ROBCO EVENT LOG V2.66
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Ashur To set the scene, picture the few minutes leading up to it--

Ashur waltzed into the clinic with his hair slick with sweat and moisture from a brief, muggy rain;
Tucked within his toga, nestled against his bearish chest hair, was a small package wrapped in fine fabric;
His body was, once again, bruised and wounded;
Kurokumo had been in an outhouse outside the clinic for some time with a stomach driven mad by morning sickness.

Now, dear reader, you have an understanding of why the two of them are currently in her office as they are: Kumo, blanching and looking with sharper-than-normal eyes, and Ashur, somewhat wet, currently drying his face and hair with an old towel.

"Sweet wife," he rumbles, though he doesn't try to force the kiss after she turned him away the first time-- something about wanting to rinse her mouth out first. "You have seen to my health with such care; I brought you two gifts to show my devotion."

The former Legionnaire may be buttering her up. He is brave and ferocious, but one treads lightly around a nauseas, pregnant partner.
Kurokumo Mibojin      An outhouse is possible one of the -worst- places that someone could vomit into. When being used for normal bodily functions, it's bad enough: The poor woman now has to face the mingling of smells that come along with treating the wounded and stupid. "What did you get me, sweetheart?" Her voice is but a whisper, throat raw as she bundles up with one of the extra blankets. Kurokumo is regretting a lot of things right now, but it will soon pass, and her brown eyes eye the package hesitantly.
Ashur Without another word, Ashur lifts one hand; his heavy hand palms a head-covering full helm like a basketball, too small for his head but an ideal size, roughly, for his woman's. The quality of it is easy to see, military grade or upper-end special police force, likely back during pre-War times; it has straps to tuck under the chin and loop the side of the face, a thick ceramic and bullet-weave plating that moulds to the skull's shape, and points atop it to affix lights, goggles, or other attachments. It even comes with a full mask to provide protection from small arms.

"I took this from an Enclave soldier I slew in the wastes," he explains, placing it on the table. "It will serve you better than it did him, my Kumo."

His hand reaches into his upper toga and withdraws the wrapped package from its woolen folds. "And your second gift is something more special. Ahh, but first.." Since he's removed the package, he slips down his toga, revealing the bruises and the fading supernatural palm print on his chest. "It has healed well, my love-- but have you any more of the pain relief cream, or the burn ointment?"
Kurokumo Mibojin      Despite blinking wearily, there's the tug of a smile at the woman's lips. Ashur's gifts are very thoughful. She shambles over to one of the medicine cabinets, grabbing a well-used jar before shuffling back to her husband's place. "Here we go." Kurokumo is hunched slightly, to keep the blanket on, as the lid is twisted and fingers scooping the ointment to be lathered onto the burned skin.
Ashur The imprint of some spectral hand burned into Ashur's chest earlier in the month has faded greatly; what once was a livid thing, a smooth red scar charring the hair around it, is now merely a slightly pinkened (relatively-- his flesh is still more golden-brown than not) fossil of what it once was. Even the black hairs have begun to grow back, leading to an amusing view of him from afar: the shape of the hand itself exists now in the chest hairs, as the curled black carpet is thicker and longer everywhere else. But it will fade soon, and requires a close examination.

As Kurokumo smears the ointment over his skin, the back of the man's neck goosepimples, the coolness of the sticky-slime medicine contrasting sharply with the heat that pours off him. "Mm.. that's my girl," the man rumbles, and he slips his hands to her waist and pulls her in closer. Seated, and with her tall as she is, they're about eye-level. The man presses his lips to the side of her neck, tracing kisses along the hollow of throat, over the arteries, those hollow points where her skin indents. As always, his touch is scratchy from beard and mustache. "I have felt better than ever since you became mine, sweet Kumo; your ministrations have helped my body heal, and correct all the old scars and lingering injuries I had. Since coming to El Dorado, I feel invincible."

He smiles. Turns her around. "Now, your other present.. close your eyes." The command is firm but gentle, and he waits a moment for her to do so. Clever fingers unwrap the package; she hears her man move, feels his arms wrap around her, hands play at her neck. She feels something warm from his skin slide around her neck-- a slender choker, shaped like a chain, decorative and lovely, with little loops for attachments. An emblem at its center, near the main loop, is marked with an engraved A. It glitters in direct light, tight against her skin.
Kurokumo Mibojin      Left hand still a bit slick from the burn ointment, it's the right that clutched the blanket closed so that it doesn't fall off. Getting cold easily isn't all that much fun. Ashur is up to something, Kurokumo knows he is as her eyes close and she awkwardly turns around. What could he be up to? The cool slide of metal is slightly jarring, but the waves of heat he gives off more than makes up for it. Her smiles grows, even if she can't quite tilt her chin down enough to see the piece of jewelry around her neck. "Where did you get it?"
Ashur Ashur hooks the clasp tightly and withdraws his hands; the classy bit of slim metal encircles his bride's throat like a hand. "I spoke with a caravanner heading to New Rome two weeks ago; I met a man there who used to work metal for the Legion, and bade him fashion me a few things. The caravanner delivered it for a small courier's fee." The man's mouth is spread in wide smile, eyes sliding over the woman's blanket-wrapped form possessively. "And now you are mine that little bit more, wife. It looks beautiful on you; the color suits your skin tone."

He rises to his feet and begins to fix his toga. "Besides the burn, little one, I feel well-- how do I look? In your expert medical opinion."

He really isn't all that hurt; compared to how she's often seen him, he's healthy as a horse. Could maybe do with some more sleep and a few days of taking it easy, though.
Kurokumo Mibojin      "Thank you." She smiles shyly, the chain fitting quite well as it shines in the light. Kurokumo turns to look upon Ashur's form, her trained eye catching the faint bruising that suggests that he doesn't rest enough. "Maybe you should stay away from Dunwhich a little longer?" It's a question, not a statement, as if Ashur wouldn't take kindly of being told what to do. After she's treated Sammy a few times, the horror stories are just too much to bear...