milliways_bar | (no subject)

Zuko pokes his head up, under the booth-- before there is a sudden -- jerk.

You know? Maybe taking him outside might've been a ...better idea? Because due to shadow and black wolf and booth-- its kind of hard to see what's happening as there is an abrupt spasm-- the night calls to the wolf but Arithon tries to box it--

--and the poor kid on the floor is left thrashing and frothing, flesh as fluid between the two forms as molten melt and just as agonizing to experience.

Thankfully, the shift of his throat keeps him from screaming. But the working is not pretty, and the wolf tests it's cage as it takes form almost immediately; nails in bent hands claw at the flesh even as it snaps it's jaws around spiritual bars.

This will not hold me long, he assures the sorceror, but the boy-- for now--

--is a bloody, ragged, naked heap covered in gory wolfskin under the table after what feels like an eternity and was probably more like fifteen minutes of miserable thrashing.

Ow?

"Fucking hell!" Wells exclaims, watching in fascinated horror. "Is that what-"

Then the circuits of practicality cut in, the birthright of every man who's ever earned the third stripe, and Wells briefly darts away. Very briefly. He returns mere moments later with a big red towel, big enough almost for a blanket, and a set of clothes slung over his forearm. The towel is offered to Zuko first.

He'll thank Arithon soon- just as soon as he's sure of Zuko's condition.

From a universe away, I could hold you. the Sorcerer assures the Beast, with the faintest glimps of the potential that marks a young man who even now Binds a demon which covered a world.

Meanwhile, Arithon also flags down Tashka the rat and sends her off for a jug of water and a washcloth.

Zuko spits out hair.

Ew.

There is not much movement for a time, as he is now EXHAUSTED and sticky there under the table and-- just sort of curled up.

...take to him in a few minutes, mmkay?

As long as he's alive, and not hurt worse than the experience he's just been through would indicate. That's the important thing.

Wells glances over to Arithon. "Thank you," he says hoarsely, accent wavering towards something more respectable than his native Islington muddle. "I was starting to go mad, trying to find someone who could help him."

"My honor."

He says quietly, and then smiles wryly,

"I do hope that I could meet him at some point when he is uncursed, in time."

Spit! More hair.

And then movement-- hands, groping around. Ew. What is he covered with. Are those bits of nail? Ew!

"...wells?"

Sounds like he's been gargling glass, you know.

Wells turns back sharply, crouching beside the young man- Arithon, he's sure, will understand. "I'm here," he says in low, urgent English. "D'you know where you are? You hurting anywhere?"

He makes a mental note to at least buy Arithon a drink or a meal or something for this.

"... am... I under a table?"

He sounds a little bewildered.

"Am I in the bar?"

Naked? Covered in shreded wolfskin? And gore? Ew.

"Yeah, poor planning on my part," says Wells. "Here. Wrap yourself in this- we'll get you to your rooms for a wash-up. Arithon gave that wolf of yours a good solid bitch-slap."

THere was wriggling and unsteady movements but in the end there was a gory boy in a red, soon to be equally gory blanket, cluctched tight around him.

"... ... I don't feel so well," and he looks ... a little green.

The type of green that is going to need a bucket shortly.

That's the lovely thing about being Harry; he moves fast. There's a bucket from the Bar. "Have a go at this," he says, setting it down and moving to rearrange the chairs for more strategic concealment.

And that? That was Zuko losing all the raw, gobby meat he'd eaten not an hour earlier.

Violently.

...he's lay back down after that.

Ow.

Wells glances at the bucket's contents, deliberately not letting himself sniff, and wrinkles his nose sympathetically. "Need some water?" he suggests. "T'wash your mouth out with, if nowt else."

He'll bring up the possibility of congee later. In Zuko's situation, he wouldn't even want the thought of food in his head right now.

"...water, yes."

He would like water. A lot. To get the ...blobby guck out of his mouth.

There's water, then, in the biggest mug Wells can manage. He'll leave the mouthwash in Zuko's rooms, for after.

There's also a clean bucket. The other one reeks.

There is gargling and spitting and yuck. And then a boy on the floor. Not that the bar isn't used to that.

"Better?" Wells says. "How about we get you upstairs now?"

Might as well keep things simple until Zuko's ready for complex again.

...but he just laid down! Course he was gory, but he was ready to ignore that in favor of passing out on the floor.

Getting up won. He dragged himself to his feet, fumbling with his blanket, and --well, hope nobody got flashed. Not that he was... anything other then gross at the moment.

But then it was time to stagger up the stairs to Zuko's suite.