The OC Above is Hurt!

“I told you to stay seated! You’ve already made a mess of things as it is.” Words sharp with irritation leave the mage’s mouth, gaze stern from where she stands in front of Ibis, the bottom of her cane pressing the other back down to sit briefly. Cerys had sat the other on a rather haphazardly onto a couch, a finely made one with maroon upholstery that had floral stitching, and finely carved wooden feet and accents along the arms of it. It was the best option, out of all the furniture for this situation, though it didn’t mean that Cerys appreciated it. 

Her lip curls as she watches blood, from Ibis’s bruised knuckles, from that certainly broken nose, and other wounds, trickle and drip onto the couch. The color of the fabric hid it well, she supposes… but the stains would still be infuriating to clean. All to resolve this little situation that Ibis had brough quite literally to her doorstep. 

She’d watched the brawl from the sidelines, from the safety of distance. Distasteful thing, gang fights and turf wars. Calling the authorities would have been the wisest option, and to some extent she wishes she had. They would have taken care of it quickly, cleaned up the streets in front of her home to her satisfaction. 

“Try not to bleed everywhere, I would be… very annoyed if you passed out.” She says simply, turning to a cupboard and tugging out a bottle of liquid. Truly, she had questions, and without knowing for certain she’d get to ask them if she turned them in. After all, it was easier to ask for forgiveness over permission. 

A intense, chemical smell would burn the nose almost as soon as she sets the bottle on the side table. Almost as soon as she does so the sound of stone on wood floors would come from behind the couch, a small weasel like being made of metal and stone leaping onto the arm of the couch, a bundle of rags in it’s mouth. Cerys’s stern expression would soften at them, and she gestures to the table with a gloved hand. 

“Here is fine, and would you mind grabbing the bandages? 3 rolls.” She says to the creature, who chitters cheerfully, glances at Ibis curiously before skittering away. That soft expression does not last very long, even as Cerys tugs her gloves and suit off, rolling up almost silken looking sleeves to her elbows. The mage would rather firmly pull at Ibis’s hands, not enough to hurt on their own, but certainly careful enough to not aggravate already bruised knuckles and scuffed fingers. 

“Let me see. It’ll sting, but based on where you and your little friends were scuffling, you’ll need this so you don’t end up with some nasty infections.” The mage is brisk, and formal in her words, not really waiting to see if Ibis was ready for her to begin. On top of smelling bad, Cerys certainly hadn’t lied about the antiseptic hurting something awful. She remains silent as she works, only really pausing to instruct Ibis to plug her nose with some tissues after a few drops make their way to her shirt, something that seems to draw a disgusted glare from the mage.

“I can set your nose back in place… I’ve done it before.” She eventually says, reaching for the bandages when the creature returns with them, and setting to wrapping the wounds on Ibis’s hands. 

“Not now of course… I have some questions to ask first, and I need you at least somewhat coherent enough for that and whatever I give you for the pain isn’t going to help with that. Many people can do without but, I’m not that cruel.” And for once Cerys does smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You are still my guest, regardless of the odd circumstances, and I will treat you as such.”

HM… so for inspirations sake, Cerys doesn’t do a lot of crazy stuff anymore. She still has a bit of a bad leg, so could be that she fell or slipped etc. She also does experiment with magic so, anything from burns, etc could also work. Honestly though if you have a cool idea go ahead and go with that!

"Goodness gracious! What in the world happened here?"

Marlowe crouched next to Cerys as she lay slumped over a failed magical experiment. Green sparks continued to weakly emanate from an array of various broken beakers and vials before finally flickering out. Frustration was painted over her face but she accepted Marlowe's hand as he helped her up onto a chair. Her arms had light burns speckled around her wrists from glassware bursting mid-experiment.

Articles and books regarding magic were stacked high on the mage's desk, slightly reminding Marlowe of his younger self's past obsession with knowledge. He couldn't help but smile as he used magic of his own to slowly soothe the angry burns. As the orange light cast onto her hand, warmth filled Cerys body and she felt some of the tension ease itself from her head. 

"I'm deeply impressed with the scope of this experiment! These may not have been the results you were expecting, but failure is a key step in learning. I may not know much of what you are researching, but I offer you my best luck."

As her hand fully healed, Marlowe placed a vial of four-leaf clovers in her gloved hands.

----------

As an adventurer in a D&D campaign, Marlowe is often getting into scraps with creatures of all shapes and sizes.

