Broken Wings and Wicked Things (Rhi-Rhi!)

[Anonymous]

OOC: Just to be clear, this RP takes place after this one, here

It had been a satisfying week, that was for certain, but Plague could not help feeling a certain restlessness. His apartment above his quaint little clinic was a good deal less lonely, full now of aquariums brimming with creatures; fish, snakes, spiders, mice, lizards, and other such things. The rooms nestled into the back of the house were now better decorated, the walls lined with what looked a great deal like coffins. Most of them were empty, but in a select few rested silent bodies in nests of dried crinkled flowers. His real doll collection was at home, but Plague had no idea when he would be returning, so he thought it was best to start up a new collection here.

We wandered with very little idea of what he was looking for at such an unbearable hour; in the city it was hard to divine time, the bright lights obscuring most of the murky natural light. He found himself imagining the red of the apples that used to grow at home, the thought causing him to pause. He had not seen apples like that for eons.

Plague shook his head, his long white ponytail swaying behind him like milk from a pitcher, his single visible ice-blue eye sharpening into focus. Such sentimental thoughts were useless.

He slid his gloved hands into the pockets of his jacket, prepared to return home, perhaps to play with his new "dolls", when an interesting flash of color caught his eye. He paused, for a moment unable to locate the source for a moment, when he noticed it again. It seemed a red neon sign was flickering weakly just on the edges of his vision, throwing snapshots of light into a near by ally.

Something, or someone seemed to be collapsed amidst the shadows. He blinked at it slowly, for some reason believing himself to be seeing... feathers.  

He couldn't stop the memory from swelling; the flash of white, the red, the feathers like rain and the thick smell of blood, and burning. It had happened weeks ago, but to Plague it felt like mere moments.

As he approached, his metal tipped black shoes and elegant black cane clicking against the cracked pavement, his eye slowly focused on the creature.

They were feathers. Plague paused for another long moment, starring, his fingers tightening around his cane.

"Angel..." he breathed, crouching down next to the creature, and placing a barely tangible hand on one of the thing's crumpled wings. They seemed to be broken, and as Plague drew back his hand for a moment, he mused that some of the red on the feathers might in fact be blood.

Red dotted his otherwise flawless white gloves as he placed his hand back on the angel's wing, leaning the slightest bit closer as he whispered in a honey-sweet voice, "angel... are you awake...?"

[Rhi-Rhi]

He'd heard footsteps approaching but he didn't move, just stayed curled up where he was with his wings awkwardly crumpled behind him. Ugh. Just let 'em pass by. He didn't want no nosy folks poking at him because he sure didn't wanna have to explain himself, and he really wasn't keen on moving just yet either. His wings hurt like a bitch, his head was throbbing, and his wrists hurt where he'd handed on it to catch himself; sprained, probably, but definitely not broken--he knew what that felt like and it didn't hurt badly enough.

Huh. He kinda wondered how he knew what a broken wrist felt like since he couldn't remember ever breaking one, but then he supposed if his wings were broken he had something nice to compare it to. Made sense.

The footsteps paused, and he held his breath. Aw, man, couldn't he just be left alone? He'd planned to just stay here for a bit longer, wait for the dizziness to pass and the pain to ease up a bit so he could haul himself off somewhere to nurse his broken wings and bruised pride. Pride was such a stupid thing, but he wanted some of the sting to wear off first before he stumbled to a hospital...partly so he could think of a really epic story to explain himself. "Oh, hi, I just sorta...fell. Off the roof I guess," was definitely not epic. It was stupid. What had he been doing up there to begin with?

Hitting his head must have knocked the memory right out of his skull.

Along with everything else.

Ugh...he'd be more worried about that if he didn't hurt so damned much, but with pain sharply nagging at him and a stranger hovering behind him, he didn't really have the liberty to be concerned.

He heard whoever it was pause behind him and he grimaced and tensed, but he kept his eyes closed tightly, playing 'possum. Didn't even know why he was so nervous about a stranger approaching him; he had no reason that he knew of to be wary, especially since it might have meant help, but something primal deep inside him was completely on edge, rejecting that idea. Don't trust anyone, it said. Especially not in a place like this. Then whoever it was spoke and touched a wing, and he jerked and hissed in pain.

"Ow, assmunch!" he heard himself yelp, his head swimming and his golden eyes snapping open. That hadn't been what he'd meant to say, he didn't think, and his own voice surprised him as though he was hearing it for the first time. Weird. He really had banged his head hard. "Don't touch 'em! That fuckin' hurts!"

The guy sounded all too sweet, which of course set his nerves on edge. Plus he just didn't like strangers going all touchy-feelie on him. It was creepy, and in this case painful. With another soft hiss, he raised up weakly on his elbows and swatted awkwardly at the guy's hand when he touched his wings again, muscles flinching.

"I'm awake...obviously. Now stop touchin' me, I said! Stop callin' me that. That's not my name an' I'm no angel. Nngh..." He groaned, arms shaking beneath him with the effort it took to hold himself up, and he bowed his head and stared down at the pavement through a curtain of sweaty black hair. Ew. He was a mess. "But if ya wanna touch me so bad, think ya can...I dunno, help me up? I seem to have fallen...an' I can't get up. An' 'fore ya ask, no, I have no clue what the fuck I did. Somethin' stupid, I'm guessing."

There. He said it. Through grit teeth, rolled eyes, and everything, but he said it. Well, as long as there was someone else around, might as well take advantange, after all.

[Anonymous]

Plague's head tilted just slightly, a few strands of white floating sideways across his face as lightly as spider's silk. His smile hardly faltered at all, not at the rough language nor the near-frantic actions of the poor fallen thing. He was however a little confused at the boy's insult; he had never, in all his years in his completely dysfunctional and abusive home, been called something like that before. The confusion flickered across his face for a moment before fading to his fine gentleman's smile.

The placid expression was misleading; inside his mind was reeling. It was alive, it was... breathing and shouting and cursing, pulsing with life and the pain that affirmed that.

Plague worked hard to swollow the soft and sinister laughter that floated up his throat like a cloud of gray dusty moths. Wonderful.

"Poor bird," he breathed, slowly drawing back his hand, the appendage stinging from the sudden slap. The sores hidden under his gloves throbbed and he flexed his fingers, playing with the sensation. "I do apologize... I did not mean to startle you... or hurt you." Slowly the man rose, extending his gloved hand while that same honey-sweet smile strung across his lips. "You do not remember? Goodness, that is a worrying sign..." the man shook his head, a fretful expression fixed with perfect sincerity across his face.

