Closed [The Clinic] Sore spots

[Fallon]

59th Winter 513 AV
Morning

It was grey, the world having dipped into deep, dark, saturated tones. Shadows danced across the ground, the twisted splatters of rage and blood marking the snow. Even the occasional dead body of the starved. Their words of discomfort now silent in song. And the people? They were too bent on other things at present, fighting, living and surviving.

Fallon held her head tightly in her hands. Very tightly. Her head throbbed with the numb sensation of an ache, a horrid and dizzying sensation that decided to amplify whenever she stood or move. Red rested on her hands, a thick chilled paste that stuck to the digits, a mixture of another's and her own. And if it was not the little nicks and cuts that traced their way across her coat - small but no doubt present. The colour had mostly sapped from her skin, though if it was due to the sudden thought of blood, the loss of it or the cold was beyond her. And presently it did not matter with the outer wall of the clinic she was leaning up against. Bruised, rotten feeling, but in no way defeated - it was still an issue that needed to be dealt with. Less, she receive the mocking scorn of her brother.

She gave a wince, the shaking hand slowly peeling it away a slow blink as she came to terms with what was going on. Muscles briefly gave a rebel, her hand peeling away from her temple and the distinct swelling that rested there - or was it another cut to add to the collection? She did not know, nor did she particularly care right now. The only real pressing thought was the acceptance of her aches and that they needed to be dealt with. Cheeks puffed, her form swivelling round so she could firmly knock upon the door of the clinic.

Wood grunted, the dulled tap echoing out through to the other side. Withdrawing her knuckles she waited, letting her brow crease into a line and her lids find a state of rest being closed. Fallon released a moan, her cracked lips being wetted as she waited. She hated this, the constant hum of background noise, the ever feeling that eyes were watching and waiting for one to falter. Sunberth was indeed a den of beasts at the best of times, all hungry and growing desperate as the long winter drew on. Starving bodies and empty mouths. Pleasures were no longer important - it was ever could be leached off that mattered.

Clicking her neck she gave a wince, teeth gritting with annoyance. The hum of the city lay in the background, the whispers and voices there. They still hunted, and always would. She raised her hand again, rapping harder this time upon the door surface, "Open up!"

Fallon gave a firm shake, feet stamping upon the icy ground. Limbs complained as the heat was forced to coarse on through, a rebel as she cracked an eye open to look upon the world. A huddled gaggle of others were nearby, caught by the illness that was hovering about. There was only a sharp look to them, the near still and barely breathing bodies that were so desperately trying to fight back and survive. Sucking in the air she gave a slam against the door a third time, her voice louder and clearer, "You deaf? Open up!"

[Matthew]

