ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Ashur The former Legionnaire has been confined to bed rest for more than a day now. Sedatives, painkillers, and an all-around toughness have seen him through the worst of the pain-- the searing lances that fired his nerves as dead skin was cut away, wounds were cleaned and disinfected, bullets pried out of the muscular flesh they lodged themselves in. It was a miracle he had no internal organ damage; he was rattled up, and he'll limp for awhile until the leg heals, and his head got knocked a bit, but he's not crippled.

Just very, very injured.

He currently rests in a bed in a small private room. His feet hang over the end of it, and layers of blankets rest atop his mostly-nude form. A pillow is propped beneath his neck.
Kurokumo Mibojin      Gently opening the door, Kurokumo finds her mark as she quietly pads her way inside. Her temper may be hot some days, but the fear beaten into her at a young age have trained her feet well. Settling down upon the chair next to the bed, the Asian woman simply stares at the the slumbering man in silence.
Ashur Even beneath the blankets, the extent of his wounds is obvious. The stitches over his brow tore again; his chest, when the coverings pull low in his sleepy stirrings, is a patchwork mix of grafts and gauze and bruise.

Kumo has seen him after a deathclaw had its way. This is worse.

The dark walls of the room help keep it gently-lit, soaking in the ambient light and lending an almost cozy atmosphere to a place that could otherwise seem uncomfortably sterile. He groans.
Kurokumo Mibojin      Leaning forward from her perch, her hand slides over Ashur's shoulder for the barest of contact. "Look at you. Dancing with Death again." Kurokumo's words are hushed, lacking the bite that they would normally hold. This time, she almost lost someone close to her. Her mouth tightens, as she fights to keep darker memories today. Not today. "You better not get away from the Doctors today."
Ashur The sedatives have been wearing off for awhile. The man's fitful slumber breaks, and it is the touch of a soft hand to a bare shoulder that wakes up. One eye and then the other rise to gaze up in an intense golden stare from beneath a heavy, bloodied brow-- and settle, with a commanding focus, on the tight-mouthed woman. "My Kumo," he rumbles, and his voice is parched and dry. He opens his mouth in wide yawn. "You came to see me."
Kurokumo Mibojin      "Yeah, I came to see you. You stupid oaf." Already, Kurkumo's voice is heavy with warmth and resignation. Reaching to her side, she fishes an old canteen that has seen better days. "Sit up." There is no question, no polite inquiry from this young woman. The plastic cap is unscrewed as she sets to quench Ashur's thirst.
Ashur A creak of bone and bed signals Ashur's movements. Slow, guided by a dozen pains that compel him to move and twist and breathe in only the most specific of ways, he pulls himself to a seated position and uses the pillow as a rest for his tailbone. The blanket slips low and pools at his waist-- it exposes the entirety of his torso, burnt and battered and bandaged, with raised knots of scar tissue that weave around him in brutal calligraphy. "I killed him," he says, taking a sip from the canteen when she brings it to his lips. "The cowards with me fled, but I slew the Paladin of the Brotherhood in single combat."
Kurokumo Mibojin      Even though her hands are steady, Kurokumo's expression takes the form of strucken-awe. "You did...what?" Her tone is low, and even, no-nonsense and gently chiding in it's wake. What was he thinking? "I would rather you ran with the cowards instead of trying to die." It almost seems at times that he really is making the attempt, stubborn pride putting him in harm's way.
Ashur "A Brotherhood contubernium came upon us in the wake of our battle to protect a trader from ghouls," the man explains, sliding his hand to the back of Kumo's hip and pulling her to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. "They demanded we hand him over; declared us savages, unfit for the weapons we bore, and threatened to exterminate us if we did not comply. I would not stand for the insult-- the Profligate signed their death warrants." He draws in a deep breath, staring down at the girl. "And so I slew him. Try as he might, a host of their warriors were no match; before their eyes, I crushed their commanding officer's skull into powder, and spilled his brains upon the sand."
Kurokumo Mibojin      Ashur is nothing but persistent, even in his weakened state. Kurokumo chooses to slide over to the bed's edge, her mind leagues away from anything untoward in this medical setting. "You do have a way with words." The woman's humor is sardonic, hiding the pain and the worry in her chest.
Ashur As the bed dips a little more when Kurokumo sits, Ashur gives her hip a squeeze; then his hand is crawling up her side, over the feminine curves, and it seems for a moment his intention might be lustful, despite wound and setting-- but then his arm cuts over her chest, broad and muscular, and with a flex drags her back against him. She tilts over a little from the suddenness, forced to look at his face upside-down through her bangs. He smiles, and presses a chaste kiss to her forehead, holding the hug tight. His braids ticklishly spill around her shoulders and cheeks.

"It is a woman's place to worry," he begins.. ".. but a man's to come home. I live, my Kumo."
Kurokumo Mibojin      Lips pressing against her forehead, Kurokumo is filled with warmth as she's held close. She attempts to give him a gentle hug back, before trying to gently disentangle herself. "You need to take it easy." There's that chiding tone again, as Kurokumo tries to get her emotions squarely back into place.
Ashur Another kiss to her forehead before Ashur unwraps his arm from her upper body. There's a grope at a breast in passing, but it's instinct more than invitation-- he doesn't even have the energy. He reaches for the canteen again when she's free and up-ends it over his face, drinking deeply and letting the clean water run in rivulets down his face. It is cool and refreshing and darkens the dirt upon his skin. His hands clap to his visage and work the water in, rubbing it around and banishing the crust of sleep from his eyes. "Thank you for your concern," he says, and reaches with a partially wet hand to scritch and scratch her scalp. "It pleases me."
Kurokumo Mibojin      Wet hand descending upon her neatly kept hair (combed or close enough), Kurokumo literally shrinks from the affection. "You need a bath." It's true, Ashur attracts the Wasteland dust to himself like a magnet. Not like most of them get the luxury to bathe often, but now it's on Kurokumo's to-do list.
Ashur "Mm. Soon, I will be steady enough on my feet to leave here," he declares, "and I will groom myself then." He hasn't had the chance to bathe in awhile, and it's true he worked up quite a sweat amidst a storm of blood. He can use a facial trim, a wash, some touch-ups on his armor and clothes.. there's a lot needed, honestly. But for now, what he needs is rest. She recoils, but he seizes her all the same, and pulls her lips to his. "I will visit you soon. For now, let me sleep, beautiful."