[MINGLE] Wendi-go-go to the inn

[sixthiteration]

WHERE: 6I Village and Inn
WHEN: 27-31 July
OPEN TO: ALL - Mingle
NOTES: The Wendigo threatening the village will be killed mid 28 July, with a Blue Lily, per these threads. Plot details here. Note: The final fight is close enough to be seen from the upstairs inn windows.
WARNINGS: Wendigo attack mingle, please warn in comment headers if discussing violence, gore, or related trauma. Possible mentions of character death.

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The urgent warnings come from villagers returning south from the lake: a creature twice the size of a man, antlered and voracious. Larger than any they've seen on the plains, stalking its way to the main village. Some might have their own names for this hunger in a skin of shadow; others might remember that it was the first to claim a life, in their village's short history.

Whatever context one has for it, best to secure all pets and loved ones before it arrives. With weapons and food stores at the inn, the call goes out to gather — And to bring back any tools, because there's no telling what doors and windows can do to stop such a creature.

Comments

[freightcars]

Frankly he's surprised she doesn't already know his room number and doesn't have about thirteen cameras somehow stashed in there recording his thoughts to use later, but he'll keep his mouth shut on that lest he give her any ideas.

"I'm in two," he says, nodding right down the hall toward his room on the first floor; probably easier to do it in there where they can lock the door and not hog the far more limited bathroom space for the people who will need it to dress their own wounds.

He relieves her of the towel and strides off, hopefully she hasn't meant it for something else because he's using it to scrub off some of the tacky blood clinging to his arms. By the time she arrives he'll have painstaking pulled his shirt off - considered seriously about just cutting it because it'd hurt less than raising his arms over his head, but the clothing supply that fits here is in too short of a supply.

Already, there's a blossoming deep bruise starting to spread around his right side and creeping up his chest, whether it's just that or an actual fracture he couldn't say. It's something of a marvel to behold though, he hasn't had a real and proper bruise in- hell- seventy years. He prods it gingerly, lips downturned.

[iwasrussian]

Well, she did know there was a bathroom upstairs and he should know that one simply never knows what Natasha Romanoff does and doesn't know

After throwing the nurse off by saying there might be someone at the front door who could use her help, Natasha grabs the tape quickly and heads upstairs to room #2, rapping her knuckles twice before letting herself in.

She can't help but look at him, but it's more the bruising the catches her eye than his physique, which is nice, too, but...

"You only got thrown against a tree once?" Natasha asks, her tone slightly teasing as she stops in front of him to take a look. Even then it was a bit hard to tell so she motions with a flick of her head. "Arm up."

A small hand moves gently from the outer part of his chest inwards to feel around for any localized swelling that would tell her if any ribs were broken while green eyes peered upwards at his face to gauge where he might feel the most pain. Knowing would help her decide how to tape him up, but in most cases, it was all the same.

"Any sharp pains when you breath in?" she asked, pulling the end of the tape out to start.

[freightcars]

He shoots her something of an unimpressed look at the teasing, maybe he'd be more on board if it didn't feel like an act of god to get that damn shirt over his head. He's not used to pain like this, not really - even as the asset everything they did to him healed almost before it even started bruising. This, though, is a lingering pain that sets in later after the adrenaline wears off, one of those next day hurts that radiates through his chest and down his spine.

He raises his arms, but his elbows only go up to a few inches beneath his shoulders. Beyond that it guts him too much to do willingly. He doesn't give away much in terms of facial pain identification, though with as trained as she is she'll probably notice the minute twitches in his lips or fluttering of his eyelashes when she presses down on certain points.

"Too deep, yeah." Shallow breaths are fine, but any moderate inhale gets him a lovely stabbing sensation to complement the soreness. Not debilitating, probably not likely to puncture a lung but possibly a fracture or a bone bruise.

[iwasrussian]

He'll learn soon enough that her sense of humour didn't really come out when it was appropriate. Especially in cases like this where he hadn't been injured to this extent for some time. Yes, it did hurt, but in time he'd maybe he'd use it as some kind of grounding force to remind him he's human.

Natasha does pick up on the subtle pain indicators he gives and decides if something is broken it's likely a hairline fracture and the tape was what would help the best.

Ripping off a nice wide strip, she starts making a crosshatch pattern.

