Medicine for the Miserable (Free RP)

[Tsuyoshi Takeo]

’I hate the hospital…’ Jo thought as he approached the Aesculapium. Something about the smell of bleach, blood, and fecal matter that invariably filled the halls of any hospital or doctors office he’d ever been in made his stomach turn. Besides, people die in hospitals; and Jo had enough death in his life recently to want to avoid it for as long as possible before he had to visit it upon another person.

The burning pain that radiated from the cut along his right hip wrenched him back to reality as he stepped down. He had received the injuring on a mission last night. He’d gotten home early that morning and spent the time at his parents house talking to his father, a military veteran, about what happened, and unsuccessfully trying to staunch the flow of blood pouring from the wound. He’d soaked through the bandage he was given on site and half a dozen kitchen rags before his parents told him to go to the hospital.

The automatic doors slid open with a hiss as the cool, pressurized air flooded out. Jo looked around as he entered, not feeling at all out of place in his jeans, black t-shirt and black leather steel-toed boots. The red blood-stain flowering out from his right hip and the soaked rag he had tucked into his waist, however, commanded more attention than his attire.

He approached the front desk and spoke to the receptionist. ”Hello; I’m Genin Narashi Jo.” He said, producing his I.D. and necessary documents (though the forehead protector tied around his head should’ve been enough to prove his identity. ”I’m in need of some stitches. I got cut on a mission.” The wound was superficial, but deep and long enough to prevent proper clotting. Not to mention that it was over his hip joint; so, with every step, he reopened the cut.

 

[Horigome Sukejuro]

Oh the humanity of it, there was just something about this whole situation that really rubbed him the wrong way. Yes, he probably should have looked before he jumped - but because he passed out winded up in the infirmary? Unnecessary, then claimed he tried committing suicide? The insult...but it was hours since he 'healed' as he lounged in the waiting room, the very same where a young boy entered and brandished his headband.

"Splendid void of suffering, praise to this one for suffering!' Sukejuro quietly muttered to himself as he subtly watched Jo, examined his body movement and managed to hear the blood slowly seeping from the wound at his hip. Tapping on his mask, he watched and waited before the tall and masked Chuunin proceeded to stand - it was time to offer assistance. "Cut. You are cut, right?" the words seemed to hiss from his mask as he inhaled through the air filtering tubes on his mask.

It was so long since he helped someone.

So long since he initiated conversation.

Too long, since he received praise. Extending a hand, the boy might notice scars littering Sukejuro's arms as well as several fresh wounds "I am no doctor, but I am familiar with mending wounds such as yours. By your headband, we are brothers - however, I am not sure where there are mothers, but I am certain it does not matter." he prattled on a bit, thoughts lost in thick fog of entropy which skulked in his head. He felt ill, he always felt ill, always anxious, nauseated, but also incredibly euphoric. The boy reminded him nothing of himself, but there was pain and that enough he could relate to. Well he was satisfied he at least offered, but as he learned very quickly most people rarely ever took his offers because of his clear derangement.

Sukejuro however was certainly amused enough to see if the boy would take his homebrewed medical techniques over the impersonal evaluations of the medical staff.

 

[Tsuyoshi Takeo]

”Splendid void of suffering, praise to this one for suffering!” Came the mutter from a masked man sitting in the lobby. Jo hadn’t missed him in his quick appraisal of the room, but he’d been a bit preoccupied with keeping his blood inside his body where it belonged at the time to really pay too much attention to the masked man. Even as the man spoke, Jo ignored him; knowing he could be speaking to anyone else in the room or to himself. While some found verbal musings to be queer or a sure sign of madness, Jo believed they helped to organize ones thoughts and utilized the practice frequently.

The lady behind the counter seemed to be preoccupied with paperwork, or perhaps simply too busy handling more pressing matters such as filing her nails, to bother replying to Jo’s request for aid. ”Excuse me; can I get a little help here, please?” Jo said; his words polite as ever, but his tone expressing his exasperation at being kept waiting while the crimson fluid that was his blood continued to seep through the rag and trickle between his fingers.

”Cut. You are cut, right?” The words came hissing through the mask of the man behind him. To anyone else, the presence of a man wearing a respirator mask breathing words down their neck would’ve been frightening; but Jo had worn enough gas masks as to make the appearance commonplace. ”I am no doctor, but I am familiar with mending wounds such as yours. By your headband, we are brothers - however, I am not sure where there are mothers, but I am certain it does not matter.” The man said through his mask, offering Jo his hand and his assistance.

Normally, Jo would’ve politely declined. He preferred that something in need of professional care be handled by professionals. His one exception, however, was in the field of medical care. He often said: “If I can’t fix it with ductape, just let me die.” That is, before he saw one of his classmates get an infection while on a wilderness survival excursion and had to have both his feet amputated. The sensei had made the entire class watch from the observation balcony above the operating room to drive the point home that proper foot hygiene was a crucial part of surviving in the wilderness, and that “It don’t matter if you can burn down the whole forest with one jutsu, gangrene’ll still kill ya.” Ever since that day, Jo had made a point to pact an extra pair of socks whenever he was going out for more than a few hours.

