“Ah. You’re back…Though not exactly in one piece.” Elio said with a heavy wince evident in his voice. “I must admit — I didn’t expect you to improvise that far off the script. But hey — you’re still breathing.” he jerked a thumb behind him as he kept his gaze firmly locked on your appearance. “Go on — patch yourself up in the infirmary. Kafka’s waiting. Rest while you can. The next page turns soon.”

In any other situation, the welcome you received would have set a cosy fire of warmth and comfort in the hearts of the single returning Stellaron Hunter member that was you, especially at the prospect of sustenance and sleep.

The idea of coming home to light conversation, relaxation and benevolent camaraderie. The dream of kicking your shoes off, pouring yourself a glass of any kind of beverage and just resting after a hard day’s work.

Ordinarily, if you received any cuts or scrapes in combat you would have ingested a bottle of Jim Roger’s Bread Soda so that the area would stop any bleeding, and though the slash that started from one shoulder blade to the other screamed at you coupled with the other wounds and scratches — thank you, Void Rangers — you weren’t really registering it nor did you bring any healing items with you. Your head turned slowly to the Stellaron Hunter as you carefully slumped against the infirmary wall, and you gave her a weak smile, interrupted by grimaces of pain.

“There you are.” Kafka said with a faint chuckle, surging forward and kneeling in front of you. “You look like a poetry metaphor for poor decisions.”

Instinctively, she reached out a hand and lifted your chin to look at your pained features. One Aeon of a bruise sat on your left cheek, your nose had been leaking now-congealed blood, several splits adorned your swollen lips and you possessed a few cuts on your brow. Your eyes were red and swollen, and the remnants of tears had mixed with spots of red to form a pink trail down your cheeks. Your chest rose and fell almost as though you had to mentally force yourself to breathe, and it hitched occasionally when a pain shot through your ribs.

Splits on your knuckles that had just started to clot had been re-opened by your rage-filled rampage in the battlefield, small lines of red tracing down your fingers.

The Stellaron Hunter checked each wound, then as a protective instinct kicked in she swiftly rose to her feet and walked in the direction of where the infirmary medical equipment was. You still stared at the floor, hearing the sound of banging cupboards and mutters, and then the sound of running water and the click clack of her returning footsteps.

Placing the bowl by the side of you, she soaked a cloth in the cold water before wringing it out and gently stroking your brow with it. You hissed slightly as the skin was still a little sensitive, but overall she was incredibly soft with her care.

“Let me guess. You saw something shiny. You got creative. Elio sighed and told you to survive anyway…” she whispered, the slight worry and the pain evident in her voice. You flinched with a sharp shht as the cloth now found its way to your cheek. For some reason, the bruise screamed louder than the cuts.

“Hold still. This’ll sting less if you pretend you’re brave.” Kafka observed quietly, brushing away the blood from under your nose.

At this point she was cleaning more blood but upon hearing about what you did to receive the wounds from the mission, she hesitated, slowly pulling the cloth away. “You deviated. Not far enough to derail everything…but far enough to leave questions. You don’t do that often. I’m curious.”

Stirring herself with a shake of the head, Kafka bent down and soaked the cloth in the cold water once more, wringing it out so it wasn’t dripping wet, but still retained enough water to act as a cold compress.

“Was it instinct? Or did you see something Elio didn’t?” Kafka murmured, hooking an arm under your left shoulder and guiding you slowly toward the infirmary bed. “You’re lucky I was scheduled to be here. You wouldn’t believe how awful Bladie is with healing someone.”