your gums have lost their feeling.

the soft sound of scratches is enough to disturb lila’s sleep.

frankly, lila is surprised it is not the brimming pain her right shoulder that is her wake-up call. after all, the bar is not high for things that will wake you up when you’ve fallen asleep at a counter in your clinic. a terrible idea, if you ask lila. the twinge she feels in her shoulder blade as she shifts slightly is testament to that.

and when lila’s eyes flutter open, she is greeted with her familiar sat only a few inches away from nose. she feels it’s concern that causes those two eyelids to narrow. but it’s strange; sometimes, even eye-to-eye, it feels as if twig is looking down on her.

“better go get it, pet.” no, she's imagining it. her familiar sounds soft and caring.

in contrast, the groan lila lets out is irritated and borderline demonic. she pushes herself up and off the countertop to her feet, ignoring another twinge in her shoulder and the familiar burn in her knee, and glances to the lamp a few paces away. it’s out. reaching for matches, she strikes against the side of the box. she still hears the scratches at the front door.

lila is so sure she knows who it is.

“ruzicka, you can wait ten seconds.” you piece of shit junkie, lila wants to add on the end. she’s in a mood enough to say it. the lantern erupts into light and she waves the matchstick flame away. twig hops onto the fabric of her skirt as she moves, slowly crawling up her body as lila limps to the door.

lila only stops to pick up a pipe. when she opens the door, she lifts it high; it’s a traditional greeting for this customer.

then lila blinks when she’s greeted with no-one. but quickly her eyes dart down to see a familiar and what she hopes is a warm body. then the pipe drops to the ground with a clatter. immediately, lila steps forward, trying to crouch down even if her knee protests.

“what happened?” lila’s tone is sharp, directed at both the familiar and its owner, as her hand goes to push her new patient onto his side to the hope that the motion wasn’t one she would regret. she then snaps her fingers in front of his face.

“hey. stay with me here. what the hell’s wrong with you?”

never let it be said that lila has a good bedside manner. in her defence, this is not the bedside. this is the floor.

@anthonyskies
("he greeted the face of his old friend, the ground." made me laugh out loud jsyk)

your gums have lost their feeling.

it’s lucky the familiar is there. its growling puts lila on edge, reluctant to touch further, but it’s not long before it concedes the valuable details. a single knife wound. relief hardly fills her – it is still one more than a person should have. as her eyes flicker down, she sees the telltale trial of blood soaking through his shirt. a laceration to the abdomen could mean many possibilities but the fact he has not already bled out crosses the worst off lila’s list.

a cursory check of his torso stops the moment lila’s new patient speaks. her eyes dart back to his face, concern immediately lacing her features as he wavers on the edge of consciousness. her attention is rapt. sick? that could mean a number of things, no less those witches in the hovel who use laced knives–

lovesick. ah. lila’s hands suddenly feel empty. she had been holding a pipe in them hadn’t she? there’s the strangest itch to swing it again.

a noise of flagrant disbelief leaves lila. is a symptom of shock stupid, stupid pick-up lines? his familiar makes a bizarre noise in the corner of her eye as it is clearly as taken aback as she is. it hacks its way into an excuse as twig lets out a shrill giggle from her position at lila’s collarbone. lila chooses to shoot a withering glance at the polecat as if it was the one that had said it. they don’t have the time.

“as it turns out, i do have the cure for lovesickness. do you want to know what it is?” but lila does not leave it hanging. she moves on quick.

“did anyone follow you two?” is necessary to ask even if lila’s concern about the answer is less than her concern for the man bleeding out. she’s already sizing him up and trying to weigh her options. but strangely enough, when it comes to situations like these, she rarely ever has good ones.

“i’m gonna need you to stand back up.” pain flares up in her knee as lila tries to move into position. she goes to help him up and attempt to take the arm of the side furthest from the wound. even then, she know it is still going to hurt – for both of them – as she tries to hook the arm over her for support. it is one of those times she wishes she were taller than five foot two.

“hey, cat-thing. keep my door open.”

@anthonyskies

your gums have lost their feeling.

“good thing you shut him up quick.” there is something strangely satisfying in watching a familiar forcefully silence their partner. it’s surreal, a brief reprieve from the clinical concern lila feels as she examines her new, woozy patient. she does not make a sound even close to a laugh. between eyes trained on his abdomen, she fixes the polecat was a stare to outmatch the glare shared him and the man. “before i did.”

nothing like threatening a man in danger of bleeding out. lila only hoped that fixing him out broke him out of this delirious, inappropriate funk. but watching the familiar’s well-practiced exasperation is starting to fill lila with a whole new worry.

the polecat has the mind to be the wary one. this time the relief that feels her is more logical. it was not something born out of the absurd – listening to this feverish man on the verge of bursting into sonnets – but a genuine concern beginning to lift that her clinic would not be ransacked by the same people who stabbed him. the new look she directs at the polecat is, for once, not filled with exasperation or malice. it’s thanks. lila is putting faith in him. what other option does she have?

“reassuring that there is one brain between you two. not much i could do otherwise,” lila has to say through gritted teeth as she tries to heft her patient’s weight through the door. stupidity is, sadly, incurable. but her leg falters a little behind her when she heaves him through the opened doorway and she stumbles, knocking her patient into the door frame. lila’s apology is brief.

“whoops.”

it’s also not really an apology. his earlier comments briefly come to mind.

but trying to recover, lila steadily makes it through the doorway. the gas lamp exposes up a room filled with clay flowerpot after flowerpot, leaves catching the flickering light. the examination table is thankfully sparse. she tries to settle him down there, happy to free herself of the weight.

“close the door.” her words are still directed at the polecat again. she’s feeling a countertop nearby for a pair of gloves. the first pair she finds are gardening gloves. those aren’t the ones lila’s looking for. it gives her time to ask questions. “who stabbed him?”

“if you don’t know their name or group, i’ll make do. but some of the witches around here ever so helpfully lace their daggers.” you can really hear the sincere thanks in lila’s voice through her, again, gritted teeth. “for both of your sakes, i hope it wasn’t one of those lot.” they’re rare but lila’s seen a nasty necrotic wound or two on the streets of the hovel and that's enough to make her ask. those looked far beyond the power of a simple vial of the hyacinth. speaking of…

there’s the snap of rubber gloves as lila pulls them on. her next stop, a potion rack, is signalled by gentle click of glass as lila sorts through phials. she finally directs her next question at her patient.

“i need you to take off your shirt.”

it’s also not really a question.

@anthonyskies