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[Sir?! Goddess help him, at least Fenris decided to go home and stitch himself up, however poorly that's going, but sadly Lorenz is Calling Him so he can be put on speaker while he thinks of a good scolding--]

Are you certain you're alright? Who is stabbing you? [is this a murder hobby thing, babe-] You mustn't- I'm going to— I will be home soon.

[There is a pause, and then, slightly muffled as if he has put his face in his hand at this point after thinking about the dog eating blood again:] Please just stay where you are.

[Give him like... 20 minutes.]

[There's a moment where he legitimately considers just not picking up, for the record. He said don't worry! It's fine! It's definitely fine. Yes, perhaps Nugget is barking up a storm in the background, and yes, there are bloody footprints leading up to the bathroom-- and sure, maybe being stabbed at all isn't great, but it's fine! It's fine.]

I was sparring. It . . . grew heated.

[Thanks, Sanguis.]

She was no more at fault than I.

Nugget, shut it.

[The baby is furious at being trapped in the tub and will not shut it, thanks.]

[Bloody footprints! Have mercy! The sound of Lorenz arriving home is accompanied by the immediate sound of him stopping short in the doorway to stare at the bloody footprints, but he's somewhere between resigned and fretful when he finally pops his head into the bathroom. Hello, what's going on--]

You're upsetting him by coming home bloody. Or perhaps by not exercising enough caution. Or both!

[Ahem. He picks his way through dripped blood to Fenris' side, frowning-- he doesn't get Sanguis aggression, conceptually, but he's seen his fair share of "woops, sparring went a little too far!" Probably, this mystery woman does not need a sternly worded letter... But oh, right--]

I picked up some bandages on the way home. [because he doesn't keep anything good for stabbing in his apartment,] Let me help you clean up.

[It really isn't that bad, as far as stab wounds go. On a scale of one to ten . . . a three, perhaps. She very much did impale him, but it went through his side instead of his stomach, so really, stitching things up is probably the way forward. He sits perched on the toilet seat, shirt off, prodding at a wound that's mostly clotted.

Still, there's a lot of blood. Enough that he looks a little too pale, though not so much that the floor is, like, covered in it.]

. . . thank you.

[He does at least look a little contrite as he shifts, sitting up, removing his hands so Lorenz can have at it.]

It isn't as bad as it could have been.

Edited 2020-07-14 22:10 (UTC)

[Darling... please. Lorenz frowns at the wound, and the mess, and the absolute ridiculousness irony of Fenris getting stabbed in a friendly spar instead of one of the many times he goes lurking to kill petty criminals— but bandages, yes. He sets those on the counter and moves to get a clean hand towel and wet it in the sink, to clean up some of this mess first.]

I know. I have seen worse. [war (tm)] Although not in the privacy of my home...

[Messy! He crouches down into a little spot of blood anyway, to set about gingerly wiping around the cut.]

Tell me, why were you sparring with proper blades?

[There's a hesitation of about half a second.]

It was convenient. And we were not in a place with practice blades.

[Lorenz pauses to look up at him, eyebrow raised. Bud.

Okay, back to his task.]

Perhaps next time you'll have five minutes' more patience.

[He absolutely is glancing at the wall right now.]

I came upon her in a park.

[Fenris. Lorenz pauses again, but this time just sighs instead of giving him pointed looks. Did any stitching actually got done here, now that he can see under the mess...]

Well, as we cannot turn back time and have you not get stabbed: next time. I only ask for more foresight...

[There's a needle threaded, but no, no stitching yet, cleanup was still underway when he'd texted Lorenz.]

It's . . . difficult to think during Sanguis. Especially when someone seems a challenge.

[Which is not a disagreement, just a vague explanation. He shifts a little when Lorenz's fingers leave him, tucking his legs beneath him.]

I suppose I learned my lesson regardless: she turned out to be a mage.

[He hums, standing to wash his hands and glance at the needle. He doesn't need the explanation, not really, but that there is one is better than the alternative.]

Did she stab you with magic?

[Actual question. This would be much easier if one of them happened to have a healing spell or two, but instead it's amateur first aid stitching hour, so:]

Do you want to do it, or shall I take care of it?

Your hand is steadier.

[Please and thank you. He lifts his arm, shifting a little closer.]

But no. She offered to heal me.

[It was, honestly, a kind action, but still he'd refused it. Of course he had. He's allowed magical healing before, but that was different. That was someone he'd known for years, and had (in his heart, if not in word) trusted not to screw him over.]

I refused her.

[Aha. Well it's back down to the floor first, needle in hand now, brow furrowed at the wound.]

Hold still, then.

[He has not actually stitched too many wounds closed in his life, but they were all taught how to keep each other alive post-battle in the event that their resident magic users were unavailable for whatever reason. Or refused, in this case... He glances up again to show he's listening, then looks down for sewing circle time.]

She owed you the courtesy of offering, at the very least. [for stabbing!] That aside, if you had been hurt much worse than this...

Edited (do not look at my late typo correction) 2020-07-15 04:24 (UTC)

I would still refuse. She is an unknown mage; it would be too easy for her to-- mm-- to do more harm than good. All it takes is a moment's carelessness and trust.

[That momentary break in his sentence is the only indication he feels Lorenz beginning.]

[Hmm, not the answer he wanted when it comes to immediately not bleeding anymore, but self-preservation takes all kinds, he supposes.]

Then you could contact me prior to tracking blood all over the apartment if you're hurt again.