”I’m no physician, but I think I’d rather be seen by someone rather than no one at all.” Jo replied, offering his free hand to the man. Jo was told a handshake could tell you more about a man than an hour of conversation. The scars and injuries on the masked mans hand bore witness to his years of combat experience, and made an impact on how Jo perceived him. The Genin’s handshake was a firm down, up, then back to center with a grip that showed his strength but not with any intent to harm. ”I’m Jo. No need for suffixes or any other such nonsense; brothers in arms shouldn’t have to be bothered with them except while on duty.” Jo was sure the masked man would introduce himself in turn (it was polite and proper after all). Then again, he didn’t seem all there. In the end, he just wanted to stop the bleeding.

 

[Horigome Sukejuro]

Like a crow eyeing a potential meal, he watched every subtlty in Jo's motions, the reactions in his body made in reaction to pain or...himself, he could interpret vaguely but rarely anything escaped the Chuunin's sight. Sukejuro drew closer and closer, the scent of fresh blood was something that never eluded him, it was very special to him.

"No nonsense, eh? I think I like you more an' more the more you speak!" He cried out with enthusiasm as he quickly wrapped a hand finger by finger around the wrist of the hand that desperately clutched at the throbbing, sopping, bloody wound. Seeking to examine it he tugged the firm grip with relative ease as he saw the ripe crimson seeping through fabric, further prying with calculated and invasive eyes he finally found the bloody arch over the hip.

"Oh! You have a very nice cut, just deep enough for stitches." He almost happily claimed as he reached into his sleeve and tugged out a small bottle of antiseptic as he screwed off the cap "Now...you will have to forgive me Jo. But I may be rough with you..." He would offer humbly before he wrapped his hand up to his throat loosely until his thumb and middle fingertip met with the edges of his jawline and proceeded to force him to recline backwards and over his knee , resting him horizontally (Example) while resting the boy's soles planted on the floor. He was painstakingly careful to leave his breathing passage open, freely able to breath but causing discomfort to force Jo to conform.

"Now then, you should close your eyes, I will mend what is broken soon..." He would offer as he drew a small blade as he ensured that Blood Bond was activated onto Jo as he drew it up over the top of his forearm and he began slicing as quickly poured anticeptic over Jo's wound and mixed it with his blood. IT was a strange thing to do, but oddly as his own would bled down to his fingertips it did not drip. Instead a fine, sharp, needle-like object formed from his blood and glistened like steel.

"Breath deep and don't exhale." He suggested as he laced more stolen thread and tied off the needle as he rapidly began to mend the Genin's wound with lightning precision, but soon enough sealed the wound before the needle yet again turned to a mass of blood in his hand.

"All done! Stand now, yes?" He enthusiastically claimed as he had come through with his promise - Jo's wound was stitched shut. It was rough but effective.

 

[Tsuyoshi Takeo]

”No nonsense, eh? I think I like you more an' more the more you speak!” Strange… Nope, that was the only word Jo could think of to describe this man. Strange; like something was broken in the best way. He was way too excited as he pried Jo’s hand away from his cut, observing it with a glee the boy hadn’t expected. ”Oh! You have a very nice cut, just deep enough for stitches.”

”Now...you will have to forgive me Jo. But I may be rough with you...” The masked man said (he still hadn’t introduced himself) before wrapping his hand around the Genin’s throat and bending him over his knee. ’Awuddafuk?!’ Jo thought incredulously as he was stretched out parallel to the ground. It took him a second of confusion before he simply relaxed, surrendering to the Masked Mans will. He was trying to help Jo, not hurt him; besides, they were in the middle of an all-shinobi hospital in downtown Kumo. If shit went down, there were plenty of people to back him up (or avenge his death, either way).

”Now then, you should close your eyes, I will mend what is broken soon...” The Masked Man said as he drew the knife. Normally, Jo would’ve liked to have watched; it was his body, after all, and he thought it would be interesting to see it mended like a torn pair of trousers. He quickly changed his mind when he saw the man began slicing himself while pouring antiseptic on Jo’s wound. A small grunt of pain escaped his throat as the isopropyl alcohol cleansed the wound, but he was more interested in the other mans blood traveling down his arm towards his fingertips. Once the blood turned into a needle, Jo slammed his eyes shut and kept them there until the work was done.

”Breath deep and don't exhale.” Jo did as he was told, inhaling deeply and holding his breath. He tried not to think about the fact that the needle biting through his skin was made of the other mans blood, or where the thread had come from that was being dragged through each hole the needle made. Jo furrowed his brow in concentration as he focused not on the tugging, burning pain in his hip, but on his breathing (or lack thereof).


”All done! Stand now, yes?” Just like that, it was done. With a single fluid motion, Jo sat up and returned to his feet, inspecting the masked mans work. It wasn’t pretty, but at least he wasn’t bleeding anymore.

”Thank you, brother.” he expressed his gratitude; but soon his curiosity got the better of his manners. ”Who are you?”

 

[Tsuyoshi Takeo]

{Topic Left Due to Inactivity}