17 Ashan, 724
.
Only a few more metres before Kotton and the unconscious boy over his shoulders stood at the base of the stepsinto his house. He didn’t care to ascend them. Rather, he chose to set down his fallen companion before falling into a heap beside him. His arms burned and his legs tingled with overuse; he had pushed himself too hard. He was exhausted and that idea was only magnified by the heavy breathing and chest heaving that racked his body.
“You... awe... lucky,” he panted, “that I didn’t leave you out there.” His more sordid and nihilistic demeanour came with having been put through so much physical stress. It was a while before he was able to move his body without excruciating pain. When the time came, he stood up and stretched. He bent down, joints cracking and popping in protest. He touched his toes with the tips of his fingers and grimaced as his hamstrings loudly objected. He couldn't take the strain for longer than a few second before having to stand up again. He only knew so much when it came to acrobatics and therefore could only perform so many stretches in order to make him more flexible.
After several moments of continuous rest, Kotton was again able to finish his arduous trek home. He unlocked the front door, went back to retrieve his fallen comrade and haphazardly dragged him up the steps and into his foyer. He hoped all the bumps wouldn't leave dark bruises; he made sure to pull the man from his shoulders so his head didn't hit the pavement.
Locking the front door behind him, and physically acknowledging the freedom of his hands, the young medic proceeded to address every ailment that may have befallen his provisional patient. His chest was rising and falling in decent rhythm. He smiled at the sight and continued to treat the wounds. An overall analysis concluded a probable knife wound to his upper leg, a bite mark against his right collarbone and several minor lacerations aft various locations of his skin.
Kotton had to remove himself from the scene and venture into powder room for something that could help him treat the boy's injuries. There, he rummaged through cabinet after cabinet, drawer after drawer before he found what it was he was looking for. He raised it above his head with animated triumph- a clean piece of cloth meant for as near aseptic cleaning as one could get outside a doctor's office. He promptly returned to the living room where he scooted to where he stored his water skin, henceforth pulling it out from its hiding spot underneath the side table beside the couch.
He shoved the tip of the cloth into the open hole of the flask and tilted it so that the water within dribbled out, thereby soaking the cloth. Once it was drenched with liquid he pivoted on his knees until he faced the wounded lad. Kotton leant over his nude body and went to work. He dabbed gently at the bloody cuts and even some of the bruises, those that seemed more severe than others.[/knowledge] He continued to dab at the injuries rather than wiping at them, because he knew that by wiping there was the potential to damage the surrounding tissue more and thus effectuate the wound to fester.
Once Kotton felt satisfied with the proficiency of his task and once the piece of cloth he was using had been stained with enough bloody red to fool someone into thinking it had been dyed, he nonchalantly tossed it aside. The next thing that popped into his mind was a little thing he was still trying to feel more self-confident executing. The chap needed to be clothed. It wasn't only cold, as Kotton had yet to light the fireplace, but clothing would also add a layer of protection against the injuries that riddled his patient's.
He was about to take off his shirt when something caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye was a laceration marring the young man’s skin; it was much deeper than any of the others. It was too deep to ignore. Kotton remembered cleaning it as thoroughly as he could via water flushing, but he hadn't given it much afterthought until now. He knew that this particular injury required stitches, based on the depth and width of a cut. So stitches were the next step of his mental list.
He rose and hurried back into the powder room. It only took a second time before he had made it a habit to scrounge around inside the many cabinets and drawers. He was desperate to find his sewing needle and the spool of thread he had acquired from his father as a house-warming gift. Once it had been found, he snatched it from where it lay amidst the rest of the random items cluttered inside and returned with the preparedness that readied himself for work.
The first essential thing he had remembered do was to disinfect the needle before using it. This step was imperative to prevent the onset of infection. This understanding prompted him to reach for his knapsack, which lay accessibly at the base of his couch. Within its soft linen was a duo: flint and steel. He had misplaced his lighter eons ago, so that was out of the question; it was time to go old school. He procured it with haste (as well as a spare bit of tinder), thankful for its convenience within the contents of his bag.