     "You're quite brave to try to fight those beasts at the edge of the city," Allegro noted while dabbing one of Marlowe's scratches with a cleaning wipe, giving him an apologetic smile for the sting that would come with it. "There are people there that like to use those monsters for underground fights. I've seen a few, they're interesting. A shame how those state of things came to be." Another dab and a bandaid over a cut on the arm. "Seeing as you took a few of them down, though, I wouldn't recommend going back there to gamble and earn money," he advised with a light smirk.

     Allegro set down the remaining tools he'd had-- just a simple first-aid kit that could be carried around with ease. He smiled then motioned for the hotel's bartender to bring them some drinks. "I'm about to leave, so if you'd like to rest more you're more than free to take my room, just let me know. For now, though, why not rest and get your mind off that? While you're at it, please tell me where you got that cape. I quite like it."

"E-erm, miss, scuse me, w-wait-- don't go!"

A young man tails her breathlessly, as if concerned with something. "Y-your leg, miss-- your leg! You mean to tell me you haven't noticed your completely bruised leg at all?!" He yells to her, and some effort goes into getting her to stop; it's truly as though this completely broken-up leg had not phased her, much to the surprise of Saiph.

"Ok, good, good-- s-stop there, I won't let you go back out like this, miss; the lands are stupidly dangerous 'round here. You'd best stay with me a moment. I'll have you fixed up... S-soon, I hope." No begging or groaning seems to stop the cat-eared man; he twitches one of his ears as a strange, rapier-like blade is withdrawn from its holster. It unfurls itself and lets off a somewhat eerie glow, as if it pulsated with the very energy of life itself. Gently, he grasps the weapon. "Now, sit here-- I-I'm not gonna hurt you, alright? Just have to put my hand over this wound a moment..." He briefs to Isolide quietly, letting his hand gingerly hover above the bruised leg. He takes in a breath and closes his eyes after that point; a faint, equally-eerie light creeps through his dainty lashes as his odd blade's light intensifies. A corresponding blue light envelops his hand in moments, and soon, wraps itself around Isolide's leg. It takes quite a while, admittedly-- Saiph hadn't expected it. Why was this woman, of all people, seemingly resistant to this ability...? It almost felt like a curse. Insisting she stay put, however, the purple, bruised skin mellows back into its original tone with patience. Immediately afterwards, Saiph exhales deeply, and pries sweat from his forehead. A bundle of bandages make their way onto the secret-eldritch's leg soon after.

"T-there-- if you insist going, be my guest... but you oughta stay in town just a bit longer. Curing magic takes up a lot of my strength, b-but see, it might not be enough to take away all the pain..." Saiph then explained, taking a swig of water. "At least rest for the evening, alright?"

(np: saiph takes care of his own wounds most of the time; even when he is extremely weak from a heavy hit and deprived of his limited healing abilities, he'll refuse help. might take some effort!)

The smell of blood - it was awful. Rider squinted his eyes at the smell of it, crouching over the injured shape at the border of the forest. Initially, he'd been unbothered by it, but - upon identifying it as belonging to what looked like a younger person, his defensive instincts had kicked in instantly. Like a bolt, he'd ran out of his cave, with little regard for what could be waiting for him - an uncharacteristic response for him.
Had this person traveled into the woods unattended? If so, for what reason? Rider had gathered that most folks needed accompaniment in the woods to prevent trouble, and yet this little man was bleeding out. In the forest. Alone. The lycanthrope approached warily, taking a step back when the boy seemed to attempt remedying his own wound and failed. He's insane. That's a deep injury. He'll bleed out before the first stitch at this rate.

Bothered by the copper scent filling the air, Rider bit his tongue, crouching beside the younger person gently. He didn't usually offer his help to idiots who got hurt in the woods - it wasn't his problem, and most folks tended to treat him as a continued threat to whatever had hurt them in the first place. Their concern wasn't usually misplaced, much to Rider's frustration - as much as he resented the burden of his nature, it was absolute and indisputable. There was little he could do except grin and bear it. But, he rationalised, this person bleeding in the middle of the woods was making that goal awfully difficult.

When the stranger batted his hands away, he glared sharply.
"Hey. If you didn't want help. you should've gotten attacked a little further away from my den." At that, he reached into his pocket for his emergency bandages, tearing off a long strip with his teeth - with an amount of focus, he got to work on bandaging the wound tightly. If he'd had a canteen of water, he would have poured it over beforehand - this bandage would have to do while he got his bearings with the situation. It was no good planning ahead for a wound while it was actively bleeding out, and capping the source of the blood-scent would give Rider a much clearer head.

