01-07-2021, 08:22 PM
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Sluggish, as if moving in a dreamlike trance, Rosemary worked with the broken wrist. Blindly, she groped in her satchel for a small splint. Her four eyes split between the two not-Brandies, studying their symmetry and fractured edges. The sage grasped the the metal rods between two toe beans, her four eyes narrowing in concentration.
From muscle memory, she set the broken wrist—without remembering to warn Brandy about the pain—and bandaged it around the splints. The witch nodded with Brandy’s explanations, but failed to to react to anything else said by anyone, as the words mattered so little. The debate was an excellent example of the blind trying to lead the blind, and she cursed under her breath, unintelligibly, even to the injured Roux sitting next to her.
“All of you are making this exceedingly difficult,” she hissed.
After she finished with the splint, she turned her focus to Brandy’s head. She attempted to paw at him, gently, feeling his skull for any bruising, cracks, or swelling. “Concussion. Bed rest for twenty four hours, minimum, and you will need to see me or Roan to be cleared for anything. You’re best off resting your brain, catching some sleep, and doodling.”
“As for hibernating in the sea, don't worry about that. Your aunt, Vandal, did that at least once. Pincher did the same. Hell, even Sea disappeared in the ocean for a bit. It's practically a Roux family tradition.” She tapped near his broken wrist as she added, “And this? No weight on it at all. If the splint falls off, the pain gets worse, the bones get crooked again, see me or Roan. In fact, I’d like to keep you in the temple for a week. But I suppose it’d be fine for you to stay with Roxanne, Michael, or another relative, so long as you have periodic health checks at home and someone to monitor you.”
The witch sighed, sat up, and closed her eyes. Rubbing her brow with the back of a paw, she shook her head slightly. One of her eyelids started twitching, but she couldn’t figure out which one with all this hubbub. “Sorry. Staring at your broken souls gave me a headache. Never seen anything quite like it.”
Her forked tail flicked, and she opened her eyes again. She glanced between Riftweaver and Brandyskies, sighing heavily once again. “Look, both of you are technically half of the real Brandyskies. Brandy seems to have kept the original’s personality, while Rift has the original body. Neither stole anything, so you can stop arguing. But the two of you need therapy—individual, together, psychedelic? at least one of the three—that much is obvious.”
[/td][/tr][/table]From muscle memory, she set the broken wrist—without remembering to warn Brandy about the pain—and bandaged it around the splints. The witch nodded with Brandy’s explanations, but failed to to react to anything else said by anyone, as the words mattered so little. The debate was an excellent example of the blind trying to lead the blind, and she cursed under her breath, unintelligibly, even to the injured Roux sitting next to her.
“All of you are making this exceedingly difficult,” she hissed.
After she finished with the splint, she turned her focus to Brandy’s head. She attempted to paw at him, gently, feeling his skull for any bruising, cracks, or swelling. “Concussion. Bed rest for twenty four hours, minimum, and you will need to see me or Roan to be cleared for anything. You’re best off resting your brain, catching some sleep, and doodling.”
“As for hibernating in the sea, don't worry about that. Your aunt, Vandal, did that at least once. Pincher did the same. Hell, even Sea disappeared in the ocean for a bit. It's practically a Roux family tradition.” She tapped near his broken wrist as she added, “And this? No weight on it at all. If the splint falls off, the pain gets worse, the bones get crooked again, see me or Roan. In fact, I’d like to keep you in the temple for a week. But I suppose it’d be fine for you to stay with Roxanne, Michael, or another relative, so long as you have periodic health checks at home and someone to monitor you.”
The witch sighed, sat up, and closed her eyes. Rubbing her brow with the back of a paw, she shook her head slightly. One of her eyelids started twitching, but she couldn’t figure out which one with all this hubbub. “Sorry. Staring at your broken souls gave me a headache. Never seen anything quite like it.”
Her forked tail flicked, and she opened her eyes again. She glanced between Riftweaver and Brandyskies, sighing heavily once again. “Look, both of you are technically half of the real Brandyskies. Brandy seems to have kept the original’s personality, while Rift has the original body. Neither stole anything, so you can stop arguing. But the two of you need therapy—individual, together, psychedelic? at least one of the three—that much is obvious.”
PEACEFALL
peace comes at dawn, but yours comes at night