Better Late than Never [Machi]

[giftwrapped]

[trigger warning - idk what yet. i just feel like it needs one. it's two sadomasochistic sociopaths. 'nuff said.]

Twenty-four hours had passed since the day of the breakout. A full day that Jiruyno had spent walking through the jungle alone. It was, perhaps, a rare miracle that he had survived - but Jiruyno believed in little, the least of which was miracles. What he did believe in was himself, his ability to think his way out of situations, a great number of things. He had managed, in the confusion that was that morning at the prison, to lose his iconic red clothes, pick up something that fit him, well... slightly less well than he would have preferred. The tunic he wore was a woman's, oddly tight through chest and waist, flared for hips he did not have. The trousers were a man's, too long, though otherwise they fit well. And the jacket he wore he had taken off a rider who would probably live.

He had not, after all, aimed to kill.

It had been easy, once changed, to simply walk out of the Weyr hours later, when focus turned from the outside to the inside. He had taken what he pleased from the Infirmary, anything he could get his hands on. They would need medical attention. That much was certain. He doubted Jessan had thought to prepare such things. So the other healer would need to - and had. They would welcome him with open arms.

Instinct told him he should not have been able to find the caves. Instinct told him that without Jessan he would wander alone in the jungle until he died. But reason told him that he could find what he sought. They could not have been careful in their race into the jungle. Time would fix the problems quickly enough. For now, there was still just enough for him to see where runners and foot traffic had passed. There had not been a great deal of them, but there had been enough. He had let his own runner go at the edge of the jungle, a decision he had regretted as he battled through brush and biting insects and the damp that plagued the jungle.

But it had been, he decided eventually, a solid enough course of action. It meant he would be less easy to track, and his own foot trail would be more difficult to discover. As it were, he wandered for hours before finally coming to the caves. In the rising sunlight filtering through the leaves, the cliffs looked...eerie. But the caves were an obvious choice, and if he had looked in the right place, well...at least it was somewhere to rest. Slipping inside, setting his heavy bags gently on the ground, he cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Hallo?"

[nozomi]

No broken, bleeding victor from the brutality of the prison arrived to greet Jiruyno at the mouth of the cave. Alas, those broken creatures resided elsewhere in those first twenty-four hours, but Jessan, she lurked near everything she could. With no competent healers about, she dared hope that another would steal away, or that Jiruyno bothered to wander in at some point. They couldn't all stay in the jungle forever, or so she reasoned. Mindhealer meant little when someone had the wounds she encountered within the caverns.

"Jiruyno!" Jessan's voice rang out almost as soon as Jiruyno's echoed back to them. The Mindhealer appeared from the darkness, hair pulled into a loose twist at the back of her neck and her chest once more ... well, unbound. Spare cloth was hard to come by in this place. Ah well, little enough matter for her to worry about there. Jessan's mouth curled into something not quite a smile, her eyes wide and un made up. "It seems you decided to make your way here after all. I was almost beginning to think that you tamed some wild Wher and begun a pack of your own."

That thin lipped expression faded to something softer, almost gentler. "Though I must admit, it's a relief to see you here, rather then leading about some four legged beasts. No actual healers came." She paused, and the corners of her mouth quirked. "Or survived it, anyway. I don't know much past beyond the basics required of an apprentice, shamefully enough."

"--Are you exceedingly tired?" Jessan straightened herself a little, shoulders braced and that sharp little chin tucking in. "Someone has lost an eye and my best is not enough."

[giftwrapped]

The voice, that voice. He smiled in spite of himself. Jessan, rare genius of a girl - though, he noted wryly, relieved enough to see him that he had almost undoubtedly predicted correctly; she was seeing him as a Healer, not as Jiruyno. And that suited him just fine. The smile turned to something academic, schooled pleasure as the woman approached him, coldness to his body and movements. She was stunning, he noted now that the haze of Flightlust had passed. But she was not his interest, pretty as she may be. Still, he laughed softly at a joke that wasn't funny in the least, reaching up and brushing a piece of hair from her cheek in a way that could almost be called paternal.