"I would gladly help, and gladly call you otherwise, if only I knew your name," he said, his voice quiet and his tone perfectly sincere. "But if you are having memory problems I assume you can't recall what it is you should be called," he paused a moment, letting the silence answer him. "In which case..." his eye took in every detail of the boy's wings, every painful break, every matted feather, every beautiful fleck of color. "Since you protest the name Angel... I suggest Kestrel."

Plague took a small half-step toward the crumpled creature, bending at the waist just slightly, allowing the boy to better reach his offered hand. "I do suggest you stop moving so much, you're going to strain yourself. As a doctor, I know what I'm talking about."

[Rhi-Rhi]

On the inside, he was bristling at being called a 'poor bird'. Bird? Now he knew he had wings and all, but bird? If he hadn't been injured his wings would have no doubt been fluffing up in irritation, but as it was all he could do was shoot the man a level stare. He looked back and forth between the offered hand and the man's smiling face, considering. Well, he'd asked for help, he supposed, and aside from the annoying names the guy didn't seem dangerous or anything.

Just kinda weird.

And it was making him kind of uncomfortable how big of a deal the guy was making out of him not remembering things.

"Yeah, well, I sorta hit my head I guess..." he mumbled, reaching up to rub at the back of his head where he could feel a distinctive knot forming. Didn't seem to be more damage than that, though. Thankfully. Apparently he had a hard head but fragile wings. A little bump on the head, sore wrists and body, and...mangled and broken wings. Made sense he guessed, bird bones were supposed to be hollow. Maybe his wings were built the same way, hence why they'd shattered while the rest of him was pretty much all right. That sucked. He heaved a little sigh.

"But it could also be that I'm just in such fuckin' immense pain I can't really think straight right now, so call me whatever, Kestrel sounds fine, sure, whatever, I'd answer to 'hey you' at this point," he snapped, closing his eyes and wincing. Honestly, he didn't even know how he was managing to talk like he was, all calm-like almost. Maybe shock. Then again, as long as he was staying perfectly still like this the sharp throbbing wasn't too bad. It was bearable. Made him want to chew nails, but he could take it, he was tough. It was only when he moved that he wanted to scream his head off...or when someone decided to touch them. Fucker.

Though the announcement that the man was a doctor made Kestrel give a little start, and he looked back up at him, eyebrows raised. "...That's convenient..." he said. Well, never look a gift horse in the mouth, as they said. Something had decided to go his way at least. Drawing a deep breath because he knew this was gonna hurt like all hell, he stretched out a hand to grasp at the doctor's, his own palm sweaty but his grip firm. Everything felt like it took a great effort right now, and pain had made him pale.

"Alright, doc...gonna assume you know what you're doin'..."

[Anonymous]

"But of course I know what I'm doing." Plague moved so fast it was not quite natural. With a gentle tug on Kestrel's hand, some quick moments here and there, and some careful manipulation of momentum, the winged creature was suddenly in Plague's arms. The broken wings were left to hang limp over one of Plague's arms, while the other was left to support Kestrel's knees.

"Before you start to struggle I should remind you, that would result in an immense amount of pain, and I think you feel you've been through enough of that for one night," he said, allowing a few moments for Kestrel to settle. "I'm going to take you to my office, which is not far from here. There, I'll see what I can do about your wings... and I'll give you something for the pain." Plague's metal-tipped shoes clicked prominently against the concrete as he began to walk, the red neon light at the mouth of the ally flickering over them as they passed.

"I'd also like to examine your head, and patch up any injury I find there," he said, perfectly professional despite the boy's roughness. They seemed to be approaching an ancient house; the thing was actually built ages ago as a tourist attraction, meant to show the ways people lived in the past. Plague could simply not be bothered with all the new technology to live anywhere else. As he climbed a few tall stone steps he said, "It occurs to me I know what to call you, but you don't have a name for me..." he stood before door, starring at the heavy wooden thing, his eye slowly narrowing.

"My name is Dante Pestis," he said, shifting Kestrel just slightly, but realizing he would be able to do very little without hurting the boy. "Oh, and so you are not startled, I have a tail."

Just as he spoke, a black whip-like tail slithered out from under the tail of Plague's suit jacket. It reached into his own pocket and pulled out a ring of polished silver keys, and with an impressive degree of dexterity, inserted the correct key into the door and unlocked it. The door swung open to reveal a dim waiting room. There was a desk tucked in the back corner, and the walls were lined with aquariums filled with a plethora of different creatures; snakes, rats, mice, spiders, gerbils, fish, and more.

"Well, here we are..."

[Rhi-Rhi]

Kestrel didn't have a chance to react before he was suddenly pulled forward, and after that everything was a blur of motion and agony. Knives went stabbing and twisting into his wings and he cried out sharply, the world blanking out for a moment as his brain decided to have mercy on him and shut down to allow the pain to pass. Only a few seconds had gone by before he was lucid again, blinking dazedly at his surroundings while his wings throbbed painfully in time with his rapid heartbeat. What the...? He was off the ground...

The doctor's voice grounded him again, and he jumped and looked up at him--then jumped again when he realized he was carrying him. The man's words, while probably not intended to sound menacing, sounded strangely intimidating in Kestrel's head right then. It wasn't really his fault, but between the pain, the shock of being picked up by a stranger, not being able to remember anything, and Kestrel's own natural paranoia...well, being told not to struggle or he'd be hurt just took on a completely different, threatening meaning in his head. His eyes widened...and panic kicked in unexpectedly.

"HEY! NO! Leggo! Put me down!" he gasped and started to thrash, kicking out his legs and on the verge of punching the man in the chest out of reflex--but his motions jarred his wings, and the knives plunged back in. He yelped, back arching, and then finally collapsed in the man's arms, going stock still and panting rapidly.

Oh shit that hurts, fuck, might hurt less to just cut the damned things off, he thought, head dropping against the doctor's chest and eyes clenching shut. That small burst of resistance ate up what was left of his energy so he just let himself hang limp--and actually listen to the guy speak. Yeah. Listen. Be rational and all that and realize that the man was speaking to him rationally. Kestrel suddenly felt a little stupid for that outburst as he took in the words, all of them concerning how the doctor planned to help him.

