#fletchingscar

[failnaughted]

Shinon shuffles vaguely about, the same cold gray as the walls. He appears purposeless--until his listless eyes catch on one of the boys from the Knight's Hall, clearly much the worse for wear. He thinks bitterly of that vulnerary. But... he hadn't had a choice. He hasn't got a choice now, either. Nothing he can do for the wounded. Still, in some brief flash of obligation, Shinon blunders to Claude's bedside. "You..." he mumbles, "you holding up alright?"

Goddess tits, he's hurting in body parts he didn't even know he had.

Claude lifts his arm, which seems to have grown twice as heavy as it used to be, to rub at his eyes when a familiar by now voice speaks nearby, addressed to him by the sound of things. When he forces his eyes open and sees who it is, in spite of Everything, he still smiles.

"Hey, uhhh," he begins, then trails off as he remembers that this guy still hasn't given him his name. After a brief pause, he disregards the thought and just moves on to the question asked, waving his hand nonchalantly.

"I'm fiiine, no worries. This probably looks worse than it is," he assures. "A few wounds, but not too serious, and then one enemy had some draining magic, so I'm mostly just tired. I'll sleep it off and I'll be good as new."

He shifts, putting one hand under his head as he continues, his smile fading a hint. "Some enemies out there are quite dangerous, though. One had some wacky spell that took control over one of ours and had him turn against us... Never seen that before. Be careful if you get out there."

Turning back to the Sniper, Claude looks at him with more curiosity and awareness. "What 'bout you? You don't look hurt, which is good. Found anything of note out there?"

[gentleaureole]

Shinon stalks along the margin of the market, scanning for a stall where the vendor doesn't smile so damn much. Who won't ask him how they can help.

He just wants some fucking fresh bandages. He wants to have a three-word conversation about this. "Bandages." "Two gold."

That's it. And then he wants to cringe away inside some foxhole, wants to wrap the thrice-damned cut that bleeds on the back of his thrice-damned hand.

He's been shooting without gloves again. It's... it's fine.

Everything is fine--and then it's not. Then it's cold dread, like all the slush of Daein has been forced into his guts.

It's thrice-damned Rhys. The fool, the dear, dear bastard fool--the one who always used to charm away these exact little wounds.

It's Rhys, strolling blithely down the streets of Garreg Mach, as though he's not been torn kicking and screaming from Shinon's blackest memories. The day that Greil died; fuck, the last time Shinon saw him.

Shinon isn't one to freeze. He isn't one to falter. But here, for Rhys, he does.

And then remembers the thrice-damned horrid thing he is, and turns, and hopes that sweet Rhys didn't notice any of it.

Ever since arriving here, Rhys has felt another bout of illness coming on. He wasn't sure what had brought it on this time. Perhaps he'd exerted himself too much on the journey here, but the thought of being in bed now when there was so much to see of this new town made him downright miserable. In the end, he'd told himself he'd take a short walk and rest along the way. Surely the fresh air would do him good too.

Out of all the sights he expects to see, though, the one he's greeted with is a ghost from his past. For a second, he's not sure if his head is just spinning and that it's a case of mistaken identity, but the way the other looks at him confirms it.

That's Shinon.

He had left the night Greil died all those years ago, then re-appeared among Daein's army. And then he had simply disappeared. It seemed this was where he had disappeared to.

Rhys knew he could walk away. It's likely what Shinon wanted him to do.

"Shinon. I didn't..." but now that he's near him, he can see the way he's holding his hand and the blood from it. It's so little that it doesn't make him woozy, not yet, and it helps that those are familiar wounds. He has a very good idea of how Shinon got that cut.

"You're hurt. Let me heal you, my staff is at the inn."