For a moment, Ellie wonders if he's in shock. He doesn't seem pale--not that Ellie can tell through his purple skin. He's also not shivering much, and he seems more put together than she is right now. Ellie swallows and sits, realizing she's still shaking.
The good news is, she doesn't need a lecture from him to know she's a fucking idiot.
Shrugging her pack off and taking care to slide her good arm out of the strap, Ellie sets it by her feet. She doesn't have much, but she does have a spool of catgut and a bone needle tucked in a boot. She sets to the side and works on taking off some of the layers of clothing, so she can get at her own arm. Under the layers, she has her Atrómitos tunic on, though the sleeve is torn.
"Yeah. This isn't--I just need gauze," Ellie mumbles. The bleeding is substantial, but now with the skin exposed, she can see why--it nicked the vein trailing up her arm, curving to cut into the tattoo she has on her right arm. She'll need to put pressure on it, but the bleeding is cleansing in its own way. "I think the coat got most of it." She reaches out for a clean cloth to press against the wound, and catches sight of her hand, bloody crackled and shaking, stretched out in the firelight.
Fuck. Fuck, it's been--been a long time since she felt like that. So hunted. She hates it, hates feeling like a rabbit set upon by hounds--
Ellie leans over, bandage forgotten as a wave of nausea hits her. She manages not to vomit, but it's a close thing as terror makes her stomach seize. For a moment, she thinks she can smell viscera.
The moment passes as quickly as it came, but Theseus--sitting carefully on the other side of Ellie's feet, bad leg canted to avoid pressure--pins her ears back and whimpers as Ellie doubles.
When she comes back up, Ellie tries to pretend nothing happened, instead pressing the cloth to the deepest part of her scratch, which is still oozing blood in time to her heartbeat. Absurdly, she hopes her tattoo won't be ruined.
no subject
The good news is, she doesn't need a lecture from him to know she's a fucking idiot.
Shrugging her pack off and taking care to slide her good arm out of the strap, Ellie sets it by her feet. She doesn't have much, but she does have a spool of catgut and a bone needle tucked in a boot. She sets to the side and works on taking off some of the layers of clothing, so she can get at her own arm. Under the layers, she has her Atrómitos tunic on, though the sleeve is torn.
"Yeah. This isn't--I just need gauze," Ellie mumbles. The bleeding is substantial, but now with the skin exposed, she can see why--it nicked the vein trailing up her arm, curving to cut into the tattoo she has on her right arm. She'll need to put pressure on it, but the bleeding is cleansing in its own way. "I think the coat got most of it." She reaches out for a clean cloth to press against the wound, and catches sight of her hand, bloody crackled and shaking, stretched out in the firelight.
Fuck. Fuck, it's been--been a long time since she felt like that. So hunted. She hates it, hates feeling like a rabbit set upon by hounds--
Ellie leans over, bandage forgotten as a wave of nausea hits her. She manages not to vomit, but it's a close thing as terror makes her stomach seize. For a moment, she thinks she can smell viscera.
The moment passes as quickly as it came, but Theseus--sitting carefully on the other side of Ellie's feet, bad leg canted to avoid pressure--pins her ears back and whimpers as Ellie doubles.
When she comes back up, Ellie tries to pretend nothing happened, instead pressing the cloth to the deepest part of her scratch, which is still oozing blood in time to her heartbeat. Absurdly, she hopes her tattoo won't be ruined.