you're my saving grace [alice/hound]

[westley]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] [style=text-align: center] sometimes curiosity can heal the soul but leave the pain [/style] [style=font-size: 10px; line-height: 10px; padding: 25px; margin-top: -10px; color: CCCCCC;] Westley's vision blurred before his eyes, the flash of some kind of metal taunting him. He was tired, overly so, and he knew that he shouldn't be doing this right now. That he should take at least a day off hunting, but there were signs for attacks in the more secluded part of town, and he couldn't simply leave it. It was his job as a hunter to protect the people who are oblivious to what go bump in the night. A lot of the time, Westley envied them. He envied them so much, because he had never had a childhood. He had a mentor who taught him how to kill the bastards that killed his family right in front of his eyes when he was eight. Alix had been with him then, and the thought of the blonde made Westley shudder. He knew he would never forgive her, or be able to trust another supernatural again. Even the nice ones, it seemed, were nothing but backstabbing leeches. And all Supernaturals were monsters. They deserved to die. Sucking in a deep breath, Wes looked around quickly, his breath much too fast, and his heart rate much too quick. His blue eyes were piercing once they settled on his target. It was an immortal, and memories brought him back to that were house, where he had been in such a rage, he had ripped one immortals heart out with his bare hands. He didn't leave unscathed, there were still marks on his cheeks where the immortal had scratched him with their nails, the scars forever a reminder of his hate, and a fueller of rage. He would never tell anyone where he got them that he had gotten so low that he was willing to go down with the bastard. But that was Wes for you, his mind on hunting almost all the time, thinking of when he’d get to kill another piece of shit on the bottom of his shoe. The male tried to hold his breath, but he knew he was not in top shape to be completely perceptive. The trick was not to let the opponent see weakness. However, it seemed like Wes had misjudged the perceptiveness of the immortal, because the next thing he knew there was a blow to the back of his head which he had not anticipated, and a sharp pain in his back. He got stabbed in the back. Oh, how ironic that was. The literal sentiment of such a phrase, it was laughable where Westley was concerned. He didn't know how long he had lain on the cold pavement, his back bleeding and his head throbbing. When he finally came around, he was rather surprised to see that the immortal hadn't taken the blow to kill. Maybe they thought that Wes would bleed to death. Please, not like Wes would take mercy on anyone like that. Moving to get up, he noticed another problem, as searing pain shot up his wrist. Fuck. It was broken. Gritting his teeth he used his other hand to hoist himself up onto his feet, taking a moment to look at his surroundings. He needed the stab wound bandaged, he knew that, and because he hated asking for help, he would do it himself, but Westley logically knew that he could not, no when he wrist was broken. There was an internal debate within the man, as blood flowed down his back and he was feeling weaker and weaker. Decision made, he started walking. He didn't like getting any of his human friends involved in things such as this. Because he wanted to avoid the questions, and keep them in the dark about what was out there. But ... Alice ... Alice he knew he could trust to take his word for saying that he got mugged. Therefore, he staggered as quickly as he could to where she lived. His mind on the girl who was edgy and stubborn but loyal as hell. She was one of his best friends, and he tried to overlook the fact that he constantly lied to her. Gritting his teeth he made his way up the stairs to where she lived, the knock on her door was weak as he slumped against the door frame, his forehead clammy and body covered in cold sweat. It didn't even come to mind for him to text her, he just had to hope that she was home. [/style] tagged; alice/hound. words; 742. notes; assited! TEMPLATE BY LITTLE BITTY PRETTY ONE @ CAUTION 2.0

[hound]

The downtime that came between the end of a production and the start of another always left Alice a bit sad. More than a bit sad, to tell the truth. She lived to perform, and when there was nothing to perform with she found herself high and dry. At least she had friends now, and things were getting easier. The weekend before had marked the closing of a singular week of Anything Goes. It was local theater, something that was only supposed to last a weekend. After packing the house for a few days, they’d decided to run for a week. Alice had, as always, had the time of her life.

The young woman found herself with a case of the plague, of course. A vicious cold that attacked those that spent too much time in each other’s personal space, not sleeping, in a high stress environment—theater plague. It had bogged her down, but not until after closing night. That was enough. She’d been curled up in bed for a few days, and that was enough. Gradually the young woman got her voice back, though she still had a cough and had to keep a box of tissues close at hand. Something about it also left her with a killer craving for a pizza. That, and she’d followed a whim to color her hair again—pink. Pink worked.