It was good, to be free to touch someone at will. Pretty, pretty thing that she was. "No whers," he answered, tone modulated for once; there was wry humour there. "Just myself, and perhaps half the Infirmary or so." Oh, he was pleased with himself. And why shouldn't he be? There could be a hero's welcome in store for him after all. "You have an actual healer now," he answered, and there was something about his tone that suggested pleasure. She needed someone fixed, he noted, and quickly. He did not wonder at the identity - probably that lovely killer, the one who had called her...what was it again?

"My dear, there is work to be done. A healer does not sleep when there is mending to do," he remarked softly. Ah, but if only he could remember the name that Machi had called her by. It would come to him eventually. Jiruyno did not forget. "Take me to the work that needs be done, and I will do it." It would be...good, to be in that position of power again, to feel the flesh under his hands and know that it was his to do with as he pleased. Ah, the pulse of life in his hands, that was what he had missed so much in the prison. There was no life there. Here....

Here, there was life aplenty. And it would be his to mend and take away as he pleased. Yes, this was what he had missed.

[nozomi]

((WARRNING: THIS POST CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF SEVERE INJURIES/GORE.

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK))

If Jiruyno expected a recoil at his gentle touch, the pretty psychopath would find himself sorely disappointed: Jessan smiled, first a tentative twist of her lips that soon blossomed into something that showed a flash of teeth. If there were warmth lurking in there, well - that would be up to Jiruyno. Her chin tilted upwards and her hands went to her hips, smile still in place.

"Insinuating I am less than a real healer almost wounds me, Jiruyno." One dainty wave of her hand later and Jessan smiled, what could probably be seen as an honest, genuine smile. She patted his chest and nodded back into the cave. "There are several hurt badly but one, in particular... I don't know how to heal his sorts of things." Jessan shook her head, lips pursed together in a delicate line. She hesitated as if to speak again, only to shake her head once more. "No. This way."

Jessan led them in only a small distance before gesturing for Jiruyno to go into a well-lit room/cave. It smelled of blood and sweat, the quiet hisses of a man who totally did not want to feel that sort of pain filling the air. In it sat Machi, settled on a rounded rock, large enough to use as a seat.

Half of his face had been bound up, entire left side covered by bandages, parts of it bleeding through the fabric. He'd reveal deep cuts from hairline to jaw in the form of an angry firelizard's claws when unwrapped and a ruined socket where an eye once resided in. Messenger, displeased with his masters death, attacked once Machi left. His body was thrown somewhere in the prison, after Machi broke his back. Broken nose, thanks to Warden, an arm once more in a sling and splint, his prison jumpsuit in tatters to reveal gashes along his shoulder and down to one nipple, also bound up but raw, bits of blood dotting the cloth. One outstretched leg, he held stiffly. would show severe bruising from the knee to hip.

"He killed the warden." Jessan said, voice gentle as her brother looked up, his one good eye glaring up at the two. Jiruyno received a rather vicious one especially, the unharmed corner of his lips curling up into a snarl. Jessan frowned at him, and the expression smoothed over. "Some were less than pleased."

Machi shifted, shoulders tight and hostile, and he looked to Jessan. Jiruyno? Purposefully ignored. That's right, Jiru, eff you says the convicted killer.

"Machi, lie down."

"No."

[giftwrapped]

At Jessan's cue, he picked up the bags again, moving after the woman with a purpose; Jiruyno was many things, but 'incompetent' was not one of them. 'Opportunistic,' well...yes, that one was. But the opportunity was throwing itself at him. Save lives, collect debtors...pay them all a visit at a later date when he'd need that loyalty to himself. He had no grand designs to overthrow Jessan, or even to play the same games as the woman. But if this was freedom, there would need to be something for him to bring out of it later. He would not sit passive. It was not in him to do so.

And for now...there was healing to be done. And a great deal of it, it would seem. He did not speak when Jessan led him to Machi; eyes cool and half-lidded as he watched the young man unwrap the bandages. Oh, it was not pleasant. It was among the worst Jiruyno had ever seen. But that mask of cool appraisal stayed firmly in place as the redheaded healer crouched down, opening the bags he carried and extracting bits and pieces. He had taken a scalpel, lucky of him to have the foresight, and there was suturing thread somewhere in the bags...

