12914/First night in a new home

First night in a new home
Date of Scene:	29 March 2021
Location:	Buffy's Room, Apartment 214 (TBD)
Synopsis:	Zhao returns to their shared room, wounds are discovered, then healed by Vitali
Cast of Characters:	Vitali Svyatoslav, Xiang Zhao

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Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
The moon is close to being full, but not quite there yet. It's dark outside, save for the moon and startlight, and the ambient light from streetlights and other buildings. This is a thing that Vitali has spent some time marvelling at. Streetlights are unfamiliar to him, and most buildings aren't light at this time of night -- or at least, not as brightly as what they are here. He's used to candlelight, to oil lanterns.

The bed within the room has been left alone, although Soraya is perched upon the railed footboard of it. Her feathers are slightly fluffed, and her eyes are lidded as she sleeps. His duffel rests against the wall, and the rolled up elk hide is upon that. The glass bottle, corked, with its reddish-purple mixture stands near to the duffel, a layer of ice still within it. He sits upon the floor, his legs crossed and his hands resting lightly in his lap. He's calm and at ease, but aware. His eyes are closed, yet he's awake. Resting, but not meditating. The door is partially closed but not latched at all. He has no expectation of privacy, but that's what he's used to. He's wearing his blue jeans, and he's barefooted as well as being shirtless. Both the necklace that he wears and the bracelet at his left wrist are visible. His hair is unbound, softly falling over his shoulders and back. His back is to the door, though the position wasn't necessarily given much thought at all. It simply is.

Xiang Zhao has posed:
Xiang Zhao returns as he had left. Quietly and out from the balcony. It hadn't mattered that the room was two stories up. He'd floated to the ground easily. Magic. It's a marvel. He returns as he'd come. There's not even a sound as he jumps up to the balcony and lands lightly, first with a foot on the railing, then on the floor itself. The first indication that he's returned is the sound of the sliding glass door opening.

Tonight, he'd gone out in robes of deep blue and darker grey, colors to blend with the shadows and darkness. He had said he was going out, and then he had gone, not giving it much other thought. He hadn't said so, but he'd gone to hunt demons. That had been a couple hours before sunset.

As Xiang steps back into the room, he pauses to slide the door closed again. When he turns, the robes swirl about him a little, and the long right sleeve can be seen to be hanging in tatters, as though something had cut or ripped it. Something very sharp, for that fabric is, as Vitali likely knows, silk and very strong. He pauses as he sees Vitali either resting or in meditation, and a very small smile curls his mouth up at the edges. Because of where Xiang had entered from, the balcony, he can see Vitali's front but not his back.

Xiang's eyes slide from Vitali to the room to note that the bed is still bare. And unoccupied but for the eagle.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
Soraya ruffles her feathers and opens her eyes, blinking at the sound of the door sliding open. She gives a soft click of her beak and tilts her head a bit to one side, eyeing Zhao as he comes into the room. Her pupils are wide, and she picks up the scent of blood that Zhao has brought back with him. She has come to trust Zhao, but that doesn't prevent her from sharing the information that she picks up. She gives a soft sound, then clicks her beak, and there's likely something passing between her and Vitali in those moments.

The exact something that passes between them is likely short. Vitali's dark eyes open within only a couple of moments from when Zhao has returned. Then he tilts his head a touch to one side, worry and concern flickering through his dark eyes. "How bad?" he asks softly, his gaze flicking to the torn sleeve. He wants to jump up and check it for himself, but for the moment... for the moment, he gives Zhao the benefit of the doubt and forces himself to remain seated on the floor. "Smells not right," he adds, his brow furrowing a little bit. Lifting his right hand, he deftly flicks his fingers to unweave the thong of leather that was slipped between his fingers, and then he lifts his left hand as well in order to gather up his hair and tie it into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

Xiang Zhao has posed:
Trust is one thing. The intimacy of a bond is a wholly different sort of thing. Xiang Zhao is almost certainly expecting the eagle to share the fact of blood scent with the other occupant of the room. His eyes are drawn to the bird as she clicks her beak, but then go back to Vitali. Noting the tattoos he can see in the moonlight. He can only see part of each from the front from the angle he is at, directly in front of the Russian.

The question has him looking down at his arm, and lifting it a bit as he does so. As he lifts the arm, the part that had been hidden by the tattered sleeve is revealed. The fabric at his ribs on that side has been torn also, darkness staining the material. Probably blood. His fan is, curiously, still held in his right hand. He almost never puts the thing down.

"Could be worse." He pauses, swaying once as the room blurs and spins for a moment. "Probably worse," he says, words quieter than they already had been. "Think the claws were tainted. Demon." He closes his eyes for a moment and then walks to the bed where he sinks down onto the edge of it. "Need a minute." Finally, he puts the fan down. And slips the flute from his sash to lay beside the fan. He slides the sword from behind the robes to remove it too, from being held behind the sash. It gets leaned against the bed.

The sash is unbelted from the metal loop clasp that holds it in place and left where it is otherwise. He makes no effert to actually remove it.

Then happens what hasn't happened, not once, in Vitali's presence in all the times they've shared a camp together. Xiang starts to remove his clothing. The outer robe first, is slid out of and left to pool in a heap on the bed.

Revealed then is the fact that he is wearing a slightly heavier shirt and what looks like a slightly lighter one below that. Both like the robes, affixed at a slant. Both pale grey. Blood stains the side, ribs area, on the right. It can be seen now, unlike on the darker material. The heavier shirt is removed, then the lighter one is removed as well, leaving him bare from the waist up, for he wears a pair of loose fitting pants as well.

