Wheeling Gull Isle no resentment ever evened out a weaker hand
I'M A FLASH IN A CLASS OF MY OWN
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Ooc — remus
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#1
All Welcome 
welcome to whoever'd be around~

tending to @The Body (really, she's got to stop thinking of him like that now that he's semi-conscious. the half-drowned fool?) has occupied the better part of most of her days, stepping up with @Hemlock's encouragement to take over the main thrust of his healing. it's a daunting task but one she was born for and she takes to it like a fish takes to water, buoyed by both the seriousness of the task and the sense of authority it grants her. 

she sits by him, instructing "hold still" in a stern murmur as she applies fresh nettle leaves to swollen limbs, monitoring carefully the progress of his mending bones. it's slow but she finds she has patience -- more patience for bodies than for the minds that occupy them, god help the stranger if/when he reaches a point of being able to question what she's doing.
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Ooc — Talamasca
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This one was more gruff in her administrations, but he almost preferred that. There wasn't as much conversation. She arrived, she tended his physical wounds, and she would leave in time. There was little he could do but lay there and be cared for, making her order to hold still an unneccessary component of the situation. He wanted to move, to get up and run, but the body was so frail and in such disarray - so he could only lay there as she applied what she came to apply, and he watched her with a single roaming eye.
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Ooc — KJ
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#3
Once the Four had eaten their fill, Coelacanth placed them under Moorhen’s watchful eye. Stockholm was out tending the borders and would no doubt be back shortly, but Seelie couldn’t wait any longer to check on Titmouse. She regretted deeply that she could not spend more time with her whitewater-pale friend, but the newest generation of Cortens was her utmost priority.

Carrying a piece of sphagnum moss that had been soaked in one of the rills threading south of Skybowl, Coelacanth approached Titmouse’s den. Her hips gave a delighted wriggle and her bright cerulean eyes shimmered fondly when she caught sight of Reed, but she tended first to the task at hand — closing her jaws minutely over the fragile bundle, allowing some of the sweet rainfall to drizzle upon Titmouse’s dry, cracked lips to coax the lapping of his tongue. She was careful to avoid his nose, and she stepped back to give him room, offering a soft whuff of greeting to the red girl.
I'M A FLASH IN A CLASS OF MY OWN
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Ooc — remus
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she knows in theory he can't move (clearly; the one eye moving unnerves her still) but issuing orders makes her feel more in control of the situation. coelacanth's arrival during her task is met with a nod of acknowledgement, warm for her. reed is blessed to have wound up under the watchful eye of both mama and seelie, and she knows this, even if expressing so in nice sentimentalities is not in her purview. she returns the inkdog's greeting with a low wuff of her own, watching her try to lull the patient into drinking. 

eager for an assessment beyond her own, the titian healer pauses her application to ask, "how does his progress look?" she is still learning how long it takes for bones and skin to knit into wholeness once again. while her confidence is such that she does not believe she has made a misstep in the process thus far -- in fact, the idea doesn't even occur to her to be anxious over -- having coelacanth and mama offer their own assessments is invaluable in ensuring the... guy's full recovery. also, "do you know his name?" she asks, slanting her gaze critically back toward his broken form. she'd arrived late to his discovery and missed the recognition -- but she's gotta stop thinking of him as the body, that's just, weird.
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Ooc — Talamasca
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#5
I wrote up a reply to this but then accidentally closed the tab, rip. ;-;



It wasn't long before a second body arrived. He did not hear her coming, she moved so swiftly and so silently, and only knew she was there as she began to tend to him. The sensation of wet moss upon his skin made him jump a bit in surprise, and then tense as pain wracked through his body.

Once it ebbed, he realized with a flip of his ears that they were discussing him. Strange — but it seemed as if the black-furred woman knew him. That should've instilled hope to some degree, but the body felt nothing. He was too distracted by the pain, and sat there as they held their conversation.

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Ooc — KJ
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#6
The little Groenendael cocked her head first to one side, then the other, brow furrowing with concentration as she regarded the broken body that she believed still housed a kindred soul. She didn’t know how to answer Reed’s question. Not really. She had never seen a wolf survive wounds as grave as Titmouse’s. Hemlock, with her grasp of the spoken word, was better equipped for conversations like these, but the sheepdog tried her best. “We, um…” she breathed, “ever must fight and fight, death not take him.” He was in terrible shape, though — he required regular recumbency changes to keep him from getting bedsores and needed to be moved frequently to prevent scalding when he inadvertently relieved himself. The pain he suffered when he was touched, manipulated, or moved flared like a beacon to the inkdark empath, but his healers had no choice.

“He is Teamouse,” she offered softly, butchering his name, utterly unaware that he’d been known as Screech long before she’d met him. She motioned to his ears, which had twitched. “Mou, you hear us?” she asked him softly, licking entreatingly at his mouth.
I'M A FLASH IN A CLASS OF MY OWN
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Ooc — remus
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#7


she watches the body the stranger jerk around the moss and frowns, adjusting her nettles slightly. there's little she can do about it -- he has to drink -- but she would like him to remain still. as she told him to. huff! coelacanth's assessment is not as reassuring as she would have hoped, yet grim practicality is something reed can take to, prefering a harsh reality to a false pleasantry. (and luckily unlike her inky leader, her own empathy is untroubled by the necessity of hurting the boy to heal him.)

