a better day (not really)

Macabre · 03-04-2023, 07:37 PM

Macabre had expected to see somebody at some point - or maybe not, since he was still in a foggy haze and could barely see out of his normal eye, let alone the strangely painful one. He still had no idea he was permanently half-blind, believing it was just some nasty swelling. Surely it would go down in the next few days and he'd finally get rid of the annoying, stuffy ache that accompanied he entirety of the left side of his face. The nasty, squelching gash sliced jaggedly through his face was forced to twitch when he moved, the facial muscles torn and the entire wound not only festering, but excruciating in every way possible. If Macabre had a normal, sane range of emotions, he 'd likely be thinking it'd be better just to be dead. But he didn't. The yearling was a reckless, fiery sort, with no empathy to boot - his wounds were physically painful, but the mental comprehension of his situation didn't quite stick.

A familiar voice, followed by a blurry shape, moved into his view. Macabre blinked some more, sending icepick-like pains down his skull. His mouth tightened, but he managed to lift his head more, finding it more difficult than usual. Like trying to prop himself up when his head was filled with rocks (which, given his recent actions, most would assume he did have a bunch of rocks instead of a real brain). He narrowed his seeing eye as blurs became more colors, and colors became a figure of a wolf; a woman with brown fur and a skeletal pattern hung over a thin frame. And she spoke, with a voice he'd heard before: "Cow-boy is awake. Medusa put a splint and bandage on your leg. It's broken. Macabre's eye is infected, and...coughing."

Medusa. Wait, Medusa? Confusion settled over his head like a fog, and a fit of loud, retching coughs wracked his entire body. A dark green phlegm rose from his throat, coughed out promptly in a nasty puddle beneath him. He wheezed, barely able to catch his breath as waves of pain from the resulting coughs shattered his face, his eye, and his fractured leg. It was difficult to place where, specifically, it hurt, because it hurt everywhere. Steadily, his breathing evened out, but the uneasy rattling and whistling breaths were indicators of a serious pneumonia. His silver eye glanced up at the woman he recognized as the one who challenged his mother, and he tilted his head just slightly at the revelation of his situation again. Medusa won the challenge. It was the only possible explanation; if his mother had won he'd be in his den at the volcano now. But he was in a strange den, in a place far from anywhere he could recognize as home.

"Oh. Okay," He half-whispered, attempting to glance over at the splint on his leg, but finding the maneuver of twisting his head was far too painful. With a pause to cough again, he rasped, "Where's my mother now?" It was not in a demanding manner, but simply a question in an attempt to catch up with what happened. He just..kinda needed to know what went on when he lost consciousness. "And d'you know where my siblings are? Ghoul, Widow, Ichor and Viscera?" He figured he'd needed to know that as well. Maybe they ran off, or were being held somewhere else. He fixed his seeing eye upon the skeletal woman, who had asked him to drink - and knowing he was at her mercy, but also not caring if he was, he did so and lapped up some water from the bowl. He was coherent enough, even if his words were barely audible. His head..he felt godawful. He didn't know what to expect on how Medusa planned to fix him up.

”Speech” ’Thought’

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a better day (not really)

medusa

Macabre