RP:A Professional Should Do This

Summary: After Kasyr's duel with Vexar, Iintahquohae uses the thread she spun from a temporal fragment to attempt reattaching Kasyr's severed arm. The result is questionably successful. Don't go to Inks for healing, folks.

Part of the Weave Your Own Fate Arc

Iintahquohae said to Kasyr, "Not a medic, but...I can probably patch you up."

Vexar survey's his options, the draining effects of not one but two deep cuts laced with toxic blood beginning to impede his focus. Had it impacted him too greatly? He was certain his assessment was spot on, but doubt still somehow lingered. Doubt, or hope...after all, it felt as though he'd lost the battle. His greatest cause was to not only match, but best, a revanant. He'd apparently not done so. But he had to be sure. In a last act of desparation, the vampire sweeps a streak of dragon's blood from Kasyr's sword and squeezes the drops into his enemy's gaping jaw as the word "Medic" is just barely mouthed. Vexar does not maintain consciousness long enough to see the result, but the Kensai's reaction, or lack thereof, would settle the matter for all others in attendance. It is one thing to claim...another entirely to prove.

Dyraxdiin is here, somewhere in the crowd… His form nigh indistinguishable from any other peasant who happened to acquire enough coin to purchase a ticket to this event. A spontaneous trip into Frostmaw from his retreat atop the highest peak in Xalious would have him learn that Kasyr was dueling. While he didn’t manage to witness the bout, he is relatively certain of how it turned out. Both are alive and that is enough for him – Dyraxdiin makes to excuse himself from the area. In passing, he notices a few members of the Mage’s Guild, and offers a kind smile to them were their eyes to meet, but otherwise keeps to himself. That is to say, until Vexar’s final act. He stops in his tracks. Waiting. Sensing.

Kasyr is still trying to get his bearings together when Vexar decides to one up his already rough treatment, and cram a handful of fragmented dragons blood into the Kensais mouth. Suffice to say- it's not really a great taste, which is probably why the vast majority of it winds up spat up in the face of the elder not moments after his demonstration. It also helps to give a better sense of what he'd been spouting about moments prior, though it still leaves the Kensai at a loss for what the mans motivation is. Frankly, there's a lot that the Kensai is going to need to process- but he simply can't in the moment. Instead, he allows his attention to drift towards where he can feel something familiar, only to lock eyes with Iintahquohae. Well, sort of, given he can't really focus his gaze for long, and the uneven dilation of his pupils makes it a mess of an attempt. Still, he can at least recognize the sense of concern- though less so the attempt at communicating. His head nods back, and then forward, as he wrestles with his questionable state of consciousness- finally managing to lift up a hand up to tap at his pointed ears. Which works for all of a few seconds before the lack of support from that same hand being up results in him flopping back in a bed of sanguine stained strawberry jam. Well, in any case, she had seemed like she'd wanted to help, "...Over. here. S'il te plait." Eff today. That's definitely what the Kensai is settling on.

Magik spits on the ground before him as he stands. His form is quickly swallowed by his familiar black flames, leaving only a vacant seat in his wake.

Iintahquohae is on her feet at the sound of her sire's words, pushing her way past anyone who may be in her way. Considering she isn't a healer, the most she can do is wind him up with some bandages, or in this case, the scarf she had tied around her neck, and stitch him up. She's careful to keep out of Vexar's path if she can avoid it. Kneeling down beside the former vampire, a thought briefly crosses her mind, and she rolls up the sleeve of her jacket just a bit, examining her wrist. How did he turn her? ...Could she turn him back? Her eyes lock on him pointedly, as if waiting for some indication if he understood what she was thinking before she busies herself with wrapping her scarf around one of his wounds to at least attempt to cover up some of the bleeding. From her pocket, she fishes out a square of rolled up felt she keeps needles on, and a spool of thread. “This isn't going to feel great,” she says, as if it were necessary to warn him. He probably knew.

