milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The front door opens, and in stumbles Edgar, looking exhausted and covered with red dust from the knees down. At his side ambles a baby thoat, which looks around at the noisy crowd and immediately tries to hide behind Edgar's legs.

"Oh thank Christ," Edgar breathes, as Tars Tarkas steps into the room behind him.

[Edgar is taggable! Tars is heading home pretty immediately.]

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Dejah's arm drops to encircle his waist, turning with him. She can hear the big creatures breathing in the next stall over, can smell the hay and manure. All the things that made John happy, once.

She takes a deep breath herself, and turns to bury her face in Curtis's shoulder.

"Aren't we a pair?" she murmurs, still holding onto him.

He chokes on a tiny noise that isn't even really a laugh, wrapping his arm around her just as tightly. If she doesn't know the specifics, at least Dejah understands the emotions -- just like Curtis can grasp hers.

"Yeah," he whispers.

They're a pair. Thank god for that.

Edgar, meanwhile, has got Nitwit settled down in a bed of straw. There's a water trough in the corner of the paddock, with a faucet that he figures out after a couple of attempts and uses to fill it a few inches deep.

He gives the little thoat another headrub. "You'll be okay here, yeah?"

Nitwit gives a sigh, and an uncertain half-wonk.

Dejah takes a few long, deep breaths before she begins to relax in Curtis's embrace. She lifts her head and looks over to Edgar and Nitwit.

"They'll be all right," she says under her breath. Perhaps to assure him, or more likely, to assure herself.

Curtis nods. Gently, he smooths his hand along Dejah's back.

"You still wanna get your hand looked at before we hit the gym?"

It's the kind of do you want to that means we're going to the infirmary as soon as we get back inside.

Edgar glances up at that. "What about your hand?"

"Oh I... It's nothing," she shakes her head, hiding her hand behind her back like a small child. "It's fine."

She doesn't want to get Edgar in any more trouble than he's already in.

To Curtis: "We were going to the gym. To spar, remember?"

"It's not nothing, Christ, you said it's been bothering you for weeks -- "

So much for successfully corralling the anger. At least it's only leaking out as frustrated irritation this time.

"Wait, weeks? Seriously?"

Fuck, it wasn't that bad a cut -- and she said that magic whatever-it-was would fix it --

Dejah holds her breath for a moment and lets it out in a long sigh, a bit of exasperation bleeding through.

"It's just sore and I said we'd get it looked at. I'm sure it's fine. Nothing a little heat won't fix right up." She pulls it out and flexes it, trying to get her fingers to uncurl all the way.

They almost do. Almost.

"Damn it."

Curtis lets out an explosive breath through his nose, jaw clenching, and shakes his head. He shoots Dejah a pointed look of, see? Now will you fucking listen?

God, he can't wait to get to the gym.

"Hey --" Edgar starts to get to his feet. "I was thinking about asking Bar for some of this greenish gunk they were using on wounds back at Tars's place, for those scratches Nitwit's got -- would that work on your hand? The hunters use it on their thoats and on themselves, don't they?"

Dejah closes her mouth and looks at Edgar.

She blinks.

She blinks again.

She clenches her eyes shut and covers her face with one hand. "Holy mother, I am an idiot."

"...What?"

The annoyance drops down a few measurable notches.

She shakes her head, a crooked grin on her lips.

"It's -- The Thark healing salve. I used it when I took a sword blow between my armor." She gestures vaguely to her right hip.

"It knits bone and flesh in a matter of minutes, or hours. John Carter took a rifle shot in his posterior that would have crippled a man, and the salve healed him so quickly, he barely even had a scar. It never even occurred to me to ask if Bar could get some of it."

"I dunno if she can," Edgar says, "but they tell me she can get pretty much anything, so -- worth a try?"

That'll certainly make things easier. Curtis really, really wants a little bit of easier right now.

"We'll go check," he says. Firmer: "And if they don't, we'll get a doctor."

Because seriously.

"Yes, yes all right."

She slips her hand through Curtis's arm again, a smile returning to her eyes.

"Thank you, Edgar. Thank you very much."

"I'll come with you as far as the bar? I got to get some for Nitwit anyway. And some moss, and ... a clay brick, right?"

"You'll have to ask for something like a mineral block. And you're going to need help hauling all that back down here. You might ask if there's a stable master who can help you with all that."

"Yeah," he says. "Right. Thanks."

To Nitwit, he adds: "I'll be back with something nice to eat. You stay here, all right? Stay?"

Nitwit gives another whuffling sigh and rests her chin on the straw, looking up at Edgar with wide trusting eyes.

"Good girl."

Curtis has to swallow again, watching Edgar interact with the baby thoat.

Without a word, he glances to Dejah, tips his head toward the door, and starts to lead them all back to the bar.

Dejah falls in beside Curtis, catching his hand again and taking a moment to rest her head on Curtis's shoulder.

"So Edgar. I see she's listening to you, quite well. Did you take the Voice of Barsoom while you were there?"

"I did, yeah -- wait, that works with thoats too? I thought it was just so I could understand their language."

"The -- "

Never mind. He's not going to...he's just not.

(The tension's coming back, Curtis' expression starting to darken again.)