"I had heard about Warden's death," he remarked, voice going toneless as he assessed the man in front of him. If Machi would ignore him, he would get no better from the healer. So it would be for a time that both sets of eyes would be fixed on Jessan. The flat voice continued, Jiruyno paying little more than a cursory glance to Machi while he finished his conversation with the killer's sister. "And had assumed it would be him. Few have the talent for the blood craft as rumour leads me to believe this one does."

His hands moved mechanically, separate from the conversation. First, redwort, and numbweed. She had had the presence of mind at least to suture the worst of the cuts; they would need to be re-cleaned, disinfected...he wanted to cut some of the skin, reduce the scarring. Fellis would be best for this. He didn't have any - or rather, he had little, and what little he had would soon be manufactured into Dust as leverage. And for a moment, he felt a rush of savage glee; the idea of the other man trembling under his touch, twisting with the pain of the knife...but it could be far from such things. The agony of a wound going bad was undoubtedly worse than a clean cut. His mind wandered.

Natasa, that was it. Ah, but he wanted to say it to her, see what kind of look she gave him when he did. But he was not stupid; whatever Machi was, he was kept firmly in-hand by the woman, and Jiru had no interest in her unleashing the beast that had killed the Warden on him. He had escaped largely unscathed, and fully intended to stay that way. No, he'd find a different time to mention it to her, wait until she was alone and he could speak to her privately. For now, his attention was on the young man in front of him.

Faranth, he was lovely.

One long-fingered hand traced the intact half of Machi's face, fingertips slipping along cheekbone and jawline, pausing at his chin, taking it in a delicately firm grip and tilting the head up and to the side. Not roughly, the way he had grabbed Jessan when the Opal had risen. This was gentle, a healer's touch, though if there was something about the pressure of his fingers on Machi's skin that was far from innocent, it was because he couldn't help himself. Inwardly, he all but trembled with excitement.

Would the man cry? He so preferred it when they cried.

"This will hurt," he remarked, tone curiously gentle, almost tender. And then he upended a bottle of redwort and poured it straight onto Machi's upturned face.

[nozomi]

Somewhere in her, jessan had a soul, a conscience that show it's face every so often in small ways, such as asking for Senar and Kaydian to be unharmed, to lean into close embraces without (much) intent to manipulate with Arkady. Even the breakout had been planned for the sole purpose of getting her brother out. She loved him with everything she had, after all.

When Jiru touched him the way he did, her half naked and partially dead Machi, Jessan flinched. Her smiled faded to something entire entirely: an expression of wary mistrust. It stayed that way when he emptied the redwort onto Machi's face, into the empty eye socket and all but raw and open wounds, to drip down his neck and onto that broken nose.

Machi's entire body tightened, taunt as a gitar string, that already sickly palor taking on a green tinge. He heard Jessan hiss, and Machi knew that redwort didn't sting, shouldn't sting, but all he saw were the bright starbursts of utter agony, covering Jiru's face with them. The killer reached up without thinking to grab Jiru's forearm with his white-knuckled grip.

The only eye he had left stared at the healer, blazing and red hot with pain, with a good amount of sudden, ruthless hatred. Tears were indeed helping to glaze it up, but that was his bodies reaction to pain.

"If you ever do that again," said Machi, voice a mere grating snarl as if the redwort slid down his ruined cheek, sloshed against that hole in his head. "I will kill you."

"Machi." The pale man only squeezed harder, his fingers trembling on Jiru's arm. Only when Jessan said his name again in a harder, firmer tone did he let go. His shoulders shook. "Your face is half gone. Even water will hurt."

"Get out." Machi looked to his sister, lips curled into a snarl despite the hurt it caused. Jessan went still, staring at her brother. Matching brown eyes clashed for a moment before Jessan nodded, a quick jerky motion, and took a step back. She shot Jiruyno a pointed Look.

"Come for me when you're done." Then, milder, almost conversationally. "I don't control his every move. Please, remember that?"

"And no Dust to the eyes." Machi said. Jessan ignored him, and left.