"Well, I don't need to tell you it could have been worse," she mentions, briefly looking up as she cinches the first piece tape tight across the top part of his ribs. "How've you been coping with everything else?"

It's a pretty broad question, but she means not having the enhanced physical traits.

[freightcars]

He's not hating on it, he'll take inappropriate humor all day long, it's just that in this particular moment he's consumed with a heavy mix of bad. She's not wrong about grounding him, though, it's certainly a more humanizing experience than he's had in a while.

He settles beneath her hands, arms hovering at some midway point in the air, studying her while she works. A small frown plays around his lips, but it's less to do with her and more to do with the situation.

He huffs a little at the observation, just a small derisive laugh.

"Yeah, no kidding." He could be dead in the dirt, or worse, dying of a punctured lung. He sighs, "Okay, I guess, other than this. Shoulder's a pain in the ass, but I'm getting used to it."

Without the constant healing, the weight of his prosthetic causes an almost constant, annoying ache. Must be what old age feels like. "How're you holding up?"

[iwasrussian]

Once the question is asked Natasha's green eyes return to the task at hand and she listens as she tears and fixes another piece of tape under the first, glancing up briefly when she can. There's a comment on the tip of her tongue when he returns the question, which she starts to answer with a look of slight exasperation.

"Besides becoming an adopted mom to a blue pit bull? I'm doing all right. I'm still who I am, only in a different place." she shrugs lightly.

It meant she still carried everything around with her and it wasn't at all easy to not think about what happened before arriving there.

"I think I might die of boredom though. Sooner rather than later."

A rare smile and laugh sound as she sticks the next strip of tape down without looking up.

[freightcars]

"Dog, huh?" he muses, looking at her with something wry and almost fond. They're not particularly close aside from the few outstanding moments cementing them firmly on the same side. They're allies and they've fought together, which brings a certain sort of bond. Friends, however, is a strong word that he doesn't feel applies to them just yet. He think he might like it to, thinks he likes her, thinks he's starting to know her. Not completely, nobody could ever do that probably, but he knows her in the dark ways he knows himself.

What she's capable of. What they tried to take from both of them. Humanity, mostly, and the desire to want or care about things.

Like dogs.

It makes him smile, softly pleased that she's overcome things so well, that she can have things like that. Selfishly, he thinks, it means that he can too, eventually. When he's had as much time to come to terms with things as she has. He understands her boredom, though; even the delight of normalcy weighs too heavy on shoulders used to the stock of a gun. "You know you can train those things to open your fridge and bring you a beer?"

He's seen it in a vine. Shuri fucking loved vines.

[iwasrussian]

The word 'overcome' wouldn't be a word she would use herself. Accept, yes. She is who she is no matter what she does, the past can't be erased no matter how hard she justifies all the good things she does now. Her punishment was to never forget. His? Well, he might eventually remember more than he does now, but that's probably a good thing.

As far as the dog goes, she's just as amused, though getting Eastwood was not her idea and wouldn't be even if she thought she could handle it. Really, she's beyond surprised he hasn't gone missing or been hurt or killed accidentally.

Natasha's smile grows a little more. "Or at the very least some potato vodka." Given that was about all one could get around there. "He's a bit small still and can't turn around without tripping over himself but he'll get there. I can bring him by some time, if you want?"

Normalcy is how Natasha has gotten through the harder times. By working alongside Steve and Sam, she's been able to focus on that. Since there isn't much for her to do in the way of work, she's slowly starting to put something else together.

Pressing on the last piece of tape, she steps back and looks up at him thoughtfully; as if she wants to say something but decides against it.

"There you go," Natasha says instead.

[freightcars]

That wry smile turns into something a little sad; his first instinct had been to refuse, because something that small and gentle shouldn't be allowed something like him. He realizes, though, that it's a dark and inaccurate way of thinking. That he isn't some walking murder machine, and simply existing in the proximity of something innocent wouldn't be enough to hurt it. After all, he'd done his fair share of goat herding, hadn't he?

So instead he nods, ducking his eyes. "Yeah, that'd be good."

If nothing else, because it would give them an excuse to get to know one another a little better. Maybe to address some of the questions lingering in the back of his mind, some of the memories he's got that he thinks may include her.

But that's not a subject for right now. Instead, he flicks his eyes down to examine the tape on his rips, the way the support takes some of the pressure off, eases his pain a little.

"Thanks," he murmurs, and it's sincere.