Cyrus was taken aback when the man said that he didn’t want a hospital. Just a place to rest and bandaids? The man was on the brink of death, how on earth would those help him in the slightest? He really didn’t want someone dying in his home, human or not. He knew that if that happened, then sooner or later, he would end up shifting and feasting on the corpse. It wouldn’t be able to be helped, not if it was sitting there in his home where he couldn’t hide away from it.
Cyrus wouldn’t argue, though. If, or in his mind it was ‘when’, the man died, he’d bring it far out into the woods and abandon it. He hoped he wouldn’t wake up hours later having dug it up and mangled it. After a minute or two of walking, they arrived at a small, cozy looking cabin. He used his foot to nudge the door open once they were up on the porch, and he went inside. They were now in a small living room with wooden floors and walls. There was black furniture and decor on the walls. He chose things he could see were black to make things easy when it came to decorating. He lowered the man down onto the couch carefully before taking a step back, worriedly looking at the blood on his hands. He could have been sick right then and there. “What do you need to help or make you comfortable?”
He could practically taste the person's hesitance. "Just… Some gauze… And some other medical stuff… And a knife you don't need anymore." He hissed out in pain, his body shaking slightly. He knew that it was a strange request, but he needed a knife to cut off the infected flesh and then to cauterize the wound. He would be fine as long as he could take care of himself. He'd be alright, especially since this person seemed somewhat understanding. He hoped at least. He was lost in thought, so for the most part he had gone quiet, his eyes dazed. It was clear he was still alive… Just focused on something else. He inhaled deeply once they made it to the cabin. Good, this meant safety. This meant being able to take care of his wounds and somehow survive. He took a double take at the black interior of the cabin, but who was he to judge? He never lived in once place long enough to style a home, and he never stayed long enough to design a home how he wished.
Once settled on the couch he took a deep breath. "Uhm-… Like I said earlier just gauze, and a knife you no longer want. Maybe a rag to clean up the blood. I apologize for the mess, I'll make sure to clean it up." He hissed softly and adjusts himself to make sure that he didn't tear open what had slowly closed off. "Just medical stuff… Please." He took a deep breath, trying to focus on his breathing. He had lost a lot of blood, but as long as he could surge just a little bit of magic to heat the knife he would be fine. He can't build the heat on his hand hot enough to do it, but if he could heat a knife enough he'd be okay. He'd need to tend to the burn, but that's better than risking tearing down sounds and he'd rather deal with that then stitches. He felt horrible that he was getting blood everywhere but he should be able to clean it all up in no time.
Any blood stains wouldn’t be a big deal to Cyrus. Every surface in his home had most likely been covered in blood at some point. He usually made quite a mess getting back to the cabin. He would more often than not be covered in blood, stumbling around in his dazed and nauseous state. That was another reason why he had black furniture. It was easy to hide blood stains. He saw in shades of red, but could pick out black and white. As much as he would love to have white decor, realistically, it wasn’t possible.
Cyrus nodded his head, hurrying off to the bathroom. He dug through the cabinets, finding a mostly unused first aid kit. When shifted, he could take quite a beating. He’d been shot multiple times before, but they hadn’t done much damage to the wendigos thick skin. The only think that could was fire. He was horrified of it, usually being sent into a panic when he spotted it.
Cyrus went to the kitchen to grab a steak knife before returning back to the man. He set the things down on the coffee table next to the couch. “This is the best that I’ve got,” he said, taking a step back as he did his best to ignore the smell of blood and flesh. He had no idea what the man was planning to do with that assortment of things, the wound looking too bad in his opinion.
Carefully, Asra began to shed his clothes, he'd need to be able to see how bad the wounds were. Just his jacket and top, tucking them to the side. He winced at the sight of his own blood, and the mess he was making, but he would clean it up later, and make up for the chaos he had caused. He inhaled sharply and nodded in thanks when Cyrus returned with the things that he had requested. "Thank you. This works perfectly." He murmured, offering a quick and hesitant smile. The wound, after he had cleaned away some of the blood, wasn't as bad as he initially thought. It was deep, yes, but it would heal. That was some good news after all the pain he had experienced. He took a deep breath before glancing at Cyrus. "You ah- might want to look away. The sight isn't going to be pretty." He glanced at the knife for a brief moment. "Like- really bad." He offered a nervous grin.