The door opened, and a black mask with a black leather beak peered out. The head turned, focusing a glass eye on the young woman, and delighted words whispered out from behind the dark barrier. "Oh, a fresh spec- patient. Come in, girl. Come in." He turned his body to the side, looming dangerously, the glee practically radiating from his figure. Now allowed in if she chose to still go, Fallon would also be allowed to take a quick glance inside. A steel table sat in one corner of the shack, leather straps keeping a man wrapped tight, bloodied clothes draped over his naked form. It was hard to tell if it was his blood or just blood-soaked clothes, which Sunberth had plenty of at the moment. Whatever the case, his eyes were closed and his chest was slowly moving. Perhaps near death, but not quite there yet. Other medical tools and things were scattered around the place, but perhaps more interesting would be the other figure in the room. Tall and well-dressed, the only real sign that he was just as effected by this plague as the rest of them were was the dark cloth he had wrapped around his nose and mouth. That still left the intense bright blue eyes though, and the stoic series of blinks would perhaps be familar to Fallon. That was how he showed surprise. Matthew hadn't seen the woman since they had been seperated in the Wildlands. Perhaps she had thought the harlot dead. He had trusted their ability to arrive at Sunberth, so he wasn't so sure why he was surprised to see her. He tilted his head, considering her a moment, his sharp clothes and styled hair oddly pristine in the bloodbath of a clinic. His hands though... his hands were red. They were dripping. "She's half dead, assistant. We could use a sample of whatever is going around. And she is a woman. It will be totally different. The body type, as opposed to the brutes we usually cater to, is so different." He rubbed black gloved hands together, a raspy chuckle echoing from within the black mask. "I'll treat her. She was a travelling partner on the road here. A sharp mind, too. Much too sharp to be subjected to dissection." His voice was passive, eyes holding Fallon's, face expressionless. He knew he would seem slightly distant, more-so than usual. Or so he thought. Working with the Doctor did that to him. "I could always dissect you in her place." The Doctor's mask had suddenly swiveled and tilted, craning at a sickeningly uncomfortable angle, voice suddenly cold and dangerous. Matthew finally broke the analyzing stare he had locked onto Fallon, now glancing over at the Doctor and furrowing his brow. He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, and then slowly nodded. "Yes. This is correct. You easily could." An odd silence existed for a moment, Matthew's oddly dettached response causing the Doctor to think. Eventually, he gave a wave of his hand, slamming the door shut behind him and slowly gliding over to the other patient unconscious on the operating table. He huddled over the man and began to work, motions hidden by his body. Matthew stepped forward suddenly, eyes glancing over Fallon professionally and quickly, a small amount of Djed sucked from his stomach to burn in his eyes. Her Aura lit up, his mind melded with it for a brief second, and he focused intensely to take every last bit of her in. Bloodied, shivering, pale. Cracked lips, heavy lids halfway over her eyes. She was tired, and in pain. "It is nice to see you again, Fallon. Did Wrenmae make it as well? Please remove your clothing, and show me any wounds. Is that your blood?" Casual conversation was thrown in with a firm command, though the order was politely phrased. Oddly, Matthew started to remove his own clothing as well, quickly unbuttoning his jacket, briefly shivering in the cold. They were safe from the wind and snow in here, but it was still chilly. A nearby iron shelf had been turned into an odd furnace of sorts, wood piled in and a makeshift funnel guiding smoke out through a hole in the ceiling. He motioned her towards it, stepping that way himself.

[Fallon]

Fallon glared at the doctor, lips forming into a line and an angry twitch. There was no way she was about to become another test subject, not without kicking and screaming first. Her sight did not dwell too long on the strapped down man, it brought up the pleasant thoughts of the past - something that was better off left buried. Lids pinched, the pupils swivelling round and fell upon the familiar face. Not that she immediately registered it, her head was swimming with her forced walk. The Doctor however continued his twittering, the bumbling of ideas and his intentions even as Fallon placed a firm foot down.

"Tell me doctor, how quickly can you stop a man from bleeding out when his throat is slit?" she gave a smile, eyes burning and her tongue sharp. There was only a gentle tap to the hilt of the kukri at her waist before she continued her steps over to Matthew. She raised a brow at him, eyes looking him up and down. The memory settled in, the long distance of travel plaguing against her mind. Was it always that hard? Or was it just this one occasion? Her head gave a tilt, the chilled exhale escaping as she made over to the blooded hands that belonged to Matthew. She was not sure what to exactly think of the harlot, it was odd enough to see the man alive let alone in such an establishment. And perhaps more disturbing was what stained his hands.

Hesitation niggled at her, a growing gnawing from within. She released a puff, her brow easing off slightly. Perhaps it was for the best to have him here, more so with the somewhat twisted mindset of the Doctor. He was an odd one to say the least, and there was no way she was about to allow him near her if all he wanted was experimentation. Besides, better the devil one knew than the one you did not. Approaching where he had gestured, she gave a turn of the head up to the harlot and his questions.

"Pleasant surprise you are. And in one piece too? Yes. Yes Wrenmae made it here too. Tough one him," she released a hiss, her palm pressing against her forehead. She did not quite register his words at the moment, her eyes having drifted from his and begun to focus intently on the fire. It was warm, pleasant, yet oddly suffocating, her lungs almost rebelling and resisting to the idea of sucking in the crackling heat. Her expression turned glazed, a moment of distance as she simply adjusted to the seeming wave of heat. Or at least until she flinched, her distracted mind finally snapping back to Matthew.

"Blood?" She gave a blink, and then eyes averted down to her form, "Yes. Blood. I, it is..." There was a moment of hesitation, her lips parting and being wetted, "Maybe? Possibly. Might be someone else's." She pinched the bridge of her nose, and then begun the slow response to his command. Stiff fingers gave a fumble at the coat buttons, aching and rebelling as she managed to pop the top most one, "Wait. Remove? How much?" She gave him a scrutinizing look, "I didn't I walk into the whore house by accident right?"

