Medical Marvels! (Open to Two)

[FennWenn]

When one has recently grown wings, the natural thing to do is jump out of trees.

At least, that was Fenn’s logic on the matter. The details of his months-earlier metamorphosis were fuzzy in his mind — particularly so considering the overwhelming amount of memories that were wiped clean out of his head — but he knew that the papery, velvety wings protruding from somewhere betwixt his shoulderblades were foreign to his body. They didn’t know quite how to work. They didn't know, precisely, where they were supposed to be at any given time. Sitting on them accidentally was uncomfortable. So was people stepping on them. So was getting excited, whereupon he found that the wings tended to flutter outward and whack themselves into things rather painfully.

Really, the antennae were more manageable than that. More useful too.

But they were wings, so it naturally followed that Fenn was probably capable of flight given enough practice with them. And thus, came the brilliant notion of leaping from tall places.

It wasn’t too hard to find a tall and sturdy oak in Corone. This continent was lousy with them. It was also not very difficult for Fenn to scale his way up the sturdy trunk, into its very highest branches. He was already a prolific climber, after all. No, the first problem had occurred after the jump; whereupon, the fae had found that he really, really didn’t know the mechanics of flying, and that trees were filled with branches to snag one’s wings and keep them from doing their supposed job. Then, the most problematic aspect of the jump had been sticking the landing.

He landed on his arm.

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

From under his brown hood, Fenn’s antennae and ears drooped back in a most sullen way as he marched into the nearest town, staunchly ignoring the tears welling up in his eyes. His right arm carefully cradled his left, which he had wrapped up in his cloak in a hazy attempt to keep it from jostling around too much. It was probably for the best that it was hidden from sight. The purple-black bruising, the occasional bead of black blood from his cuts, the way that the forearm’s shape was… moderately awful, suggesting a bone that had compounded, had cracked and bent? Yeah, he didn’t want to see that any more than he had to. As much as he hated to admit it, it was beyond his meager medical expertise. He knew how to treat gashes. How to bandage cuts, how to drive off fevers, how to rest in the face of illness. But bones? Bones were beyond him. Frost speckled the street under his feet, a nervous effusion he couldn’t control even under the best of circumstances, let alone while he was in pain.

The problem was, he didn’t exactly know where to locate an… oh?

What was that he spied?

The mite puck’s antennae twitched as he read the crude banner hanging over an even cruder stand. A healer? Fuck, yes! And likely, the sort of place where too many embarrassing questions wouldn’t be asked. It seemed a haphazard and temporary affair. The young man running the counter bore a slim figure and dark ears characteristic of the nekojin of Akishima. With each passerby that wandered his way, his gold eyes flashed first with nervous excitement, and then disappointment as they ignored him and kept on going.

Fenn did not keep going. Fenn stopped right in front of the young mortal.

Bright, solid green eyes peered up over the countertop, accompanied by a shock of white-blonde hair. The fae considered communicating his thoughts via Gesture, the fascinating sign-language he had recently picked up on, but he frowned at the thought. No; his injured arm was not nearly in the shape for that. The young nekojin might not know the language anyway. It wasn’t exactly common. Instead, Fenn propped his injured limb up on the stand, reached out over the top of the misshapen counter and laid a hand on the wood. Frost spiraled out from his touch. With a sense of brevity and in deformed lettering, he scrawled in the icy dusting, conveying his plight. Damnit, why’d he have to go and break his dominant hand?

“You fix bone?"