Petching Knives (Cy and Clem)

[Clement Reijnder]

“Oh. Right, but I’m already a touch sauced, love.” He looked at the bottle as she pulled it away from him. Clearly she didn’t understand that he might as well bleed to death since he was apparently insane enough to let her try to sew him up. He’d never seen her even bother to sew a hem on her dresses. He was surprised she even knew how to thread a needle… He smirked a little. “Lookit you all domestic-like with that thread and needle. You’re going to make a pretty little housewife for some lucky fellow one day. Until you slit his throat in the middle of the night and eat his liver. And before you start in on me, yes, I know the liver is not in the neck.” He just kept his eyes on the bottle, waiting for his arm to go numb. His free hand picked up to rub at his mouth. “It’s in the arse, isn’t it?” He actually knew where the liver was, but sometimes he preferred to play dumb. It made for better counter-attacks when people thought him the part of a fool. His eyes lifted up to her with the faintest of twinkles threatening to show. He smirked at her question. “Worth it? Never are. S’why I don’t stick around for them.”

[Cyrah]

She grit her teeth when he went off on his little daydream about what a lovely young housewife she'd make. Tossing pups and cooking dinner. Where only a second ago her eyes had been gentle in their regard of him, they hardened once more and she looked away. Didn't wait for him to tell her that the numbing agent had done its job, she just gripped his shoulder firmly in one hand and drove the needle into his skin. Whether it hurt or not, whether he flailed or not, which no doubt he did, she just held onto him and continued to sew the wound shut, her expression aloof and disinterested in whatever pain she might be causing him. No reaction whatsoever, unless he kicked or shoved or otherwise tried to stop her from what she was doing. The stitches would be far from perfect, but they would keep his skin on his bones, for now. "Fuck you," she muttered. That she'd even said that much meant that he'd said something that got under her skin. "Or I'll rip out your liver, you stupid fucking idiot. No wonder someone tried to petching kill you."

[Clement Reijnder]

“Ack! You said you weren’t going to hurt me!” He sounded genuinely shocked and upset by the fact that she was, as he would put it later, manhandling him. The agent hadn’t started to work fully. The sudden burn that was under the numbness worked tears into his eyes. He grimaced and bowed his head, which in turn just meant that he was better able to focus on the pain instead of shutting it out like he was attempting to. He did flail, but only for a moment. Fortunately he was smart enough to realize that flailing would most likely screw up what she was doing even more than she was going to screw it up herself. He told herself that she needed to learn. That was why he was letting her use him as a test subject. That’s why he wasn’t backhanding her and kicking her across the floor over what she was doing to him. This was just part of her education, which at some point or another he seemed to take a weird active interest in. He told himself he didn’t care. “For the love of shyke, Cyrah! I was joking with you! Stop for a moment and let the salve work!” Later when the story was told he would deny shrieking like a girl.

[Cyrah]

She exhaled sharply through her nose, something utterly satisfying in the knowledge that she was causing him unnecessary pain. And she didn't stop to let the salve work, because it would kick in just as she finished, and then he could grumble and be angry, but his shoulder wouldn't hurt from either the wound or the stitches themselves. When he flailed, she shifted, sliding her thigh between his legs, and pinning him to the chair in which he sat. He could overpower her if he tried hard enough, but the effort would risk ripping a whole new gash into the shoulder she was attempting to fix. She shoved his head further down with her forearm, so that his cheek was nearly pressed to her ribcage, half in a headlock, so that she could see what she was doing without all his sputtering and shrieking in her ear. "Almost done," she muttered. "Just shut up already." Her deft little fingers did work quickly, and although the stitches weren't straight, they would hold. Wasn't the first nasty scar he'd earned himself. Once she finished, she bent down quickly and bit the thread loose, finishing it off. "Done," she said, straightening.

[Clement Reijnder]

He was fuming to the point of being livid. It didn’t show as he stood up, taking a careful glance at the work she did. By this point his arm had in fact gone numb, which was a nice contrast to what he was experiencing beforehand. “Not too bad.” His vanity was curled up into a ball crying at the scar it was going to leave. And he’d have to be sure to go to the apothecary to get something so he could see to it that it didn’t turn rotten. He looked up at her, giving her a blank smile. He nodded. “Thank you.” And then, with as much force as he could possibly muster, he backhanded her across the face. Without another word he grabbed up the bottle of whiskey and started towards the door.

[Cyrah]

Her head snapped sideways from the force of the blow, the momentum twisting her entire body so that she hit the floor on her hands and knees, long hair tumbling past her shoulders, vertigo staining her eyes even as her fingernails dug in to purchase balance. She should have gotten up and gone after him. A voice in her head was screaming for her to get up, follow him into the dark corridor, and rip his throat out. She could all but taste the fragrant spill of his blood on her tongue, the memory of just a lick of his wound still prominent on her taste buds. She'd grab him by the hair and wrench him to his knees, tear out his throat with her fangs and let him bleed to death in the hallway while she watched, waiting, for him to cool to a temperature she felt comfortable devouring. But she didn't. Instead, she just knuckled a drop of blood from her bottom lip and pushed herself back up to her feet, staggering purposefully back to the desk. Work to do. Whether he had a temper tantrum or not. THE END!

[Spavento]

Cyrah +3 Medicine +2 Sewing +1 Math Clement +2 Teaching +1 Medicine +1 Rhetoric (I had to.) Additional notes: Well done guys, and a nice progression for the characters. I'm enjoying watching their relationship grow. I love the way they abuse eachother, the dysfunction of their compassion. Please let me know if you need me to mod anything for you. I find this duo of misanthropes to be quite compelling.