Shaking her head she continued, pulling at the second button now, "Nah, too creepy here. Which makes me ask, why you here? Seems a bit grim for your face. Less suddenly you decided you wanted to play doctor. Then it makes sense." Her brow knitted in focus, her feet planting themselves on the floor despite their insistent shaking. She forced a pull at the third button, and then began to wriggle out and free. There was a hiss, her teeth clenching tightly as the muscles rebelled. At the layer of the shirt it was an angry red - more so along the arms where she had obviously raised them in defence. She gave a grimace, followed by a frown at the various patches. Fingers moved up to the buttons on her shirt collar, "Let me guess, next layer off?"

[Matthew]

If he was the sort to be amused, then he might have been able to see the humor in what he had asked her to do. Even when he was "playing doctor", he was still finding a way to get his customers to take his clothes off. However, he wasn't the sort to be amused. He was more the type that missed every single possible joke. "No. The whore house is at the entrance to the city, or in the Sun's Birth Quarter. I can recommend you to one if you have specific desires, but this is the doctor's office I am sure you were seeking." His voice didn't contain a trace of sarcasm. He had just missed her own, and taken her words quite literally. At her final questions, he gave two quick nods. "I used to study Medicine, in Zeltiva. I just wanted to brush up on my skills, and this place doesn't have very many options. As for your clothes, yes. All of the layers." He was detached in his commands, an unclothed body practically the same thing as a clothed body to him. He turned away from her, and somehow produced a bucket of water and soap from all the other things that decorated the mix between a torture chamber and a clinic. Sensing that there may be some further hesitation he explained, while helping her undress if she needed it. "You need cleaned. Any cuts need washed with soap and water, and bandaged or sewn. You are so stained with dirt and blood that it is hard to tell what is what, therefor a cleaning is needed. But first, your body is suffering from the cold. You need warmed. Your clothes seem wet, either from snow or more blood, and will only worsen your condition. You will strip, you will become warm, I will clean and bandage you, and you will wear my clothes out of this place. You can return them later. We will deal with any further problems as they arise." His eyes took her in as she undressed, scanning key points on her body to check the severity of any wounds she had received. He circled her, his eyes catching all the little details, noticing the old shoulder wound and the odd scar on her back. Even the little circles and rings went noticed, but he didn't linger on them. If they weren't a current problem, then he didn't care. Glancing at her with his bright blue eyes, he tilted his head, wetting a rag. "Can you handle the fire, or is the heat too intense for you? The other option is body heat." He was giving her more care than he would a normal patient, but it was out of the feeling that he owed her something. He took pride in his work, but wouldn't normally be able to offer the clothes off of his back. She was pretty badly off though, and if his guess was right, the worst of it was the cold. Hopefully it hadn't set in too deep. If she obeyed his orders, hands would take her bare shoulders and lead her closer to the fire, and then hold her steady. Every now and then he would guide her in a rotation, making sure that the flickering flames distributed the heat across her shivering flesh evenly. If body heat was all she could stand, then the harlot would be perfectly fine stripping as well and applying himself. Whichever option was taken, it would have to be done quickly. "You seem distracted. Do you feel tired? Dizzy? Are you and Wrenmae doing well in the city? Let him know that I would like to see him sometime. Perhaps we could read a book together. My reading needs practice." He knew the man had quite a plan when it came to this place, but didn't particularly want to mention that out loud in front of the Doctor. He didn't know if it mattered, but he didn't want to risk it. Wrenmae had confided, so Matthew would return the favor by keeping it as quiet as possible.

[Fallon]

"Maybe some other time I'll grace the houses with my presence. When less busy of course," she forced a shrug.

It was hard not to flinch or rebel against his touch, to recoil away from his assisting. She knew his intention, his goal and hiss aim. But even then she could not help but feel nervous to his monotone. Still, she knew to obey the more educated kind in that of field - even if there was that doctor creeping about in the background. Eyes followed him round, a guarded look worn and her arms wrapping on round her frame with her fingers having laced themselves in with the pendant chain around her neck. Still, her set levels of modesty did not serve as much as a shield to his eyes. Clearing her throat she forced words to come loose, "I can wear my own clothes out. A little dirt doesn't hurt anyone. Besides, I have spare. So it's not too much of a hardship. Besides, what would you..." she gave a nervous peek to the Doctor, his rather amused cackling not escaping her. And one that continued to softly play as he continued with his new offer.