One of the main reasons he didn't want Cyrus to look was because he was going to burn the wound, and not many liked the sound, sight, nor smell of burning flesh. He had often done this in his own company, but it was a bit odd to have someone looking at him whilst he appeared to only injure his body further. He carefully used his ruined shirt to dab away the blood and try to clean up a little bit of his mess. His mind was calm now that he knew he wasn't going to die in the open air, and that he had found some shelter while he cared for the wound. He'd be out of this persons hair quickly enough, without fear of possibly hurting himself or the other person in the room, "Ah, before I forget. My name is Asra. Thank you for your help."
Cyrus wasn't sure how the man, who now identified himself as Asra, could be smiling about the current situation. He was feeling quite ill already, and barely anything had happened. His stomach growled, and he prayed that Asra couldn't hear. What normal person would be hungry at a time like this? Then again, Asra clearly wasn't normal either. He was not quite human; he could tell that. Neither were the other bodies in the woods. Something was off, but he couldn't question the dying man at the moment.
Quickly, Cyrus tilted his head away from the sight in front of him. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, crossing his arms in a fidgety sort of way. "My name's Cyrus," he said as well, thinking it was the polite thing to do. He felt a little nervous giving the stranger his real name, but he didn't expect him to live much longer. He wasn't aware of Asra's abilities, as well as the fact that Asra was currently hunting him. Though, Asra was looking for a monster, a wendigo. Not a strangely tall man with pale skin and red eyes. That would be difficult to explain away. He tried to think of some sort of genetic disorder that could cause red irises. Maybe he could get away with saying that they were colored contacts.
(Hi, so sorry about my disappearance. There was a very heavy family emergency, but I'm backish!)
Asra held his breath as the smell of burning flesh flashed through his nostrils. "Nice to meet you, Cyrus." The way he spoke was calm, as if he wasn't holding fire to his skin to cauterize the wound. "Beautiful name. Greek I believe." He grunts softly once the wound was closed and set to cleaning it, wrapping it carefully. The scent of blood filled his nostrils and magic flickered in his stomach, though he wasn't sure if it was because he was close to his target or because he was just- dying. Either way he was screwed. He couldn't finish his job like this. That fight had taken too much out of him. "I apologize for crashing in on you like this-" He tried to stand, but his legs gave out on him too quickly for his liking. He inhaled sharply as pain shot through his entire body, the adrenaline finally giving way to exhaustion. He nearly fainted on the spot.
His hand shot to the couch and he supported himself as he held his head as it throbbed angrily at the mere action of standing. He decided that it was probably best to sit again. "Again, thank you for rescuing me." He decided to grab one of the rags, dipping it water before slowly starting to clean off any extra blood. Based off the scars covering his body this wasn't the first time he had gone to absurd measures to care for his wounds. Some looked pretty old, while others couldn't have been more than a couple of weeks. He inhaled sharply and glanced at the other. He was so out of it he didn't really notice anything off about his savior except for maybe the absurd height. "You've been an amazing host… I'll get out of your hair as soon as possible." He grabbed his shirt, tossing it on and wincing at the mess. "If possible, and I hate to stay longer then I have to, but if I could rest for maybe an hour and then clean up this mess I'll get out of your hair as soon as possible."
(It’s ok! Apologies from me as well, work has been busy so I’ve been occupied)
The smell of burning flesh filled the room rather quickly. Cyrus wasn’t sure if the smell sat heavy in the air or if his increased senses were making it so strong. It made him hungry and sick at the same time. He pressed a palm over his mouth, brow furrowing with stress. He resisted the urge to dry heave, not replying to the comment about his name because he was worried that if he opened his mouth, he might throw up. There wasn’t much of anything in his stomach to dispel in the first place. He wasn’t able to keep anything down, meat or not.
Cyrus turned as Asra stood up, hand shooting out to grab onto the man’s bicep as he fell. “You really shouldn’t be trying to move around right now,” he pressed. His eyes glanced over the man’s torso, looking at the expanse of fresh and old wounds. Who was this man and what was he? Clearly not a human, based on his smell and his fire abilities. He sniffed softly, sounding like he was inhaling sharply as he got a deep whiff of the man’s scent. Close to human, but not quite.
It was dangerous to let this man stay in his home. Not only could the stranger be dangerous, but he could also shift at any time and rip the man to shreds. It was very risky for the both of them. Something appealed to his empathy, though, and he couldn’t find it in him to turn down the man in need. “You can stay until you are feeling better…”