Rider felt thankful for his somewhat commanding presence - he quickly finished the work with a few more warning glares, before standing back up. The lycanthrope offered his hand to help the small man stand, glancing around all the while to look for whatever had caused this injury. When he saw nothing, he sniffed dismissively, letting out a deep sigh.
"You should be more careful," barked the wolf. "Especially 'round here. ...It's not safe, yeah?" He couldn't bring himself to be so angry at someone so small, instead using his spare hand to put a hand on his shoulder - something he remembered having explained to him as a 'comforting gesture'.
"I don't think you should come back here." Rider ducked his head. "To this forest, I mean. Tell your friends to steer clear. Whatever you were lookin' for isn't worth it." 

He glanced at the strange man one last time before stepping away.
"If I find you here again, I won't help you. Capiche?" That wasn't true. Rider couldn't stand to see people in pain. But he refused to give the irresponsible stranger any hopes of a second rescue, not if he dared come back. At that, the lycanthrope, pocketed his bandage roll for now, and - with one last glance around - sped away. If the guy had any sense in him, he would get out, too.

(I hope this works, sorry my writing is a bit rusty fhbgjhjfg)

They had been on the road for days, so Malory would expect his companion to be tired and sluggish, not tense and uneasy. It took him a bit longer to notice the blood on the ground that had likely caused the change in demeanor.
Oh dear... fine, they would follow the trail and see what they'd find. If it was a dead animal maybe it would be something larger and more nutritious than a rabbit or a squirrel, if it was anything else... well, he'd take care of it either way, so the decision was made and he allowed his 'horse' to follow the path it was so curious about.
What he did not expect was to find a man there, neither did his 'horse'. But... now they were here anyway and whatever people may say about him, he was not someone to stand by and watch someone die, so he got off his mount and made his way towards the person laying there.

Upon closer inspection Malory was relieved to see that he was still breathing, albeit heavily injured. Though that alone was... quite the issue. this was anything but an ideal place, the forest here was dense, dark and cold, no help nearby. "Please stay calm, I am trying to help you." the traveler commented, even if he wasn't sure if the other had the luxury to care at this point. He quickly went to get water, alcohol and bandages as well as a strangely colored balm from his saddle bags before kneeling down next to Rider. "Your wounds are rather deep, I'll need to do... something about that." Malory mumbled, perhaps in hopes it would calm Rider down at least a little bit, since he did nto seem too thrilled about the idea of accepting help from a stranger. 

"This will hurt but it will help." he explained while he was already busy cleaning all of the more worrying wounds, "I would appreciate if you could hold still as much as possible." were his last words before he began to apply the strange balm, that would cause a freezing, then a stinging, burning sensation. "It's a coagulant that doubles as a disinfectant. It should promote healing rather quickly." He would not mention the help of magic, that would likely be more unsettling than reassuring. Not that that mattered, as long as it helped.

It took him a while until everything was properly taken care of and wrapped in bandages and until he was satisfied with his work. "You lost quite a bit of blood, my horse could smell you from fairly far away." Malory took off his coat and placed it over the wounded lycanthrope. "I cannot leave you just yet, that wouldn't be right. If you have a place nearby I shall take you there, but I will have to make a fire to keep you warm, otherwise you might just freeze to death." That was about as forthcoming as he would be, though part of it was him being unfamiliar with these woods. He had heard enough and he by no means afraid, merely worried about the injured stranger. Still, the tone in his voice made it very clear that he would not accept any arguments. 

(NP: he can be as wounded as you want him to be, just know his blood and flesh are dark and grey-/black-ish)

Malory was very lucky to have met Arata. He had been keeping himself on his 'horse' somehow, on his way to find someone to help, though it was getting a bit dire. Of course he had done his best to patch himself up but some areas were just impossible to reach properly. Well, what better person to run into than a former combat medic? 

While he didn't like to take up other people's time he was grateful for the help when it was offered to him. Of course there was the uncomfortable issue of his anatomy, but there was fairly little he could do about it now, and he appreciated that Arata at least tried to remain professional. "Thank you for your help." he finally said. "And don't worry, I will not risk these wounds to open again." He briefly hesitated before getting back on his 'horse', the neutral expression remaining on his face, albeit through clenched teeth. "Have a good day."

It has been many years since Arata had performed medical treatment since his own tragic passing, now a Ghost wandering the world with some fellow Ghosts who call themselves the “Ghost Jury” , a small tight knit group of people who have died tragic deaths but have united together as like a family.

