stick in the mud . bad influence (day 2)

Death lingers to his skin; marked by a fungal smell of familiarity. Caspian's leg bleeds red all the same. The taste of metal hanging in the air as he feels flesh rip from these beasts. Body aligned with an arc of his own doing; death between his palms as the slash of metal rips and rips. There's a familiar feeling of calm in his skin; the darkening shadows dancing along the ground as his own shadow moves on it's own. A faceless self moving in excitement, almost dancing over the blood spilled by his own hands. The shadows lingering to his skin as half of him is exposed in rot. Fungus growing from pores as if he's normally apart of the rot; a dance of neither life or death in his form as he stares into the blood covered metal of his own vision for just a second to see it all in it's surprising strange sight.

Only, he jumps out of habit. Fear stricken across his features until the sun burns away the rot, no longer covered in shadow almost as if were never there. The rot disappearing for a moment before he grimaces at the feeling. Death doesn't smell as awful as it once did. All he can feel is the pulse of his own heart in his throat. Fingers gripping the strange handle of a blade still extended out into a shadow where his shadow moves on it's own, but eventually pretends it's not. Carefully, he drops his shoulder and jumps at the words hanging in the air from Ulysses. "Well," The breeze kicks up for a second. "Life could be worse!"

A bitter laugh leaves his lips. Almost hidden by the panic in his eyes, he can feel his heart thrumming. None of that was real. He's... He's just imagining things. A heavy hand on his own thigh as the pain burns a little from the wound. Torian's voice is almost a calm. "I don't want to get too comfortable, but we should dress all of our wounds, because you know, infection." Infections were nasty. He'd seen enough of them for a lifetime to know what they could do to the body. A hum of his own agreeance is all he can manage as he starts to move to his supplies. His eyes focusing on Jayson for a second who's head is bleeding far more than most injuries.

"Yeah. We should dress these wounds." Carefully, he pulls some of the medical supplies out before he speaks out to Jayson now. "C'mere. Let me patch you up." Setting to work, Caspian can feel the tension in the air dissipate as he focuses on a task, ignoring the many many questions flowing through his mind. It's easier to avoid all of that than to face it all. Death lingers, but the smell isn't as intense. There's not enough time to focus on all of that. For now, he's going to pretend he's like every kid from Six and actually pretend he knows what he's doing.

"That was intense."