open post; ???

[subservience]

A:

[It's late at night, a time where few else are awake, or at least few are out on the streets. This would be because it's reaching dangerously close to the curfew imposed when the town—and the country as a whole—was invaded not long ago, meaning few dare to step out now (so what are you doing out here, huh?).

Clearly, this is the best time to find dead bodies.

... Two dead bodies, to be exact, and those of soldiers. And look, you even caught the assailant at the scene of the crime: a young man holding a bloody sword (though no sheath—the only ones with such a thing are the corpses, indicating where the weapon may have come from), spare hand pressed to his side where red spreads. It's fairly obvious that he's injured, from the way he's bent over, expression tense in pain. He's also bleeding badly; it could very well be a fatal wound.

Do you help the person who, for all you know, is some psycho serial killer, or do you run away (or none of the above)??]

B-i:

[Who even knows what's going on, but you're sick??? And you should be in bed, but you're not for whatever reason, you crazy person, which happens to be the point where your handy caretaker Jiros walks into the room, holding a bowl of soup.

Pausing, he stares, before blandly:]

I would advise against your current action of choice. A lack of proper rest will only delay your illness further.

B-ii:

[Alternatively, Jiros is sick and you're the one looking after him, and he's apparently a massive hypocrite because guess who's not resting??? Instead, despite being pale(r than usual) and looking unsteady on his feet, he's picking up his bow, suggesting that he's about go out and shoot things.

... For training, okay!! Nothing questionable!!! But either way, he's... not resting...]

WILDCARD:

[idk do whatever]

Comments

a ig

[stillbeating]

[ just then, one of the dead bodies expirates blood.

the droplets come spraying out the way a whale might furtively exhale water spouts for every whaler within fifty miles to see-- with the knowledge that doing it means damning itself but dammit it needs to breathe. what follows the blood is a gurgled moan, and then more blood, and then finally, when the subject has at long last run out of blood in his throat, he begins to groan.

wet, slopping sounds. the creak of bone. and what had been most certainly a dead body (skewered right through, major organ damage, death pretty much imminent) suddenly stops being a dead body. signe sits up as his stomach lethargically knits itself back together the way a particularly blind grandmother might crochet her favourite nephew a sweater: slowly, carefully, and with all the preciseness of a bat doing ballet. he swears as he digs out the tip of the sword that had snapped off in his ribcage before said ribs can knit back together and turn said sword tip into a part of him, and then turns his recently not-dead gaze over to jiros in a very good imitation of a person who's just risen from the grave, and kind of wishes he hadn't. ]

Okay, [ he breathes, sounding tired, ] you're right. 'I'll hold him down while you skewer him' is an awful idea, and we're never going to do this again.

[ just because you know he's immortal doesn't mean he likes being bisected??? jiros???? that being said, however, the plaintive whine in his gaze drops to something perhaps more appropriate for the situation as he takes in jiros' blood-soaked side. damn, so that guy got in a hit after all. forcing the lower half of his body to cooperate, he drags himself over to where jiros is, fingers clawed into the dirt, until he can get a better view of the damage. ]

Hey, [ damn it looks bad, he tugs his blood-stained cloak loose and shoves it at jiros. balled up and filthy as it is, it'll have to do. ] -- press this against your wound. And sit down.

ew who are you!!!

[subservience]

[and yeah you know what he doesn't like being arrested by guards who might do research into his background and learn about his identity???? being jiros verslan sucks when the country that's invaded yours is out to kill you...

When they'd tried to take him in—which was his mistake, he shouldn't have been out at this time—he'd done the only thing he knew how to do. He doesn't have the skills to talk himself out of a situation, and so, taking them by surprise, he'd struck (and stole one of their weapons, for a lack of his own. He's not going to walk around with his fancy sword out in public; that's like painting a label over himself).

As the man (who, to his alarm, has inexplicably come back from the dead) approaches him, he backs away to the best of his ability, eyes wide and his hand holding onto the sword tightening its grip. Even wounded like this, he's ready to keep fighting if he has to.

He won't die here. He can't: he won't leave Iwan alone like that. More importantly, he can't leave Valis alone, wherever he is in the world. He has to find him.]

... I am not inclined to listen to the words of an enemy.

[Says the guy who technically attacked first, but details.]