The wounds are indeed not bad. Three slices from just below his armpit and angling down his ribs and toward his back. Like he'd been in motion and going past whatever had scored on him. Still bleeding, and so looks worse than it probably is. The wounds show no signs of slowing or stopping bleeding. "Will you remove the blood so I can see how bad it is?" He can see the wounds, if barely.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
Soraya eyes Zhao, ruffling her feathers a little bit and clicking her beak a couple of times. She keeps her beak left partially open, and remains perched on the railing of the bed. She doesn't go back to sleep, or try to. She remains awake and sits up a bit further, paying a bit more attention to the room and the pair of men.

Whatever shirt Vitali had been wearing earlier in the day (a long sleeved grey turtleneck), is nowhere to be seen. It's likely that he cleaned it and tucked it back into his duffel bag for the time being. Vitali tilts his head slightly to one side, his dark gaze flicking over the length of Zhao's arm in order to take in, more closely, the appearance of that torn and ragged sleeve. And he looks, as well, to Zhao's side, to notice the torn fabric there. His brow remains furrowed, and he does his best effort at assessing the wounds without benefit of his gifts, for now.

"Da, could be," Vitali says, giving a small nod. It could be worse, he's not wrong. But Vitali would rather not think about that particular point. Gracefully, he rises to his feet, and then he gives another small nod. "Did suspect. Claws, teeth... often have taint," he adds. He doesn't move closer to Zhao, but does instead watch as the fan is set down, the flute and the sword both also set aside. His dark gaze lowers briefly to the sash when it's unbelted, but then he lifts his gaze once more. And he forces himself to wait, patiently impatient.

The Siberian is quiet as Zhao starts to remove his clothing, well enough aware of the fact that this is a thing that hasn't happened before. He holds himself still, and he watches. As the blood becomes more apparent, his brow furrows a little bit, a flicker of worry chasing through his dark eyes. Once Zhao's skin is bared, one of his eyebrows quirks up a touch and he takes a quiet step closer. "Da, will wash. Bleeds free. Can cleanse taint," Vitali says quite softly. "Lift arm, please," he requests, his gaze flicking to Zhao's face before going back to the affected side. There might well be other things he notices, but... for the moment, the blood has his attention. Lifting his right hand, he makes a slight circular gesture with his hand and gives a soft murmur of Russian beneath his breath. A gentle flow of water appears, and it lightly washes first over Zhao's side and then along his inner arm.

Xiang Zhao has posed:
Xiang Zhao glances once at Vitali, as that flicker of worry becomes apparent, and fixes him with a brief look. What that look signifies isn't apparent, and Xiang doesn't comment on it. Instead, he looks down at his side, and then his arm as it's washed over. And there, on the under side not even halfway down his arm's length is another thin slice, like just the tip of the claw had caught his arm as it had gone past to damage his side. It's a good thing Xiang works out as much as he does, else those claws may have damaged more than just skin and muscle.

As the blood is washed away, and contained, by the water Vitali summons, the cuts become more obvious. The edges are black along each of them. And as the pair of men watch, in the few seconds after the wounds are cleaned, before too much more blood can seep out to replace that which had already been removed, that darkness grows. Not by very much, just enough to be visible.

"Èmó yìwèi," he says softly. The skin around the wounds that isn't black is red and angry. The rest of his skin is very pale. That might be expected in the areas that are normally covered by clothing, but his hands and face are also very pale, his lips virtually colorloss.

In that moment, Xiang's eyes slide closed as his body goes limp and topples to the side. Clearly, the toxin, whatever it is, is quite fast acting for the Chinaman to not even have time to go into meditation to start his own healing.

Vitali Svyatoslav has posed:
Soraya's sense of smell hadn't been wrong. The wounds are tainted. And that taint is an obvious thing once the blood has been washed away. Vitali notices the blackness that edges the wounds. He does try not to let his worry show too much, but it's hard. Because he cares. He doesn't touch Zhao, or touch any of the wounds as of yet. But that doesn't stop him from looking at them now that the blood isn't there.

"Zarazheniye rastet," he says quietly, his voice a whisper in volume. The taint is growing. And it's no slow thing, no small thing -- it's visible, and that causes a brief stab of something worse than just worry. Fear. What if...? Vitali doesn't finish the thought. He can't finish the thought. Given Zhao's paleness, there might have been worse blood loss. Or the taint could be spreading within his body and causing worse things.

At least he was close already, within arm's reach. When Zhao's body goes limp, Vitali isn't entirely surprised by it, and he quickly closes the last little bit of space between them, reaching out to steady him as he falls to his side. He gives a faint shake of his head, worried even more now. He reaches to Zhao's legs in order to lift them up onto the bed.

Vitali lowered to his knees next to the bed, and he dismissed the blood-tainted water before laying his hands on Zhao. One hand is laid at the lower point of the wound at his side, and the other at the upper point of it. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself mentally and focusing. Then he closes his eyes and gives a faint murmur of Russian, his fingers moving in a gentle motion that brings them nearer to the wound. Then he sinks his magic into Zhao. First, to assess the wounds and the reach of the taint. And then he works at breaking apart and breaking down the taint, to purge it from Zhao's body. Only one he's finished with that does he turn his attention to the wounds. He tackles the worst one of them first. There's a soft warmth that comes beneath the wound, marking the increase in blood flow to the area, and he guides the flesh to knit back together, through the flow of blood and other fluids. He'll handle each wound in turn, and his healing will leave no scars behind.

By the time the healing is done, he's weary but he's not unconscious. As he eases his hands away from where they'd been resting on Zhao's skin, he can't help but to allow one of his fingertips to trace one of Zhao's scars. The touch is barely there, and he folds his arms at the edge of the bed and rests his chin atop of his arms. "YA vsegda budu istselyat' tebya, Zhao," he whispers softly, watching over his friend for a long few minutes before his eyes wearily close.