"mou," she repeats, glad to have a proper name to use. she does not say anything else as aralez moves to lap at his mouth and try to communicate with him -- she's still too young and cold to understand that sort of connection, finding it a little uncomfortable to witness.
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He heard them, yes. Repeating the same things — Mou, they kept calling him, Mou, was that his name? An odd sound. He wanted to repeat it and opened his mouth, but only air breathily entered and exited him, soundless. With a sigh he stopped.

The dark girl continued to talk to him, to comfort him, even kiss at his face. He didn't know who she was to him — but she cared deeply, that much was certain. Although Mou could not speak, and he was weak and in terrible pain, he had to make contact somehow — so he reached for Seelie with his nose, probing at her face with it, and meekly returned her affection with a flick of his tongue. 
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Ooc — KJ
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#9
The sheepdog’s tail fanned eagerly behind her; she closed her eyes as he nosed at her cheeks, her lids, her lips — and she laughed, a ripple without melody, as his tongue flickered against her face. “Me, too, Mou,” she assured him gently. “I hear.”

To Reed, “All body talk,” Seelie intimated softly. “You, too; you hear.” She nodded toward Titmouse’s prone frame. “Too warm, too cold, shake, all talking.” Hemlock had already taught her daughter so much, and even if Reed saw things currently from a strictly clinical perspective, her knowledge and intellectual brilliance shone through in her ministrations. Compassion and empathy were things Coelacanth thought she needed to do her job well, but when she reflected on it and looked at herself, well…she had loved Doe with all of herself, and she had still lost her to death.

Maybe Reed’s style would always be different, but that didn’t make it less valid.

“Good — um. Good…” The word she wanted was “team” but it eluded her for now. “Good us, Hemlock, Reed, Maegi, me. Strong together. Care Mou.”
I'M A FLASH IN A CLASS OF MY OWN
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Ooc — remus
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#10


surprised, she watches as mou responds to aralez's ministrations, feeling a strange rush of something like pride -- she did this, or at least helped, to keep this tiny fighting spirit alive, to nurture him to a place of being able to respond at all. it is a fleeting emotion, gone before she can name it and her attention turns back to coelacanth to listen to her lesson raptly.

body talk. the fearghal nods, following her logic -- pay attention to the movements he makes, the tiny gestures others might miss. they communicate more than words. she doesn't know what every movement means yet but she has time to learn, and what better subject of study than mou? aloud she says "i understand," dipping her head with a studied seriousness. it is something like droman learning to read the sea, she realises, feeling strangely competitive at the comparison -- well, except hers involves helping real living people. hmph. her competitive nature is further rankled by seelie's suggestion of a team -- but only for a second. she's right, after all: her and mama are reed's best teachers, and maegi has been a valuable assistant throughout the process. 

"care for mou," she echoes (as she finds she often does in the inkdog's presence), tilting her head. after a moment she says, "he's lucky, too," musing, repeating what coelacanth had told her about fern and mur -- fortunate, these victims that find their way to their shores, fortunate for the island and its guardians able to nurse them back to survival. pleased with herself she flashes a quick smile, lowering herself back to mou's side to resume adjusting his limbs and the nettle leaves pasted over his swelling.
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Ooc — Talamasca
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#11
Last from me, but feel free to continue if you want!



It is not long before their voices diminish, but he can see with a shift of his good eye that they have not left him and he is contented by that. But he is also tired, and the frustration of his failing voice and lack of ability puts him at odds with his caretakers. He feels a void, something beyond his injuries and perhaps deeper, something lacking in his mind perhaps — this he does not dwell upon, but Mou does bask in the increasing warmth within his hideaway. So many bodies produce so much of it, and he soon finds it difficult to focus. As he drifts in to a light sleep, he dreams of things that will not hold for long in his waking mind — the roar of the sea, a fierce red shape soaring above his head, but nothing of consequence.
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Ooc — KJ
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#12
“Good girl,” the little wolfdog breathed, a wriggle of her feathered tail sending a shimmy through her hips and spine. It was a phrase that could be used derisively or condescendingly, but coming from Seelie, it was simply praise. At first, she’d used it mainly in flirtatious jest with her mate, given their domesticated backgrounds, but eventually it had simply become a natural part of her verbal arsenal.

She rose as Mou began to drift, moving with infinite care lest he awaken at her departure — but he remained asleep, leaving the sheepdog to nuzzle Reed’s cheek. “Babies call,” she whispered, depending on her magical mama radar instead of the actual sound of their cries. Seelie had a fairly accurate internal clock; she hadn’t been here long, but her fussiest baby (I’m talking about you, @Sixgill!) needed only a second or two of what he perceived as Grave Neglect before he started squalling — and that would set them all off. She repeated her invitation just in case: “Welcome ever, Reed,” she assured the girl gently. “Meet babies soon?” She offered a shy smile, then turned and trotted back toward the Labyrinth with joy in her heart.