[giftwrapped]

The reaction was perfectly normal. Jiruyno nonetheless tensed hard at the grip on his arm, fixing Machi with an expression that was devoid of any indicators. Whatever he was feeling was locked so far behind his eyes that it wasn't likely even the healer himself was fully cognizant of it. If there was fear, it was shut away behind blankness. There were tears; the normal tears of sudden pain. But that was all. For a moment, a flicker of disappointment passed over the wide mouth, but Machi's words brought the dead stillness back to Jiruyno's face. There were things he could have said, insults he could have returned - and then you will die of infection because your pretty mindhealer never bothered learning the proper Craft - but instead he merely made eye contact (literal, oh! How he would laugh at that later!).

Nothing more, nothing less.

He answered Jessan's instructions with a brief glance, a brisk nod, and a humourless smile. "Hot water, Jessan," he called sharply after her retreating back. And with that, he was back attentive to Machi, tilting the man's head forward slightly so the fluids - whatever they might be - could drain from the socket and the rest of the face. He had been cleaned up, slightly. That, at least, was good. But the eye....there was so much damage. It would need work. Work, and constant tending.

"I have little in the way of fellis," he said mildly. "Healers and their keys are not easy to come by when you aim to be surreptitious." His lips twitched then, in a modicum of a sour smile, but it was gone again a moment later. "I can give you vervain, though. Sedative rather than painkiller, but it could help." And he reached for the scalpel, momentarily turning it over in his hand. "There are edges I want to clean up before I stitch you. A minimum of scarring. Would you prefer I wait until you have verbena in you, or shall I work?"

He would begin immediately if given the chance; he didn't like leaving the wounds open. It went against his healer's instincts.

[nozomi]

He'd heard that word only once before, that surreptitious. His father's favorite used it once to describe one of the new, young boys in the house. Natasa questioned the meaning behind it, and both children received a lecture on using ten mark words when smaller ones would suffice. He remembered being amused his father used the term "would suffice" in the speech when he could have used "would do", and have eliminated that pesky ten-mark word (his father did not find it as funny).

Secret, unauthorized, stealthy. Negative way of saying "I'm a sneaky fucker".

Machi sneered with the very thought of vervain (at least that small healer did not attempt to drug him), his good hand reaching out to grab at one of those loose bandages he'd peeled off his shoulder. The outer one managed to be more-or-less free of blood. He tucked an edge of it under his leg to give some control over the bandage before rolling it around his hand. It gave him an awkwardly shaped mound of bandages, but plenty enough to muffle any snarls of pain he had when Jiru cut into him.

"You aren't sedating me." Machi shot him a dark look with that single eye, and chomped down on the thick pad of bandage. This was going to hurt, and the glint of glows and the bright scalpel in the Healer's hand unnerved him. At least when Jessan took a knife to him, her face didn't mirror Machi's - it held emotion.

For once, Machi saw what it was others did when they looked at him: a mild sort of expressionlessness, a mask of nothing. Jiru did not have the glare to him the killer did, the one that said he wanted to throttle the life from you, but... That stillness put him on edge almost as much as the slim fingers on sharp metal that would soon be on his skin.

Machi spoke, voice muffled with his own little pain muffling device. "Do it."

[giftwrapped]

He was going to gag himself. Fascinating. The man tilted his head in idle curiosity at Machi's actions, but then Machi was done snarling at him and gagging himself, and it wasn't long before the healer took over from the curious man and he gave Machi a brief, amused look.

"Suit yourself," was all Jiruyno said, before he went to work, flipping the scalpel in his hands and once again taking the younger man firmly by the chin. He was quick, that much was true. Quick, efficient, and utterly detached from Machi's pain, he moved as rapidly as he could, with little regard at the moment for the man's personal comfort. Shards, even alcohol would have helped in this case; he wished he could have offered at least a shot of something to the pale man.

Not that it mattered at this point; the edges cleaned as best they could be (with the exception of the eye; he would need to pay attention to that with more interest than he did the facial and chest wounds), he pressed a pad of cloth gently over the young man's face. "One hand on this, if you can bear it," he remarked in a voice that could very nearly pass as gentle, returning to his bags. There was suture thread somewhere; he had been thinking with unusual clarity when he went for supplies. And then he found it, and the surgical needle he'd slipped in with it.

This would hurt. It would hurt a great deal. But at this point, Machi was probably half-numb from pain (or at least half-conscious from it), and the sooner he was done, well...that would be better. And he went back to work, moving with unusual resourcefulness and speed, doing the best he could to stitch cleanly and quickly. But he was rusty; it had been a long time since he had needed to doctor such severe wounds. He did what he could, however, and soon enough, only the eye was left. And then the bruising and to check for broken bones...

