i see today with a newsprint fray

[perfectcameo]

Who: Logan, Njoki Rainmaker.
What: Logan plays errand medic in the destitute Mafaton.
Where: Mafaton.
When: Just after the healing of the sky. The healing of everything else will take a little longer.
Warnings: References to gore and injury. Undead medicalness.

The night is crawling to a close and the storm gashes in the sky are beginning to fade, a mark of optimism for the residence of Baedal. With the horizon beginning to tinge with light, the streets of Mafaton are clearing as nightwalkers are forced in doors. The young (seemingly so) man that Logan is escorting back to Njoki's place lapsed into unconsciousness about a block away after deliriously muttering in Spanish before his weight listed against Logan's arm, twisting to fall with a leg fishtailing out before he'd been caught by the front of his jacket. From there, he's been since bundled over a shoulder as carefully as Logan could, all things considered, and continued the pre-pre-dawn trek. No cigar smoke, just a fine steam expelled from his mouth in Doberman like exhales.

He hopes the guy isn't actually dead. It's really difficult to tell.

Logan is fine, of course. There's dried blood making a half-moon at the corner of his mouth, his nose having squirted some when punched in it for all that it never broke. All injuries healed to usual, without even a break for scarring in scraggly hair lined down his jaw. He's in leather, cotton, and denim, and doesn't seem particularly tired about the hour.

Once out front the right address, he gets out his CiD and dials a number, bringing it to his ear because he's just more used to things functioning as phones do. "Special delivery," he says, because he already texted Njoki ahead of time.

Comments

[aldabeyoun]

A window opens as Ki calls down that she'll be there in a moment. Logan might be able to hear her come down the narrow staircase before cautiously cracking open the door and looking over Logan and his burden before letting them in. Just because he called ahead doesn't mean his brain hasn't been consumed by a trans-dimensional slug hellbent on eating werehyenas.

"C'mon in. You hurt hurt or just the stiff?" Her eyes are a smooth, cool black without any whites showing; one of the risks of prolonged magic use.

[perfectcameo]

His eyes kind of tick over the cast her own have taken, but it's about as meaningful as registering a detail and moving on. "I'm fine," he says, and means uninjured because he doesn't exactly smell or look like roses; dried blood, sweat, and stale cigar smoke that clings to his clothing and breath. "This guy's got his fingers in his pocket." In case that helps. Logan doesn't know. This is about as far as his expertise goes in these matters.

He moves inside, taking care not to swing the man's head against a wall or door ledge. Even at this angle, some sort of disfiguring acid (or, who knows, perhaps holy water) has done some work on the victim's face, from ear to mouth and streaking to his nose. Indeed, his hanging hand is missing pieces, and blood makes cloudy, dark patches that crust his clothing.

[aldabeyoun]

"Good. Fingers are always a bitch to come by," she says over her shoulder while heading back upstairs. As the front door shuts behind him, there's a charge in the air as the warding spell reseals.

"Bring him into the front room, yeah? There's a tarp for him and food for you in the fridge." And a shower, too, if he wants it. "You know what got him? S'it just injury or poison?"

As she's already mentioned, the front room where she usually does the majority of her work has space on the floor cleared and covered with a tarp. The shelves are lined with bottles filed with all manner of supplies - herbs, roots, minerals, oils, animal parts, and a great many unlit candles of various colours.

[perfectcameo]

Careful but ever matter-of-fact, Logan hauls the corpse off of his shoulder and onto the tarp, a grip to collar to keep the dead weight of his head from hitting the ground. But he is obviously still... animated, as his eyelids twitch, an unwilling exhale that grates along his vocal chords.

"Dunno. He fell about a street from here, and he wasn't real sharp when I got to him."

The injuries do seem to be of the claw-and-bite variety, along with that chemical burn. Promise of food doesn't have Logan inventing some words to leave her to it, though, moving towards it to poke his head in the fridge and investigate. He keeps his jacket on, but he's in no hurry either way.

ffff, gmail, don't eat my notifs

[aldabeyoun]

Inside the fridge the bottom shelf is labelled 'DO NOT EAT' and appears to contain a variety of bagged and bottled blood and body parts of all manner. Beyond that, the rest of the fridge is reasonably well stocked with bread, milk, eggs, a few containers of leftovers, and a collection of random condiments.

While Logan explores the wonders of her kitchen, Njoki gets to work by rubbing some salve on her hands before placing a raw egg on the dead man's chest. While the egg does its thing, Ki gathers up the other supplies she'll need: van-van oil, black thread, a silver needle, a little jar with a bit of old, bitter coffee stewing in it.

rghdff lateness /lies prone

[perfectcameo]

Logan is gonna be taking that label at its word.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, contemplated the cold-dulled smells an oversensitive nose can pick out before it finds meat that isn't the 'DO NOT EAT' variety; leftovers in a container, taking out and inspected, before it is claimed for himself, lid tucked beneath it and a fork discovered to dig at vegetables and cooked chicken. Heating it up doesn't actually occur to him to do.