Just calm down... Ugh, he was out of his element, and he wasn't even sure why. Something told him it wasn't exactly normal to just freak out like he had for no reason, but he couldn't help it.

Every step made his wings twinge in pain, but he grit his teeth and took it, folding his arms over his chest and curling his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. Ow, ow, ow, ow... He counted the steps in his head like that, but finally they stopped and he opened his eyes.

They were in front of a house, and he was introducing himself. Dante, huh? Kestrel lifted a hand slightly and waggled his fingers at him as though meeting him for the first time. "Yeah, an' I'm Kestrel, apparently," he said tiredly, saying his own name for the first time. Kestrel. Huh. Now that he thought about it more, it was kinda spiffy.

The tail didn't bother him much. It was strange, but c'mon--he had wings. If he complained about a tail, he'd be a big fuckin' hypocrit. He watched as the tail manipulated the key in the door, mildly impressed, and soon the door was open and they were walking inside while Kestrel held his breath and hoped his wings would make it inside without smacking the doorframe. Thank some deity they made it, and soon he was looking around the inside of the room which had...

Lotsa animals.

Kestrel paled when he spotted spiders.

"Why's it gotta be spiders...?" he muttered to himself, shuddering, before he pulled his eyes away and peered back up at Dante. "Oh...er...nice," he said, this time in a tone meant for Dante to hear. "Right. Oh yeah, 'bout what happened earlier, sorry, but next time can ya kinda warn me first before ya pull somethin' like that, yeah? Advance warnin's nice...so I don't break your nose."

[Anonymous]

Oh dear... had he come off a little more threatening then he meant? Plague hardly paused to entertain the momentary struggle, his own natural strength making it little more then a slight bother to keep the boy in his arms. He waited a few moments, just about to tighten his arms to still the squirming boy, when he stopped of his own accord. Good, that would be less painful for him. It was much easier to concentrate with Kestrel limp in his arms, the press of his weight, his body and his shattered wings, drawing a tiny delighted smile across Plague's lips.

He couldn't stifle the slow warm little chuckle at the boy's quite introduction; so there was something softer behind his rough front after all. All the better.

"Kestrel; what a lovely name," he said, nudging the door shut with the triangular point at the very tip of his tail. The heavy thing shut with a resounding snap, and for a moment the room was filled only with darkness, and the faint blue glow of aquarium-lights. The shadows of rat's tails and spider's legs crept across the walls until finally, a few long moments later, Plague's tail located a light switch and flicked it on. Bright white light flooded the room.

"Don't like spiders? Mine are really quite friendly..." he approached the cage, tail darting forwards and easily flicking open the wire latch that held the grate atop the glass tank shut. When the door was open he turned the triangular tip of his tail flat against the the bottom of the cage, allowing one of the spiders to creep on. He lifted it, holding it just off the ground of the cage for a few long moments.

"... I suppose I can show you Alicia later; now we need to get you some pain killers," he said, placing the spider down and locking the door to the cage. "I'll keep in mind what you said about warning you first," he added with a completely amused grin, his teeth shockingly white, and just the slightest bit too sharp. "I simply couldn't stand to see such a magnificent creature on that awful dirty ground for one more moment."

As Plague spoke he took Kestrel through another doorway, down a dimly lit all, to the very last room in the the row. Both doors they went to needed to be unlocked before they entered, but Plague seemed to have no trouble with his hands full, due to his exceedingly dexterous tail. Inside the final room was an examination table, an aquarium of tropical fish, and a huge wall to ceiling glass cabinet.

"I'm going to put you down now; brace yourself for a little pain," he said, gaze fixed with starling focus on Kestrel's face as he oh so carefully placed the winged boy down, so he was sitting. "Lay on your stomach, if you please..." and just like that the focus was broken, and Plague was at the cabinet, pulling out various items. There was a roll of linen bandages, some cast plaster, pins, veils of some clear fluid... and a long sinister looking syringe. He placed the glistening silver thing on the counter quite close to Kestrel, watching the boy from the corner of his eye as he began to mix the plaster, forever smiling softly.

"And where would you like that?" he asked, referring to the needle.

[Rhi-Rhi]

It was so creepy. Kestrel tried not to show it, but those shadows were giving him the heebie jeebies, the hair at the nape of his neck prickling. He started to think better of this; maybe this wasn't a good idea, maybe he should leave and find a hospital. The guy seemed concerned, but he hadn't really asked to be brought to his office--more like just scooped up and taken, and he wasn't sure he liked where he'd been brought.

He decided he hated it when Dante actually opened up the fucking aquarium and picked up a spider. Kestrel jerked, actually leaning back as though that woud put more distance between he and the freaky insect.

"I don't fuckin' care how friendly the things are, that thing comes anywhere near me an' it's meeting the bottom of my shoe an' I won't be payin' for a new one!" he snarled, relieved when Dante closed the lid. "That even sanitary?"

He ignored the comment concerning him being a magnificent creature or something like that. Or tried to. The constant throbbing ache in his wings and being dragged into a room filled with spiders and other creepy crawlies and getting manhandled had put him in a fantastically grouchy mood, and the first thing that popped into his head was a question of the guy's orientation. What the fuck, is he hitting on me...?

Getting up and finding a hospital was sounding better and better. Maybe after he got some pain killers. He could accept that much; if he was going to be doing any walking, he'd need them.

They entered the examination room, and Kestrel held his breath and braced himself as he was set down on the table, and when it was over he exhaled and tried to relax, but his golden eyes followed everything Dante did. Just hurry up and get the pain meds. When told to lay on his stomach, Kestrel made no motion to do so. "Are ya gonna gimme those pain me--"

His words cut off and all the blood drained from his face. That was about the time Dante pulled out the evil looking syringe and set it down next to him. Oh fuck me.

For a momemt he stared at the needle, and then he stared at Dante, head tilting to the side and eyebrows raising as though he were trying to process some rather difficult information. Wait. Wait. Whoa. Back up. Okay. Did he have this right? This guy? Was the doctor. There were live animals and spiders in his house. He was in a back room now, doc was pulling stuff out, one thing included a huge ass syringe, aaaand...

He hadn't washed his hands. He hadn't put new gloves on. He hadn't sterilized the needle. He hadn't cleaned the spot he was gonna stick said needle. HE WAS ASKING HIM WHERE TO STICK SAID NEEDLE.