Kotton stood and moved into his bedroom where the fire place was. Not only would lighting it offer warmth to traverse throughout his home, it would supply him with what he needed to sterilize his needle. He struck the steel against the flint, but had to apply more and more pressure and try, try again, before there was a spark. He had been kneeling as closely as he could to the tinder, gifting the spark the ease of transferring into the hearth and encouraging it to create a small flame. He had remembered seeing his father blow on the kindling once it had been ignited so as to increase the size of the flame, so that was his next course of action. He blew softly, slowly, trusting his patience rather than turning to aggression and avidity and thereby ruining what he had set out to create. He liked to take things slow; he feared breaking things, or in this case snuffing out a flame that could mean the difference between life and death. In this case, he had to resort to a more aggressive approach and supply the spark with a heartier exhale. With good fortune, a small fire swiftly began to blaze amidst the hearth. And with confidence that no longer needed to be mothered, Kotton switched gears and quickly thrust the sewing needle into the fire. He observed the tip as it turned into a bright red, but he remained forbearing and waited. He needed this thing to be as sterile as possible, but how long should he have to wait before it was employable? A few seconds? Maybe a minute? He compromised the duration with thirty (seconds that is) before removing the instrument from the heat.
Sanitation had been completed.
The spool of thread he had was thin, not quite what he would use to crochet with but not exactly what the clinic would utilize either. He wished he had taken some proper equipment from work, but alas, he only had the gift from his father at his disposal. It had been a... unique gift, but who knew it would come in handy today? Before Kotton continued his work, he pulled a pair of tiny scissors out from his knapsack. He would need these to snip the end of the thread.
The young medic had some experience with needlework from his past sessions learning the ways of crochet, but even better, he had medical expertise and not only from his observations in a medical setting, but from hands-on experience accompanied by the supervision of a surgeon. That being said, it should be noted that he had never once performed sutures on a living being before, but now wasn't the time to call for a practiced professional. This was going to be a challenging learning experience he could advantageously add to his resume.
Kotton leant over the gash in the boy’s flesh and refused the anxious thought to meddle. Instead, he stuck in that hot and sharp instrument almost immediately. With the end of the thread through the eye of the needle (and after several attempts, it should be known), he had pulled a small portion through until it was tied at the base.
The voices in his head were suddenly boisterous, making way for the personification of hesitation. This was really happening. He steeled himself, and ground his teeth, a physical quirk that aided in his capability to remain disciplined. He was going to help this poor lad, as the clinic was much too far of a walk and if not already closed, slammed with last minute patients.
He steadied his hand, did not give in to the heat of the moment and slowly pierced the flesh on the other side of the wound. Kotton really needed an assistant, someone to wipe the sweat from his brow, but fortunately, the hard part of initiating had come and gone. Kotton crossed the gaping abyss of torn skin and forced the tip of the needle through the other side. The first stitch had been made, leaving him with only a few more or so to go until he was done.
He was on fire, much as the small piece of tinder had been only moments ago. There was pressure, tension, stress, an entire cauldron of overwhelm brewing in a hypothetical fire at the rearward of his skull. However, with the first stitch out of the way, the second one seemed much easier. He oriented the tip of the needle in the correct direction and crossed the bloody abyss once more.
This process was performed repeatedly before the young man’s fingers quivered slightly at the very end of the laceration. They quivered not just from exhaustion, but from insecurity. Did he forget how to finish a suture? Did he- No, he did not. The stress of performing due diligence to something that required perfectionism was not lost on him. He was a perfectionist, and he knew what he was doing. He refused to acknowledge the doubt in his mind and lasted. He tightened the stitching so the two ends of skin were as closed as they could be before he tied off the end and snipped away any additional thread.
Kotton practically dropped the equipment once he had finished. Was shock setting in? Astonishment? Nausea? He was no jackleg medic. He had seen a thing or two that could never be erased from his memory. Pride swelled within him instead, but not before the former began to transmit ripples up and down his appendages.
By way of distraction, the young man stripped himself of his shirt now slightly damp due to the sweat that had trickled down his back during the procedure. He was free of the article of clothing that gave him nothing other than tightness and itching thanks to the pressure he had just been under. Shivers bearing news of how chilly the air in his bedroom had been quickly resided as the fireplace intermittently spewed out warmth.
He leant over the boy after having caught his breath and raised one of his arms. As Kotton slipped the shirt over his head, he subsequently pushed one arm of his patient through a sleeve and then the other through the next. Tender loving care- that’s what was required now, the tepidity from clean and somewhat dry clothes being what it was. Dressing patients was also a duty that fell under the job description of a nurse. Not only did it allow the patient to feel more dignified, but as was the current case, it covered them from the harshness of extreme temperatures. Even a mildly warm room could feel cold to the sick or injured.
