nervous, and despite the familiar surge of Light that builds in his system as she leans in towards him, it is also...new, and uncharted.

Because they are both predators, perhaps? Who knows.

She's gentle, careful, as she kisses him. A chaste brush of lips against his own. The nerves retreat a little as he doesn't pull away, doesn't indicate that he wants her to stop. The contact, the Light, send shivers up and down her spine.

She's breathing more heavily when she pulls away, feels the ache in her shoulder. "Will have to cut the damn thing out," she tells him.

"My hands..." Skellig looks at his palms, his fingertips, which have stopped their earlier tremors. Despite the increase in his heartrate which has occurred with her lips meeting his. "My hands have settled."

And it isn't like he's going to let her cut it out of her own body. He studies the wound, the arrow lodged firmly into her flesh, the blood having dripped down her chest and dried on her skin.

He shifts in his chair to move closer to her.

"You have a blade...do you wish for anything for pain that I could fetch? Or I can try my best to...dampen it."

"I don't have anything for the pain," she admits. "And you might need to save your strength for fixing the damage instead of dulling the pain."

She smiles ruefully. "I will try not to faint on you like a damsel in distress."

Skellig strongly wishes he had access to a bottle of vodka at the moment. If only to rinse the blade in, before he works it over her skin. But he keeps that comment to himself.

"I will try to be...efficient."

He lifts the blade from the table, and tests the way it handles in his fingertips - somewhat surprised at how easily he is able to control it, with a lack of discomfort in his grip. Moving closer, he places one hand on her chest, palm flat above her breast, beneath the arrow. With the other, he brings the blade to rest a breath above her skin, then looks at her.

A silent ask for permission to start the cut, to draw her blood.

Kreyu may be ignorant in many things with regard to humans, but her mind is still quite sharp. "Your hands are working better after my blood was on them," she says, seeing him move the knife. "Save the blood for yourself when you cut, if you can."

She smiles. "If I'm going to bleed anyway, I'd rather you get something useful out of it."

"Go ahead."

One eyebrow lifts in an amused expression as a smirk tugs faintly at the corner of his mouth - that was certainly not what he had been expecting her to say in this moment. But she is speaking the truth - his hands have not felt this good in as far as he can remember.

"Do not hesitate to speak if it is too much to bear."

Attempting to minimize jostling the arrow itself, he carefully (and precisely) presses the blade into her skin, working to expand the entry wound enough to allow for the head to be fully exposed to aid in removal.

Ancient weaponry is...rough.
So is the wave of power that smacks him (his reaction is minimal, but not invisible) as her blood spills onto his hands.

It could be worse, the blade is sharp and thin for all that it is made of bronze. And they are lucky, the arrowhead was a small thing, didn't go as deep as it would have from a bow made for killing something the size of a human.

His wrists might be in better shape, by the time he cuts the damn arrow out. Maybe more than that, depending.

Kreyu doesn't scream, but her grasp on the chair is tight enough that the wood creaks.

She does not have to scream out loud for him to be able to 'hear' it, and he cringes slightly as another ripple of her discomfort hits him, but he pushes aside the response it stirs inside him and continues his efforts.

With what he believes is a sufficient cut, he places the knife carefully on the table - then rubs her blood from his hands onto his wrists and forearms quickly, just enough to satisfy her request of him not to let her blood go to waste - then grips the shaft of the arrow.

It is mostly free, but he does have to shift it slightly to work it from her muscle.

She does cry out when it comes loose at last. And there will be a lot more blood coming out too if he's not quick about the healing, applying pressure, or both.

She shudders, but the worst of the pain is over. "Thank you, Skellig."

"I've got you," he mutters under his breath, pressing his fingertips and palm firmly to the wound to hold it closed as he briefly studies the arrowhead - yes, all of it is present - before tossing the offending weapon onto the tabletop.

With his palm still flat against her chest, he reaches and allows his skills to work to heal the damage in her shoulder.

And then he leans in and allows his forehead to fall lightly against hers. This effort, he does for pain relief - and while it is draining, he keeps the contact brief as to not completely exhaust his reserves.

Once the skin has finished knitting itself together, he leans back in the chair and exhales heavily, tired.

"You have done lovely work." She moves to kiss him, a light press of lips. "Rest, and I'll fetch us some things to clean up and perhaps restore some energy."

More rags, more water, something herbal and resinous to help take away the smell of blood. And a fresh kilt for both of them, as the ones they have on are stained with blood.

On another trip, she brings more beer, along with some bread and dried dates.

The horrors of the afternoon have been cleaned away, wrapped up to be dealt with at a later date.

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