lifeofpineapple | 'cause you're hot then you're cold

[It's a disaster. There's no other way to slice it.

It isn't that Blue hadn't prepared a suitable plan of attack, it's that the plan had completely fallen to pieces when it came to getting everyone out. Mission objective complete, technically. The backlash had just been more than they expected. They'd been forced to scatter instead of sticking to the intended extraction; he doesn't know what happened to anyone else.

He's sure the CDC won't care about that part.

His blackglass keeps giving him the same generic error message over and over when he tries to check in on the status of his team, because of course it does. The only other option is to cut his way through underbrush, try to make it back to the temporary camp they'd established at the halfway point. Foreign plantlife catches on his uniform, and he finds himself wishing for the old-fashioned way, not for the first time. Crows don't stop working right when you need them the most.

When he realizes that there's someone else in the brush ahead of him, he stops in his tracks. He isn't particularly subtle; there isn't any way he went unnoticed. He doesn't have much left in him, but he does have enough to make electricity crackle menacingly around his open hand.]

Who's there?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ What an undignified princess. It's amusing with Anders, though, mostly because it's very much his way. November watches as he puts his staff away, opting to use his hands. ]

I'd be offended, but I don't think I'd choose myself as a knight either. [ He shoots the mage a quick smile and listens to his request. Staying still seems like a good idea, in any case. For the past few hours, he's been in motion of some sort. Of course, he tries not to flinch when the other man starts pressing on the bruised area. For the most part, he's successful, except for when there's a push against the darkest portion and he lets out a soft hiss. If it's not cracked, he'll be surprised. ]

[Definitely. He winces slightly in sympathy, but doesn't press on it any longer than he has to. It might be a relief that the next part doesn't require nearly so much touching—or any at all, really.

His hands light, the faint white-blue glow of his magic illuminating the patch of clearing they're standing in, casting strange shadows across the angles of his face. His brows knit in concentration, and he carefully patches broken capillaries, wipes the bruise away from the outside in, lingering finally on that last, stubborn patch. It takes him longer to repair the fractured bone, but he's careful, methodical, and he manages it.

When he's finished, he lays his hand flat against where the bruise used to be, ostensibly to check to make sure November's ribs are all where they should be.]

Good as new. It would have been a mess to try and walk with that for too long. Maybe you're lucky you bumped into me.

[ It's always been interesting to him, watching Anders work. The mage can be very vocal about his viewpoints, and even when he isn't talking about that, he's animated. When he's using his healing magic, those motions are more subtle, careful, practiced. Every time, it's like seeing a different facet that he doesn't normally advertise.

His expression is something familiar– brows furrowed as he focuses. The bruising fades away and the relief washes through him as the pain subsides, replaced by a strange tingling feeling (like new skin after a scar heals). That is only intensified as Anders lays his hand over the spot, the contact slightly unexpected but not unwelcome. ]

I've done worse. [ Bullet wounds are the worst. ] All the same, I am thankful. [ He means it. And his smile might even be a little genuine. ]

You're welcome.

[He's learned to look for small things like this, evidence of the warmth he knows is buried deep under the surface. He wants to hold on to these little flickers, draw them out as frequently as he can.

It makes the smile easy to return.

—Then he clears his throat, and steps back.]

We should probably keep moving. I have a bone to pick with certain people back at camp, and I don't intend to die before I get the chance.

[ As Anders steps away, he finds himself missing the contact a little bit. Maybe it was just the normal human reaction, to miss physical contact. Or the relief he'd felt had transferred over to associate with the feeling of gentle hands. Whatever the case, he tries to keep his disappointment to himself, dropping the shirt back down and smoothing it. Not that it really matters, but the motion is habitual. ]

Do you now? What sort of bone– don't tell me you're going to mother hen them.

[ It's teasing as he steps in the direction they're supposed to be headed. ]

You've clearly never been in a hen house before.

[With dry humor, as he pushes branches up and over his head. He's in survival mode right now, but the anger prickles beneath the surface, simmers until its ready to boil over.

He wants explanations.]

Some of those mother hens know just how to show you what they think of you interfering with their business. I don't think the comparison is too far off, in that respect.

[ November watches as Anders steps under the branch, one arm reaching out to keep them out of the medic's face. It wouldn't do well for his current survival partner to get struck in the face by some tree. ]

So you're going to peck them to death, is what you're saying?

[ It's a humorous jab, even though he can see the anger etched in Anders' face. The emotion draws his browline down, lips pinches in a disapproving way. He knows he can't make the other man lighten up completely, but he can provide some relief from the spiraling fury he's seen the other slip into, internally. ]

'cause you're hot then you're cold

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i was here the whole time

were you though