Still, there were no answers to the perplexing questions that bedevilled Kotton's mind. How did a man end up completely naked out in the middle of absolute nowhere? Especially during this time of arc? The questions would have to remain unanswered until the lad woke up. For now there was a waiting game to be played; Kotton would have to find something to do before he did.
“You... awe... lucky,” he panted, “that I didn’t leave you out there.” His more sordid and nihilistic demeanour came with having been put through so much physical stress. It was a while before he was able to move his body without excruciating pain. When the time came, he stood up and stretched. He bent down, joints cracking and popping in protest. He touched his toes with the tips of his fingers and grimaced as his hamstrings loudly objected. He couldn't take the strain for longer than a few second before having to stand up again. He only knew so much when it came to acrobatics and therefore could only perform so many stretches in order to make him more flexible.
After several moments of continuous rest, Kotton was again able to finish his arduous trek home. He unlocked the front door, went back to retrieve his fallen comrade and haphazardly dragged him up the steps and into his foyer. He hoped all the bumps wouldn't leave dark bruises; he made sure to pull the man from his shoulders so his head didn't hit the pavement.
Locking the front door behind him, and physically acknowledging the freedom of his hands, the young medic proceeded to address every ailment that may have befallen his provisional patient. His chest was rising and falling in decent rhythm. He smiled at the sight and continued to treat the wounds. An overall analysis concluded a probable knife wound to his upper leg, a bite mark against his right collarbone and several minor lacerations aft various locations of his skin.
Kotton had to remove himself from the scene and venture into powder room for something that could help him treat the boy's injuries. There, he rummaged through cabinet after cabinet, drawer after drawer before he found what it was he was looking for. He raised it above his head with animated triumph- a clean piece of cloth meant for as near aseptic cleaning as one could get outside a doctor's office. He promptly returned to the living room where he scooted to where he stored his water skin, henceforth pulling it out from its hiding spot underneath the side table beside the couch.
He shoved the tip of the cloth into the open hole of the flask and tilted it so that the water within dribbled out, thereby soaking the cloth. Once it was drenched with liquid he pivoted on his knees until he faced the wounded lad. Kotton leant over his nude body and went to work. He dabbed gently at the bloody cuts and even some of the bruises, those that seemed more severe than others.[/knowledge] He continued to dab at the injuries rather than wiping at them, because he knew that by wiping there was the potential to damage the surrounding tissue more and thus effectuate the wound to fester.
Once Kotton felt satisfied with the proficiency of his task and once the piece of cloth he was using had been stained with enough bloody red to fool someone into thinking it had been dyed, he nonchalantly tossed it aside. The next thing that popped into his mind was a little thing he was still trying to feel more self-confident executing. The chap needed to be clothed. It wasn't only cold, as Kotton had yet to light the fireplace, but clothing would also add a layer of protection against the injuries that riddled his patient's.
He was about to take off his shirt when something caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye was a laceration marring the young man’s skin; it was much deeper than any of the others. It was too deep to ignore. Kotton remembered cleaning it as thoroughly as he could via water flushing, but he hadn't given it much afterthought until now. He knew that this particular injury required stitches, based on the depth and width of a cut. So stitches were the next step of his mental list.
He rose and hurried back into the powder room. It only took a second time before he had made it a habit to scrounge around inside the many cabinets and drawers. He was desperate to find his sewing needle and the spool of thread he had acquired from his father as a house-warming gift. Once it had been found, he snatched it from where it lay amidst the rest of the random items cluttered inside and returned with the preparedness that readied himself for work.
The first essential thing he had remembered do was to disinfect the needle before using it. This step was imperative to prevent the onset of infection. This understanding prompted him to reach for his knapsack, which lay accessibly at the base of his couch. Within its soft linen was a duo: flint and steel. He had misplaced his lighter eons ago, so that was out of the question; it was time to go old school. He procured it with haste (as well as a spare bit of tinder), thankful for its convenience within the contents of his bag.