"No. No No No! Fire is fine. I can and will deal with fire," she became animated at that point, her hands peeling away quickly an raising almost as if to push him back and create a barrier. She held her gaze, obviously embarrassed by the situation as it was - injuries aside. Forced into movement, Fallon was guided to the fireside. Goose pimples had risen, the hairs standing on end as she was simply held there - left to defrost and warm before the flames. Tender patches of flesh having begun to reveal themselves, the more obvious cuts. The worst among them - she guessed at least - being the gash that stretched along the forearm, though the layers of dirt that held her did aid in smothering other injuries.

I feel like a petching hog roast, she pulled a face.

She gave a stifled yawn, a rub at her eye as Matthew continued his doctoring. When she was brought round to facing him once more, the colour had begun its steady return to her cheeks though a resisted dip into that of daze was fought for, "Tired. Very. The city keeps me awake. Always have to be safe and on guard around here." Her toes gave a wiggle, life having finally found them once more. Matthew no doubt left her curious to the exact nature of his relationship with Wrenmae. Part of her wild imagination suggested it was something intimate, but logic dictated that it was little more than a healthy mutual existence - if that was at all possible with her flesh and blood.

" He is doing well, seems he has managed to avoid the illness going about too. Reading? Yes. He will like that. I will let him know," there was only a snap of a glance to the back of the doctor and then to Matthew's own, "He is lately taking an interest in mutts and mongrels, so he would be very grateful if you kept an eye out for literature on them for him." There was a forced curl of the lip, and the small nod of the head. Of course she knew his plan, she was playing the man's first wall of defence and analysis. It was her job to.

Giving him a polite tilt of the head, the girl locked her gaze with his - unmoving in its hold, "You don't have to keep me up. I can stand on my own. It's what got me here." There was a firm blink, her eyes set to burning at him. It was not a suggestion in the slightest, or even a request for that matter. The less touch that came between them the better - it already set her mind niggling and her skin considering writhing. And whilst she did not care as much when both numb and cold, now her extremities began to awaken it mattered a lot, "How much longer will this take? How you finding the city anyway?"

[Matthew]

The Doctor seemed fairly uninterested now that Matthew had staked a claim, so to speak. He did glance over every now and then, but it was hard to tell exactly what was going on behind those glass-shielded eyes of his. It was easy to notice that the unconscious patient was slowly growing in crimson coloration. It was harder to tell what exactly was causing the increase in blood, for everything was covered with red-soaked rags. Matthew seemed to pay the Doctor no mind, either comfortable in his presence or understanding that it didn't matter if it was comfortable or not. Secretly, he did send a trickle of Djed to his eyes every now and then, burning it to keep a check on the Doctor's aura. He liked to be constantly aware of the sort of mood the doctor was in, which allowed him to wisely choose what to say and how to act around the violatle man. Even if it was subtle, he did pay special attention to her needs when it came to physical touch. At any flinching away or sudden recoils, he would stop his movement and give her a moment to gather herself before slowly approaching again. He wasn't so sure if it helped, but he did what he could. He had eternal patience when it came to this sort of thing. With the way that people were starting to gather at the Doctor's clinic, he would need to put his patience to good use in the upcoming days. Could he continue to do this while still working at the Sanctum? He supposed he would end up finding out. He pushed the thought aside, ignoring her embarrassment at the situation, following her over to the fire. His eyes skipped over her body openly, taking in and memorizing all the areas that would need attention. There was a cut that was the worst. Pulling a rag out of the bucket of water, he offer it to her, voice firm and polite. "Please clean your front as much as you possibly can, especially the cuts and scrapes. I will clean your back." At her implied command to get his hands off of her, he missed the command and only replied to what was said, something that was common with Matthew. He was bad with implications and subliminal messages in spoken words. "I am not holding you up. I was keeping you from wobbling around, and now I am making sure you evenly warm. Are you evenly warm?" A simple would end up in the harlot removing his hands, giving her the desired result nonetheless. Then came the hard part. As long as she had agreed (though there would be a rather blank stare and some polite insisting if she didn't), he would move to her back. Warm water would be drenched over it, starting at the neck and trickling down, and then the washcloth applied in firm scrubbing circles. He applied only the amount of pressure needed to remove the layers of dirt, and switched to firm swipes of the cloth when dealing with any cuts. Dried blood and caked dirt needed to be rubbed free, exposing the raw cuts to the air. When he reached her rear, he was particularly quick, getting it over with as quickly as possible, aware enough to know that she was uncomfortable with his physical touch. Once again, any jerks away would be met with quiet patience, but he would inevitably return to his task of cleaning her. Being clean was extremely important, and it was very hard to do in Sunberth. It was mostly because of how common dirt was in the slummy city, and how little care most people had for soap and water. Or perhaps they didn't have access to it. As a whore and as the assistant of a doctor, he had both soap and water readily available. "Mutts and mongrels. An interesting topic. Do you know if he would be at all interested in discussing cosmetology?" That was a topic out of left field. If he had caught the implications of her words, his face didn't show it. More than ever before, he was a completely blank mask. "The quicker you grit your teeth and let me work, the quicker it will be over with." It wasn't said in a stern matter, just matter-of-fact. "After you are clean, I'll patch you up and send you on your way. Did you bring the spare? It is useless to clean your wounds if you are just going to paste filthy cloth back on them." After she was clean as good be, he headed to a nearby table, picking out some bandages, needle, and thread. "As for the city, it is interesting. A lot of conflict, a lot of people that most would consider scum. It does have a thriving prostitution economy, which is a plus."