And apparently Logan has enough of an iron stomach to brave shoveling food down his gullet in the presence of gore.

"I usually like 'em over easy," he comments, upon spying the egg. It's sort of out of his mouth before he can reel it back in, stabbing a piece of chicken thigh with his fork. "Thanks for doin' this. In case no one said so." Manners tends to slip in times of crisis.

[aldabeyoun]

"You wouldn't like this one. It's already half-rotten," she says casually while getting ready to stitch the fingers back on. It's not a neat job, but the thread is more just to steady the fingers before she holds the hand of the vampire in her own, runs her palms over the cuts and the flesh quivers and neatly restores itself. Rubbing a little of the van-van oil over the scar removes any trace of injury and makes the room smell of lemongrass.

[perfectcameo]

He finds a place to sit, near enough to have a view of what's happening without crowding her and her work, or even make it seem like she has an attentive audience. Logan is interested first in eating, and second watching the progress being made. That said, he doesn't not notice it, when she heals the hand of a man who was carrying his fingers in his pocket like spare change not so long ago.

Logan raises an eyebrow, and sinks back into his customary silence as she works.

[aldabeyoun]

After a few moments, the man on the floor starts to struggle but once Ki puts a hand on his shoulder, he drops as if he's a puppet with its strings cut. Chatting to herself as she works, Njoki trims around the edges of the scarring on his face, peeling the tissue back, and slathering on some sort of cloudy gel over the raw tissue.

Once she's satisfied that all the affected skin and muscle has been repaired, Njoki plucks the egg off his chest and drops into the jar with the old coffee mixture.

[perfectcameo]

"Just like that, huh?"

He says that by the time she's putting things away, and by the time the corpse is looking thereabouts whole. It's not like there wasn't effort and delicacy in Ki's work, watching the knife cuts, the sewing, but relatively speaking-- putting stiffs back together has a hey presto quality to it all the same.

[aldabeyoun]

"This is a bit messy, but it's fresh and he's easy to work with." Njoki tests the depth of the gel on the man's face before touching his shoulder again. Once she lays his hand on him, the body shudders and shows signs of being able to move again but the man stays semi-conscious.

"Hey, you stay still for a while, right?" There's some mumbling and complaining about how dare she and what did she do and he couldn't move and he could eat her with ease, etc. etc.

[perfectcameo]

"Try it, bub," Logan invites, not as flippant as it should be; it comes out as a quiet growl, nearly, but still a lazy kind of aggression, considering the walkin' talkin' corpse is still half out of it. And besides, he wouldn't want to be the one guilty of undoing all of Njoki's careful work.

[aldabeyoun]

Njoki raises an eyebrow and turns toward Logan as if to say 'well, look at you'. Should it become necessary, she's comfortable and perfectly able to smack down her irate patient, but she's pleased by the offer.

"I wouldn't worry about it. You need anything else? Shower still runs hot and cold, and the spare room is full of bodies, but I can find space somewhere if you need to rest a bit."

[perfectcameo]

The look he gets for that is met with a raised eyebrow of his own, a mild sort of 'what?' that doesn't get any further than that. She's capable-- he knows that, from the way she put that guy out so easy, the way she carries herself, even the way she smells-- but, you know. A little back up never hurt nobody. Unless you are Wolverine.

He doesn't entirely manage to suppress the quirk of crooked smile at the corner of his mouth, but it's a good effort. "I wouldn't say no to a shower, but I can get out of your hair for tonight."

[aldabeyoun]

"Scrub up. Who knows how long the water'll last, right?" Leaving the stiff in the living room, Njoki heads down the short hallway to find a towel for Logan. Fortunately, the nature of her work requires that she's well stocked with linens and she's able to find something relatively clean and entirely free of blood splatter.

"There's a bottle of van-van soap and another that's unscented. No mint for your pillow, but I do what I can."

[perfectcameo]

His brow wrinkles, like a drawstring of confusion pulled beneath it. Van-van. Kinds of soaps. He doesn't ask, though, just accepts this information placidly as he goes to follow her and take the offered towel. "Well, anything more than that is likely to confuse me." Also, it's been a few days. Reliable water and electricity being a luxury, which is probably why he's taking up the offer at all.

[aldabeyoun]

She's a goddamn lady and it's her prerogative to have kinds of soaps in the bathroom.

"Hot and cold taps are reversed, don't use my toothbrush, you die or need anything else, I'll be moving the body up to the attic." It's important to know your priorities. "And if you're done before I'm finished with him, lemme know when you're going so I can reset the wards. You good?"

[perfectcameo]

"I'm swell."

Logan isn't so bad at being managed. Sometimes he needs it, sometimes he really doesn't, but it's the goddamn lady's house and he's about to take up a bunch of hot water in a neighbourhood, time and place that it doesn't always come so reliably. Amusement cracks through the generally stoic mask his expression makes out to be, punctuation at the corner of his mouth, and he moves for the bathroom.