Kotton stood and moved into his bedroom where the fire place was. Not only would lighting it offer warmth to traverse throughout his home, it would supply him with what he needed to sterilize his needle. He struck the steel against the flint, but had to apply more and more pressure and try, try again, before there was a spark. He had been kneeling as closely as he could to the tinder, gifting the spark the ease of transferring into the hearth and encouraging it to create a small flame. He had remembered seeing his father blow on the kindling once it had been ignited so as to increase the size of the flame, so that was his next course of action. He blew softly, slowly, trusting his patience rather than turning to aggression and avidity and thereby ruining what he had set out to create. He liked to take things slow; he feared breaking things, or in this case snuffing out a flame that could mean the difference between life and death. In this case, he had to resort to a more aggressive approach and supply the spark with a heartier exhale. With good fortune, a small fire swiftly began to blaze amidst the hearth. And with confidence that no longer needed to be mothered, Kotton switched gears and quickly thrust the sewing needle into the fire. He observed the tip as it turned into a bright red, but he remained forbearing and waited. He needed this thing to be as sterile as possible, but how long should he have to wait before it was employable? A few seconds? Maybe a minute? He compromised the duration with thirty (seconds that is) before removing the instrument from the heat.
Sanitation had been completed.
The spool of thread he had was thin, not quite what he would use to crochet with but not exactly what the clinic would utilize either. He wished he had taken some proper equipment from work, but alas, he only had the gift from his father at his disposal. It had been a... unique gift, but who knew it would come in handy today? Before Kotton continued his work, he pulled a pair of tiny scissors out from his knapsack. He would need these to snip the end of the thread.
The young medic had some experience with needlework from his past sessions learning the ways of crochet, but even better, he had medical expertise and not only from his observations in a medical setting, but from hands-on experience accompanied by the supervision of a surgeon. That being said, it should be noted that he had never once performed sutures on a living being before, but now wasn't the time to call for a practiced professional. This was going to be a challenging learning experience he could advantageously add to his resume.
Kotton leant over the gash in the boy’s flesh and refused the anxious thought to meddle. Instead, he stuck in that hot and sharp instrument almost immediately. With the end of the thread through the eye of the needle (and after several attempts, it should be known), he had pulled a small portion through until it was tied at the base.
The voices in his head were suddenly boisterous, making way for the personification of hesitation. This was really happening. He steeled himself, and ground his teeth, a physical quirk that aided in his capability to remain disciplined. He was going to help this poor lad, as the clinic was much too far of a walk and if not already closed, slammed with last minute patients.
He steadied his hand, did not give in to the heat of the moment and slowly pierced the flesh on the other side of the wound. Kotton really needed an assistant, someone to wipe the sweat from his brow, but fortunately, the hard part of initiating had come and gone. Kotton crossed the gaping abyss of torn skin and forced the tip of the needle through the other side. The first stitch had been made, leaving him with only a few more or so to go until he was done.
He was on fire, much as the small piece of tinder had been only moments ago. There was pressure, tension, stress, an entire cauldron of overwhelm brewing in a hypothetical fire at the rearward of his skull. However, with the first stitch out of the way, the second one seemed much easier. He oriented the tip of the needle in the correct direction and crossed the bloody abyss once more.
This process was performed repeatedly before the young man’s fingers quivered slightly at the very end of the laceration. They quivered not just from exhaustion, but from insecurity. Did he forget how to finish a suture? Did he- No, he did not. The stress of performing due diligence to something that required perfectionism was not lost on him. He was a perfectionist, and he knew what he was doing. He refused to acknowledge the doubt in his mind and lasted. He tightened the stitching so the two ends of skin were as closed as they could be before he tied off the end and snipped away any additional thread.
Kotton practically dropped the equipment once he had finished. Was shock setting in? Astonishment? Nausea? He was no jackleg medic. He had seen a thing or two that could never be erased from his memory. Pride swelled within him instead, but not before the former began to transmit ripples up and down his appendages.
By way of distraction, the young man stripped himself of his shirt now slightly damp due to the sweat that had trickled down his back during the procedure. He was free of the article of clothing that gave him nothing other than tightness and itching thanks to the pressure he had just been under. Shivers bearing news of how chilly the air in his bedroom had been quickly resided as the fireplace intermittently spewed out warmth.
He leant over the boy after having caught his breath and raised one of his arms. As Kotton slipped the shirt over his head, he subsequently pushed one arm of his patient through a sleeve and then the other through the next. Tender loving care- that’s what was required now, the tepidity from clean and somewhat dry clothes being what it was. Dressing patients was also a duty that fell under the job description of a nurse. Not only did it allow the patient to feel more dignified, but as was the current case, it covered them from the harshness of extreme temperatures. Even a mildly warm room could feel cold to the sick or injured.
Still, there were no answers to the perplexing questions that bedevilled Kotton's mind. How did a man end up completely naked out in the middle of absolute nowhere? Especially during this time of arc? The questions would have to remain unanswered until the lad woke up. For now there was a waiting game to be played; Kotton would have to find something to do before he did.
