It was finally time to remove the stitches. Surprisingly (purely because he didn't know Oleander was at the time), the young boy had done a good job stitching up the scars that now trailed down his shoulders. Thankful to finally getting rid of the itchy material that made his skin feel tight, Wilder made his way down to the infirmary. He wasn't sure if Oleander would even be there right now, but the boy had said today would be the day so here he was.

Winding his way through the col's corridors until the strong tinge of healing supplies made his nose wrinkle. Being this deep underground made him uncomfortable and the scent wasn't helping. Pausing at the doorway, he takes a deep breath before poking his head inside. Blinking a few times to adjust to the dimness of the infirmary, he doesn't see the expected snow-white pelt of Oleander, but rather someone else. A girl the color of slate and charcoal lay in a bed all by herself by the looks of it. Stepping further in because what else did he have to do, Wilder wanders closer over to her.

Coming to plunk his fat butt down beside her bed, he stares down at her with his vermilion red eyes. "Whatcha in here fer?" He questions, that thick western accent unapologetically obvious.

WILDER

Vesper was agonisingly bored. That wasn’t an entirely new sensation, but she never had handled it well. There were a multitude of reasons why she was scarred to kingdom come, and had recently almost died. She was yet to meet many Armada wolves, with her mobility severely limited with how utterly ripped open her back and tendons had been. So when she heard steps outside the door, she dismissed it as Oleander.

It wasn’t unusual for Oleander to stop near her bed, so even when she heard them sit, she studiously ignored them. Oleander was keeping her locked up in this boring den, she could pretend she hadn’t heard him for a little while longer.

But the voice, the voice that was not Oleander. She turned sharply, which sent a wave of dizziness through her body. The strange, mossy toned wolf was not someone she had ever seen before. How strange. “Murder.” She said dryly, sarcastically, and untruthfully.

"Speech"

At first, he thought she was going to ignore him. By the look on her face, it appeared that she was content to be alone. But then, a second later, her head was whipping around, eyes bright and sarcastically dry voice cutting sharply through the air. It honestly startled him because he hadn't expected her to be so sudden. His own eyes widen, ears flying backward as his head leans back, chin tucking slightly.

Murder.

The one word that leaves her mouth is clearly not serious, but it still takes a second for his brain to register. Blinking a couple times before his posture relaxes, shoulders slumping and vermilion eyes rolling to the back of his head. Once he can see her again, he raises a brow, a smirk on his charcoal lips. "Yer tellin' me, Oleander got this nice, big infirmary for a murderer?" Wilder questions, unable to hide the disbelieving chuckle that moves his chest. "I get the vibe that this pack ain't too fond of the killin' types," he teases, letting his gaze move from her face to try and see what exactly on her was so banged up.

WILDER

Heh. She really shouldn’t take joy in how much she had startled the stranger. He was clearly a fully fledged member of the Armada, not a slave as she was. But she had grown bold in the face of Oleander’s naivety, and clear choice not to punish her. So far, her sarcastic tongue hadn’t gotten her anything more than a pale look on Oleander’s face, and that was kind of fun too.

His question was disbelieving, and his eyes roamed her body. Perhaps looking for the real reason she was stuck in here? Her back especially was well and truly bandaged, and her mobility was clearly limited by the small, careful movements she made as she turned a little more fully towards him. “Yup. Don’t think you're supposed to be in here. Don’t want to go and get yourself murdered.” She volunteered helpfully. What? She was already committed to the bit.


"Speech"

She must've gotten herself into some nasty business with these bandages. Wilder thinks to himself as he watches her rotate slowly and carefully more toward him. It's clear that she's bedridden and perhaps for good reason. With the attitude that she appeared to be sporting, it was no wonder Oleander had no tolerance for her poor choice of words. Now that he was settled from being startled though, he was in a better mood to handle whatever she tossed his way.

Like the words that were now coming out of her mouth that force his smirk to fall into a flat, unamused line. "I indeed am s'posed to be here," he replies, quickly sticking out his tongue at her before turning his body slightly. Moving his shoulder forward, stretching the skin to hopefully relieve the itch of stitches, he shows off the long scars that peek out from under his mud and moss colored fur.

