text | un: maki

[tranquillus]

Need a pet store
Have a cat
Not a person
Real cat

[ Just to clarify on both avenues that 1) this is not a moonblessing situation, and 2) this is not a kinky petplay thing!! ]

Also need moonlacing
Or fighting
Not for the cat
For me
Don't ask for pictures
If interested tell me

[ Yes this is basically a booty call, just not as explicit of one. ]

Comments

[tranquillus]

[ Maki doesn't seem to care that the cat has chosen to make his t-shirt a toy, and it'll probably end up with a few little scratches and tears in it, but he has to admit he's a bit too focused on the scent of Angela once she's finally in through the front door, and then the smell of food that she'd brought along (why??) kind of has his mouth watering for a moment. But while he could easily let his stomach do the talking and brush her off for a bite, he remains relatively silent and patient with her, following her toward the couch where he takes a seat. He stays still, allowing her to do what she needs to do, and his eyes wandering from the casserole glassware on the table over to the little black cat tangled up in his shirt. ]

No, like mame. Edamame. Long and skinny. Mame is bean.

[ It's a reminder of someone, he wants to say. Someone important. Someone he's waiting for, who the cat belongs to originally, who he'll met again and return him to his rightful owner.

But instead Maki says nothing further. ]

[cadeuces]

( If his nose turns to her, she seems to find it expected. She knows she emanates clove and vanilla strong enough to smell like she'd just stepped out of a kitchen, slaving over an oven of winter spice cookies all week— but he makes no mention or motion to do anything but obey her gesture to sit, while she perches on the edge of the coffee table before him, knees between his own as she pulls on a sterile pair of gloves.

Her fingertips curl in with a "give it" motion for his arm, taking his hand to rest on her shoulder with a bend at the elbow, where she can predict the drip of eventual antiseptic. The kit is opened up and bandage scissors produced, rounded end slipping under the cloth and carefully peeling it away from congealing blood. She tries quite hard not to hurt him, though the silky tail of hers wagging gently across the coffee table is probably a bit confusing. She's just glad he's letting her help. She'll be quick, promise. )

Oh! Well, I don't love edamame as much as I love coffee, but I do love edamame. He's very cute. And he still looks quite young; I'm sure he's a handful. Can you hold this here?

( A towel at his elbow, as she unscrews the cap on a tiny bottle of hydrogen peroxide she'll go ahead and tip onto the gunshot wound if he obliges, gently kneading to be sure it sinks in as deep as it can and works through to flush any debris out. )

[tranquillus]

[ The intensified sense of smell is still taking getting used to, as Angela's own unique scent is added to the mix, just as appetizing as the food at a close distance. With the mixture of blood now in the air as his bandage is unraveled, Maki can feel his heart racing just a little, which is ridiculous, a bit like an overly-excited teenager, and it makes him rather frustrated. If he were the sort for idle chatter he could try to distract himself with that, but alas, he continues to stay silent with his lacking social manners.

He takes the towel when urged, tucked under his elbow, and when the peroxide is added Maki's jaw tenses as he grits his teeth, only a smidgen due to the pain but mostly it's the invasive, strong smell of it that bothers him the most. His eyes shut, and eventually he turns his head away, if only to try not to focus on how riled up he's starting to feel. There's too many smells in the room, the sensation of pain isn't the way it normally is (not that Maki deals with many things that are "normal" to him), and honestly he just wants to claw his own arm off at this point. ]

Do it faster. [ He finally growls under his breath. If he can't do much of anything else, he can at least complain. ]

[cadeuces]

( It sets her mind at ease to work the disinfectant into his wound and not feel the tell-tale lead and copper buried in muscle, and it seems to have tried to heal for a couple of days, though any changes of bandaging and her own work had seen any attempted scabs pulled free.

Frustration bakes off him even as he assists without hesitation, hole in his arm fizzling as it leaks through the back and eats up any bacteria inside, flushing gunpowder and congealed blood out.

The command to work faster just earns him a dubious little glance, but her voice is gentle when she answers. )

Just another minute or so; you don't want to rush the cleaning process or you're going to be in significantly more pain when it begins to fester later. I'll use dermal glue to seal you up. Shall I distract you while I work?

( The swish of her tail picks up, ears perking with the edge of her smile, leaning just a little closer. She's only teasing, but— it is prime kissing distance. She runs another flush through, pressure gentle as she urges as much liquid out as she can, and then she's attaching a sterile, disposable syringe to the dermal glue to insert and apply. Whether he takes her up on it or no, she glues him up without a hitch. It will take a few layers on the outside ends, before she'll bandage it, but she can keep him occupied. )