Shishi is super upset. It definitely isn't Kasyr's fault, but what the heck? What even is today? Magik? Not a vampire anymore. Kas? -Not a vampire anymore-. New Maniac running the Dragana house? -Is a vampire- and probably because he made some bad choices about who he himself turned previously. Now Vexar's passed out. Is he even going to challenge the returning Titan? Whatever. Blue kicks a stray vermusni against a wall as he flees the storage room, brushing past fans clamoring for him to talk about the potential challenger fight without a word. Shishi snaps at Inks, "Don't bother!" as he goes by.

Dyraxdiin notices Iintahquohae, who he assumes is a friend of Kas’, begin to administer some form of medical treatment. Regardless of what Vexar tried, he seems fine. Dyraxdiin leaves.

Kasyr gets the sense that his fledgeling has -something- on her mind, some concept that she's grappling with in that moment. It's not murderous, though- so at least he doesn't have to worry about her slitting Vexars throat while the guy was napping. ...Okay, worry is maybe not the most apt term, but- the kensai is pretty sure something like that happening, even as an attempt would be frowned on. It doesn't stop an awkwardly pained grin from cropping up though, even as Inks begins to tend to him. "Should learn." There's a pause for him to take in a breath, before he clarifies, "To read lips."The look she sports as she provides the warning is familiar enough to him that he can at least take a stab at responding in a manner that seems applicable. "Go 'head."

Iintahquohae is grateful for the levels of restraint she has currently, because frankly, she's starving. The restraint is probably just because she's also utterly grossed out and actually worried about his well-being. Not that she'd admit it. The brief consideration of attempting to sire her sire is shaken off, as there doesn't seem to be much time to wing it. He alive -now-, and bleeding. A lot. Ignoring the onlookers, she reaches for Kasyr's detached arm, with care to not touch the bloody end, and attempts to line it up so it's at least sitting where it should be. Her free hand reaches back into her pocket, grabbing the spool of strange, mercurial thread she had spun so long ago to seal up Vailkrin's sky. “This worked seamlessly before,” the seamstress recalls, looking over Kas' wound again. Threading the needle and snapping a length of the thread before pocketing the spool again, she begins silently sewing him back together.

Kasyr does not have the benefit of being, well, the sky- and therefore this is a hell of a lot more uncomfortable then he'd braced himself for. Suffice to say, there's a number of words -very- quietly hissed out between clenched teeth as the work continues. With every passing moment, there's an additional bit of appeal to be found with the idea of mutual annihilation, if only because at least then he'd only have to deal with the uncomfortable questions surroundings his dissapearance and reappearance. ... He really ought to get Lionel in on that loop, in the instance he dies again. More presently, however, "Fffffff." Yeah, trying to distract himself with internal musings only goes so far when you're getting your arm both naturally and unnaturally stitched back into place. What's even harder to place, however- is the peculiar sensations coursing up and down through his flesh as she continues to work- as the peculiar twine's nature as essentially a chunk of condensed 'time', meant that he was currently in the process of experiencing not just the present punishment, but earlier bits of battle damage he'd subjected the limb to. Suffice to say, his focus has completely evaporated at this point- something which finally sees the various swords he'd summoned simply winking out of existence.

Iintahquohae doesn't seem to mind the swearing. This is a normal reaction. If he wasn't swearing while she's sewing him up, Inks would be concerned. She isn't very good at playing medic and her bedside manner is probably questionable. Small talk isn't really her thing. “Do you feel...better, at all?” Not the brightest question, but what else could she ask? “We should probably get you somewhere more comfortable than this place.” The seamstress involuntarily jerks to try to muffle a cough in her elbow, accidentally jabbing the needle into his flesh too far. “Sh--. sorry, sorry -” She spits more black goo onto the floor and repositions the needle, turning his partially attached arm a bit so she can begin sewing together the underside. The ridiculousness of the scene dawns on her, looking at the state Kasyr is in, and the state she is in, and Inks produces a half smile. “If I had known hanging around you and yours would end up like this...” She pauses to laugh a little. “We're both disasters.”

