a backdated thread

Although he didn't want to be returning home just yet, his time in the Hallows had come to an end and he needed to return to the Armada. Despite Artorias invitation to stay, Grimshaw was eager to return and see Malachai more than anyone. He felt guilty for leaving the way that he did even if in some small percentage of a way he might have deserved it. He had been given quite a few bottles of wine to take back with them, though unfortunately he couldn't wait until he got home to pop a bottle. Grabbing a bottle from his pack, he pried the top off before continuing his journey, taking long swigs every now and then.

He was almost home when he felt the sharp claws of a familiar foe sinking into the flesh along his back, the pressure of the animals bite on his protected neck as he struggled in surprise under the massive animal. It was dark and so the prime hunting time for the feline, but usually Grim was better at noticing things before they startled him. Usually he wasn't drunk. He was lucky to be wearing him armor when the attack happened though and reached for his hunting knife quickly as he rolled, throwing the animal from his back. The claws tore across his exposed flesh, but as he pulled the blade from his bracer the cat circled him and jumped for him again, getting a second hold on the tired man. This time, the jaguar had better leverage with it's hind paws on the ground and its forepaws holding onto him tightly as the cat reached to bite him. As the fangs sunk into the flesh on his hip and it's claws bore into his sides, Grimshaw ignored the pain and struggled to free himself from the cat. He blinding swung with his blade hoping to catch the animals paws, and once he managed he quickly stood and retaliated as the cat nursed it's paw and hissed at him as he approached. Blood leaked from his wounds but he hardly noticed as he made a move on the cat now, sheathing his blade and lunging for the animal with parted jaws. They grappled for some time, earning himself a few more scratches and cuts, but finally the cat succumbed to it's demise and Grimshaw rolled off the beast.

Exhausted, Grimshaw studied the cat before turning to leave deciding that he had not the amount of energy needed to skin the animal in his current state. He hardly wanted a jaguar pelt anyway, but another drink sounded perfect. Reaching for a bottle from a pack, he took a long swig before putting it back and making his way back to the Armada. He stumbled, either from the alcohol or the blood loss, and wasn't very quiet either. His companions had already gone off ahead of him, to get his den ready for him so he could pass out when he got there. They were probably wondering where he was by now, but as he stumbled across the borders, blood just drained from his wounds. He hardly noticed though, and just wandered back to his den. Once he'd collapsed into his bed, the wolverine just stared wide eyed at him in panic before running outside and searching for any wolf. Anyone.

"Speech."

tldr injuries:
- massive claw punctures and tears down either side of his spine starting at his shoulders (where the jaguar leapt onto his back and held on) and sliding down his back
- bruising on nape underneath armor
- claw punctures and scratches on both sides at the end of his ribs
- fang punctures on right hip
- minor to moderate scratching across his chest, face, and forelimbs (nondescript)

Halo had been well on her rounds, dropping off jars of tea and collecting empties from her various patients. There was probably a better, more efficient way for her to do it-- something that didn't involve walking to see each individually. Sometimes it took more time than truly necessary, too, but it wasn't like Halo minded. It was nice to get out and to see everyone, and she could check on each member of the pack. Getting to see their faces, getting to hear their words, and usually patching up bumps and scrapes or cleaning wounds along the way. The pack was filled with warriors, and there were pretty much always minor abrasions that needed her attention. Beside her, Mr. Raccoon padded with his basket in his paws.

The scent of blood in the air on its own wasn't that concerning. No, the real concern was with the sheer strength of the smell. If it was this bad then someone would need to be bleeding a lot. Keen nose to the wind, Halo took off at a striking pace in the direction of the danger. If someone had been attacked on Armada soil? Well, she'd been the first one to notice it so she'd deal with it accordingly. The tenderhearted girl's eyes were wide, near wide enough to take up more space on her face than usual. A whimper in her throat... where was the wounded party? Pausing to catch her breath and scan the world around her, Halo's gaze caught the wolverine. The creature's eyes were wide with panic, searching.

More quickly than Halo thought she was capable of, she met the panicked creature. "Take me there," they were all the words she could find. At her side, Mr. Raccoon did his best to keep up while not bouncing the things out of his basket. Right, this was important, and they would hurry.

"Halo"

Although it was late at night, the wolverine could only hope that someone would be out. If not, he'd be resorted to leaving the den and searching for a medic. Thankfully, it wouldn't seem like that would be the case. At the sight of the female and raccoon, the wolverine chattered away as he got their attention. He waved his arms about, scurrying inside and over towards Grimshaw. Motioning to him, he looked back to make sure they had followed him inside.

Slipping in and out of consciously, or what he considered sleep, Grimshaw groaned at the noises of the animal moving around and chattering. Stirring, he reached for the pack that contained the bottle of alcohol he'd been taking generous sips of. With his back turned towards the entrance of his den, he was otherwise unaware of what was happening around him. Grasping the bottle, he brought it sloppily to his lips to drink the remaining drops of the liquid and finishing it off with a hiccup as he dropped the bottle.

"Speech."