"You paid a great price for your actions," he remarked softly, tying off the last of the thread and biting through it as he looked at Machi. The hand came out again, passing gently through Machi's hair in a manner that was again almost tender. "Ah, but you did well. So very well; they're all a hive without their queen now. Chaos and confusion reign." His lips twisted, a wryly pleased smile. It had been a delight to watch them all running about like headless wherries.

"Cuts are done," he said softly. "I need to look at the leg, though," he added, and though no momentary pleasure flared on his face, there was nonetheless a slight change in his voice, a quirk of interest. In a different time, a different place, when he was not Healer but Jiruyno and Machi was not patient but man....ahh, perhaps in the future. For now, he would be good. For now, he would stay professional. He would not want to upset Natasa.

[nozomi]

Had Machi ever known that such a thing like 'God' existed as a concept in peoples minds at some part of the universe, he'd have prayed to it, and hard, the very second that scalpel touched his wounds. Redwort dousing him meant nerves already on fire, some of them numbed to the pain that the air itself seemed to carry, but the knife - that edge, sharp and bright and in hands that hurt, no matter how efficient the healer. In that instant, he'd rather have been out cold under Jiru's care, chained naked to a bed then to have had that sharp sharding object touching wounds that were probably going to get infected otherwise.

Good thing for the gag. No matter the healers amusement, Machi had to swallow his pain and chomp down harder at his bandage. By the first shining egg and little green dragons, he felt glad to have just one eye at that point. One eye meant that when the tears of pain welled up and spilled over (as they did), those salted tears did not fall into open red flesh. No, no, just skin gone a pale shade of green-gray in the hurt of it all.

Machi, the mood ring. Skin changes color like a dragons eye.

Shards, shells, fardles and crackdust, explosion. He was going to explode. Machi wanted to know religion so he could have something to pray at, and scream wrath towards, and shun with this pain. Alas. Then Jiru stopped, and told Machi to hold the cloth to his face. He did, agony having faded to a heartbeat throbbing in his ears, a thick thumping of blood and visceral and damn.

But it'd stopped, for the most part. He breathed in, and could handle it.

Until the needle. Until the needle. Both of Machi's hands turned to fists; the injured one jerked hard against it's sling, fingers twisted hard into the cloth of it, while the previously uninjured fist slammed down against the stone. Ow. More pain - but a different sort of pain, a new thing to concentrate on other than the needle going through his skin and that soft, strangled noise that he'd made.

Ever vigilant, hyper aware Machi didn't even realize Jiru stroked him like a child, his face so close and soft words that sounded like praise. He had to blink a few times for the words to filter through, shaking fingers taking the bandages from his mouth. "He was short." said Machi, voice rough from unsung screams. "Head-cracked my nose. Flit went for my face."

He'd never have said it if not for the delirious haze of the pain, the near-high of it all, but Machi coughed, and said, voice short: "Shouldn't have put me in the straitjacket." It had been all the reason he needed to kill the bastard, and his sisters urging only assisted.

Machi looked back up to the healer again, the green sheen gone from his pale skin. Just that smudge of exhaustion, and pain. But - she'd said to obey. And he would. At least, unless Jiru got... creepy. People with eyes like Jiru and himself, they were all creepy, all predators. So Machi, arms still trembling from the quickly fading bolts of agony, shifted back further onto the damnedable rock, and moved one leg further to the side. The pants, well, they came off, discarded to the side and thank goodness for boxers at the prison. Machi couldn't gather enough shits to give if the healer saw him naked, so hurrah for at least the undergarments.

The glare, he managed to muster up. That flat, cold look, weak as it were. "Fine." If the healer tried anything, anything, he'd simply crush the redheads face in his thighs. "Just bruised."

[giftwrapped]

Whatever passed through the healer's head, his hands on Machi were completely, entirely tame. He knew what Machi was capable of, had seen the work, and had no interest to find himself bleeding out where he lay. It would be indecorous. Jessan would be disappointed in him. In fact, his fingers as he checked the leg for any broken skin or indication of injury beyond bruising were gentle. He was giving Machi a chance to recover from the pain, allowing the man a breather. He would have to check the arm, as well, and if it was broken (sling and splint, it looked like. Broken was most likely) then that would be more pain. Ideally, he would like to keep the man from going into shock.