[Fallon]

Fallon released a sigh, "Yes. I am warm evenly."

It was only begrudgingly that she obeyed the harlot, taking the moist rag and fingering it carefully. Even her gnosis gave a curious throb as to what existed around it, but just as quickly she discarded the urge. What was there to learn from something that was used to remove dirt? She gave it a turn and then moved her attention to the given task. At least he had enough decency to allow her to tend the front. The pair worked of course, silent if it was not for the nervous hum that escaped her lips - designed almost to fill the void from between. Sunberth was indeed a filthy city, it marked the people with its stench and clung deep to whatever it could get hold of. Be it the flesh or the soul.

"Be gentle would you?" There was a hiss and a wince, the pull as she focused on removing the layer of grime. Wounds stung, burning with their exposure to the elements and weeping as the slime that cocooned her was lifted. She did however go rigid when his cleaning descended to other areas. It was hard not to, he was already pressing on the boundary of her limits and it was only by the firm holding of her tongue that she did not react. It was a rather surreal event to her, if not for the presence of Matthew then for the fact that she was allowing such attention.

"Cosmetology?" she gave a pause thinking carefully for a moment and then gave a sheepish shrug, "Only on his days off. He needs to keep up appearances when working, if you get my meaning." She cleared her throat at that point, choosing to fall silent instead of releasing a low chuckle of amusement. She rubbed the rag between her fingers, picking up the wrinkled dirt that within the crevices. Wringing it, she gave a dab at her face and the blood that was there. The muscles twitched, the familiar sting of bruising forming there. There was a long pull, firm and dragging as it pressed. Releasing a sigh she glanced only briefly at him, eyes looking him up and down.

"Give me something to bite onto then. Don't fancy biting my tongue off if I'm going to be gritting," and then her voice dropped to that of a mutter, "The spare is back where I'm sleeping." There was no way she was going to say the exact location; she was still sceptical about Matthew at the best of times, "I'll get into them when I get there, then set this stuff to be cleaned. And then try and fix it." Her eyes turned to the ragged and worn coat, her brow creasing with thought. If it could be fixed, would be more accurate - she was no seamstress, "Should keep me busy whilst I keep my head down for a while. You don't mind if I sit when you stitch me up right?"

Sombrely she nodded to his words, "Aye, that's Sunberth for you. A lot of fighting. But, it's something that's got to be done if you want to either prove strength or defend yourself." She chewed her lip at that point, her most recent bout of combat flickering in her mind, "Still. Good to see you've found a little niche to work in. Say, what got you into your current profession anyway?" It was a firm question, full of healthy curiosity and a simple want of understanding, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I just would have imagined you doing something else other than that. Or even playing assistant to a doctor."

