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Ashur "Finally," rumbles the bull-like man, slaking his thirst for air and movement by sucking down a deep breath and striding through the medical room. Days of minor surgical operations, constant treatment of wounds, cycles of sedatives and painkillers to keep him from aggravating stitching and grafts, and finally the joys of medical technology and wisdom have given him the ability to walk on his own power with ease again.

There's a limp in his leg from where a laser shot clean through; the skin graft there is healing. But by all reports, it'll get better. Until then he just has to manage. He's still wearing the borrowed clothes Lilu acquired for him the day prior, an off-white shirt and tan trousers, clonking along in a pair of stout leather boots.

"Now how do I get out of here.."
Lilu "I swear. y'all don' listen t' a t'ing I say." Lilu mutters, eyeing the Princeling with her hands on her hips and a frustrated tap of her foot. "Easy, y'take de door." She explains with a roll of her violet eyes. Her hand motions for him to sit as she goes about the standard fair of cleaning her hands and readying to redress his wounds. "Don' mean t'hurt y'pride, but y'might wanna t'ink 'bout usin' a cane till y'leg's all healed up."

Should he do as she requests, she's soon by his side and pulling at his coverings, moving a damp cloth up to clean away any excess fluid and numbing salve. "Y'eatin' ok? N'restin' when y'can?" The Creole healer murmurs kindly, her eyes focusing on his wounds, with a glance toward his face as she speaks with him.
Ashur "I am not some old man struck by infirmity," the braided warrior declares with a fierce pridefulness, limping his way toward his decided seat as the healer washes her hands. His leg appreciates the weight taken off it even as the bed protests. When she comes to tend to him, he follows her physical directions without protest-- lift this arm, turn to that side, all so that he might be cleaned and tended to. "I eat what is brought, and have spent days doing nothing but rest," he explains, sounding less-than-pleased with that. "Your ministrations have been ample and talented; thanks to you, I have no doubts I will soon be fine."
Lilu "Didn' say y'were old. Said t'take de weight off y'leg till it heals." She corrects him, moving over each wound as gently as possible. Once all is said and done, she stands back, moving to toss the used bandages in a bag, giving his skin a bit of a chance to breathe. "Y'ain' stuck wit it f'eva, jus' till y'limp's gone. Take de pressure off, it'll heal betta." The woman continues, giving her hands another washing before returning with some linens and salve. Sitting across from him on another cot, she offers him a soft smile. "T'anks. I try. Ain' much 'f a fighter m'self. So, m'good at patchin' up de crazies dat go out dere." She muses.
Ashur "If it will improve the healing," Ashur concedes after a suppressed scowl, heavy brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down as he reflects on the mental image. "Then I will find a stout branch to lean on, or have one carved." He looks down at the leg-- long and thick with muscle, so hard it might well be sculpted from stone. To feel its weakness when he stands upon it feels like betrayal. His fingers grasp the knee.

"It is not a woman's place to fight; that you've chosen such a noble calling is admirable, and true to your purpose. There is a reason you excel." A bit of an.. old-fashioned sentiment, but the tone is complimentary enough.
Lilu "M'a farmer. Don' mind bein' Motha Nature, as it were." She shrugs, her slender shoulders bobbing up as she keeps her seat, letting his skin rest without dressings for a while longer. Watching him hold his knee, she considers it and steps away, pulling a few oddly colored jars off the shelf. Taking a knee by the bed, she giving his thigh and knee a soft press, feeling out any tense muscle fibers and inflamation. "Y'swellin'. De cane'll help y'feel betta." She promises before taking a scoop of the dark substance and slicking it over his knee and burn.

The sensation if cold at first, prickling like a few thousand tiny needles before fading and covering the are with a blanket of warmth. Holding his leg up, she sets his ankle on her shoulder as she starts wrapping around his knee, offering it even more support and stability. Easing it down, she then cleans her hands yet another time and returns to cover his wounds in fresh coverings.
Ashur The leg muscles have knots in them; judging from the way he has to quickly subdue a hissed breath when her fingers spread over one sensitive spot, chances are he's dealt with one bad cramp or another, all awkward-bent and dehydrated in a bed not made for his size. The spasms of a charley horse would explain the sore stiffness in his calf, at least-- though that's beneath where she's checking.