At least, he reflected wryly, numbweed would be readily available even out in the wilderness. For now, he was not shy as he spread it over first the leg, and then dabbed it gently over the stitches he had made. Leaning in to inspect his own handiwork and check the eye, there was a moment where his breath caught. Ah, would that it were a different hour, a different place. It would be so easy to catch the face in his hands and...no, he would stop that train of thought. Machi was beautiful, but he was dangerous. Jiruyno would not make the first move. Jiruyno was far from stupid.

"There's little enough I can do for the eye," he remarked mildly. "At least until the swelling goes down. With any luck, that won't be long. I cleaned things as best I could." Again, his fingers curled through Machi's hair, brushing it back from the wounds on his scalp as much as actually fondling him. "Tomorrow, if the pain is bearable, you ought to bathe. I smelled sulfur down some passages; I assume there are natural springs here. The minerals will be well enough for your injuries." Speaking softly, he folded a pad of cloth, securing it firmly but not tightly over Machi's eye with a long strip of bandage. "Do not wet your face, though. The pain would just set you back."

"I would like to look at the arm as well," he added, nearly as an afterthought. "Not to meddle. Splinting is easy. I doubt Natasa needs me redoing her work in that area."

The name was dropped mildly, no change in tone to denote anything. Jiruyno was curious as to Machi's reaction, and though his voice did not betray a change in feeling, his body nonetheless tensed slightly. He doubted Machi would come after him, but...it was always a possibility that he would have to leap away in a hurry.

[nozomi]

Jiru having his hands not crawl indecently high with lecherous intentions probably saved his life; even wounded, Machi had the thighs of a barrel-rider and would not find it beneath him to attempt to crush the kindly healers skull if he thought, even for a second while Jiru was there, that the man would attempt to take advantage of him. When the area around them filled with the taste of numbweed, Machi relaxed somewhat. He could not smell anything save for blood, but he knew the numbweed was there, could feel it on the bruising, the cuts, and that intense flood of relief triggered something in him akin to taste, scent.

What?

The healer touched him. The thigh, his leg, yes, expected, it was why he stripped down and it hurt, but that was why he needed to be touched there. However, his hair did not feel that twisting agony, nor did the temple Jiru touched (fondled), or anything akin to that. The doctor had the good taste to keep it a short touch, and especially when Machi had a brain full of hurt and numbweed. The murderer had mind enough to push at Jiru with his good hand, albeit weakly.

No one touched him gently, except Natasa, and his first pet. Guards shoved, kicked, grabbed at places they shouldn't have. Machi started to forget what the simple and invasive touch of a brief brush of fingers felt like over the years. It was easy to. To him and from Jiru seemed just plain creepy.

"Stop." Machi mumbled the 'order', his glazed eye once more on Jiru. But Jiru had stopped, started applying a bandage and speaking of sulpher, and springs, and how to get clean. Shards, he hurt, a soak sound good, but walking did not. Machi hissed, rubbing at the good eye with the meat of his palm. The numbweed quickly turned most of the agony to a dull throbbing reminder in the back of his skull, giving Machi time to actually realize what it was had started happening.

What he had said. Natasa.

Machi's eye shot up, blazing hot for another reason outside of pain entirely. His body tensed along with the healers, jaw set tight. Jessan said, 'Do not tell anyone, Machi. Not even any pets you may find. Not a word.' She'd made sure he'd known, Machi agreed to say nothing, and yet Jiru-

"Yes." Machi drawled the words, surprising even himself with the flat, murderous monotone. "Jessan would not appreciate you undoing the splint." He shrugged from the sling and held out the splinted arm with a sneer, vicious stare trained right onto the pretty redhead. A dare. 'Bring it, bitch', he would say, if Machi could ever bring himself to say those things.

[giftwrapped]

He had asked Jiruyno to stop.