"Oleander tol' me to come by today to get my stitches removed," Wilder states as he repositions himself back to a sitting position facing her. "You seen 'im around by chance?" His head cants for a moment before vermilion gaze takes a look around the infirmary. Nope, no little white healer boy to be seen.

WILDER

Oh well, it was worth a try. No one had ever been afraid of little old her before. The thin press of his lips made her wonder if he would be less tolerating than the young healer. Her game was fun while it lasted, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it up any longer. The truth was, she was at his mercy. Both as a bedridden wolf, and a slave of this pack. “Nice. That’s going to scar, kill any murderers lately?” Damn her tongue, just when she was resolved to behave herself, too.

“The Virg--" She coughed, and finally got a hold of her errant tongue "My Lord Oleander is never too far away, I’m sure he’ll be by soon.” She said sweetly, as if she hadn’t been poking him with her words just a moment ago.


"Speech"

Wilder's expression blanks at her obvious statement. "Well o'course-," his lips clamp shut, eyes widen for a second. Where the hell were his manners? Okay, he might not actually have a lot of those. Some might consider him a bit... wild. Ha. "But no, I haven' unless you coun' big cats or bears," he comments, letting out a sigh as he leans back, legs sliding out from under him so he can sit a more relaxed position. Might as well get comfy if he was going to stick around, right?

It's her next words that have both his brows rising and his head canting. The who's a what now? Lord Oleander? That little healer boy? Wilder's brows are soon to come back down, furrowing even slightly as he catches her tone change to a sickly sweet sound that nearly sounded fake. Why was she acting like that all of a sudden?

"What you mean by Lord Oleander?" Wilder questions, unable to hold back his curiosity.

WILDER

"She means..." The boy of the hour rounds the corner of the caverns and enters the den. "... Sir Oleander. Though at this rate I might just accept the title, royal Fatalis as I am." He speaks without breaking his stride and walks lightly between them. Barely glancing at the girl. He didn't actually recall what level of royalty he was, probably missed that lesson too among others.

"Glad you made it Wilder. Let's have a look at those stitches." He moved over to a table and grabbed a few of his steel claw caps, sharpened to a finer point than his own cat claws.

"I hope she didn't make you change your mind about stayin?" He asked cordially, directing the male to a set of furs across the room from the snarky slave.


"Speech"

Vesper opened her mouth to answer, but her Lord and Master himself appeared from further inside the cave, and took up the conversation. She gave him a perfectly innocent expression. No, she wasn’t harassing his patients. She wouldn’t dare. Meek little slave that she was.

She gained the mossy boy’s name as Wilder. Her own wasn’t passed around, but she was used to that, too. Slaves didn’t usually have names, not any that their masters remembered or the slaves liked being called. She kept her silence, it was probably safer that way, anyway. She sunk back into her bedding a little more. She was getting awfully tired of being an invalid.

"Speech"

Once more, Wilder is startled by the sudden appearance of Oleander. His fur bristles, ears flying backward as he twists around to watch the haughty boy saunter on over to them. Wilder has to do all he can not to roll his eyes at the words that bubble forth from the healer's mouth. Though he wasn't a slave, he was still an Apprentice and probably should respect those of higher ranking. Probably.

He isn't surprised though at how fluidly Oleander moves about the infirmary and slides into the healer role. The boy had done it upon their meeting and he had noticed it when being toured around the Armada lands. "Yeah, yeah," Wilder grumbles as he takes Oleander's lead and moseys on over to the bundle of furs that the boy points at. Laying down into a more comfortable position that is at a better height for Oleander to work, he attempts to be as still as possible. But the questions are plaguing his mind.

"Why'd she do such a thing? She ain't all that bad unless she really is a murderer," Wilder comments, vermilion gaze moving to look at Vesper as she sinks back into her bedding before glancing back at Oleander. "You ain't tell me to call you sir either so what's up with that?" He questions, brow raised, gaze once more flicking back toward Vesper. What was the deal with this girl? A boy like Oleander really had her shrinking back into nothingness as if he were the Warlord?