"Whoa! Fuck that, man!" Kestrel exclaimed, just about falling off the table in his haste to scramble off it on the other wise--the furthest distance away from doctor and needle alike. Pain shot through his wings and he had to grab onto the table to keep from crumpling, clenching his teeth together to keep from yelling out. He hissed through his teeth, breath catching in his throat, and then looked up to shoot the man an incredulous look.

"You...ya gotta be shittin' me. You're supposed to be the doctor! Where do I want that? BACK IN THE FUCKIN' CLOSET AT THIS FREAKIN' RATE! Are ya even a doctor?! I didn't see ya sterilize that an' you're supposed to wash your hands and change your gloves and is this table clean?! Ya gotta like put paper on it or somethin' and is that plaster?! Ya can't plaster my wings and...y'know what, forget it! I...thanks for the help an' stuff, but I think now I'm up, I can prob'ly walk...find a proper hospital..."

One that didn't have spiders in it, one where the doctors seemed to know what they were doing. He didn't know much about the medical field or nothin', but he knew that much. Gotta sterilize stuff. Maybe he was just being a germaphobe, but...these were his wings. And that was one freaky-ass needle. He didn't wanna get someone's AIDS or something.

[Anonymous]

Plague watched the boy scramble, a fairly blank look to his single eye while a slow, almost paternal smile slipped across his lips. Against his chest he was holding a bowl of plaster, using a long metal stick to stir the powder with the water he had added from the tiny sink in the corner. He stirred the mixture leisurely, in no real rush. The only way out of the room was through the door, and that was behind Plague himself. No way he would let Kestrel leave... the logical part of his mind knew retaining the boy would do nothing, and yet...

He recalled that horrible night that lay only weeks in the past; the bloody feathers, the stretched angelic wings... and he just wanted to keep Kestrel.

"Please, I don't want to see you hurting yourself," he said in a soft, unreadable voice. Placing down the bowl he slowly lifted his hands, showing the pale gray plaster caked onto the tips of his otherwise immaculate white gloves.

"I was planning to change my gloves, after mixing the plaster; which I might add, is only for the joints that connect your wings to your back, so it will be less painful for you to move about. The needle will be sterilized just before it is used, so it will not spend any idle time sitting around where it could become dirty again," he couldn't help but let a little satisfaction show on his face. He had spent enough time pretending to be a doctor to put on a convincing show.

"As for the table, rather then use paper from god only knows where, I clean it myself after every use. And, in case you were not aware, there are several places a needle can be inserted which are all equally effective. The top of the hand, the inside of the elbow, the thigh, the top of the foot, or the shoulder are a common few. All I need is to be able to find a vein, and since I'm quite sure those are abundant everywhere in your body, I simply wish to know where you would feel most comfortable being injected." Ah yes, he was quite skilled at playing the cool professional when need be. What could the boy say to that? He had answered every paranoid concern!  

Almost just for show, Plague headed over to the sink, turning so his back was to Kestrel. There was a convenient and purposefully placed leafy houseplant between them, so it would be difficult to see just what the "doctor" was doing. Using quick, hard to read actions, Plague switched on the tap and removed his gloves. He knew Kestrel wouldn't be able to see his hands between the positioning and the plant, yet having his gloves off at any time -other then when he knew it would not matter moments later- was less than comfortable. He grabbed a pair of clean white latex gloves from a box just beside the sink, and tugged them on. Then, just for good measure, he washed them under the water.

None of it really mattered; not a microbe in the room moved without his consent. Accidental infection was not a problem. Ironically enough, his examination rooms where probably the cleanest places in the whole city.

"If you really wish to go to the hospital, I can not stop you," he lied with a wide smile, turning to face Kestrel once more. He lifted his newly gloved hands, showing them to the boy. "But those wait times are horrible, you may not get to see a doctor for hours..." he paused, letting Kestrel imagine hours of the pain he was suffering, "and you've got me right here, waiting patiently for you to tell me where it is you feel most comfortable being injected with some much needed pain killer."

He grabbed a bottle and a little disposable cloth from the counter next to the sink, took up the needle and cleaned it. Again, it was only for show. The bottle was full of water. Accidental infection was a sheer impossibility.

"Now, if you would kindly tell me where it is you would like your injection, I can ease that horrible pain you must be feeling, especially from all your struggling... then if you would please lay on your stomach, I will gladly get to mending your beautiful wings."

[Rhi-Rhi]

Kestrel shifted uncomfortably and chewed on his bottom lip to try and distract from the pain that throbbed in his wings with each frantic heartbeat, panting lightly. He didn't care if he was pretty damned tired and if the walk would be excruciating, he was so out of here. He could just...take a shuttle or something. Wouldn't even have to walk. Once he caught his breath and steadied his shaky limbs, he was going right out that door.

But his hesitation allowed Dante to speak and explain himself and Kestrel, for lack of being able to move yet, listened and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. See what he had to say about all that.

As Dante spoke Kestrel began to feel a little foolish, yet still skeptical, but the more Dante explained, the more it made sense. Dante addressed every concern Kestrel had raised, and Kestrel was swiftly running out of excuses. Why was he so paranoid, anyway? Probably because he'd never been big on hospitals and stuff and, though he'd never admit it, he was a little germaphobic. Not in the sense that he had to wipe off door handles or wouldn't shake someone's hand, but common sense things! Especially with needles. He'd seen far too many people pick up crazy ass stuff sharing needles.

...Wait, he had? Kestrel blinked at the random memory, though it was less of a memory and more of an instinct, an innate feeling. Huh.

He began to relax a little, shoulders slouching in defeat (which didn't make his wings feel any better; every time his shoulder blades flexed it just hurt more) as Dante went over to the sink and washed his hands, alleviating Kestrel's last concern. He even changed his gloves and showed him. He'd fulfilled every standard hospital procedure that Kestrel was aware of--or at least that he'd observed himself on his own routine check-ups--and he shifted from one leg to the other awkwardly. Hopefully he hadn't offended the man too much shouting those accusations, but he'd admit it, the animals in the place (well, the spiders) had put him on edge. He still didn't like that, but come to think of it he didn't really want to have to take a shuttle and go to a hospital that was who knew where and wait to be checked in for who knew how long when he had a perfectly good doctor right here willing to patch him up.

Wait.