For a moment, the healer glanced at Machi, a gaze that would have been more effective if its owner had been wearing spectacles. It was a universal look, one of vaguely skeptical surprise, usually delivered over the tops of glasses and worn by the bookish sorts who weren't expecting you to behave in a way that didn't fit their already-painted mental image. Nonetheless, even if he hadn't been moving on to the next task, he would have stopped at Machi's request. He was far from stupid. And he was learning limits. What he'd have to do to keep himself out of trouble with the man.

They would be seeing a great deal of one another, he assumed. Whether Machi liked it or not. Though that wasn't much of a worry - if nothing else, reluctant alliance bred tolerance, which bred things like affection...or at least acceptance. He would not fear Machi as long as he treated him. And he suspected that eventually the younger man could be persuaded to accept him. Nonetheless, he would make his advances carefully. He was a bastion of self-control. He would do nothing now that he would come to regret later.

Later was a whole new ball game. There would be time aplenty.

Still, that wasn't the last of the man's worries, and the sheer hatred with which Machi fixed him was noted with mild interest. The tension leaked out of Jiru as the murderer nonetheless complied, and he glanced briefly over the splinted appendage, checking the placement of something and tightening the bandage where it was coming unwrapped. Other than that, though, he simply gave Machi a strange, blithe look. "No, I doubt she would," he agreed, answering monotone with monotone and keeping his expression blithe.

"I have done what there is to do," he said eventually. "I doubt you need instruction to rest and refrain from moving."

[nozomi]

Jiru earned himself a wary, although less hate-filled glare when he did not say that name again. Machi edged slightly away from the healer instead, once he was done touching and talking, his chin tucked in. The killer pursed his lips into the closest thing he had to a pout, and shrugged. He wanted to sleep. First, though, curiousity, and Machi hesitated, opened his mouth to - maybe - as a question, the line of his shoulders softened with exhaustion.

Anything he may have said abruptly ended when Jessan walked in, broke whatever sort of concentration he had on Jiruyno. His mouth shut, lips sealing together into a thin line as the rest of his face faded to expressionlessness.

"You're both utterly covered in blood." She set the bowl of hot water down. It smelled of hot springs, scent wafting up with each tendril of steam. With the lack of fire, a person had to improvise. Jessan balled up some of those strips of cloth she'd torn from a skirt and wet it before she settled in next to Machi. Ankles crossed, the Mindhealer looked up to Jiru with that calm smile, and raised eyebrows. "Would you like to rinse off your hands as well, Jiruyno? If you would prefer something a bit more thorough, there is a hot spring."

"He was about to leave." For his mutter, Jessan shot Machi a sharp look. She pressed the cloth down between two wounds to start cleaning. Machi flinched, eyes to the wall and away from them both. At least she worked around the numbweed.

Jessan did not alter her smile any. "Well, Jiruyno?"

Oh, but wasn't the look Machi gave him murderous. He'd probably look more frightening if he wasn't wavering where he sat, and eyelids hooded more in exhaustion and aftershocks of the pain then in a glare. He just wanted to sleep.

[giftwrapped]

Jessan's arrival brought a slight change to the man's demeanor. Glancing up to Jessan, Jiruyno offered a nod that might almost have been respectful, if it weren't for the obvious coolness on his face. She was interrupting, in some ways. Not that he was surprised. He had his suspicions about the woman, suspicions that would undoubtedly arise later when he could find a moment alone with Jessan. He was no fool. And the thing she was hiding was not quite as well-hidden as she thought it was. The family resemblance was...obvious. But that was another story for another time. For now, Jiruyno allowed the realization that he was covered in blood and his eyes hurt from squinting to sink into his mind, and he rocked back on his heels.

"I will wash, but thank you," Jiruyno answered smoothly. "I'm certain you are capable of caring for him from this point onward," he added. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Machi, a practical look of appraisal as he investigated his work from a distance. It was good, he decided after a moment, giving a slightly firm nod. "I've done what I can. I'll need to look at the eye again in a few days. I will be back to check on him before that, of course," and his gaze toward Machi was again slightly wry, a smile that would have been pleasant had it been on someone else warming his face.

"But for now, I think I've done what I can. I'll be going." And he inclined his head to both patient and healer, picking up the bag and slinging it over his shoulder as he set off toward the sulphur smell. Welcome to outlaw life, Jiruyno.

It was going to be a ride.