03-10-2018, 08:12 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 460px; text-align:justify; font-family:arial; font-size:9pt"]Ottawa had been woken up late in the afternoon by pitiful mewling. When he opened his mouth, a tiny, dirty paw was scratching haplessly at his face, and Sam #1 presented a bloody, mildly mangled paw to him. Ottawa's first thought had been that they matched now—his own hand was pretty fucked up, but her wound isn't that bad, now that he's looking at it. She's only cut the pad of her foot, presumably on a piece of glass or a nail sticking out of the floorboards or whatever. Nothing has been lobbed off, and she is, for the most part, intact. Still, his expression softens, and immediately he swoops her up in his arm to go and scavenge for his bag. He doesn't know why he doesn't just keep it with him, or throw it into his brother's room for safekeeping, rather than just plop it down somewhere and ignore it for days on end. People have probably stolen half of the things in there. Not that there's anything valuable in there, unless somebody can make use out of a shirt and a half-destroyed bible. He just needs bandaids, anyway. Whatever else is in there can go to somebody else, if they really want it.
Sam #1 squirms as she dangles from his arm, held by Ottawa's good hand to his chest as he roams around in search of his belongings, or at least something he can fix her with. "I know, I know," he mumbles quietly, in an overly sympathetic tone as his cat yowls and writhes. Eventually he stumbles across his beat-up backpack, and crouches down, digging one-handedly through it and procuring several bandages and a scrap of cloth. Will it work if he just slaps a bandaid on it? He has no clue how to fix up himself, let alone his cat's foot. It's not that big of a cut, but she's sure acting like she's about to bleed out and die. Ottawa situates himself on the floor so he can work on patching her up, offering her an exaggerated pout and mumbling quiet, reassuring things to her as she writhes.
Sam #1 tries to wriggle away from him when he grabs hold of her skinny leg to inspect the cut. "I'm gonna get a leash for you," he tells her. The corners of his mouth turn upward as she seems to protest the very thought, batting at his hand and biting his fingers to no avail. "Parade you around like a dog. Y'already act like one." How long is she going to keep throwing a tantrum over this? Ottawa hopes she calms down soon enough; he's just going off the top of his head here, trying to at the very least clean the wound, but she won't even let him do that. "C'mon, pretty lady, I'm trying to help you out here." He looks up from his cat for a moment to search the room. Where's a vet when you need one? He doesn't know how well any of these people are versed in medicine, aside from Sam #1's greasy human counterpart, but he's sure most of them know a hell of a lot more than he does. Maybe he'll wait for someone to help him out, since he has no clue what he's doing.
Sam #1 squirms as she dangles from his arm, held by Ottawa's good hand to his chest as he roams around in search of his belongings, or at least something he can fix her with. "I know, I know," he mumbles quietly, in an overly sympathetic tone as his cat yowls and writhes. Eventually he stumbles across his beat-up backpack, and crouches down, digging one-handedly through it and procuring several bandages and a scrap of cloth. Will it work if he just slaps a bandaid on it? He has no clue how to fix up himself, let alone his cat's foot. It's not that big of a cut, but she's sure acting like she's about to bleed out and die. Ottawa situates himself on the floor so he can work on patching her up, offering her an exaggerated pout and mumbling quiet, reassuring things to her as she writhes.
Sam #1 tries to wriggle away from him when he grabs hold of her skinny leg to inspect the cut. "I'm gonna get a leash for you," he tells her. The corners of his mouth turn upward as she seems to protest the very thought, batting at his hand and biting his fingers to no avail. "Parade you around like a dog. Y'already act like one." How long is she going to keep throwing a tantrum over this? Ottawa hopes she calms down soon enough; he's just going off the top of his head here, trying to at the very least clean the wound, but she won't even let him do that. "C'mon, pretty lady, I'm trying to help you out here." He looks up from his cat for a moment to search the room. Where's a vet when you need one? He doesn't know how well any of these people are versed in medicine, aside from Sam #1's greasy human counterpart, but he's sure most of them know a hell of a lot more than he does. Maybe he'll wait for someone to help him out, since he has no clue what he's doing.
[align=center][b][sup][abbr=ottawa everman, the badlands - dantalion, flintlock lodge]CHARACTERS[/abbr]  [abbr=body#0070]DISCORD[/abbr]