Yawning she pressed her palm into her eye socket and allowed the lids to rest for a tick. Her voice dropped into a purr, "Tell me about yourself. Something I don't know."

[Matthew]

"I am being gentle. A certain amount of force is required to remove the dried-up grime beneath the layer of wet grime." Her humming was met only with complete silence from the harlot doctor, who went about his task effectively and quickly, soon leaving her back, legs, and rear mostly free of the dirt and dried blood that had once plagued it. Tossing the now-filthy rag over one of his shoulders, he peered quietly at what had been revealed. She wasn't as bad off as he had first thought. It looked like a combination of the cold and of her wounds had made her look so worn in the first place. He noticed that she was stiff, so he gave her a few chimes without any touch from his hands to recover her senses. It was probably best for his health if she didn't instinctively try to punch him in the face. At her response to the Cosmetology question and the shrug, he paused a moment, a puzzled gleam in his eye. "Wouldn't one use Cosmetology to keep up appearances? Then again, he never struck me as the type to really care about physical appearances, at least when it comes to attractiveness. Not that he isn't handsome. It just is low on his priority list, something like yourself I think." The comment could be taken one of many ways, though the tone it was delivered in was completely neutral so far. When Fallon chuckled though, the confusion in his light blue stare only deepened, but the harlot attempted to chuckle along with her as if he caught the joke. It was obvious he didn't catch it at all. "Something to bite on to... I don't really have anything in here. Well, I do, but you don't want to bite it. It won't hurt that badly. If I had some alchohol to disinfect with, then you might be in for a bit of pain, but oddly enough you don't look infected. You will need to come back though so I can check on them every now and then, as they very well may get infected before long. That is when the real danger sets in." Now that he was done cleaning her, he awaited her to finish, which didn't take all that long. He cast a critical eye at the coat and clothes she was planning on wearing home, but held his tongue. It would have to do, and he felt like he wouldnt' be able to make her compromise on every little thing that he was hoping he could. With a distant look to his eye he shook his head, briefly moving to a stack of burlap bags he had gathered in the corner. Setting on of them down on the floor for her, he gestured to it. "You can sit there. I try to collect old discarded bags or clothes and wash them out, and then use them as makeshift seats. Everything is so very dirty." Stringing some thread through one of the needles, he cast a critical eye over her wounds. When she sat, he would begin. Meanwhile, he answered her questions, readily and without pause. "Curiosity. A desire to understand the profession, and to understand both sexuality and intimacy. I also enjoy learning in general, and my physical features gave me easy access to this particular profession." He tilted his head at her, curiosity welling up in him again. "What would you imagine me doing?" The purr was odd coming from her lips, though it seemed to be more of a tired sound than anything else. He considered her question for a moment, and if she had finally sat, came to sit behind her. "As long as you don't have any cuts on your chest or private areas, you are welcome to cover those once more." A tick more of silence, and he finally answered her odd demand. "I am scared of the ocean. I don't like the idea of what could exist under there that we don't see, and not being able to see allows for my imagination to come up with plenty of horrifying things." Another few ticks of hesitation, and he slowly returned the question, though in a way that was slightly more timid. "Would you like to tell me something about yourself that I don't know?"

[Fallon]

Fallon cocked a brow up at him, "You didn't get any of that quip did you? And I suppose one would use Cosmetology to keep up appearances. Par when trying to look intimidating, frightening, gritty and much like a mercenary. So, the implication is that he only delves into such pleasures when in private and not working. The phrase, lady boy comes to mind for some reason." She gave a quick hiss, her eyes burning in irritation as a wound stung before she calmed once more. As he continued to move about however, she continued her standing at least until he managed to summon up somewhere for her to sit. And so, obeying him for the moment she took a perch upon the burlap sack.

To his comment about biting something however her expression turned puzzled, "Do I... want to know?"

Her eyes only drifted briefly around the room, her limbs more focused on covering herself up once more and creating a wall of flesh. Something she much immediately preferred. Her eyes eventually found him and remained fixed upon Matthew and his answers. For a moment there was some pondering, before her hand reached out and tapped at his fingers in gesture, "Musician. Maybe a flute or something. Your fingers are... well long. But your hands are bigger than mine so it might just appear that way." There was a pause as she said that, her eyes scrutinizing his finger tips, "Either way, they look like they could reach all the holes. Be able to stretch and play all sorts of tunes. Or maybe something else, more... plucky? But that is just opinion." Rubbing at her face she contemplated his words for a few ticks a gentle mulling over whether or not she should actually answer him. Her lips pursed into a line, and then a curl.

