Quality Friend Time

He grunted and stumbled. A deep stab in the thigh was never pleasant, but it always seemed more so when the attacker was trying to eat your face.

He'd spent the last part of his battle trying to kick off multiple cannibals, who jumped away every time he tried to make a move.

Fuck this pansy bullshit, he thought, swinging his right fist hard towards where the jab came from.

He felt the shock of his arm colliding with bone and a body went flying. He saw a dusty-white figure leap from its previous opponent, a bloody heap on the ground, to the now-crumpled body trying to stand up. He knew that one was as good as gone and he swiftly tucked and rolled to the side, avoiding a machete to the neck by mere inches; and picked up his spear that had been knocked away early into the fight. He quickly got to his feet and glanced at the remaining attacker before hurling the spear at the man's chest.

Having been thrown from a considerably close range, the weapon practically glided through his opponent-- more than three quarters of the spear's handle coming into contact and sliding through the cannibal's heart along with the blade itself.

Overkill? He wondered. Nah.

He walked over to the body and removed his weapon. Wiping the blood from his spear on the fallen attacker's jacket, he stepped over the body and made his way to his companion.

"Good girl, Il," he praised quietly, gently running his thumb across the top of the dog's head. Her tail wagged weakly and she leaned into the touch briefly before rubbing her head into the dirt, trying to get as much blood off her maw as possible.

He quickly frisked the bodies, finding nothing of worth.

He looked at his upper leg. Through the jeans, he could see that it was bleeding a fair bit. He could feel himself that it was a deep stab.

He had to get back to the camp and patch this up before it caused some permanent damage.
xXx

"Where's Hells?" He asked, looking around.

Chardyn jumped, shrinking into herself slightly. He noticed she was quite a bit better at being around him alone than when she'd first joined them, but her instinct kicked in more often than not, especially when she was surprised. Really, it had started getting better when she'd re-encountered her 'crush' from before the fallout, but he didn't think the woman would admit that, being as stubborn as she was. "Scavenging..." Chardyn murmured, French accent apparent in even her quietest tone of voice.

"When'll she be back, then? She's got my gauze and I kinda need it."

"Pourquoi avez..." She drifted off mid-sentence, eyes catching the amassing blood on his upper thigh, her instinct to care for people overpowering the her weakening fear of men.

"You and Helena, you do not know what the word 'unscathed' means, do you?"

"Spare me the lecture, Char," he muttered, the feeling of congealing blood on his leg becoming rather uncomfortable.

She nodded and looked down a bit. "R-right… Sorry.  I... have some gauze in my bag, let me get it and I'll wrap your leg up," she offered tentatively, getting to her feet and heading to her bag.

He remained standing, keeping the weight off his right leg. He felt a bit bad; he should have been nicer to the blonde. She was being maternal, how she usually was, and he was just being an ass. It took her a good long while to be able to even stand next to him, let alone talk to him or even offer to clean a wound.

The damn city soldier was working wonders on his oldest friend, and he shook his head and smiled at the thought.

"D'accord," Chardyn said as she returned with a bottle of alcohol and a roll of gauze. "Pants off." She motioned with a hand.

"What?" He looked at her in mild shock.

"Baissez tes pantalons, drop your pants." She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips slightly.

"No." He said blankly. "I'm not doing that."

"So how will I wrap it, hm?"

"I dunno, can't you just... wrap it over my pants?"

"T'es si stupide quelquefois, vous savez?" She muttered, tentatively walking closer.

"Thanks," he muttered dryly in response, understanding the bit of French insult from hanging around the sisters for so long.

"Not a complement." She said with a smirk. "Now take your pants off so I can clean that before it gets infected."

"No." He stated stubbornly.

"Clough," Her tone was almost a warning.

"Chardyn," His tone mimicked hers.

She sighed and bit down on her cheek before closing the safe distance she kept between them. She poked him threateningly in the chest. "You do it or I'll do it for you."

"You wouldn't," he said with a smirk.

"Would you really want to test that?" She questioned.

"You have a husband, shouldn't you be taking his pants off?"

Chardyn blushed a shade of crimson and quickly slapped his thigh, her hand making contact with the wound.

He exhaled a grunt and bent forwards to press his hand to the wound. Chardyn took the opportunity and quickly wrapped her leg around his uninjured one and took him out, landing him on his back with one of her knees pressed into his chest.

"When the hell did you learn that?" He asked in disbelief, staring up at her.

"It is sad how you forget Helena and I are siblings."

"Well, it's not like you two're twins," he muttered, and she raised a hand threateningly over his wound. "Okay, okay," He said, raising his hands. "Calm the fuck down, it was a joke."

She said nothing but got off of him and motioned for him once more to remove his pants.

He stared her down for a moment and she looked away. She was never good with eye contact.

He eventually gave in with a loud sigh, muttering obscenities.

Chardyn took his jeans from him and neatly folded them beside her medical supplies, and noticed the cut was higher up on his thigh than she'd thought, for the blood was running from a slash on the leg of his boxers.

Clough seemed to notice this as well. "I am not takin' off any more layers."

She gave him a look of disbelief. "I hope you don't! Just... pull the leg of it up a bit." She pinched the bridge of her nose, realising how much of a drama queen he was.

He rolled his eyes but did so, being very tentative on the motions. As he busied himself with that (albeit he was taking his fine old time), Chardyn grabbed her trusty bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"Prêt?" She asked, looking at him. "When I count to three." He nodded again. "Un," She dumped half the bottle over the wound.

He let out an angry gasp and a few rather rude words. "The fuck is that?! That was one! That's not how you count to three!"

Chardyn shrugged, wiping up the blood and alcohol with a piece of gauze. "I figured that since you wasted so much time before, I may as well forget with counting to make up for the lost time. Also that's what you get for making sexual 'jokes' of me and Sebastian."

He stared at her as she began to gently wrap his leg. "Y'know, you can be a right bitch when you wanna be."

She shook her head and gently pulled the leg of his boxers over the gauze before standing up, work done. "Only..." She began hesitantly, handing him his pants.

"Only what?" He murmured, standing up and carefully pulling his jeans over the newly wrapped wound.

She smiled a bit and pulled the leg of his jeans a bit higher, making it noticeably more comfortably for him to move around. She then moved to fix the collar of his jacket. "Only to the ones who don't listen to me." She patted his cheek and walked away.