And there Nevin was, blaming himself. As she tried to make the effect of holding the flames not obvious, keeping her back to him as she began to work on the lacing of her glove with the tips of her claws - though very slowly. “How is a beast like that your responsibility?” she said thickly, trying to hide the agony. “It's just a large sausage that hates fire as equally as the next … well I thought it was a plant. Now I see it was cleverly disguised as one. Idiot,” she stopped herself saying any more as she drew off her glove and inspected her hand.
A few blisters, but only small. Clutching her gauntlet between the claws she leant down a little and observed the creature. Looking from its head to its tail she slipped into the aura sight, taking a note of its bloody power source, which was all she could really tell from this mess. Its power lines writhed as it slowly let out its last breaths.
No eyes, no obvious head. Long body, a form of twisted horror, Vitruvion murmured as he drew a rather excellent drawing off the beast. Stare nodded, her back still to Nevin.
“I agree. Rather … disgusting,” she agreed. Outloud. Then she paused and winced. “Ah sorry. That was not to you,” she apologised to Nevin, letting her injured hand rest on the cooler ground.
Winces and gentle motions - had she been -? Nevin’s gaze shot to the hand that was trying to be kept out of sight as he stepped to one side bringing the hand into view. The heavy tone to her voice was explained now - she had jumped onto the thing with fire in her hand. Nevin hadn't thought of it at the time, but it seemed like she had no special protection against the flames.
On the gauntlet there were twists of blackened metal - where the fire had scorched it. The alchemist sucked in a breath, shoving his concerns about the creature aside for a moment. “Don't move that hand any more. One moment.” He began rummaging through his bag and pouches until he found two jars. As he pulled them out, one swished with the clear sound of a liquid inside.
Swift movements uncorked the two small clay jars. From one a thick aroma, almost like a potent mint snell, rose. Gently and firmly Nevin took the wrist of the injured hand in his he as before picking up the jar that didn't have a powerful smell coming from it up. He looked up to Stare’s face locking eyes with her.
“This will sting at first.” And with no more warning than that, he upended the jar over her hand sending a cascade of pale green fluid over down onto her hand. It was an antiseptic and analgesic - after the flare of sting from the antiseptic washing away anything that had gotten into the blisters and burns, the analgesic would numb her hand up. He released her wrist so she wouldn't get agitated by the contact, scooting back and holding up the other jar, the mint-smelling one.
“When you're ready, this is a burn paste. I don't have a lot but hopefully neither of us will be getting burned after this.”