WILDER

Ollie smirks as he's getting to know the mossy male. Ollie wasn't really one to care much about ranks either, and it made him squirm when Vesper kept calling him Lord.

He carefully sliced and pulled each old stitch out of the wound, with his honed steel claw. It made it easy but he was focused on making sure he didn't catch any of Wilder's skin. He perked his ears though when the male asked about the slave.

He chuckled and shook his head.
"Is that what you told him?" He called her across the room, then lowered his voice back down, though she could probably still hear them both.
"Vesper hasn't murdered anybody here. She was born a slave and I found her getting half eaten by a polar bear up north. She had run away from her masters and we figured we could keep her when her old masters come around looking for her. She'll at least have it better here than there until she can earn her freedom." He raised his voice again, "Which might be a while with that mouth of yours! Ignita just earned her place recently and she was a slave. You'd do well to get to know her." Maybe they can steer the conversation into what slaves actually do around here and not what Vesper had been used for.

He was nearly done taking out each stitch. The skin would still be rather raw.

"Speech"

Vesper grinned when Wilder asked if she really was a murderer. Had him doubting, did she? She didn’t really care that she was talking about her like she wasn’t there. That's what wolves did, and sometimes you learned the most interesting things when people forgot or didn’t care that you existed.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about, Lord Oleander.” she told him innocently, knowing he would smell her bullshit from a mile away. Oleander then went on to give Wilder a briefing of her history as she knew it. Earn her freedom. Was he still peddling that foolishness? Ignita? She’d never heard of the wolf. What proof did she have that this wolf had been a slave?

"Speech"

Wilder tenses, attempting to relax, but with each calculated movement of Oleander, he couldn't help it. He expected searing pain to slice through him, but when it didn't come, he would relax, a breath escaping him before he tensed once more. Why did this feel like agony in his head? At least when Oleander was talking, he could focus on something other than whatever Oleander was doing to his stitches.

His eyes widen slightly, not quite believing the story he was being told. Born a slave, runs away, gets attacked by a polar bear, and is saved by... Oleander? Hm, interesting. He had no reason not to believe the boy. Looking to Vesper when she doesn't argue the words spoken, it only leads to Wilder having more questions. Even if she was playing the fool, Wilder wanted to know more and he couldn't explain why.

"So ya'll Armadas keep slaves too? Why'd ya wanna give her back if she's in such sore shape?" A brow raises, a question hanging heavy in the air. Are you guys just as bad as the ones she ran from? "Ignita? I don't think I met her yet. How she get outta bein' a slave?" Wilder asks, wanting to know more even if Vesper didn't. Maybe she enjoyed being a slave.

WILDER

Oleander didn't give Vesper any signal of response to her bullshit claim. He had her number now and he was working on a carefully curated mask just for her and potentially other difficult patients. He could see Wilder tensing each time he had the claw close to him. Ollie would slice the tiny string in two spots and then carefully pull each scrap of the string out of the wound.

Wilder had a question that made the healer think he misheard Ollie. He shrugged at the first statement, he knew a couple of other packs didn't keep slaves and others did. They had always been a part of the Armada. "I'm not planning on giving her back. The whip marks alone are enough to convince me she's better off with us. We don't use those. We don't see a need to correct slaves like that." Bas had told him about what the whip marks were for and he just didn't understand how that kind of treatment would make a slave compliant. Wouldn't it just make them want to fight more?

"Ignita? She's worked her butt off helping the Armada. She's earned her spot with her talents and diligence and she wanted to stay." That's all he knew about it, "That's something else you can ask Bas about if ya want." He said, finally finishing tugging free the last stitch.

He grabbed some salve and gently rubbed it over the old wound and stitches to keep it all clear of infection. "Hopefully that'll help soothe it too. Go easy on it for a few more days, she'll need a good walk anyway and you can both get your exercise. Just don't let her run off on you." He said with a smirk. As if she could just get up and walk away.

"Speech!"

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