So why not order a pizza? Why not dye her hair pink? Alice had done it, and she found herself with her toothbrush shoved in her mouth and wrapped in her pajamas and a blanket as she waited for the delivery. She was starting to feel better, and that was enough. It left her dancing around her kitchen, Rent in her DVD player. It wasn’t much for the girl to know all of the words… after a few dozen times watching it, it was hard not to. She was lighting up her own world between nose blows, if that made sense. It was hard for her not to be larger than life even when she was wrapped up in her own little world. Always the actress.

It was in expectance of the pizza guy that she spit into the sink, rinsing her mouth out quickly before shouting to the door and mashing the volume down button on her TV. "Be there in a sec—" The young woman groped around for her wallet, fumbling enough to knock over a stool and her toothbrush into the sink, and finally opening the door with her hip. "I don’t have anything smaller than a twenty, sor—Wes?" Alice stands there for a moment, her jaw hanging open.

It takes a moment for her to spring into action, and she can’t help but move as quickly as possible. "Wes, what happened?" The woman tosses her wallet to the chair beside the door, on top of a heap of other assorted stuff. It was a landing place for everything, but her thoughts were generally too… frenzied. Alice could be a whirlwind sometimes. Sometimes she’s a mess, sometimes she doesn’t know what’s going on and that’s okay. Sometimes it’s not okay—and now is not okay.

"Shit, Wes. Get inside." Alice’s hands shake softly, tugging the man by the shoulder and ushering him in, slamming the door behind the man. She’s there to catch him should he need it, should he start to go down. All the young woman knows is that he doesn’t look good, and that’s the… well, opposite of good. Something about the clamminess, the way he shakes. Westley doesn’t shake, he doesn’t… he doesn’t move an inch. He’s a rock. "Sit." It’s an order, as she pulls the pile of costume bits, sweatshirts, mail, newspapers and other assorted crap that had accumulated on the chair beside the door and dumps it on the already overflowing kitchen counter.

Well shit.

"This is characters speak"

TAGS:[/b] Jurr with Westley <3
NOTES:[/b] still feeling her out, sorry for the lack of polish <3 Also, excuse the template, I just pulled one out of word that was labeled ‘proboards template’
OUTFIT:[/b] clickie!
WORDS:[/b] 646-ish
CREDIT:[/b]MADE BY chellythecelly of CAUTION 2.0. DO NOT STEAL. Or i'll send my unicorn army after you.

[westley]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] [style=text-align: center] sometimes curiosity can heal the soul but leave the pain [/style] [style=font-size: 10px; line-height: 10px; padding: 25px; margin-top: -10px; color: CCCCCC;] The relief in the hunter made his whole body sag, when the door opened and Alice walked out. He could see that she was in pyjamas, but could not concentrate on the patterns. It was like his vision blurred, and clearly she didn't like what she saw in Westley. He felt kind of bad, just barging in on her like this, but he didn't know where else to go in that moment. He needed someone to stop the bleeding, but she was also oblivious as to how he got it, and Westley desperately needed that. Wes offered a pathetic little smile at her as she stared at him, silent laughter in the back of his throat. "Hey, Lis." He spoke, his voice weak, and low, and raspy, too much energy spent on getting himself to her apartment. He had always liked Alice, from the moment he met her. She was stubborn and hot headed, but she was also talented as hell and he liked to see that fire in someone. Hope for something better. He envied that in Alice, and especially seeing all the things she'd been working on around her apartment, only reminded Westley that he'd never had that. He'd never really been to school, or college, or had lots of friends. The people he would hang out with would either be people he killed with, or people hew got drunk with. No one to just ... hang out. Alice was one of those 'hang out' people, and Wes liked that. She was ushering him inside them, and Westley's body felt too heavy to move, even though he was barely skin and bones. He barely ever found the time or the want to eat. Sleep was just a state of passing out. The hunter knew he should take better care of himself, but he couldn't, not when nightmares haunted his dreams. His body shook from the fever which he had because of the blood loss and he leaned into Alice, draping his body weight on her, hoping that she could hold him, but that was nothing he could expect. He heard her faintly, asking what had happened and Wes barely made it in the door before he sunk down on his knees, the exhaustion making his legs weak as he blinked a couple of times, because he didn't want to keep seeing blurry. "Got ... stabbed..." He breathed, lifting his arms to slowly take his jacket off, his under shirt and jacket soaked in sticky liquid. Oh God, and he called himself a hunter. He was weak. Weak, weak, weak, and Wes hated that so much, it made his blood boil inside. Then she was telling him to sit, and Westley could only nod as he tried his best to make his way to the chair, lifting himself to sit on it and leaned forward. "I would have dealt with this myself," He started, his voice a strained whisper, bruises becoming apparent where he didn't know he had any, and he felt like he might have a concussion because he was just so dizzy. "But I can't reach... you need -" He winced in pain then, pulling off his shirt and shoving it onto the ground harshly. "You need to stop the bleeding Alice." He asked her, almost a begging tone to his voice, and Westley honestly wondered how he was not passed out in that moment. In that moment it hit Westley how much trust he had in this human girl. Trust to make sure that he didn't die, and then something hit him, making his brow furrow. "But no doctors." This was a harsh growl. He had also forgotten that he'd never really had his shirt off in front of Alice. The scars ... as well as tattoo's that covered his body were a stark contrast to one another. The scars, a lot of them were teeth marks, claw marks, some from bullets some from knives. They were battle wounds, and not something that Westley wanted to be rid of because they only fuelled his hate. He got them from those he hated most, and it was further proof that those sons of bitches needed to be killed. Wes's skin was covered in cold sweat, silently shivering, his whole being too hot, where he was loosing blood was numb. He just felt numb, floating, and he would make it a point to apologise to Alice about this later. And it was so so hard for Westley to admit, but he needed her. [/style] tagged; alice/hound. words; 755. notes; take care of my baby Alice! TEMPLATE BY LITTLE BITTY PRETTY ONE @ CAUTION 2.0

