I'd need to show you. I'm in an abandoned house near the bazaar, on the corner. Blue door, downstairs windows boarded up, two people outside nearby having what one might politely call an enthusiastic debate.
[ Hood up, he makes his way through the bazaar with shockingly little incident. There's a glimpse of a face he might have recognized but at this point? He pushes past the shock and onward, to where Wrathion waits.
[ All of the housing in Hatthevar is falling apart, and this is no exception.
The rain leaks in, and Wrathion's own rain-bloody footprints trail across the floor. He glances at the door, considering the sound of the knock, but even at a distance he can sense Anduin. Knows his gait, the feel of his magic, his presence, the way he knocks.
He pushes himself into unlocking the door, one-handed, and pulling it open. Wrathion's expression gives nothing away, and he steps aside to let Anduin in. ]
Thank you for coming, I know you've been kept busy.
It's fairly obvious this would be the next step, but this does still give him pause. He hesitates, shifting across the room to sit on a damp old box which is about all that exists for furniture. There's still a hint of tension to his posture as he does. He wets his lips and begins to carefully begin undoing buttons... one-handed. ]
Thank you. I do appreciate your time.
[ Why is he being so awkwardly formal? He doesn't know. He's just... technically undressing in front of Anduin under... unfortunate circumstances. ]
[ He's not sure either, but the discomfort radiating off of him is damn near palpable. Anduin's brow furrows as he works, noting the use of the one hand alone.
More gently, he presses. ]
My time is yours. Whenever you need. Will you tell me what happened?
[ It gives him an out, at the very least, lest he feel cornered by all this attention. ]
As mentioned, I've been helping up at the walls. Anurr has been bombarding them with some of his creatures, and the city's own defending ones do not quite... discern well between friend and foe.
[ So it has been a... trying experience. He is, at least, doing decently well unbuttoning one handed? He reaches his sash and, begins to... pick apart the knot carefully. Also one-handed. ]
[ He hesitates, considering struggling onwards stubbornly, but allows it. As the coat loosens away, patches of the white shirt underneath are stained dark. ]
.... Thank you.
[ He hesitates, feeling as if silence would be... awkward. ]
[ He does not fuss, because he knows Wrathion holds a thin line between 'wanting attention paid to him' and 'projecting weakness'. He's still careful in easing fabric away, to get a better look at the damage.
Particular mind is paid to that arm he noticeably isn't using. ]
[ Sections of skin look like they've taken ragged damage, perhaps not from a weapon but from... claws. Wrathion shifts his good arm to slide out of his coat, allows Anduin to help get it off his other arm. ]
Careful, you know I run warm.
[ Said playfully, but with a slight underlying tension. His blood can burn.
Underneath his white shirt and gloves, some parts of his arm are... dark, discoloured. ]
[ At least he's talking about it, in some detail. Anduin for his part lets himself focus on the wounds he can see, extending a hand to hover over the discolored skin and closing his eyes.
As the familiar channeling washes through him, humming in his very bones, a soothing warmth spills from his fingers. The Light radiates gently into torn and mottled flesh, willing it to heal. To knit itself back together as it had once been. ]
[ He tenses further, a shiver running through him as the Light heals his wounds. Wrathion feels tension ease from his limbs, feels warmth run through previously chilled skin. ]
... You're rather good at this, you know.
[ A tease, because the air is a little too serious still. He's fine! Everything is fine? ]
[ That draws his focus for a moment, eyes flickering open to peer at Wrathion. ]
Well it's good to hear you're still capable of joking. Must not be that bad, then.
[ Still, the moment the skin looks less painful to touch, he does just that. Touching his fingertips to Wrathion's arm, less to heal and more to...comfort, he supposes. Even if the dragon doesn't need it, strictly speaking. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
un: Black Prince; text
[ Could he have written 'help'? Could he have specified needing healing?
Absolutely not, don't be silly. ]
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No, I'm not busy with anything at the moment.
What is it, Wrathion?
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[ Does he need to bring his sword, is the point here. ]
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[ So no trouble!! He's just waiting, patiently! ]
action!
There's a quiet knock at the door. ]
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The rain leaks in, and Wrathion's own rain-bloody footprints trail across the floor. He glances at the door, considering the sound of the knock, but even at a distance he can sense Anduin. Knows his gait, the feel of his magic, his presence, the way he knocks.
He pushes himself into unlocking the door, one-handed, and pulling it open. Wrathion's expression gives nothing away, and he steps aside to let Anduin in. ]
Thank you for coming, I know you've been kept busy.
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[ Given...well. Everything.
He hesitates as he looks Wrathion over, obviously sensing something is Not Right, here. ]
So. What's happened, now?
[ Not 'what have you done', at least. ]
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[ Said sedately enough. Wrathion waits until Anduin has, then begins to move further into the room. He is moving just a little stiffly. ]
I've been helping up at the walls.
[ A casual lead in to what happened, just some context. You know. ]
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Anduin's mouth thins slightly as the door closes behind him, shifting after the dragon in quick order. ]
Are you hurt?
[ Bluntly. ]
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Your talents would not go unappreciated.
[ That's a yes. ]
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Anduin resists the urge to roll his eyes, gesturing for the dragon to make himself comfortable. ]
Show me.
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Well.
It's fairly obvious this would be the next step, but this does still give him pause. He hesitates, shifting across the room to sit on a damp old box which is about all that exists for furniture. There's still a hint of tension to his posture as he does. He wets his lips and begins to carefully begin undoing buttons... one-handed. ]
Thank you. I do appreciate your time.
[ Why is he being so awkwardly formal? He doesn't know. He's just... technically undressing in front of Anduin under... unfortunate circumstances. ]
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More gently, he presses. ]
My time is yours. Whenever you need. Will you tell me what happened?
[ It gives him an out, at the very least, lest he feel cornered by all this attention. ]
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[ So it has been a... trying experience. He is, at least, doing decently well unbuttoning one handed? He reaches his sash and, begins to... pick apart the knot carefully. Also one-handed. ]
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Here. Let me.
[ The tone is a request, even if the words aren't. ]
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.... Thank you.
[ He hesitates, feeling as if silence would be... awkward. ]
You are... unharmed yourself?
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[ He does not fuss, because he knows Wrathion holds a thin line between 'wanting attention paid to him' and 'projecting weakness'. He's still careful in easing fabric away, to get a better look at the damage.
Particular mind is paid to that arm he noticeably isn't using. ]
I'll try to be quick.
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Careful, you know I run warm.
[ Said playfully, but with a slight underlying tension. His blood can burn.
Underneath his white shirt and gloves, some parts of his arm are... dark, discoloured. ]
Frost wyrm.
[ Just... context. ]
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[ At least he's talking about it, in some detail. Anduin for his part lets himself focus on the wounds he can see, extending a hand to hover over the discolored skin and closing his eyes.
As the familiar channeling washes through him, humming in his very bones, a soothing warmth spills from his fingers. The Light radiates gently into torn and mottled flesh, willing it to heal. To knit itself back together as it had once been. ]
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... You're rather good at this, you know.
[ A tease, because the air is a little too serious still. He's fine! Everything is fine? ]
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Well it's good to hear you're still capable of joking. Must not be that bad, then.
[ Still, the moment the skin looks less painful to touch, he does just that. Touching his fingertips to Wrathion's arm, less to heal and more to...comfort, he supposes. Even if the dragon doesn't need it, strictly speaking. ]
I admit, I was a little worried.
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[ Nothing to worry about, surely? All the same, a new wave of tension does pass through him at the touch to his arm.
Yes, fine, it hurts, but it's being healed now isn't it? So it will be fine soon. ]
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