[OPEN] only god can see what i've become.

[killtime]

⬤ Andy @ the CR Meme ⬤
⬤ Permissions Post ⬤

Who ⬤ Andromache of Scythia (now of Enma) & YOU!
What ⬤ The bastard woman drinks and brawls her way through May substories
When ⬤ Throughout the month of May
Where ⬤ A bar, a backlot, and a bloody arena
Content Warnings ⬤ Profanity, violence, substance use, sex, etc. To be updated as needed!



A | MOON MEDICINE / SUBSTORY #1

[ This might be the most alive she's felt since arriving in hell. Whatever the fuck was in that medicinal mochi — it's like being high on cocaine and bloodlust at the same time. It feeds into that part of her that has always loved a fight. That up-close and personal shit where you can practically smell your opponent's breath. That's what she was raised on, seven thousand years ago on the Eurasian steppe — heir of the warrior-queen, bare and bloody on the battlefield, her mother's axe in her right hand.

No axe now. No battlefield either. Just the dirty alley out behind some dive bar. But that look in her eye is the same now as it was back then, wild and bright as she slams her fist into the unrecognizable pulp that was formerly the face of the yokai who had gotten fresh with her inside. Her knuckles are split open, but she doesn't seem to notice. Tunnel vision, everything else utterly irrelevant while her opponent is still standing — and he is, just barely. Just enough to take another clumsy swing at her, a move so obvious and slow that, in her violent fervor, she barks out a mean laugh, teeth bared. Bracing herself, she lets gravity do most of the work as she catches her victim by the clothes and flings him out of the alley towards street —

Right into anyone unfortunate enough to be passing by. ]

B | VEND ME A DREAM / SUBSTORY #2

[ Normally, on a day like this, Andy would have found some way to drink herself into oblivion by now. But she's spent most of her time in hell hungover, and somewhere between the constant headaches and violent nausea, she figured her newly mortal body was probably begging her for a break from the bottle. But being both idle and sober lends itself too readily towards her tendency to wallow uselessly in her own misery, so when the shirime approaches her with its winking butthole and a request for item A5, well...

Fuck it. It's not as if she has anything better to do.

That's how she winds up in that backlot, leaning up against a porno vending machine with a dwindling cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth as she flips through Juicy Peaches. The look on her face is one of stoic apathy, but either she's bored or the asses within are just that compelling, because she's still turning pages. This page in particular has her head turning slightly one way, then the other as she considers it. Out loud, to nobody in particular: ]

...That's a fucking fish.

[ Given the context, she might mean that literally. Only one way to find out. ]

C | BRUISED & BLOODY / SHUTEN TERRITORY ARENA

[ She'd been beating up people for free in bars this whole time, so it seemed only practical to at least get paid for that shit. The booze and cigarettes don't pay for themselves — and gods forbid that Andy hold a regular nine-to-five. She'd rather have her bones broken. Besides, she makes for a good underdog bet. Compared to some of the monstrous yokai that have stood opposite her in the ring, Andy looks decidedly ordinary. A woman who is neither particularly tall or strong. Nothing to betray the centuries she's spent mastering different ways of using her body to cause others pain. Except maybe that certain look in her eye. Something sharp. Something a little mean.

On one of the nights that she fights, she might find herself facing off against another Lost Soul in her next match. Or maybe afterward, with her left arm hanging loosely from its socket, she might be looking for someone to lend her hand — hopefully someone who isn't too squeamish to shove a shoulder back in. Otherwise, after the fighting is done, she makes a habit of smoking a cigarette right outside the arena, usually more interested in indulging that bad habit than patching herself up. ]

Comments

[killtime]

[ Andy uses the bare minimum movement to get a look at whoever is approaching her, only just tilting her head as she lays there on the sidewalk. The neon signs and street lights catch on the glitter around the stranger's eyes — a little detail that distracts her, delaying her answer. Or maybe she's just slightly concussed. Both? Well. Nothing a cigarette can't fix, judging by the way she's nursing the one pressed between her lips. ]

Does it look that bad? [ She responds dryly at length, tilting her head away to exhale a mouthful of smoke as she lays there. ] How dire is the prognosis, doctor? [ A bit sarcastically, then: ] Don't tell me I won't be pretty anymore.

[medicative]

You're awake enough to smoke and talk, which makes me think all the rest will mend. But still, it does look rather unsightly.