[hound]

Alice is chaos. Her world is insane, and she’s just living in it. The girl doesn’t really keep track of much. Still, friends are good. Friends are what she’s had to hold onto and to embrace, and here’s Wes. They’ve had an interesting relationship from the start, and it’s one that she can’t help but enjoy. Though the young man was prone to sleeping around, they’d never done anything… hell, she’d never seen him shirtless. It was something that just didn’t happen with them—as if their friendship had been past that from the start. That felt good enough. Friends were damn good.

She’s always been told she’s a star in her own right, so she’s embraced it. Alice can’t help it—she just tries. The young woman reaches out to help Westley to the chair, unable to believe what she’s heard. He’s been—what? It doesn’t register fully right away, trying to balance the man’s weight on her frame as well. It’s a fight, but she figures it out eventually. In her world, if there’s a will there’s a way. She doesn’t know how to react, buts he tries none the less. Alice will figure this out eventually, right? It’s a fight, but all is well.

As the man removes his coat, she takes it and sets it aside. Her fingers come away, covered in something cold and strangely sticky. It’s not until then that she realizes the gravity of the situation. "Well shit, Wes." She rakes a hand through her hair, shaking her head broadly. She helps the man off with his shirt as well, hands shaking as she does. A friend in pain… her heart pounds in her chest. Her hands shake as well, buts he masks it as well as she can. For Wes… right. For Wes. She’d fix him up as best she could.

"You act like it’s happened before." She sighs, moving to grab the shirt as well. Reaching around to the stack of coupons on the table (welcome to the frugal living of a starving artist) she retrieves a pair of scissors. Alice cuts a long strip of the already ruined undershirt, using it to apply pressure to the area. Some part of her said that it was the best idea she could possibly think of for the frenzied moment. Honestly, she had very little first aid training, but she’d do her damndest. It wasn’t until Alice’s eyes made her way down Wes’s pale back that she saw what she never dreamed of.

Scars. They were everywhere, and her heart throbbed in her chest. Alice ached, putting pressure on the man while drinking in the sight before her. Her chest aches, murmuring softly as her fingers trace a jagged, pale line—teeth? "What—where are all these from?" For once, the actress is without words. She doesn’t know how to react, her eyes going wide. There are so many… too many. Still, she’s dragged back to the situation at hand. What the hell was she going to do? All Alice could think of was to keep up the pressure on the wound, hands shaking as she does.

"Wes, I have no damn idea what I’m doing." It’s a rare hint to her voice—shaken. She doesn’t understand the lack of doctors, she doesn’t understand the situation. What she understands is the fact that Westley is in bad shape. Alice needs to get the man back into shape, needs to figure out what’s going on. Alice longs to fix him, but needs… direction. She’s doing all she can, all she can as a friend. It’s a longing, inwardly praying that he’ll be okay. He has to be okay. The young woman needs to fix the man, and the responsibility makes her head spin.