But now he finds himself having almost nostalgic memories, having to help heal a heavy injured person named Mallory. Finding Mallory heavily injured as they passed by eachother, Arata quickly offered to help out. He just wanted to help out of the goodness of his heart, never being able to bear seeing someone injured and he wouldn’t be able to help.

Now he’s in this situation.

Mallory is probably no human, Arata could be sure about that as he treats the wounds that was not the usual red color- 

But a dark grey, almost black color. Flesh and blood, both the same strange color that indicates that Mallory was so likely to not be a human. Arata was not being disturbed by the sight of blood , no- He has been exposed to blood and wounds almost all his life in his medical career, blood was nothing to him. But to see blood such a color that is almost black? He finds it weird, very weird.

He stayed silent as he treated Mallories wounds, too awkward to speak or have a conversation. Mallory was just as silent, yet calm. Acting as if pain doesn’t exist as Arata cleaned and bandaged the wounds as the best he could without being weirded out by the near black looking blood. The Ghost managed to finish his treatment, looking at Mallory who seemed to be content with the healing.

“That’s all I have to do… You can go on your way now, don’t push your body to much…Get some rest- Have…Have a good day?” Arata told Mallory, nervous yet trying to be friendly. To be calm.

To be a medical professional once again.

.

For NP: Assuming that Arata is a normal human before his death, he can be pretty injured but the main thing is that if injured he will always try to self medicate and heal himself. Maybe he’s failing or overestimating his injury or something.

Assuming that he’s a Ghost, Arata can’t be injured (such as bleeding) but might be in pain from the injuries he has sustained when he was killed (Bruises, burns, slashes, a wound at the neck, etc) that still haunt him. 

     Yeeharr stood over the wounded doctor with a smirk on his face. "Arrgh, ye be hurtin', do ye?" He crouched down and swat Arata's hand away to look at the wound. Bandaged well and clean. This man knew his stuff. Must've gotten cocky, though, because that wound definitely was not easing up if that big stain in the cloth was anything to go off of.

     So, like any kind soul, Yeeharr poked the wound and grinned at the man's dismay. "Ye can't always be doing these things yerself, pardner. This wound here ain't fixed all proper, aye. Come with me." Not like Arata had a choice with the pirate heaving him over his shoulder. "I know a doc that can patch ye up nice. We can talk about me helping fee later," he snickered. 

Go wild, he's dumb and rough so he gets into trouble a lot.

^ (( ☺️☺️☺️ what can i say i like pain. and the divine. the divine is painful. #sorrycarmen ))
(( i got caught between two options for this scenario and wound up going with the meaner one. sorry carmen ))

There is a cowed God before her.
Margot's tears are laughing ones, bubbling out of her with a stranger's joy. She feels like a stranger, in occupying her own mind. Is that truly her voice, rising out of her with such elation? Are these her thoughts, this swarming rush of uncomplicated exhilaration? They are certainly a convincing replica of her thoughts. They share the same values, the same philosophies, the same memories- but unburdened, as if someone has scrubbed them clean all the dirt and maggots and rotted holes that flawed her understanding of the universe. The universe, it turns out, is not so complicated a thing. As she stands before the bleeding out God, the universe feels well within her reach- to hold, to study, to manipulate. To crush and scar and rebuild and sing and dance and crawl and writhe- 

After all, is she not the lowly mortal in this scenario? An ant, gazing upon the eldritch. A fly on the back of the divine. Her exoskeletal hands click like knives. How can she be as small as an insect, if she can harvest a God? How can she be as small as a human, if she can bleed out a universe?

Distantly, as Margot tries to intellectualize her way through this state, tries to tease out what's her own mind and whats the bleeding effect of a wounded God- a more horrific understanding starts to settle over her shoulders. She must not be doing as well as she thought, must not have as much pride as she envisioned- if the introduction of a true happiness can undo her so thoroughly. The weight of it had gone unnoticed, until it was off her back entirely.
The tears double over. There is a version of her she cannot access, a version of her own greatness that is being denied to her. And this God- This beautiful, infectious God-

"I am going to be kind. I will not tell the other Godslayers about you." She kneels down to the wounded Carmen, reaching out to brush the white hair out of his face- theres a sharp desperation to her touch, a clawed grip that leaves a red line with it. "You will live, preciously. And your blood shall feed my ticks, so that they might understand the eucharist. And your skin shall feed my beetles, so that they might play hymns on your bones. And your joy will be carried on, harvested into a thousand swarms. You are going to make a beautiful hive."