"Would I like to?" It was rhetorical, though judging by his current level of sharpness she was uncertain on whether or not he would notice. She gave a wince when the needle jabbed at her, trying to resist an instinctual jerk away. Her eyes snapped away, her head turning to glare angrily at the floor as he worked. Her other hand in the meanwhile clamped around her wrist in an attempt to halt her jerks. In between however she managed to answer him properly, "I hate being picked up. It makes me feel like I have no control and makes me feel vulnerable. Like I'm weak and can't fight back. Makes me all clench up inside... I guess it scares me too really."

She gave a laugh, and then a hiss as she was once more pricked, "Kind of silly really on how something so simple can startle another." Eyes stared and turned to the flames, the colours aglow in the dulled light. For a moment she was lost in thought, her features having simply glazed over and her lips twitching. Or at least until she snapped her head back to him. There was a blink, followed by a flinch, "Sorry, I was... gone?"

Clearing her throat she watched him tend to the gash, her throat constricting tightly as she forced a stare, "I... well... I guess it looks better," she did not pause upon the subject of injuries for too long, "Was that good enough of an answer for you? Would you care for another round?" It was perhaps for a moment she seemed flustered, her mind spurring and turning over, "I mean, not that you have to. I can just sit in silence and let you work."

[Matthew]

Some of the wounds were sewned, with gentle but quick movements of the needle and thread, pulling the sides of the split skin together. Other wounds were bandaged, though each one was checked to make sure it was completely and utterly dry. They were at the final stages of her treatment, and these stages were easy now that all the muck covering her body had been cleared away. He glanced down at her with a shake of his head, his voice shifting from a monotone to a curious tone. "I did not get any of the quip, no. Which part was the quip?" He furrowed his brow and returned to her wounds, doing what he could to prevent it from being too horribly painful. Her explanation was absorbed, and he nodded slowly. So it had been a quip that involved sarcasm. He was bad with sarcasm. He refocused on his work, ignoring her question about biting something, which was probably an answer in and of itself. A musician? That was new to him. It was a bit of an unexpected answer, so much so that the normally methodical harlot paused a moment to blink and glance at his fingertips. His hands certainly were large, with long and slender fingers. Why had he never thought of that before? Perhaps he should have considered the life of a wandering musician? He would have to perhaps look into that, when he had fully mastered the arts of the seduction. Fallon proved to be an accurate judge of Matthews "sharpness", for as expected, he immediately answered her rhetorical question. "Yes, would you like to?" He paused as she winced, giving her room to jerk if she needed to. Meanwhile, he turned her answer over a few times in his head. It made sense. Being picked up was certainly something that left you exposed in many ways. It put you in the care of the one carrying you, or to better describe it, at their mercy. He nodded distractedly, taking special care to make sure the one particularly large gash was properly sewn and fully clean from dried blood and mud. Even after he finished he continued to stare at it, judging his work. The Doctor actually glanced over for a moment, making some sort of noise from within his mask and then going back to his work. "Assistant, I will need you to hold the patches of skin soon." Matthew didn't seem to be at all bothered by this, giving a short nod in agreement. He returned to Fallon, noting her flustered moment, shaking his head to decline her offer. "You are all patched up. You may get dressed, pay, and leave." Ah yes, there was payment involved. The sewing and bandaging had been extremely quick. It had mostly been the washing that had taken up so much time. "Either in Mizas, or skills." The Doctor didn't react, apparently used to this. Matthew slowly climbed to his feet, fetching the girl her clothes and helping her from the floor if she needed it. "I wish to learn a bit more about Cosmetology, so we could do each other's hair. I also want to learn a bit about cooking, and could use a study partner for when I go to try and learn a specific dish. Muffins, perhaps." Like always, his face was perfectly straight, incredibly bright blue eyes unblinking. He knew she was a scholarly sort, so he felt she would be good company for learning something new. "Or, if you have a skill you would like to hone, we could do that." Best not to be too selfish, he supposed.