"Alice speaks."

TAGS:[/b] Jurr with Westley <3
NOTES:[/b] Wes, y u so cute?
OUTFIT:[/b] clickie!
WORDS:[/b] 629-ish
CREDIT:[/b]MADE BY chellythecelly of CAUTION 2.0. DO NOT STEAL. Or i'll send my unicorn army after you.

[westley]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] [style=text-align: center] sometimes curiosity can heal the soul but leave the pain [/style] [style=font-size: 10px; line-height: 10px; padding: 25px; margin-top: -10px; color: CCCCCC;] Wes felt a massive pang of guilt at the fact that he brought this to Alice. Innocent, oblivious Alice who was shaking at the sight of him, and a heavy feeling in the pit of Wes's stomach settled because he just felt terrible for it. However, she was not turning him away. She was not telling him to get lost, rather she was helping him keep his balance as they moved to the chair. He has been in her apartment before, a few times anyway, and even though it was small, it had everything Alice there. From the coupons to the scraps of fabric, it was such a human life, it was something that Wes himself longed for. But there was no way that he'd have that chance, as he had trained to be a hunter since he was eight. She was lucky, not to know. If he didn't know Wes was sure that instead of weapons in every crook and crevice, he'd have normal things. But none the less, he was cursed to this lifestyle. He winced a little as she shirt ran along his wound as it was taken off, the blood flow steady, and he managed a small smile to the shaking girl, trying to reassure her. "I'm sorry, Alice ..." He murmured, blinking a few times to regain clear vision. Westley honestly was not paying much attention to the fabric which she was cutting, but she was doing well, holding the cloth against the stab wound. He couldn't see it but he felt it, the knife may have hit an organ, he wasn't sure, but the only fatal thing about it was the blood. He was sure he was getting blood everywhere, and he would be certain to be the one to clean it up later. However, what he did not expect was Alice's fingers on his back, making him bite down on his lower lip and breathe in deeply, shiver lightly at the soft touch and incredulous words. Where did he get the scars from? No explanation would make sense to her, not the truth anyway, simply because she didn't know and Westley wasn't about to tell her about the existence of things that only meant harm. "I think it's better to ask where they're not from." A low laughter rumbled out of the back of his throat at his own words, because how absurd was this? Westley was beggining to think that he shouldn't have come. However, the scars on his back and torso were not all. There were some on his legs, but high enough that he was able to get away with wearing shorts in the summer. Some on his arms, but they were less visible. If people expected smooth skin under his clothes, they got disappointed. The funny thing was, that whenever Westley slept with a woman, he could not care less about her seeing his marks. That was simply because he didn't care about the woman, and more often than not they fount it intriguing. Believed that he had low self esteem about the scars, and therefore lavished them with their lips and tongues. But he wasn't ashamed. They were battle scars, proof of his good deeds, of killing those who kill innocents. Some may call that hypocritical, but really, Westley would call it justice. "I don't think you're ready to hear those stories though." He murmured, and glanced back at the girl on her knees, taking care of him even as her whole body was shaking. Wes had never even thought about sleeping with her, simply because he just went for people who he had no emotional attachment to, but he did with the talented actress. She was his friend, and he was more than proud to call her his friend. Alice had always been a welcome escape for him, and he treasured her for putting up with his moods, and broody nature before he broke out of his shell and became a funny and charming and charismatic man. It just depended on the person. Westley is not surprised when the girl admits that she doesn't know what she's doing. But Wes has dealt with things like this all the time so he knows. Shifting a little, he moves one of his arms back to hold the cloth on his own back, his muscles protesting and showing him where the bruises will show up later. He shouldn't have gone hunting that day, he knew that, but Wes was stupid. "Depends on how big the wound is .. you might need to stitch it up. Black thread and a larger needle is good." He said this without batting an eyelash, and he knew that Alice would have these things just because of what she did. She was an ambitious girl, and the talent there was extraordinary, and Wes didn't wish to pull her down. "And then ... if you have bandages or whatever cloth, you can tape it over the place..." His voice trailed off, weak, and he knew he needed something to numb the pain. Some might think he should be pain prone, but that was certainly not the case. "Alice, do you have vodka or something? Cause I think I might need some." His blue eyes held a little bit of amusement in them and he raised one hand to brush over her hair, his fingers as gentle on her as they has been on him while she was touching his scars. "Thank you for this." His voice was soft and quiet, in his mind he didn't even think about the fact that he had weapons in his coat, or the knife he had in his boots and trouser legs. But he couldn't physically remove any of them now. [/style] tagged; alice/hound. words; 960. notes; gvdfhvckdsjcnsld babies TEMPLATE BY LITTLE BITTY PRETTY ONE @ CAUTION 2.0

