//------------------------------// // Quest 7 - Bearing The Pain // Story: Wolf-cubs // by Orrm //------------------------------// "Insert wisdom" ~ ____. _. _______ Shivers in her spine almost sent her sprawling across the carpet. Luckily, the boy helped her stand, trembling under the weight of her thin frame, poor kid. She caught the look on his face, steely determination. It worried her; honestly, she had very few reasons to NOT be worried these days. She tapped his shoulder, letting Orthros know she would be alright on her own. He'd looked at her like a man who’d seen the ghost of his dead sister. He nodded; sadly, she thought, and slunk out the room. After a few minutes, she took her time hobbling to the bath. “This is going to suck so much,” She liked hot water quite a bit, however, her stab wounds decidedly did not. “AHhhrhrhshshshshshshshhhhhhhhhhhhh” A long winded sigh of hurt slipped out from between her teeth while gargle-choking on water . She knew it was pure luck that she was slashed than stabbed, but. She didn’t feel very lucky. The water split on her back it felt like the stream ground the tender flesh down to her bones, sending throbbing, itchy agony from her hip to her neck. The pain branched off like the roots of a tree and burrowed into her sides, restraining herself from scratching them was torture. Her hands lightly coated her naked form in soap. Legs were easier, only a little scrape here and there, could afford a thick lather. She dusted her trunk, unwilling to risk it, then moved onto her arms. “Urk!“ She winced- Stupid. Her bicep was blooming sunflower yellow, a bruise melding well into her skin. She’d forgotten that one. She noticed an odd bump on her crown and took extra care not to aggravate it with the coconut shampoo she’d ‘burrowed’ since yesterday. Another long spray of hot water almost sent her into a seizure. She hunched forwards, letting water crash over the middle of her curved spine. Her chin trembled, her shoulders heaved with the rolling , pulsing pain like dancing matches burning across her back. She stayed there for a few minutes. Her body, a small, bleeding mountain of shuddering breaths and darting eyes peeled wide. When her fingers started to prune, panic set in. She was using too much water, God oh no no, no nononnon- they’d kick her out-no that was too tame. Maybe a knife would do, how about loading that gun with real bullets? Crushing her skull- knife-shot-painpainpain- “SSSSSSSSHHHHAAAAAA!” She silenced her thoughts with a large exhale. Her chest rose and fall, her shoulders swayed unsteadily. In her panic, she’d risen and stood on her knees. She leaned against the porcelain wall, hands balled into tight fists till her nails dug scarlet crescents and her knuckles turned white as the moon. Faust. She was such a mess. She helped herself to their first aid kit. Clumsily clawing damp strands of hair off her delicate back, before spraying it with alcohol. Trembling hands struggled to wrap her body tight, she almost hoped the tightness would choke her dead. Alas, she was too weak for that. The dream haunted her. No matter how much she cried, pleaded and screamed no one would help her. She was dead to her friends, a ghost wailing into the wind for all the good it did. That was her world. She’d tried. Really, really tried to tell them No. She’d told them. She’d offered everything, her phone, her passwords, everything. She begged. She blabbed on and on like a lost puppy jumping at their heels for weeks and weeks. Begging for them to take her word for it, just once. All the good that did. “Ar-ugh!” Her back lanced. All the good that did. This, this was a new lesson, likely. A brand new friendship lesson! Her eyes burned. What a lesson…. Words were useless. “So, how are we doing this?” She stood an arms length from Achilles, who’d taken to lazing languidly over the couch. His neck hung limply over the plush armchair and bobbed once in response. “Mm…beg your pardon?” He ground out between chunks of the gravel he called cereal. Imagine frosted flakes, but made of walnuts and no sugar The heathen even poured milk first! “Clothes” “…” “Hello?” “…” She waved her palm in front his eyes, “Anyone ther-” His wrist closed around hers like a snapping snake. His eyes darted to her, then sideways at a steadily approaching giddy gait. “Noted…” he paused, her eyes cast downward at the approaching person, beholding two feet that might as well have been tap-dancing, ”Orthros,” She suspected they were telepathic… but hoped not. His hand on hers had sent a fearful jolt down her spine and sent her mind in a brief spiral to worse times. To the slashes coating her spine. She’d told them so much already, but she didn’t want to even think about that. Orthros seemed to know exactly when to arrive, and exactly what to do. He nodded once, like he’d been here from the beginning, from the moment his brother uttered his first name. Just one word. Likely telepathic. What story could one single word really tell? Distracted. He was distracted, unfortunate, not ideal. ...Unfortunate? No, Foolish. Every variable was supposed to be taken care of. Every possible aspect accounted for. Except… clothes? No, he’d never made a screw up in years. Sure, his track record may have only been about.. three of them, but still, he hadn’t messed up. Three years of flawless planning. Three years of effortless execution. Three years, of unfaltering will. But he, an oracle among mortals for how much he knew, failed to account for something so… trivial? Impossible. His head was foggy. Dusted with tiredness thin as morning mist. Almost, imperceptible. Dull, his mind was dull. And neither coffee, energy drinks nor medication could sharpen him. He’d been trying since the day prior. Something was… off. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. Something was snapping in front of his eyes. His arm closed around it, hand twisting upwards. He shook back to the present and halted in time to cancel the wrist lock. Barely. Their eyes caught. He surmised the context of her prior words. He estimated the likelihood of her subsequent actions. He concluded the current state of affairs. He responded, first to her, “Noted-“ Then turned his gaze to his brother, and ordered, “-Orthros,” Their youngest nodded, having seen his text. Good. Small hairs on her face shivered as she lead the march, Orthros was…doing things. Things that made her question her life decisions. Their last conversation played in her mind, persisting on loop like the foul aftertaste of artificial apple juice. All while the plod of two pairs of feet crunched behind her. “Uh, Orthros?” she trailed off, eyes slumped sideways in confusion and chin tucked downwards to meet his eyes. Both of which were at the level of her shins. “Yezzzzzz?” the four-footed monstrosity lain at her feet replied. “Why are you wearing that?” “Why wouldn’t ah be wearin’ this?” “Just… seems like an odd choice…to visit someone’s place…” “We walkin’ though,” “Well…yes…” “Like, twelve-twenty blocks innit?” “…Okay that’s strangely unspecific but about yes-“ “-exercise,” “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in… not that?” “Exercise is discomfo’t,” “Aren’t you worried about the poli-” “-this Gucci,” The tiny interlocked ‘G’s on his back taunted her. “…” “…” Their gazes met in silence. “…” “…” Through the clear eye-lens, his eyes blinked slowly. “Welp, get to steppin’ son,” Orthros, dressed in a bear costume, then proceeded to lizard-walk. “Uh, Orthros?” “Yus?” “My apartment’s in the other direction.”