[It's a request more than anything else; maybe try a strategy besides the rambling speech-to-text thing next time, please? Thanks.]

Alright?

[He finally glances back at Lorenz, studying the curve of his cheek and the flutter of his eyelashes as he focuses on stitching Fenris up.

He'd been afraid tonight, the instant he'd learned that woman was a mage. Terror, old and long since ingrained with him, had struck through him like lightning, and it was only because he'd had somewhat of a grip on himself that he hadn't just attacked her outright. The wound he'd received was pushed to the back of his mind, and only now does he realize how it must have felt for Lorenz, to have gotten a text like that.]

I promise.

[He means it, his voice low. His fingers absently brush against a strand of Lorenz's hair, sweeping it back away from his face.]

Did they train you for this, in your school, or was this a talent you picked up on your own?

[That's right, get blood in his hair... No, he appreciates the gesture as well as the promise, leaning briefly into Fenris' touch with quiet satisfaction before concentrating on the stitches once more. They are not the best stitches, mostly orderly because of who Lorenz is as a person rather than too much practice, so apologies if he tugs too hard or anything at some point. He probably will.

That said,] We were taught... briefly. Most of our practical education revolved around combat training. I have always liked to be prepared in the event of an injury that requires urgent handling, myself.

[Some people just carried medicinal ointments around at school, it's normal... he has good foresight. Sometimes healers with magic just aren't around!]

These stitches are hardly elegant, but they'll hold. Hold still just a moment longer.

They're more elegant than what I would accomplish, I assure you.

[Because while he could stitch himself up, that hardly makes him an expert. Far from it.]

And how often did such events occur? You have spoken infrequently of your time in your war.

[And that is a part of Lorenz too, one that he would know better.]

Far more than I happened to be witness to, I imagine. Even I had my fair share of close calls over the years, when the fighting spilled into Gloucester territory. And of course, when we returned to the front in earnest...

[Well, he's been stabbed enough himself, brow furrowing in empathy as he tugs the last couple stitches closed and looks up again. Hmm. Well, he's already made his point, so--]

If you'd like to hear war stories, you'll have to wash up first. And agree to lie down and rest. Those are my terms.

[And give him time to mop up bloody footprints, but who's counting.]

[He does, in fact, want to hear war stories, because it's a side of Lorenz he barely knows, but also, what a clause. He wrinkles his nose for a few moments, petulant, before nodding.]

I-- all right.

[He won't argue with the need for rest, but he also will at least help mop up those bloodstained footprints. And does, though truthfully, a lot of it is just carrying around the mop bucket and emptying it when it gets too, hm, bloody.

And then he goes to wash up, dipping into the shower before crawling gingerly into bed. He pulls Lorenz close the moment he climbs into bed with him, his shirt off and his bloody leather trousers switched to sweatpants. Hello, darling.]

[Not arguing is a point in his favor and his reward is that Lorenz doesn't lecture him about personal safety while they clean up blood. He scoops up the still upset Nugget to take him away for real food while Fenris gets into the shower, too, and pointedly does not bring the dog to bed. The pets will entertain each other, elsewhere...

So, then: hello, dear, and he ducks close to press a kiss to Fenris' hair as he settles in next to him. The other reward is he's here now instead of spending another twenty minutes making tea and bothering Fenris to drink it, you're welcome.]

How are you feeling? Tell me honestly.

It hurts. But it would hurt no matter what anyone did. And I barely notice it.

[It is the truth. Give his tattoos this: the way they constantly ache means that he barely notices other pain sometimes, up to and including stitches. He registers it, yes, but there are far worse things.

He buries himself in Lorenz a little, pressing his face against his neck, nosing lightly against his skin.]

Truly. My pain tolerance is . . . different than others, I think.

[Mm, yes, he remembers that particular sensation from the other week. Pain is still pain, Lorenz thinks, but if there's nothing to be done for it except to be here, then he can do that much. He's still mindful of the stitches as he slides his arm around Fenris.]

I suppose. Even so, if you need anything, you need only say the word.

[Do not be petulant about it, let him fuss. Really he would like Fenris to take a nap or something after his serious injury, but that is a far off dream...]

Now then, you wanted to hear war stories? I have years to choose from, so— ask away.

[It's pleasant to be cared for, he'd realized last week, but old habits die hard. Still: there's a certain joy to be found in the way Lorenz offers that, unthinking but honest. He hums in response, a silent I shall that he underscores with a swift kiss to the hollow of his throat.

But ah, what a question.]

I suppose my initial one would be: tell me what your conflict was over, and why you fought.

[Oh, so he wants a history lesson, huh... Lorenz is quiet for a moment, just to think of where to start.]

The Alliance's neighboring countries, the Adrestian Empire and the Kingdom of Faerghus, started a conflict of their own while we were at school. The Kingdom had once annexed the Alliance, and my family's territory borders the Empire... I fought for the continued safety and independence of the Alliance.

[He honestly couldn't say what the rest of the war was even about. Dragons? Cults? Ancient beings somehow brought back to life? The last year of the war got more muddled than it was worth.]

As for the war's origin, it was an effort to dissolve the reliance on Crests— an inheritance of noble lineage. They provide unique advantages, occasionally, but many nobles value them too highly.

[Standard rich people stuff, unfortunately.]

The Crest system has been abused by those with ill intentions, to be sure, but the malice comes from nobles with an unbridled lust for power. The Crests themselves simply are. Still, I can't say the conflict wasn't inevitable.

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