[Charles raises an eyebrow at Alysia, almost surprised by the snort - she seems very intent on keeping an unreadable facade. He's glad to have managed to get a reaction from her.
The stitching is hell - Charles closes his eyes and wishes he had something to bite on, but as it is, takes to fisting his hand into the blanket under him as she works. Despite the tea, he can feel every prick of the needle, the thread going through his flesh, pulling the wound closed. At this point, Charles is sweating profusely, breathing harder than he'd like, but he's still awake, at least.
She's no physician, but Alysia works quickly, and she obviously knows what she's doing. In his world, this is more than most can ask for, and some of his scars are proof enough.
When she's done and explains what to do with the herbs she got for his injury earlier, Charles nods and takes the bowl, settling it over his lap to start lathering the now stitched wound with it. Resting might prove - difficult, but he's not meant to set sail for a while yet, at least.
When she turns away, Charles reaches out rapidly, snatching her arm in his hand. He relaxes his hold immediately, a loose circle of thumb and forefinger around her delicate looking wrist.]
Thank you. [He puts all he can in the words; the implicit I owe you, and you didn't have to. Hopefully she'll get it.]
no subject
[Charles raises an eyebrow at Alysia, almost surprised by the snort - she seems very intent on keeping an unreadable facade. He's glad to have managed to get a reaction from her.
The stitching is hell - Charles closes his eyes and wishes he had something to bite on, but as it is, takes to fisting his hand into the blanket under him as she works. Despite the tea, he can feel every prick of the needle, the thread going through his flesh, pulling the wound closed. At this point, Charles is sweating profusely, breathing harder than he'd like, but he's still awake, at least.
She's no physician, but Alysia works quickly, and she obviously knows what she's doing. In his world, this is more than most can ask for, and some of his scars are proof enough.
When she's done and explains what to do with the herbs she got for his injury earlier, Charles nods and takes the bowl, settling it over his lap to start lathering the now stitched wound with it. Resting might prove - difficult, but he's not meant to set sail for a while yet, at least.
When she turns away, Charles reaches out rapidly, snatching her arm in his hand. He relaxes his hold immediately, a loose circle of thumb and forefinger around her delicate looking wrist.]
Thank you. [He puts all he can in the words; the implicit I owe you, and you didn't have to. Hopefully she'll get it.]