"Nurturing life, whether from the womb or the earth, is worthy of respect," he replies to the farmer talk, nodding at the calling of herself Mother Nature. "Without those labors, no amount of soldiers would matter--we would, all of us, die weak and pitiful."

The cold prickling sensation is a curious one, and he finds his golden eyes entranced by the sight of her work, spreading the dark paste across his skin. When the wave of heat comes, he relaxes, tension dissipating-- though one of his legs being hooked across her shoulder as she kneels before him has him deliberately looking the other way once the knee is wrapped.

"How long have you done this?"
Lilu Lilu waves off the comments, even though they stain her cheeks with a flush of thankful rose. Rubbing at her face and yes with the sleeve of her jacket, she clears her throat and rolls up her cuffs just so, taking a moment to make sure her wild mane is pulled back enough into a tail, which looks more like a fluffy tumbleweed. "Sit back? Up 'gainst de headboard." She requests, helping him move with steady, ready hands should he need it, and his pride allow.

"Ah, f'eva, I t'ink. Least it feels dat way. Daddy n'mama did de same t'ings. Healin' n'growin'." She explains, stepping away to fetch a few flat pillows and stacking them under the man's knee. Once set, she starts to move her fingers back against the limb, pressing into the lumps to start working them out. "Dis gonna hurt f'a bit." She warns, working from high, to ankle, and up again. "Afta dis, m'gonna press at de bottom of y'foot, causin' y'knee t'flex, alright?"
Ashur Calming his libido with the momentary look elsewhere, the former Legionnaire's focus returns to the woman tending to his body. The faint blush, the fluffy tail of her hair-- he notices all the little details of her character. There is nothing half so interesting to look at in the room, anyway. He grunts, slides back, and rests straight-spined against the headboard as she requests, watching her wander off for pillows.

With his boot removed, the pillows stacked beneath his knee, and her fingers pressing into all the sensitive parts of his flesh, the man suppresses any discomfort with a grit of teeth and clench of fist at his side. Subtle things. "Pain is a familiar friend," he remarks, practiced in its dealing and receiving. "Do what you must, healer."
Lilu Lilu chuckles. "Now y'jus' talkin' silly. Pain ain' nobody's friend. Sure. Means y'c'n feel n'y'ain' dead, but...well, I'd ratha a life wit'out de stuff 'f m'bein' honest." She smirks his way, a loose, auburn curl falling into her face. A few more kneads of his muscles, she sets her hand at the sole of his foot, giving it a hold, she looks up and into his face. "Ok, here we go." Then she pushes, bending his leg as far as it will go, easing his knee toward his chest, and then back again, slowly. She does this three times, holding the flex for a few breaths before releasing it. "So, tell me 'bout y'self? Ev'rybody 'round here got stories."
Ashur "Pain is unavoidable; therefore, it is necessary." As her fingers work and her hands slide, it's easy to realize that what brought him here is hardly his first brush with death; the man is fifty percent beefcake, fifty percent scar tissue, each instance varied in its shape and color and origin. "Perhaps some can manage an easy, comfortable life, if others labor for them; I strive to provide that for my girls. But I need to be able to endure it."

He raises a shoulder at her question and looks back to her face as she places a hand on his foot. His gaze is oppressive; a feral intensity and an overbearing, socially-tactless refusal to break eye contact first, just staring, staring, staring, like all the world's an enemy to be subjugated.