Blinking in sudden realization while Dante sterilized the needle, Kestrel tried to remember if he had much credit to his name and then looked up at Dante with a pained, somewhat helpless expression on his face. Oh shit. He couldn't remember. Er. Should he tell him now? No, what if he turned him away? Good thing he hadn't gone to one of the big hospitals or he might be busted. Here at least he could just...erm...run away? Right. With broken wings and everything. Completely reasonable and possible. Uh huh.

Naw, the guy seemed nice enough. A bit strange, strange enough to make Kestrel wary, but he'd be wary of any doctor about to stick him with a needle.

"Uh...I'll just take my arm I guess," Kestrel said slowly, lifting his left arm and rolling the sleeve up to his shoulder. He bit back a whimper when the motion rotated his shoulder blades and sent pain ripping through his wings, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes though he blinked them back. On the bright side, he wouldn't feel the needle for his wings and it would take the pain away, right? "I don't really care where, just...make sure ya clean the area and stuff and tell me before ya do it," he muttered, turning his head away so he wouldn't have to watch it happen. Then he looked back.

"Wait, it's not gonna make me go numb or somethin' is it? Should I get on the table first? Um, I'll get on the table." It was more just him stalling than anything, but with that said Kestrel climbed gingerly up onto the table, breath hitching sharply in his throat with every movement, before he finally just flopped onto his stomach, breathing heavily from exertion. He rested his head on his right arm and turned his head away again, his exposed left arm hanging over the side of the table. "Alright. Shoot. get it over with."

[Anonymous]

Dante worked hard not to smile too widely as he watched Kestrel's resolve slowly crack. The man was quite aware that he could be damn unnerving if he wasn't careful, so paid extra attention to keeping his smile small and soft, so not accidentally sinister, or predatory. The boy's slouching shoulders seemed to be the final sign of defeat, when all of the sudden he took on a bluntly panicked look. Plague tilted his head just slightly, a delicate curious action, his fingers slowly turning the long glass body of the syringe around and around. The tip of the needle glistened and blinked in the low white light.

"What ever is the matter, Kestrel?" he spoke the name slowly, and with a quiet careful relish; a name he had chosen, as if for a pet. It was just as he had chosen for all of the creatures that graced his many aquariums. Inwardly he smiled, feeling a dark murky glee bubble up inside his chest. This one was different; it would not be kept behind glass, that was for certain, but still kept.

"What kind of pain killer would it be, if it would not make you numb?" Plague asked, a slight bit of amusement leaking into his voice. Kestrel was quite the adorable creature, while flustered. Plague hummed softly as he moved, easily transforming the notes of 'Amazing Grace' into slow eerie sounds that hung heavy in the air. He pulled a small stool next to the table, sitting himself down and again taking up his cloth. With his free hand he grasped Kestrel's wrist, a surprising bit of strength in the gesture for such slim elegant hands. Placing the needle down for brief moment on the counter, the doctor gently touched the pad of his finger to the inside of Kestrel's elbow, running across the slight crease in his pale skin, until stopping just above a vein. He could feel the boy's pulse there; rapid, frantic.

The smile that had been sitting so gently on Plague's lips widened just a touch, his eye softening with seemingly heartbreakingly real concern.

"Do calm down, Kestrel," he said quietly, "it will all be over in a moment." The finger that was hovering so gently over the soft spot inside Kestrel's elbow drifted up, tracing the vein (quite impressively; a stunt other doctors would find impressive and fascinating) up to a spot on the outside of the boy's arm, a little below his shoulder. "Ready?" he asked with a practiced perfect sweetness, dabbing the chosen spot with the damp cloth that had been tucked under two curled fingers. Taking up the needle, he held the point of it just before Kestrel's skin, counting a few cruel seconds to himself. With one hand still clasped tightly around the boy's wrist, he could feel the sheer panic in each racing heart beat.

Even five seconds seemed to stretch unreasonably when creeping by under the point of a needle, so that was all he counted before pressing it forward, his eyes fixed on the point as it dipped into Kestrel's skin. It was an oddly gentle action, the tip struggling for a moment before finally piercing through. Plague let the medication sink in slowly, his gaze shifting to the boy's face.

The pain killer was quite strong, and would effectively wipe out almost all of the boy's discomfort. What made this thought bearable for Plague was the fact that the medication was laced with the slightest bit of Streptococcus pyogenes Bacterium, which he planned on manifesting into a brilliant case of Scarlet Fever. He wouldn't kill the boy with it, no, in fact he would cure Kestrel of it.  

The best victims where the ones that he could make trust him, after all. Those were the most satisfying by far.

"There, all done... feel any better?"

[Rhi-Rhi]

"Oh...right," Kestrel muttered, blushing lightly as he realized how dumb that question had been, Dur, what else did a pain killer do? It didn't make the pain magically go away, it numbed it. Not his fault if he couldn't think clearly, though; he had a valid excuse. His head felt clouded by pain, the only thing he could really focus on being that constant, sharp throb in his wings. They were tucked up against his back, black-tipped blue-gray feathers dusting along the backs of his legs, one wing bent out at an odd angle and half hanging off the table limply. Just get it over with. Just so he didn't have to deal with it anymore.

Head turned away from Dante, he stared at the nearest wall and grit his teeth when he realized what it was Dante was humming. Amazing Grace? Of all the bloody things he could have chosen to hum at this exact moment he chose Amazing Grace. What. The. Fuck. Was that supposed to make him feel any better? Because it wasn't. It made him thing funeral and that really wasn't a nice thought to have in his head while he was laying on a table and a doctor was probing his arm for a vein.

"That's not poison, is it?" Kestrel blurted out with a nervous chuckle, an attempt at making a funny though it kind of failed because it was, secretly, a valid concern. Dante was running his fingers up from the inside of his elbow to the outside of his arm, obviously having found what he'd been looking for, and goosebumps pricked up all along his skin. It was partially because of the doctor's touch--which was desperately making him want to squirm; he was being so slow about it and Kestrel didn't really like being touched--and partly because he knew what would be coming next as Dante dabbed his skin with the wet cloth.

"I'm calm," Kestrel muttered back, though it was a lie. His heart felt about to explode in his chest, blood pounding in his ears, his hands felt clammy, and he felt damned foolish for being more afraid of a frickin' needle than he was of having broken wings. It was completely irrational and he knew it; needles didn't even hurt that much! He tried telling himself that, but he didn't want to believe himself.