[hound]

Alice can’t help but be honestly freaked out by the situation. She couldn’t tell you what was going on—she had no idea. There was nothing she’d ever seen that was like this… nothing had… nothing like this had ever happened. Everything was moving so slowly. There was the fog of the slight cold that had settled into her body, and everything else that was screaming on her insides. What was wrong? What was wrong with her, and more importantly, what was wrong with Wes? Save for the obvious, everything was so well hidden. No, none of it made sense. "Don’t apologize... it’s fine."

She rolls her eyes with a soft snort of a laugh. It wasn’t a time for laughter, yet everything seemed so… strange. So funny. It wasn’t a situation that she was used to. Here was Wes, charming, strange, intense Wes… broken. Bleeding. He was hiding… something. It wasn’t anything that Alice knew how to get ahold of, and that was enough to set her teeth on edge. She was hurt—he’d been keeping something from her. It wasn’t like everyone else didn’t have their secrets but… still. It stung a bit. She couldn’t stay it didn’t sting, even if at a slighter degree.

"Think I’m ready for mostly anything, at this point." Alice chuckles only softly, a tremor still to her hands. She shakes less now, listening to the man as he gives instructions. Black thread… black thread… as soon as he takes the rag she’s on her feet, moving across the floor without her usual grace. How someone could be so clumsy in a one on one situation yet absolutely float on stage was beyond her. Already she’s moving to rummage, quickly sorting through the drawers that normal people would use for kitchen implements and spices, pots and pans.

"No more secrets... no more big secrets, after this." She’s begging softly, back turned as her eyes cast to the drawer. It takes her a moment, but she comes up with a spool of thread that’s not covered in loose glitter. One of the vials had exploded earlier and she’d been in a rush, never bothering to clean up. So seemed it… why were things still so normal to her? Part of Alice’s mind was so numb, trying to follow his directions. At least she had Wes’s voice, clear and strong and sound, to keep some of the crashing from inside her head. She had Westley to guide her through the weird situation. "Um, looks like it’s going to be purple." Black… there was no black. She didn’t use black.

Moments later she’s found a fairly large hand sewing needle hidden in a book of machine needles. Raking a hand through her hair, the young woman tries to keep the shaking from her hands. She reaches for a lighter in yet another drawer, a flurry of sequins crashing to the floor, one of the long ones used to light a grill… Alice didn’t have a grill. If there was one thing she did know is that you had to kill germs before popping a blister with a needle… in some ways, it had to be the same. She carefully heats the sewing needle with the lighter-- "Shit," and cussing as she burns herself. There’s another laugh, a shake of her head, and the needle is threaded with skillful fingers.

On her way back to stand before the young man, she grabs a bottle of crème de menthe from the cupboard. It’s the only alcohol she’s got left in the house, not one really for drinking at home alone. She passes the bottle of spearmint liquid, thick and green, off into the man’s hands. "How..." She starts to speak, but shakes her head. The dining room table was littered with scraps of blue and purple velvet, bright calicos, everything you could possibly think of as far as colors went—he’d be fine. Duct tape was another thing that abounded in the apartment, and that would be one of her saving graces. There were some things that Alice could handle, and handle them well. Softly, her eyes rested on the man’s face.

"How do you want me to do this?" The words are soft, a hand resting briefly on the man’s cheek. Her lips don’t tremble as she leans in to kiss the man’s forehead quickly, still curious. She’s ever curious, really. Still, she can shake. She can have her worries. Alice just doesn’t want to hurt the friend she’s managed to make… the good friend. Those were hard to come by. It was going to be a long night, and she knew that much. Still, Alice didn’t worry. She’d take care of Westley, and it that was all that mattered. She’d make sure things would be… okay.


"Alice speaks."