"I am a runaway from Caesar's Legion, come here to stake my claim on the world and carve out a life that pleases me. I received these wounds in a battle near Roswell, where I slew a Paladin of the Brotherhood in single combat."
Lilu "I remember y'tellin' Rose dat." She murmurs, still working at the joint before returning it to a resting position and kneading at the slowly fading lumps. The talk of pain, and how necessary it may be, is left to the wayside for now. "Y'girls? Y'a daddy?" She smiles, a bit brighter than usual at the idea of children, and perhaps, the concept of family. She, too, looks when he looks and stares when he stares. She's doing her job, regardless of the heft of the patient.
Ashur "They call me that," he remarks, "but it will be the better part of a year before it's literal." He reaches up and brushes the thick braids of his hair out of his face, tucking one behind an ear and the others against the headboard and there pinned by his weight. By this point, the constant pushing and kneading at the sensitive muscles of his legs has become familiar, and no longer bothersome. "In the Legion, while reproduction was mandatory, family did not exist; as I was taken from mine, any children I might have sired on the camp slaves were never beheld by me." Another light shrug; it's a heavy subject matter, but he's already worn the emotion out of it in retellings. Now, he's just neutral toward it. "I desired a land of my own, a family of my own. The remaking of the tribe I lost in my youth. When I came to El Dorado, I found a handful of women drawn to me."
Lilu Lilu blinks, her face twisting up slightly at his commentary. "Oh." She voices after a moment, perhaps downhearted that her initial idea wasn't correct. Silent now, she keeps at her work until finally setting his leg down and standing up, giving her back a bowing stretch. "Well, dat should help, 'least f'de pain n'stiffness." Stepping away, she reclaims his boot and sets it close so that he can slip it back on when he's ready. Another splash of alcohol, and a cloth to pad her hands dry, she turns back around to face Ashur. Another smile, kind enough, simple and warm, she cants her head. "Y'hurtin' 'nywhere else, Asha?"
Ashur Her response to his proclamation amuses, and when she turns crestfallen, he matches her silence with his own. "I can feel the blood flow more vigorously," he remarks, flexing his toes and heel and stretching the leg on his own. He rolls his ankle with little joint pops, then turns and sets the foot on the floor. He retrieves the boot. "You've done well. The muscles already feel on the mend." And then he's working the boot back on, and he answers her last question without looking at her, jamming his foot in. The heel is proving tricky, but he manages. "I hurt everywhere, healer. But I will be alright."
Lilu Lilu nods, her thoughts perhaps still locked up on the information he provided just moments prior. "Good. I c'n give y'a cane we got here. Do wit it what y'will, but please, use it." She advises once more, taking a walking stick from the side wall and handing it out to him. "You, ah...y'be careful out dere, non? Com'on back if y'wanna be treated."
Ashur "I'll use it," the man promises, voice a reassuring rumble-growl. He takes the stick.. it forces him to hunch a little, given his height, but if it's only for a little while it won't cause any harm. He'll need to practice walking with it, though-- it's a bit awkward at first. After taking it, he stares at her, reaching to tap her shoulder and then snap his fingers in front of her face. "You have been at a loss since I mentioned my girls," he points out. "Does a man with multiple lovers offend you?"
Lilu "Offend? Nah. Jus' diff'rent." She shrugs apathetically. Reaching toward the stick, and old metal thing that it was, she twists its middle and then pulls it upward, changing its height to better suit the man using it. Setting it in place, she stands back. "Dere. Dat's' be betta."
Ashur "Convenient," Ashur says, giving the cane a brief swing to test its weight and reach. Without the strain on his back, its use will more quickly become second nature-- until such a time as that limp in his leg fades. "Mm. Your reaction suggests something more than different.. but so be it. The answer suffices." He taps the cane on the tiled floor with a loud rat-a-tat. Testingly puts his weight on it, shifting off the wounded leg. It's not so hard. "Thank you. Direct me toward the front door, and I'll leave you be."
Lilu "What I t'ink don' matta. Don' change not'ing. 'sides, I been dey one 'way fr'm people f'a good slice 'f time. Dey all diff'rent, ain' dey?" She questions kindly, but it was still apparent that the lack of children hits some maternal pang in the woman. Taking a breath, she forces fresh kindness across her features, motioning toward the door to help lead the solider out.
Ashur "When they give birth, I'll ask you to oversee it," he offers, in half-serious consolation to Lilu's obvious maternal distress. "I've always been fond of children. In theory. Life will soon put my ideas to the test." A roll of a shoulder, a crack of that bullneck, and he follows as she leads. "But if you crave your own, there are men enough in El Dorado-- strong men, clever men, bold men. You can even seek me out when I've recovered, should no other man measure."
Lilu Lilu chuckles. Giving a shake of her head, some defiant girls sway. "Well den, ain' I lucky." She smirks. "Only seen one man so far dat made m'mind go stupid. Don' t'ink he noticed, dough, n', well...he prob'ly 'lready got betta. T'anks f'de offa, dough. Be safe out dere, Asha."