[without being told no, she'll dare to step closer, enough so that Andy can see her hands when she sets down the bag, pulls the kit from it. not a cheap plastic thing either - it's a solid case, and she knows it's stocked enough given what she needs to hold onto for the clinic now.]

And it will be all the more annoying should anything get infected. These streets aren't the cleanest.

[killtime]

[ It occurs to Andy that she's never had an infection before. Not once in the last seven thousand years. The curse protected her from any ailment of the flesh. It took plenty in return — the intangible things that still hurt her, even now — but she's never been sick. Never worried about whether a wound was clean or not. The split lip, the black eye — the cuts on her knuckles, too. Those would have healed in an instant, before all this.

The thought is sobering. Andy resents it. But that's not the good doctor's fault, now is it? Finally, Andy pushes herself up to sitting, eying the other woman and her bag as she comes closer. ]

You just carry that thing around in case you run into someone like me?

[medicative]

Let's say I'm accustomed to needing to dispense field medicine.

[given how many people she's already had to help in the streets here, and then from the gunfire at the parade, and then from before. but no one needs to know about before - it's not important at the moment, nor will it show her credentials more than actually doing things.

there's no hint of combat around her, though. modestly dressed, a simple coat to keep the night off, and the jet black wings which are folded tight against her back to take up as little space as she can manage.]

Tell me what happened, if you can recall.

[killtime]

[ There's a sort of presence to her that Andy wouldn't have expected, looking at her from far away. Maybe it's the streetlights, the interplay of neon and shadow, making the silhouette of the wings on her back dramatic even when they're folded in tight. Or maybe it's just how calm she is, utterly unfazed by the blatant mess that Andy is as she sits there on the ground, bleeding from her hands and her face.

Whatever it is, somehow it keeps Andy from acting up too much with the good doctor, quelling the undercurrent of aggression in her words. Instead, a bit sullenly: ]

I hit a guy. He hit me back. I hit him a few more times. [ That's the gist anyway, and true enough. ] Nothing too exciting. [ Another exhale of cigarette smoke, with her head tilted away in some semblance of manners. ] I'm sure you've seen plenty worse.

[medicative]

Of course I have, when someone's on the losing end.

[a light smile crosses her lips as she's knelt down, reaching for Andy's hands first. always better to start easier, where someone can see you and grow accustomed to your presence. disinfectant to clean out potential dirt, and it will sting, but beyond that Emily's gentle. the streetlights show her enough for now, yet...]

Anything feel broken or fractured?

[killtime]

[ For her part, Andy is surprisingly obliging, finally stubbing out that dwindling cigarette on the pavement next to her before offering her hands to Emily. The knuckles are swollen and angry, scattered with bloody cuts that have started to dry over. Definitely looks like she hit someone in the face a few times. A few times at least.

She watches passively as Emily goes bout her work, not flinching away from the sting of the disinfectant. That gentleness is probably wasted on her, though not unnoticed, and maybe not totally unappreciated either. Her eyes glance up at Emily's question, the subsequent answer delayed by a tangible half-beat. ]

...I don't know. How would I tell? [ Andy gives an experimental wiggle of her fingers — it hurts, but they move, which is good enough, right? She's had broken bones before. But she never really paid attention to it. It never lingered. And all the pain has blurred together over the last several thousand years. ] It's probably fine. I don't need much, doc.

[medicative]

If it hurts quite a bit when you move it, or you can't at all, then it's broken.

[she must be one of those lucky ones who've never snapped a bone, not even falling out of a tree as a child. here, Emily's all too aware that certain injuries would be beyond her to fix up - but that will be adjusted, in time.

instead, since the fingers seem aligned, she moves to bandanging the injured knuckles, careful in her wrapping to still allow Andy her full range of motion. mostly, it's just to allow them to seal over for the moment.]

You don't have to tough it out right now. I'm sure there's plenty of times where you do, but right now, you can say you have your own personal help.

[if she's not stopped, when the hands are done, she moves on to very gently wipe away the blood from the split lip.]

[killtime]

[ She seems mildly surprised to be called out, even gently — as if she hadn't been conscious of the fact that she was toughing it out. Maybe it's just habitual now, some defensive instinct. Or maybe she really is just that numb to broken flesh, after all this time. She's seen her own insides too many times. Walked around with half her skull blown open. Carried her own guts in her arms. Sometimes her body doesn't even feel like her own.