TAGS:[/b] Jurr with Westley <3
NOTES:[/b] all of a sudden, sparkle explosion.
OUTFIT:[/b] clickie!
WORDS:[/b] 800-ish
CREDIT:[/b]MADE BY chellythecelly of CAUTION 2.0. DO NOT STEAL. Or i'll send my unicorn army after you.

[westley]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] [style=text-align: center] sometimes curiosity can heal the soul but leave the pain [/style] [style=font-size: 10px; line-height: 10px; padding: 25px; margin-top: -10px; color: CCCCCC;] It was no secret that Westley was a guy who kept to himself a lot. He preferred to spend time alone the last few weeks, and the friends he had were only the people he truly valued. People like Alice, of whose home he entered bloody and feverish and she didn't stumble as she rushed to help him. That was such an admirable quality, that it made Westley realise just how lucky he was to have her in his life. As much as Westley was a dark and brooding man, he could have a laugh with the people closest to him. They're the ones who get to see those rare, genuine smiles. When she told him not to apologise, Wes bit his lower lip a little and simply nodded, even though he knew it was so far from fine, and he was sorry. But the hunter reasoned that later would be the time for apologies, because he was sure he had frightened her a lot. He quirked his lips up into a small smile at the fact that she laughed. It seemed out of place, yet it made him feel better in his being. "You've always had a knack for the dramatic, Al." He teases softly as he watches her stumble and hurry to get the thread, wishing that she'd take her time just so she doesn't trip and fall or something. He'd hate to see her hurt because of him, even if it's just a minor thing. Besides, he was holding the rad to his back. He was sure there were other wounds on him, but that was the most fatal one right to the bottom of his spine. There was a lot of blood, and the blood loss was making him weak, his eyes drooping but he knew he couldn't close them if he didn't want to pass out. It kept it to miniature blinks. "Though I have zero doubt that you can handle anything." Westley was being honest when he said that, trying to hold up a conversation to distract him from the pain which was slowly becoming numb and throbbing, yet he meant the words. Alice was such a strong person, and she was proving that she can deal with anything that was thrown at her. Westley heard her plea and it made him suck in a breath, because damn the girl knew how to make the guilt rise up. But he also knew that he could not tell her the truth. He needed to keep Alice oblivious, away from this life because knowing was the worst. He would take being oblivious to knowing any day, and therefore he didn't want to inflict it on people who he truly cares about, even if he needs to lie. "I don't know what secret you're talking about. I got mugged ..." His voice was feeble to his own ears but he hoped that she'd take pity on him and forget that it's not really plausible for him to be here and it having been just a mugging. He knew that Doctors would never understand, and he flat out refused to go to hospital. A few deep cuts and broken bones never drove him there, and right now, Alice was more than capable of taking care of him and he was grateful for that. The dark haired male nodded when she said it would be purple, he'd said black well because ... it just came to mind, really, it didn't matter at all what the colour was as long as the skin was kept together. He couldn't see the jagged cut on his back, but he could feel it splitting his back from side to side. Westley winced as some sequins fell to the floor, blue eyes on the girl who's clearly panicking. "Alice ... Alice, calm down ..." He murmurs in what he hoped was a soothing and reassuring voice. "You don't need to rush and hurt yourself ... I'll be fine if you take just a minute longer." He nodded in agreement to his own words, hoping that she would take them into account. When the bottle of alcohol was handed to him he didn't particularly care what it was as long as it burned down his throat. He took a drink of a thick, green liquid and chuckled. "This is so you, it's really quite adorable." He smiles as she touches his cheek, moving to rest a hand on a hip for a small moment as he closed his eyes at the kiss to his forehead, the small action making his chest swell because he felt like he was being cared for. Something the hunter had not felt in a long while and hadn't known he needed. When she asked how she should do this, he took another long swig and with a shaky hand removed the cloth from the wound on his back, skin shivering at the exposure to the air. "Just ... sew I suppose. I can handle the pain, so take your time ..." The last part was for her sake, he did't want her to feel like she had to do it as fast as possible. Though the blood was still running down his lower back. He turned so his body faced her, and he knew that all the alcohol in the world couldn't prepare him for this. "You ... sew and once you're done ... just put a bandage over it." He murmured, knowing how painful the procedure was but he could endure it, it had many times. He leaned forward, elbows on thighs as she started work on his skin. [/style] tagged; alice/hound. words; 939. notes; gvdfhvckdsjcnsld babies TEMPLATE BY LITTLE BITTY PRETTY ONE @ CAUTION 2.0