Raven's cabin

[creator_raven]

Raven's cabin is a comfortable place even when it smells like the ashes of a universe.

Hopefully showers and decent potpourri will help dissipate that smell before long.

In the meantime, mingle!

Or have snacks.

Escaping the end of the universe is hungry work.

Comments

[notabricklayer]

Doc earns a very squinty-eyed look for that - does he truly believe that is even an option? Really?

"Go on insultin' me, boy, and I won't even use what precious little pain control there is." He grumbles, which is an absolute lie.

[scurlock]

"I ain't insultin' you--" he protests. "I can't tell how bad it is myself without lookin' in a mirror. I ain't gonna go on and stick my fingers in it t'check' an see."

There's another wince when McCoy pulls the pressure away to check if the bleeding has slowed yet.

"'Sides, m'pretty used t'gettin' by without nothin' t'dull the sting." He looks down at his hands - the heavy scarring on his left one, in particular - and curls his fingers up into a fist to cover the damage to his palm. "I had nothin' more'n two glasses of whiskey 'fore I tried t'git my hand back t'rights."

[notabricklayer]

"It's as if you want my head to explode." McCoy grumbles, digging through the pack to find something to make do in this entirely backwards age.









"Goddamn." It's a heartfelt prayer, if nothing else. Bones is not a terribly happy camper at the moment. There's none of his usual tools, obviously, but he was at least hoping for suture. Surely they had suture at this time, whenever this time is. But no.

He holds a packet of butterfly strips, and wonders what, exactly, he did that was so bad, that he'd deserve this.

[scurlock]

"What s'it?"

Doc looks at the butterfly strips, and then looks at the expression on Bones' face. He does feel for him, he really does, and he'll buy him a drink whenever they get back to the Bar.

(If they ever get back to the Bar. If there even is a Bar to get back to.)

He really, really feels for him.


"...now y'ain't tellin' me they didn't teach y'how t'use those at Ol' Miss, now r'ya? 'Cause that was one'a the first things we got at Tulane..."

[notabricklayer]

"Yeah, along with instructions on how to use the toilet." McCoy grumbles right on back, with an equal amount of feeling. "I suppose these will have to do, until we can get better. Though I think the blood makes your mug look better."

[scurlock]

"I do seem t'be wearin' it often," he agrees.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a sarcastic smirk, and he would shake his head if McCoy wasn't still needing him to sit still.

"M'just hackin' on y'Bones. They'll do fine 'til we git back t'the Bar and to your talkin' box."

[notabricklayer]

"You do more talkin' than any box I've ever met." Bones retorts, raising an eyebrow as he snaps on a fresh pair of gloves and starts setting the strips. "After this, it's food and rest for you, mister. I've had just about enough of your heroics for one night."

Which is to say, thank you for watching out for my hide, in McCoy-ese.

[scurlock]

Doc has the sense to sit still and quiet while Bones works on getting the strips put into order, closing the cut as best he can with the primitive tools he has to work with. Once he's done and the excess blood is wiped away, he reopens his eyes and nods.

"I intend t'go on in and raid the fridge 'fore I find a couch're somethin' to sack out on."

And then he hesitates for just a half-second, before:

"And what 'bout your leg?"

[notabricklayer]

"It'll do." He's actually fairly sure he's sprained something or other, thankfully not terribly seriously. "Food sounds like a good idea."

It is very, very true that doctors make the worst patients.

[scurlock]

"Uh huh. S'why you were limpin' all the way to an from the house now, 'cause that ain't gonna do. What kinda doctor would I be if I just let a patient run off on me?"

And then he pauses, growing a bit more serious.

"I mean...I know I ain't really an honest doctor or nothin', but if y'need me t'wrap it when we git back in t'the house...I can manage."

[notabricklayer]

McCoy's hands still for a moment, pausing in packing up the kit (such as it is).


"Honest enough. Might as well let you have a look, so-as I'll have some peace and quiet." He can't argue with his own words, after all, and there's carrying a point of pride, and then there's being stupid.

He does try to not be stupid.

[scurlock]

"I'm sure Raven has t'have somethin' we can use t'wrap it up, if you've gone on and sprained somethin'."

Doc moves from where he's been leaning against the rock to grab the discarded Kevlar, the remains of his shirt, the knife, and his bandana. He's also keeping an eye out to see if McCoy is going to need a hand getting back up to the cabin.

(Unlike Coyote's preferred method, he will refrain from carrying the man, if that's the case.)

[notabricklayer]

His limp surely isn't getting better with time, but he seems to be able to hold his own, as they amble back towards the cabin.

A cabin. In the forest. Jim would love this. It is entirely surreal.

"As long as this Raven has more alcohol, I think I'll do just fine."

[scurlock]

"I am almost positive that Raven has more alcohol."

If the god is friends (frenemies?) with Coyote, then it clearly must be so, because at the very least Coyote would not allow Raven to have an unstocked liquor cabinet.

"And hopefully a shirt I can borrow," he adds, as they reach the back door. Doc holds it open so McCoy can head inside. "First, though, I want t'refill these glasses..."

Then they'll see about the leg.

(Priorities.)