Dwelling on that makes her feel a little bit too seen. There's the impulse to pull away — a slight tension in her shoulders — but Emily is already reaching for her, stalling the instinct when she makes contact to wipe the blood from Andy's lip. She holds steady, waiting before she finally speaks again. ]

So, what is this? Charity? Or are we still getting to the catch?

[medicative]

No catch. It's as straightforward as you needing help, and me in the right place at the right time to do so.

[she doesn't really make a habit of keeping favors owed when she pulls people off the sidewalk - the too prideful ones, she compromised for, so they didn't feel looked down upon. but truthfully it's just that her hands are moved to help when they can, even if she did just get off work, even if this person is a complete stranger.]

Unless it wounds you to accept a stranger's hand?

[killtime]

[ It feels like she’s telling the truth, and Andy almost prefers that she wasn’t. Debts can be repaid, one way or another. But real charity - she doesn’t know what to do with that.

Finally, in a deadpan: ]

It wounds me.

[medicative]

...If it bothers you so much that you insist on repayment, I'm in the process of setting up a clinic in this city, one that requires a little more discretion than the average establishment. Come there when you feel better, and I'll invent something for you to do so that your pride may mend - there's a thousand tasks to be done to get things running.

[it's the easiest repayment she can offer. more help always is appreciated, and Andy can ease her mind about things.]

[killtime]

[ Somehow, that offer almost feels like this woman is doing her another favor. But fuck it, she's not going to overthink this if she can help it. She'll do what she needs to do so she can at least pretend to sleep at night. After seven thousand years of being nigh invincible, her pride needs the opportunity to pay the good doctor back. Even if it's selfish. ]

I feel better now. [ She doesn't raise her voice, but she's firm. Insistent. Resisting the idea that because her flesh doesn't just heal itself anymore than she somehow... Isn't whole. She's fine. She's fine. ] Just show me where. Tell me what needs doing.

[medicative]

Not right now.

[Emily says it calmly, firmly. no arguing, not while she reaches for one more thing so she can apply something for the bruising around the black eye. it requires fine control, to do so without hurting someone or making the bruising worse, but she can.]

Wait until at least the morning. That's my condition, or you'll have to walk around with the weight of charity on your shoulders, miss.

[killtime]

[ Not right now, she says. Simple as that. There's a protest on the tip of Andy's tongue, but after a moment, she just purses her lips, thinking better of it. She's not sure why exactly. Maybe she's just not used to being refused like that. Too accustomed to being the boss these last several centuries. ]

...It's Andy. [ She murmurs at length. ] Can't even remember the last time someone called me 'miss.'

[medicative]

Andy. I'm Emily.

[not a miss then, despite Emily's inclination to politeness every time she doesn't know.

the bruising should start fading by tomorrow, slowly going down - she thinks she doesn't need to tell Andy to put ice on it. all the rest, it requires just downtime so the body can recover.

taking a bottle from her kit, she considers something before putting it back, exchanging it for a small vial filled with an amber liquid. this, she holds out to Andy.]

Take it now, or take it tomorrow. I know it doesn't taste spectacular, but it will help your body heal quicker.

[killtime]

[ Andy eyes that bottle for half-beat, like maybe she's debating whether she wants to refuse it just to be contrary. But what the hell, she's already gotten to this point — and she's not so senseless that she's not aware of the inconvenience she's already imposed on this woman. Emily. So she takes it. And knocks the amber stuff back, right then and there. Should she have asked more questions before drinking it? Probably. But if Emily had any ill intentions, it would have been obvious by now.

Still, judging by the look on her face, it definitely doesn't taste spectacular. But she's had worse too. She has been an alcoholic for centuries now. ]

...Not quick enough. [ Wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve, she holds the empty bottle out to Emily. ] So. Tomorrow morning. At your clinic. Right?

[medicative]

[taking it back, she puts the bottle in her collection. she'll need to make more soon - it's why she does batches of it, as opposed to doses.]

Tomorrow.

[and here goes some quick summarized directions because navigating in this city? you want me to think that hard? no]

I'll leave the door open. Please try to simply go home and rest, when you feel up to it.

[everything packed away, she rises from where she was, and gives a little nod of her head.]

Good night, Andy.