[D3 LE] Helping Hand (Chantelle's Apartment)

[Chantelle Rossette]

Chantelle and Jack had returned home from the foray to the orchard, the egret showered away the blood on her creamy-white feathers, pulling a face as she did. Dressed in a clean sundress, she wandered into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine, leaning against the bench and examining the cleaned wounds on her arm. They were bleeding again. She tried to soothe them, invoking the magic of her Court, but she was tired and in pain, and the Wyrd would not answer her. Instead, she placed a long strip of gauze over the slashes, holding it firmly. It would be too awkward to wrap a bandage between or over her long wing feathers, but for the moment she was more interested in stemming the slow seep of blood.


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(( Helping Hand - Screaming Jets ))

[D3 LE] Gift of Warm Blood and Cold Wine (Wits 3, Medicine 2, Mantle 3): 8d10o10h8 0

1 Glamour spent.
1 Willpower spent.

[Marcus Kendall]

Sometime later, someone knocked on the door. "It's Marcus. Chantelle, are you there?" a deep voice called out. There was a sense of both concern and urgency in his tone.

[Chantelle Rossette]

Setting down her wine glass, Chantelle carefully disposed of the bloodied gauze. There was wasn't much blood on it, the hot shower had softened the forming scabs, but the steristrips were as good as stitches, perhaps better. Her claws clicked on the hardwood floor, spotless of the muddy paw prints Marcus had tracked in the previous evening, as she crossed to the door. Chantelle cracked the portal open, peering through the gap. She smiled when she saw the beast there, "mon loulou," she crooned, taking the chain off the door and opening it fully, "to wha' do I owe de pleasure?"

[Marcus Kendall]

As soon as she opened the door, Marcus wrinkled his nose, inhaling deeply. "Bloody hell, not you too." The was a flare of anger, bitter tones of orange and almonds. "I was hoping that..." Whatever he had hoped was forgotten as he recalled his manners. She could see and sense his unease, his plumed tail wrapped around his ankles almost as if it was hiding. "Can I come in? I want to talk."

[Chantelle Rossette]

"Mon loulou," she cooed, "you no' 'urt, are you?" Apparently she was far more concerned that he, too, had offered his blood to the Apple King, than she was with the vicious lacerations on the bare skin of her arm below the feather line. She swept to one side, lightweight dress swirling, "mais, don' stan' on de stoop all nigh', come in and I'll ma' you a drin'."

[Marcus Kendall]

"Me? No?" Marcus turned to look at his flanks as if he expected to find a deep wound on his side. "But I heard about this curse thing... well, fuck that. You alright, Chan?" his eyes settled on her wounds, swearing under his breath even as he stepped in. "Some fucking bullshit this is." Yet, she could feel a slight whiff of relief puffing out of the lichen covered beastling. Where she had painstakingly tucked off the lichen, new sprouts could be seen.

Once within, both the wolf and his tail scanned the small room, more out of paranoia than distrust. An aura of unease mixed with fear still lingered around the beast.

[Chantelle Rossette]

The egret was, perhaps excessively, casual about the matter, "I've bee' betta," she ran her fingertips lightly over the wounds, they were raw and angry, much like the beast himself. She was in pain, curling black tendrils that tasted like aniseed, but Marcus would notice the distinct lack of anger in the air about her; she was rosemary calm. "I'll ta' anoder loo' tomorrow, whe' I no' so tire'." Caressing his cheek, "di' you come 'ere jus' to che' on me, mon loulou?"

[Marcus Kendall]

The beast's nostrils flared. "This is some bullshit. I thought we were safe here." he paused for a moment, frustration and anger flaring around him, repugnant scents of turpentine and decaying leaves. "As safe as we could be anywhere." Almost instinctively, he stepped closer to the egret, wrapping his paws around her, taking care not avoid her injure arm. "So, I met this Craig guy, he told me about the hungry orchards. He's nuts babe, anyway, so, I didn't feel it, but it seems that you and he did. Me? I felt that someone was after my ass. Someone real hungry. Like something from the other side, but not quite."

[Chantelle Rossette]

Her injured wing folded, resting against Marcus' barrel chest, her other hand settled on his shoulder, stroking his rough fur. "Wha's a lil bloo' in return fo' prosper'ty? A lil token to de Apple King so as Minuit don' fin' itself destitu'. We nee' the orchar's," she probably wasn't explaining well, so she gathered her thoughts and tried again.

"De Apple King, he give me an' T'Jack a baske' of delicious apples. Dey were goo', fameux, bu' such gif's come wit a price, and dat price was de bloo' dat ma' de apples grow so well."

[Marcus Kendall]

"Well, who says this hungry fucker won't be back tomorrow, or day after tomorrow." the beast growled, leaning to plant a kiss on her shoulder. His snout was damp, his breath almost scalding on her feathers. "I don't like this - at all." Holding her softly against his large frame, he exhaled audibly, relaxing as he did so. "This shit was infuriating on the other side. All these fucking deals that make no fucking sense."