For NP: Margot is a big humongo nerd and doesn't leave the grounds of her laboratory much, or really have reason to engage in physical combat. (She's also acting UH, highly atypical in this context. sorry again Carmen) That being said, I can see her being caught in the crossfire of another fight.
Alternatively, your character could have been hanging around Margot, when she suddenly stops- seized by a glassy-eyed wordlessness- before blacking out and falling over, potentially hitting her head or injuring herself on the way down. The cause is startlingly abrupt, ominously unclear- however, any insects in the area can be heard chirping in uncanny unison while it's happening.

vv (( HEIHEOUAHFIEHIOHFEHJ!!! hi i love this i love this so much i love this so SO much. margot is so pissed about being rescued. poor rarhiko. i may see about writing a follow up but its probably just her screeching ))

((In which Rarhiko doesn't understand why telling someone 'you will die' isn't comforting in the slightest.))

Rarhiko still remembered that night. A human event, with human customs. Oh, the excitement of such a thing! Full of new experiences, new ways to make connections. It was there when Margot, just as fragile as the prey she was shaped after, approached Rarhiko for a dance. The way Margot moved was something Rarhiko recognized. It was not free expression, as so many others showed. Nor a translation of the music. Instead, Margot moved to the careful click of pre-calculated steps, of sharp performativity. It was an adaptation, a reformat of lessons learned elsewhere.

Rarhiko found the little fly endearing. It took bravery to approach one's natural predator, and amazing audacity to interact with them in such an unorthodox manner. She didn't know how to express the admiration she gained, nor how she hoped Margot felt pride for it. 

It was not her expectation, not to speak of hope, that the next time they met would be in this manner. 

Margot was weak. This was not any insult, it was merely fact. Even in full health, Margot could have been easily torn asunder. Her carapace was paper, her haughtiness unfounded. At most, she was fodder. Barely considered prey. But Rarhiko had fought, with all the value her blood and tears could possibly have, to tear free from the simplistic hierarchy of the hunter and the hunted. There would be no value in taking advantage of Margot's wounds. It would be a pointless execution, one that contained only loss.

Rarhiko was no stranger to terror. Often, she would find such things beneath the point of her scythe or the end of her fangs. In this situation, it was merely inconvenient. To say that Margot couldn't recognize the horror of having a spider crouched above you would be incredibly demeaning. If one knows what it is like to be constantly hunted, to be trapped in the unforgiving life or death of the ecosystem, being sent back is nothing short of torture.

Yet Rarhiko could feel no sympathy as Margot made attempts to ward her off. There was no point in crawling away, nor kicking at her, nor throwing insults. At the very least, the determination to live was admirable. That sort of attitude was praised in the colony. The refusal to accept death was what brought Rarhiko here, after all.

"Stop," She commands. "If you run, you will bleed out."
Her voice is ice, and the grip of her hands on Margot is steel. 

"You will die if you keep trying to attack me." 

Using her first set of arms to restrain Margot, Rarhiko's weaver arms reach up to her mouth to begin drawing silk. As it passes beneath her fangs, Rarhiko imbues it with a healing solvent. This would be far from perfect, but it would stop her new friend from dying prematurely. A drider's anatomy was easier to fix than Margot's, but she would try.

"Hold still. You will live." Ugh, somehow telling Margot that attacking her would kill her didn't make her stop. Doesn't she know that the stress of doing so only exacerbates her wounds? Rarhiko doesn't understand how she could possibly be any clearer. Was she not straightforward enough?

NP: don't be afraid to get creative! She's a fighter through and through, so it's unlikely for her to be easily hurt, but there's plenty of chances for her to be. Her being hurt could involve her extreme form of self-training, ie, willingly putting herself into incredible danger in order to sharpen her instincts and build endurance. Or she was simply beat up by a much stronger opponent. Her blood is bright green.

PineappleUtopia Pinging because it's been a hot minute! I saw Rarhiko and knew what I had to do eheheh.

More than anything, Illanya admired Rarhiko's strength. She'd witnessed from a distance the other's unparalleled skill in practice combat. She had yet to muster the courage to step up to spar against the drider, instead simply content to watch. Illanya had rarely witnessed anyone use a scythe like that before, after all. It was almost mesmerizing back then.

This strength and skill would be quite enthralling if it weren't for the immediate danger presenting itself in the literal flood Rarhiko had jumped into. Something about it being a test of strength and stamina? Illanya wasn't quite certain where on earth the other had gotten the idea of using a natural disaster as a training exercise, but there really wasn't a lot of time to think about that anymore.