Kasyr can still feel the ringing in his ears, though at this point, he has a new unpleasent sensation to discover, as there's the distinct sensation of something sticking in his ear- courtesy of all the blood congealing. Being a bit cooked definitely helped that process along. "...Sorry. Not good for." He starts to move his left hand, more out of the instinctual desire to gesture than anything- before almost immediately catching himself after, the sway of his body immediately noticeable. "Conversation." He tries to offer a weak smile in response to more of her comments, but can't quite keep it up when he finds himself subjected to a summary bit of stitch related stabbings. At least in this case, it's not overly hard to piece together what she's saying, given both her expression, and the feelings she gives off. "It's. fine." It, might have come off as a bit more forced then intended, but, these things happen. In any case, the next time she smiles, he settles with a more restrained smirk. As much as the continued ministrations are painful, there's at least some consolation to be found in the company kept in the aftermath. Also, in the possibility of having an arm. That definitely helps with the whole keeping up spirits thing, even if his attempts at joviality keep ending in winces.

Iintahquohae almost grimaces. Great. He can't speak well? Hopefully he'll give her some warning if he feels like he's going to pass out or something. Brows knit with concern while she continues stitching up his arm after a pause to brush a few curls out of the way, conveniently revealing the serpent tattoo behind her ear she's purposely kept hidden from view as of late, mostly because she doesn't know where in the world it came from and doesn't like the idea of herself going on a drunken adventure to get inked. His acceptance of her apology is reassuring. Maybe he'll survive in one piece after all. She's sewn all the way around Kasyr's arm now, and snapped the excess thread free. Now, the seamstress isn't sure if the thread will just disappear and meld into his skin the way it did with the sky, but at least the arm is back where it belongs. Her hand lifts to push her glasses up, unintentionally smearing one of the lenses with his blood. She pockets the remaining thread and needle, then wipes her glasses as clean as she can get them with her already soiled handkerchief. “Do you think your arm is going to...work again?” Yes or no questions seem to be the best way to go for now.

Kasyr can feel the general sense of fussing, and can't help but let out a sigh. Sure, it's entirely warranted in that moment- but it doesn't stop him from feeling a distinct sense of distaste towards his own state. This mortal -frailty- galled him on so many levels.Enough so that it actually takes him a few moments to take in the sight of her tattoo. There's an uncanny familiarity there- and one that pairs up rather well with his earlier diagnosis of her state. Still, it was hardly the time to comment. Sure, her wrapping up her stitchwork meant he wouldn't be hissing every few seconds- but it still didn't help with the fact that he couldn't listen that well. All the same, her pointed interest at his arm was hard to miss. Was she asking if he could currently use it? "Not sure." Risking that after it had just freshly been stitched seemed reckless, and the idea of simply cradling it close to his stomach far preferable. "Need to find . . ." His eyes unfocus for a moment, as the reservoirs of stubborness he relied upon were beginning to ebb away, "...Healer. A bed." Maybe not in that exact order, but, honestly, the Kensai wasn't really picky in his state.

Iintahquohae takes her scarf and refashions it into a sling to keep his arm hopefully in a more comfortable position, then moves to his other side to drape his other arm over her shoulder in order to help him to his feet. Once she's successfully done so, but at a little bit of a crouch due to the height difference, she looks to guide his way out of the room. “Bed first, so I'm not dragging you everywhere. Tavern might work.” It isn't too far off, is it? She can get him as comfortable as possible and fetch a healer afterward. Settling on that as the best decision for now, she begins walking Kas out of the store room.

Karasu watches from the spectator stands that have since cleared out due to the gruesome incident. A black featureless mask has since been affixed to her face. The Kensai was not someone she had yet cleared of suspicion, at least not yet. Still, part of her heart ached for her former teacher. The woman lifts a hand to where her ear would be beneath the hood of her winter coat. Satisfied that Kasyr would not be dying tonight, she stands to make her leave. Her heeled boots strangely make no sound against the smooth stone as she moves towards the exit. There is a pause, and a satchel is tossed to the pair, where it seems to hover over the ground for just a moment before landing gently on the ground. Inside is a glass jar with a powerful salve in it. "Stop getting yourself into trouble, Kasyr." The unfamiliar voice says. With that, she makes her exit.