@waterwrit (sequel to thread: here)
After years of counting on her discretion, Olruggio was certain that this would be the time that finally broke the limits of Sinocia’s patience. The days of careless injury were long behind them both, after all, wrapped up with the naivety and boldness of their childhood - and whilst Olruggio might come to her with the occasional burn that he could easily treat himself, there was no excuse for the state of them now.
He hadn’t even washed the dirt off himself. That was probably a bigger mistake than shooting Qifrey out of the sky in the first place. Yet, at the request that their visit not be reported, Sinocia simply sighed and nodded.
They’d been whisked away to separate rooms for treatment, Olruggio putting up little resistance with the pain in his arm and... well.... he didn’t want to see what he’d done to the man in its raw state. Even if he’d been as careful as he could, he knew his own magic. His hands were scarred enough as proof.
Sinocia had to cut his shirt off him in the end, revealing a vibrant set of purple bruising and a collection of bumps that she winced at - ‘partial’ came up a lot, dislocation, fracture, Olruggio was hazy on the details because she had clearly started explaining them to distract him as she popped his shoulder into place. And oh gods did that cloud everything else out. By the time he was lucid again, she’d wrangled him into a sling, dressed the cut on his face and left him a herbal tonic to take for the pain. He was left with this raw, scrubbed-clean feeling all over.
Before she left, she’d unlocked a door in the corner than apparently lead to the neighbouring room. Qifrey.
Olruggio decides to leave the medication until after their chat. He can’t risk a softened edge for this. With a shirt loosely pulled over himself, he enters Qifrey’s room with a gingerly gait and perches on the end of his bed.
“...How are you feeling?”