He felt the sharp point of the needle touch his skin and clenched his eyes shut against a sudden wave of dizziness and a twist of nausea. His other hand clutched at the edge of the table as though for a lifeline and he buried his face into the crook of his arm. What the fuck was taking him so long?! "I'm ready, I'm ready, just...just do it," he snapped and prayed Dante would find the vein the first time. If he didn't, if he was one of those doctors that had a tendency to miss and wanted to try again, he felt like he'd throttle him.

The seconds seemed to drag by until finally he felt the tip press down and felt the sting of the needle piercing skin. He held his breath, waited, and kept his mouth clamped shut and eyes closed until Dante said it was done. Only then did he lift his head and look. The tension had left his face but his heart was still beating rapidly and his breathing was still short and quick, but gods did he feel relieved that it was over.

Kestrel slumped back down on the table with a long sigh. He didn't feel the difference yet--he imagined it would take a minute or so for the medication to travel through his body--but he could still answer that question. "Yeah...much better," he muttered, giving Dante a shrewd look. "Tons better now I don't got a fuckin' huge ass needle in me. Oi...don't think ya coulda gone any slower..."

[Anonymous]

"That's not poison, is it?"

"Goodness, I should hope not," Plague responded with a slow, somewhat foxish smile. He gave the needle a little wipe with his damp cloth and tossed both into a little box shaped container lined with plastic. The side of box was decorated with a sharp black and white symbol that implied medical waste.

Plague was perfectly aware, wonderfully aware of every single effect he had on Kestrel, and yet managed to wear an expression of flawless ignorance. He fained sheer concentration on what he was doing, his humming continuing until he had repeated the song at least twice, before finally he allowed the silence back into the little room. He wondered why the boy would lie so obviously; perhaps it was more to convince himself then anything.    

He heard the snap in Kestrel's voice but said absolutely nothing until the needle was disposed of and he had gone to the sink to rinse his hands.

"I do believe we've already established that I know what I'm doing," he said in an airy, almost teasing voice. "So if I'm taking my time, there simply must be a reason." Plague took up the bowl of plaster he had left, as well as a role of thick white bandages from the cabinet. Placing himself on the stool he let the bowl sit in his lap while he took to slicing the linen wrap into strips, and laying them on the table just at Kestrel's side.

"I'm afraid we have a bit of a problem," he said with the slightest of frowns, finally setting down the scissors. Next he took up one of the strips and swirled it through the plaster, allowing it to linger in the bowl while his other hand drifted towards Kestrel's wing. They were so beautiful, especially broken, it almost pained Plague to fix them at all. Still, he knew it was a necessary evil.

Knowing the pain killer should be in effect by now, Plague carefully lifted each wing and spread them. This would make it easier for him to get at the joints that connected the wings to the back, and also to correct any obvious breaks in the bone. Then, taking up the soaked bit of wrapping, Plague began to wrap the joint where Kestrel's left wing joined his back. This would lock the joint into place, taking the weight off of it and keeping it from moving about, and causing unnecessary pain.

"Our problem, dear bird, is that with your memory out of commission, I know not what to do once my treatment is complete. I know not of  anyone I should call to fetch you, nor if you have a home I could deliver you too, myself. Without the knowledge of even your name, I lack the means to find any of these things myself," there was careful, refined sympathy in this voice; not so much as to offend the boy, but enough to make Plague sound genuinely concerned.

"I would not suggest you leave this night either way, as I'd like to keep you for observation... You did spend some time on that filthy ally floor with all these open wounds..." he referred to where bones had broken the skin of Kestrel's wings, where the feathers were matted with blood. "Still, the question arises of what should be done after this evening..."

Plague was perfectly ready to supply a room, and all the tender loving care the little stray would need, but he would not offer right away. No, that would be off putting to the boy, he was sure. He would let Kestrel imagine the possibility of wondering the streets alone and directionless first, and see what kind of reaction that spawned in him. He waited to see what kind of thoughts he could divine from Kestrel's expression, all the while working to patch the boy's wings. While speaking he had finished with the first wing joint, and was just now moving to the other.

[Rhi-Rhi]

Kestrel looked away, heaved an agitated sigh into the crook of his arm, and rolled his yellow eyes. "Right right, yeah..." he muttered. That know-it-all attitude was really gonna get on his nerves really quickly, but now that the adrenaline was winding down and he was no longer in searing pain, he was finally starting to feel fatigued. Stress, pain, and fear had done a number on his body, and now that the worst was over he allowed himself to relax. He'd seen Dante take out the roll of bandages so all that was left was wrapping up his wings and, while hard and cold, Kestrel felt like he could fall asleep right here on the table.

He'd been passed out in an alley before this, after all. Wasn't a stretch at all.

With another sigh, he closed his eyes and nuzzled his face against his arm, fairly comfortable and exhausted enough to no longer care that Dante still weirded him out, kindly doctor or not. It was probably just his natural wariness coupled with being hurt and out of his element--he sure wasn't used to being helpless, though this wasn't the first time he'd broken anything; his bones were lighter and more fragile than a human's to allow flight. But it also didn't help that Dante didn't seem to know how to keep some things to himself.

For instance, a doctor should never utter the words, "I'm afraid we have a bit of a problem," in front of a nervous and flighty patient.

Kestrel jerked fully awake and looked at Dante, yellow eyes wide. "What?" he asked, heart leaping into his throat. Dante had one of his wings lifted and spread though he could hardly feel it, and a quick glance at it made him want to be sick. Bloody, matted...oh god was that bone? He bit his bottom lip and swallowed, tearing his eyes away. What if they were infected? What if they were gonna get gangrene and had to be amputated?

He could feel Dante start to wrap the joint, and a thought suddenly struck him: Wait, they're still all bloody... But before he could say anything about that Dante spoke, and that temporarily drove the thought from his mind.

Oh shit.

Kestrel hadn't thought of that.

"Uhh..." He lowered his eyes to the table and rubbed at his head--mostly so he didn't let it drop down against the table like he wanted it to. "Fuck. Good question."

Gnawing at his lip, he tried to think, tried to remember, but his head still felt fuzzy. It no longer hurt like it had earlier thanks to the painkiller he assumed, but that did nothing to help his memory out and his mind felt like one huge blank. He could remember random things about himself, like that he liked spicy food and rock music, hated being touched and spiders freaked him out, but everything else was gone, including his name. Everything that remained was mostly just instincts and feelings as opposed to actual facts and memories. It was really weird. Felt like his brain had been scrambled.

