Warning for non Otto related death.
No matter how good you think you are, there will always be the a risk of the stupidest little things that will trip you up, ruin everything and leave you scrambling to not make things even worse. Footsteps coming a little bit too soon, the drunken stumblings of another body the least fortuitous way, your information being very incorrect on the location of a pickup or even something as simple as a wrong target… Now the latter is always a particularly nasty development and sadly not always caused by your source being vindictive. In either case the results are always messy. Anyway, how was he supposed to know that the form he had taken of a now corpse happened to be the presumed husband to some random woman who spotted him attempting to get back to the safe house? Was in enough pain with a likely dislocated shoulder and dappled in fresh bruising both round the eyes and the throat. This is just some horrible coincidence that he walked right into quite unwillingly. Then, to make matters worse, this thing with auburn hair plaited far too tight forces his able arm over hers and oh there is such steel in those pale eyes. He can feel the bristling anger though it seems directed at the cause of his situation (The irony) and that has made her oddly protective despite her rather petite height. From that point he knows there wasn’t anything to be done for there is every chance of her accidentally drawing attention his way and the pain was muddling his thoughts furiously as it is. With little real choice in the matter he is half dragged, half marched in silence until they reached the presumed home where she pulls a perfect stranger inside. Before he could utter even a single word he has been sat down in a chair by an open roaring fire and left.
The entire situation is quite simply bewildering in how fast it had happened alone before the other factors at work.
“Quite the finest mess you have landed yourself into this time.” His voice is kept quiet to be safe and while there is an attempt to move the hanging right arm, the flash of pain quickly derails any ideas of fixing it without outside help.
“Ach, least nobody will have to know of the embarrassment. Even She can be merciful at times.”
Any further grumblings are interrupted when his 'saviour' returns carrying a paper-thin box tucked under an arm. She's making strange, frantic gestures with her hands that he cannot immediately recognise and so merely blinks. Frowning deeply, her palms are raised as if asking for a pause then a second attempt is made with much slower and clearer finger movements. It takes him a moment more to grasp before the idea comes that she might be mute which would explain the odd silence. Unable to decipher this particular variant, he attempts to bluff his way around it instead.
“Forgive me, I must have hit my head a bit too hard!” Unsure if she might be deaf as well, he raises his voice while sounding like he is filled with apologies. As he speaks he motions to both his face and shoulder to indicate the problem areas whilst hoping that the lack of using a name won’t turn around and bite him soundly.
“Wars have been far gentler.”
To his relief, Otto is given a silent version of a few tuts and another series of gestures between her mouth and chest which are just as mysterious as before. The box on the nearby table and she starts rooting through the contents for whatever specific thing she might be after. From the various small bottles and bandages removed, it is clearly medically based. Quite a savvy one to be having her own supplies in an age where the idea of a woman with a skillset has fallen out of favour for their supposed dainty hearts being too weak to handle anything of import. Without a voice there isn't any warning meaning that the act of rolling up the sleeves of her blouse is the sole indicator that she is ready to tackle the most pressing issue. What he does not expect is for her to ever so gently presses her lips to his forehead before touching anywhere else. He can feel his face heat as a finger is waggled in his peripheral vision and the hanging hand taken in her own as though to comfort what will no doubt be a rather excruciating encounter. It is these simple gestures that makes him inwardly wonder if this is what it was like with people whom you are not forced into watching your back on the constant? It feels so different from the family connection endured through your initial host parents, less of an expectation of duty but something of genuine care? Kindness? The tiniest scrap of his mind contemplates if the right descriptor would be a word that starts with an Lbut it is quickly stamped down as utterly ridiculous. Such a thing is a painfully soft human trait and not one a changeling could possibly know or want to understand. Like so many things it is something to be faked to get what you needed from another and there are far more important things to be focu- -
His thought process is rather quickly derailed by the awful grinding pain when the shoulder is forcibly shoved back into the socket. He does not even pretend that it did anything other than set his nerves on fire and launch a pained hiss from his throat in a vain attempt to bite back swearing. She says nothing of course, no instead she is busy rubbing the shoulder blade while gently checking all the joints down the limb to make sure they are working as they should be doing. After another pained groan, he gives her a grateful look because it would be too impolite to do otherwise and is offered a loving smile in return and a wink. The latter is unsettling. A hand motions to the box before she's off pouring something that smells utterly foul onto a cloth until it turns the wrong side of damp. With startling impatience when he is still needing a minute more at least, she dabs carefully around his still swelling eyes in an action so softly done that almost it reminds him of that of a mother’s.
Alas a changeling by nature means no loose ends should ever be left over no matter how small for they are too much of a risk. He cannot stay here longer than absolutely necessary when there is a string so blatantly leading to this very home with a ticking clock following the flame. It will be well into the night when she is slumbering deeply that he will apologise truthfully before slitting her throat to give at least a small measure of peace. The second he leaves that home however, he will never remember doing so.
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
ellievsbear