Rarhiko may be strong, but could she truly withstand a torrent of hundreds of gallons of water? Even in the massive drider form, Illanya had rarely ever seen, could that truly be a match? The knight follows along in the direction of the torrent where she'd seen Rarhiko disappear in the water, a steady near-sprint pace leading her uphill as the water rises. eventually there reaches a small valley, enough to allow the rushing water to lower, revealing covered trees and stones, disturbed from where they once sat.

Golden-Green eyes scan the water, looking for any indication of whom she looks for. It comes in the faint tendrils of bright green liquid, swirling in the dirtied water of the flood, the occasional bits and pieces of silk and webbing, floating by. Trudging through in her boots with frantic wet splashing accompanying her quickened movements as the knight navigates towards the origin of the green blood.

Despite it all, Illanya heaves a sigh of relief when she spots Rarhiko, out of her larger, spider-like form and in one smaller, more humanoid form. A gash on the other's side oozes the same bright green liquid that had led her here. Illanya is careful not to splash the somewhat Rarhiko's wounds with the sullied water from where she'd been thrown to a subtle rise. Instead goes straight to her side and tugs her cloak free from her back. She didn't look dead at least. That and it seemed like she was at least coughing. A better problem to have than drowning in silence.

"Gods above, I thought you were dead!" She pants still winded from sprinting all the way here. Taking a moment, she takes in all that she can see of the other's condition, before kneeling down on the still-wet forest floor. At least it wasn't super muddy here, she supposes. That would make this whole ordeal far more difficult.

"I'm sorry this is going to be a little uncomfortable for a minute. I need clear access to the wound." She mutters worriedly, eyes narrowed in her anxiousness. A small dagger is drawn and the knight meticulously cuts away the dirty and torn fabric sticking to the wound, occasionally apologizing, even if Rarhiko doesn't flinch at her work. 

Eventually satisfied, the knight pulls off her gauntlets, and presses both hands to the wounds and with a grimace, she pushes the magical energy fluttering so readily at her fingertips into the gash. Underneath her hands, the wound closes painlessly, perhaps the only discomfort coming from how unnaturally warm it becomes. Not enough to burn, but enough to itch. As soon as she begins it feels like it's over, though it likely took at least 5 minutes if not more for her to heal the other. Illanya's shoulders visibly slump in exhaustion, and she gives Rarhiko a weak, quivering smile. "You're going to be alright I think... If you can walk, can we make our way back? I fear if I do anything more, I will keel over!"

@ NP: Illanya is a funny little knight, so it's most likely she'll get injured in combat or something similar. Roll with anything tbh! (She has a blind spot on her right side, as she cannot see out of that eye at this current moment haha)

v (I would like you to know I love Mung Bean with all my heart and that I laughed so hard I pulled a muscle. Thank you for blessing me with Mung Bean 😭💕)

Poor Mung Bean. Poor sweet Mung Bean. Disheveled and spooked, he'd wandered into some stables. The horses weren't very friendly to a small void with gigantic eyes. He was currently nestled in a a small makeshift nest of hay. It was quite warm, except for the angry giant elk that hovered over him. Mung Bean trembled as it snorted in his face. He fluffed up in an angry ball of coal. He was tired of this! He snorted back. This earned a few whinnies from the other horses. Mung Bean had been humiliated enough! He hopped down. As he was leaving a particular smell made his fur stand on eyes, his eyes widening. 

A woman was smoking in the stall with the elk. She had a broken nose and a bruised cheek. How sad. Poor human. However, Mung Bean was focused on what she was smoking. He wriggled towards her cautiously, the elk watching his every move. In a flash he darted between the woman's legs and gazed into her eyes. He wanted what she had. He liked the smell. He reached his tiny paw up in an attempt to get the pipe. He could not reach. Curse his tiny paws. The woman looked at him utterly confused. Mung Bean hopped up onto her stomach and placed his tiny paws on her armored chest. He reached for the pipe again, missing. His tiny paw basically  flipped the woman's lip. Ew, dirty Mung Bean paws. He purred loudly. He loved the smell. What was it? What was so enticing? His fur stood on end in excitment.

-

Aestrum

Mung Bean melted into a pool of black fluffiness. His sore little body spraying out amongst Ms.Bell's feathers. They tickled his little nose. Finally, they were within reach! If only he wasn't so tired and sore! He purred loudly and closed his large eyes. Who knew fighting a racoon for a piece of sushi would be so difficult?