With a groan, he let his forehead drop down against the table with an audible thunk. "Alright. So can I just stay here for the observation thingy or whatev?" he asked at length, talking into the table. "Tomorrow..." His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Dunno. I'll figure it out. S'not your problem, it's mine. Oh hey!" The open wounds thing reminded him!

He reached behind him with one arm to swat at Dante as he went for his other wing, moith twisted into a frown. "Hold up! What're ya doin'? They're still bloody an' gross! Ain'tcha s'pposed to clean them before ya wrap them?"

[Anonymous]

"Yes, Kestrel," Plague replaied with a touch of playful irritation. "I am wrapping the joints, and only these joints, here," he very gently touched the tip of his gloved finger to the place where Kestrel's back branched into wings. "Once the plaster hardens I will be able to clean, reset, and tie you wings into slings with much less pain on your part. The plaster cast will stop the strain on your back but if I were to apply it to your wntire wings..." he paused, flicking his head to the side to rid his face of a few long silvery ribbons of hair. His hands were busy and dirty after all; not his fault the gesture came off so feminine. "Well, the heavy plaster might crush the poor little things, and what a pity that would be, ne?"

Plague chuckled lightly, shaking his head from side to side like a parent dealing with an unruly child. "You really don't trust that I know what I'm doing, do you, little bird?" he smiled, and his teeth were perfectly white. The hair that usually hung across half of his face was sitting flatly against his gently pointed ear, showing the patch the covered where his left eye should be. It was a slick black leather piece decorated with an intricate equal armed silver cross.  

As Plague had been speaking, he had finished the cast at the base the first wing, and moved onto the next. It looked as if his actions were effortless, and yet he was absurdly gentle. It was a tenderness that not very many doctors managed to hold onto; Doctors who knew they did not have time to lavish careful touches on one person when ten more waited in the other room. Dr. Dante worked as if he had all the time, attention, and care in the world for the creature that lay splayed across his table.

"And yes, you may stay for the... 'observation thing'. I would be delighted to supply you with a room and a bed. There are a few spare rooms here, free of charge for patients in need, of course," finally Plague drew back, examining his own work on the plaster casts. They looked perfect; thick enough to hold but not to hurt. He had practice with broken wings after all; his own were rather fragile.

If only to appease Kestrel, Plague moved back to the sink and behind the convenient house plant, switched his gloves and washed his hands. He returned to his stool at Kestrel's side with a pale pearl colored cloth and a bowl of steaming water.

"To calm your mind I'll inform you that the water is laced with disinfectant, and it's rather on the warm side, to kill germs," he said with a sly almost playful smile. His gaze drifted across Kestrel's wings with a sort of eerie awe; he could hardly decide where to begin. He decided the bones that jutted from the feathers needed the most immediate attention, and so after dabbing the cloth in the water, -and keeping in mind the pain killer would still keep the boy mostly numb- he gently braced the wing, and began to clean the wound.

Plague had to brace his own hands not to shake with the effort it took not to close, to tighten until he heard cracking. 'Hm, perhaps I'm a little more like elder brother then I'd like to admit,' he thought. He thought perhaps that the silence had become to heavy, or that he may have even been starring, or touching a little too lightly. He cleared his throat and said in a light and concerned tone, "I do hope the water feels alright... is the temperature alright, Kestrel?"

[Rhi-Rhi]

And for the millionth time this night, Kestrel was left feeling rather dumb. But it wasn't a bad thing he was asking so many questions, right? He'd heard about medical malpractice and of overworked doctors forgetting about the little details due to exhaustion. Staff infections ran rampant in hospitals. It was only wise to be alert in case the doctor wasn't because you had to look out for your own health, too.

Or maybe Kestrel really was just overly paranoid. He was no doctor. He hadn't gone to med school. Dante was beginning to sound a little irritated so maybe he should just shut up and let the professional doctor do his professional doctor things? Kestrel huffed a breath and forced himself to relax again, eyes closing. "No...ya know what you're doin'..." he admitted in a resigned sort of tone, like in saying that he was admitting defeat. Why defeat? Not a clue. Maybe it was his nature to be stubborn and fight every step of the way.

"Just stop callin' me 'bird'. I'm not a bird."

Honestly, just 'cause he had wings...

He fell quiet after that though he did turn his head to face Dante when his neck started getting sore from resting in the same position for too long. Dante was fast at work, so gentle Kestrel hardly felt his touches, and he watched the doctor through heavy, half lidded yellow eyes. The eyepatch, which he hadn't noticed before, was curious. Maybe he'd treated a patient more unruly than him once? Kestrel snorted, reminded that he'd been tempted to punch Dante a few times back in the alley, and he let his eyes droop shut. It was hard to keep them open anymore and when he did he had to blink them a lot. At this point he just wanted to sleep and the sound of a bed, even a stranger's bed, never sounded better.

He was in no mood to fight anymore.

"Mm...tha--" He stopped as a large yawn cut the words off. "Thanks."

Kestrel only cracked his eyes open again when he heard him rise off the stool, heard the soft sounds of his shoes against the tile floor and the sound of running water. Mm. Good. He was changing his gloves again. His eyes drifted shut again and he shifted just a little, so he could fold his arms under his head. The table wasn't very comfortable after a long period of time.

Only one eye opened this time when Dante spoke, just so he could quickly take in the bowl (and make sure the man had no sharp scary doctory objects; you never knew). He gave a little nod and nuzzled his face into his arms, breath hissing softly at the slight sting of disinfectant against the torn skin. The painkiller had taken away the worst of the pain but a dull, annoying throb still remained and he could barely feel the disinfectant. Without that painkiller, he had a feeling he'd have been screaming from the moment Dante first touched his wing to put the plaster on it.

"It's fine," he said, voice far away and distant sounding from grogginess as his strength quickly faded. Aside from the slight sting, the water felt nice. Warm. Soothing. Clean. Just knowing his wings were being cleaned of all that nastiness and infection-inducing stuff was enough to make him feel better--though he still felt like he needed a shower, all sweaty and grimey from alley junk. "It feels good..."

[Anonymous]

Despite his little displeased grumbles at Plague's chosen nickname for him, Kestrel seemed to be calming down. Fatigue seemed to drain the bite from his temperament and now he just seemed placid, and exhausted. A small watery smiled crossed Plague's face, his singular eye fixed with rapt attention on the wounds he was cleansing.

"It feels good..."

"I'm glad. Poor little thing, you've been though enough displeasure to deserve a little relief," he responded quietly, paying special attention to a filthy little crease between two of the longer firmer feathers. He was not just cleaning the wounds but methodically irradiating every single imperfection he could find; Plague himself was a bit of a neat-freak, and it was more then apparent that the grime bothered Kestrel. He was sure the little bird would appreciate his close attentions, even if it dragged the process on, and  Kestrel did look ready to fall asleep right on the table.

"Almost done, Kestrel," he lulled, feeling a tiny knot of frustration that soon he would have to stop. He could touch those wings all night and day; clean them and fix them if only to break them, and do it over again. He indulged in the little fantasy for a moment or two, a wide delighted smile creeping across his face.

The bones that had been knocked out of place had all been gently nudged back, coaxed under the skin and feather, the wounds clean. Plague gently folded them shut, knowing the pressure of such a posture would keep the bones in place, until they healed. From his trusty cabinet he pulled a thick roll of wide linen wrap, the very kind he used on his arms to stop from bleeding through his clothing. He wrapped each wing in a sort of sling, so it would remain folded against Kestrel's back and yet not be squeezed or confined in any way that might be uncomfortable.

"There we are," he said, rewarding the boy a type of smile that often followed the phrase 'job well done.' "Now if you'll allow me a moment to change my gloves, I'll take you to your room. If you can sit up that would be lovely, I can't lift you from that position without hurting your poor beautiful little wings."

In a action uncommon for Plague, he turned with a little swing of his tail. The appendage was usually hidden, concealed by magic or by the long tails of his suit jacket or doctor's coat, but today it swung about like a pendulum by his ankles, a small delighted gesture. It was oddly colored, a pale sickly looking green, spotted darker in spots until it almost looked bruise-blue. The very tip was triangular, curved at the corners, like a classic devil's tail. He was humming to himself again, but this time it was a jazzy old-times song, slow and smooth. He hummed wordlessly over the sound of the running water, and only picked up with the words after sliding on his white cotton gloves.

"Somebody is to blame - Can't you see I love you so, I love you so, Ahhh, - God Almighty, - how I love you..." the words dropped off and he hummed for a few more moments, before returning to Kestrel. "Come on now, I'll take you to your room," he said with a dull summery smile. Without leaving much room for protest he locked an arm around the boy's shoulders -above the wings, of course- to stop him from faltering. He was sure between the pain killers, and his own fatigue, that Kestrel would not be to steady on his feat.

There was a confusing tangle of hallways and dark doors that led deep into the building, farther and farther from the front room where they had first entered. It might have been worrying, if not for the special room Plague had chosen to donate to the little bird.

"Here we are," he quietly announced, using his tail just for show this time to unlock the door and gently nudge it open. Murky moonlight flooded the room, pouring from the tall narrow windows that dominated the far wall, displaying the sky and the city just beyold the glass. Thick dusty purple curtains were drawn to the side, offering privacy if needed. An antique bed rested in the center of the room, its clawed feet sinking heavily into the carpet. Intricate patterns of roses and their thorns decorated the headboard.  There was also a night-table, a little lamp, and a plain, empty dresser.  

"I hope it's not to decorated for your tastes. The fact is I scarcely own a single room that is anything like one would imagine. All my guest quarters are .... unique," he looked down to Kestrel, waiting a few moments before finally unraveling his grip slightly on the boy's shoulders. Plague guessed that by now the boy might be to tired to comment... but he wasn't positive.

A tiny anticipating smile tugged the corners of his lips, and the tips of his fingers itched. It would be soon, in mere hours he could call that red fever to life under Kestrel's skin. Perhaps he'd allow the boy a full nights sleep and greet him with the fever in the morning... or perhaps he'd wake the poor boy in the dead of the night.  


((OOC: That song Plague was singing: Broken Wings, by  John Mayall I.... hope Kestrel doesn't know it xDDD! ))

[Rhi-Rhi]

Kestrel endured the rest of his treatment without complaint, mainly for the fact that he spent it drifting in and out of sleep. Occassionally he'd nod off, but a twinge of pain or a word from Dante would snap him back to consciousness, only to start to drift off again. He was aware of Dante moving his wings into position and wrapping them up, his breath hitching here and there and his muscles twitching in slight pain, but his body was for the most part dead set on shutting down for the rest of the night and he liked that idea, too.

Then Dante spoke again, the words slowly filtering through the sleepy haze and to his brain, and it took a few moments for Kestrel to register the words and make sense of them. Thus his reaction was a bit delayed, and by the time his eyes snapped open Dante was already washing his hands. Oh right, sit up. Yawning loudly, Kestrel slid his hands under his body and pushed himself up with a groan, his muscles quite stiff from laying on a hard table for so long and his back and wings were obviously achey, too, though not much from the painkiller. Careful of his wings and the long flight feathers, Kestrel reached behind himself to move the feathers out of the way so he could turn, slowly, and sit with his feet dangling over the side of the table. He rubbed at his eyes sleepily and wiped at the corner of his mouth, then quickly checked the table to make sure he hadn't drooled on it. Ahem. He hadn't. Good.

Over the sound of the water he heard Dante humming again, and then singing, and he raised an eyebrow. Weird song...

Was this guy some sort of religious nut? Amazing Grace, now singing about God, the way he'd called him 'angel'. Eugh. He wrapped his arms around himself, sort of sitting doubled over since it was hard to sit upright when he wanted to fall asleep. Whatever, the guy had fixed him so he couldn't really insult him.

Dante finally walked over and took him by the shoulders, and Kestrel came down off the table and nearly fell over as for a second he forgot how to use his legs. He clung to Dante, hands gripping the man's clothes for support, and muttered an apology as he was lead away and to his room.

He hardly even noticed the room's decor. His barely-open eyes were focused solely on the bed, which never looked better.

"Wha...? Oh...no, s'fine," Kestrel said tiredly, unlatching himself from Dante and stumbling the remaining few steps to the bed. At this point, he was too tired to be even paranoid as he basically fell onto the bed, stretched out onto his belly since that was really the only way he could comfortably sleep, anyway. After that, there was no time for a 'thank you' or 'good night.' The moment he hit the bed, he was out.