Reaper Prometheus: artimys: reaper-prometheus: artimys: reaper-prometheus: artimys:…
Breathing… it doesn’t help much aside that Prometheus seemed to understand that she had been laying there in the cold for some time already to the point of being close to death. She was glad that he was…
Artimys gives him a very weak smile in response to his reaction which was quite funny to her. The soon half lidded eyes follow his movement as she is very slowly regaining some more energy to do his help to keep her alive. Taking a deep breath gives her quite an ache but feels good time to time to clear her mind or to set it straight.
For sure she knows and realizes the following: Prometheus practically saved her from death, he spoke her name and that he used a horribly painful way to close much of her injuries.
When he talked again, her mind manages to grasp what he was talking about. Good that he heard her. Artimys figures that she will give him a proper thank you when she gets into a better state than she is right now. Laying in the midst of a blood stained spot of snow.
Now he offered to close her other wounds? Is she… really that much of a mess to the point he has to save her?
That she will find out later.
“…. will… be… fine….” She has struggled to talk, still in pain. Her voice is being cracked as she spoke. Her eyes have caught the sight of his stained hands. Ah…. So that is how he closed her injuries. Her eyes close as she takes a moment to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.A smile? That’s sort of an answer. He continues to search her features for signs of an answer. A more clear answer.
That pain is starting to make him feel uneasy. Nothing the old lady couldn’t fix later, provided she didn’t die there. She was the one patching him up after he’d gotten into fights. There was no one else he could turn too. Unfortunately, he needed her alive. Feelings on the matter?
No feelings. Never had any. A tool is a tool.
Use a tool until its no longer useful. Seemed simple enough. Patching up this tool was turning out to be quite a lot of work. Maybe it was time for a new one.
Her voice disrupts his thoughts. Definitely alive.
“You’re not looking so fine, old lady. Look, you gotta live. I think I fried my hand fixing your stupid wounds. You have to fix it. You owe me,” he says nonchalantly. The pool of blood and red snow doesn’t seem to be bothering him; but the very fact that he’s having this conversation is.
He tries to shut off the overheating in his hand as it starts to smoke. Ah shit, what did I do?! It stops getting any hotter, but is cooling slowly. He jabs his hand into the snow.
Hell. Hell, it hurts. Why did I do this to myself? I need that hand.
He watches his hand start to melt the snow around it. Not good. “Yo-you really owe me! Ah, shit what did I do?! This is all your fault!” He switches between a dash of panic and a blaming tone fairly equally.
To be saved by him is quite… humorous to her. At least he did what he can. Does that prove that he has some humanity in him, possibly. Then again, she remembers him saying that she works for him. Ahaha….
Him, tell her to live…? Ah… seems like he really does not want her to die like this. There must be something that Prometheus wanted her to live. Interesting….
“…. will… fix it… later….” Artimys soon coughs a couple of times after she spoke. Dry throat…. No. Her throat hurts.
She manages to see him being quite frantic about his hand. She lets out what sounded like a ‘heh’. She will fix his hand… when she is in a better condition.
Artimys shivers a couple of times at the cold. Liquid and cold do not mix well, even after having her injuries shut closed by Prometheus’ heated hand. “…c… cold.” She coughs again, feeling sharp pain on her chest. Her eyes tightly shut at the pain.
Wonderful….
Huh. He could barely understand the old hag. Something about fixing it? Damn right she was gonna fix it. He was sort of attached to that hand. At that particular moment he was wishing he wasn’t so attached to it. The snow around him was mostly a puddle now.
Prometheus glances back at the old lady. Shaking? She utters again…
Freezing? How is the fire not enough?
The fire still burned at their side, but if it wasn’t enough; then what? He considers just setting the old bag on fire. That’d teach her. But then his hand would still be a wreck later and he really needed them both. The best idea he has is to set up a few more little pillars of fire around them. Keeping them in place would be taxing; especially there was nothing really keeping the fire going than his own power. Working quickly, he sets three more fires strategically around the two of them.
Let’s see you try to be cold now, old lady.
He sits down at her side again, trying to get his hand cool. Slowly, but eventually he has some success on that front. At least it probably won’t burn anyone too bad now. Himself included.
“Hey Art-” No no no no no. He’s not making a habit of that. Stupid name. She doesn’t…she shouldn’t…
I don’t care! I really really don’t care!
How kind of him to warm up the area around them. Artimys slightly smiles at the thought of Prometheus actually caring for someone besides his sister. Nah… that’s… not like of him, right?
She is not paying much of the visual attention around her as she feels the heat generated by Prometheus’ flames circled around them. It takes her a while to gain some more energy to move onto her right side and pulling back the only piece of jewelry near her chest. A painstakingly slow process to finish that task of moving her body.
Her mind nearly goes blank until she heard Prometheus talking again then he stopped himself. Her eyes look at him as if saying ‘what’. She swears she could’ve heard Prometheus calling her name again, or possibly the shortened version of her name.
Prometheus watches her move quietly for a moment. Why is she pushing herself? Doesn’t make sense. She was almost dead and she moves around? Stupid. He starts to wonder if he just is just wasting time and energy.
Fire. Focus on the fire.
A well timed reminder as one fire started to fall a little low. He put himself to work regulating the heat for a few moments. This was a new experience. He hadn’t found a reason to know how to really just burn a fire for warmth. It had never been a problem.
Just consider it a challenge.
“You just stay put. Don’t die, or whatever,” he grumbles. A sigh escapes him as he closes his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m doing this…for you too. What a ton of crap. I don’t have to be here, hope you realize that. I could get up and leave you here right now.”
But I haven’t left.
He groans loudly. “What am I doing?! I don’t care!”
The fire! Focus!
It was dying down again. He doubled his efforts to make sure it remained burning. Stupid old woman had to go dying, making him work this hard.
“Feel better or something already. I’m tired of talking to myself,” he mutters and glares at her.
She really wants to laugh at Prometheus for saying that he does not care. ‘Don’t die’ he says. She is trying not to now. Oh someone is going to laugh at this. A Reaper saving a Huntress.
Well she does not having trouble with breathing now. Mainly thanks for the efforts of Prometheus. Artimys has her eyes half lidded as she looks at Prometheus.
Glaring at me… the usual of him. Her thoughts are more collected now after her nanites and Prometheus’ efforts quite paid off. She can feel the nanites working on her injuries. Faustus, the Artificial Intelligence, has finally gave her some news on her current condition. It will take days for her to be healed up. Again thanks to Prometheus who closed up her wounds.
Artimys wonders how much longer will she be able to stand on her own. She can tell that… it’s not now. Her body is still weak.
Still not a word from the old lady. He’s no doctor, but she seems to be doing better. That much is a relief.
No, not a relief! I don’t even care! Ughh, what am I saying?!
He looks to his hand again. It didn’t look any different. He was built to withstand all kinds of external heat and pain, but inside, he imagined a mess. He couldn’t feel anything. It made him uneasy. He tries to clench and unclench his hand, but all he gets is a little bit of a twitch. Oh man, I really did a number to it…
“Are you getting up anytime soon? As much fun as this little camping trip is, I want to go home,” he grumbles and sets his hand in his lap uselessly. Now would not be a good time to be attacked. Especially if he had to protect the old lady…
“I’m not gonna protect you, by the way!” he shouts at her. No reason, just blurting really. He settles down, his face falling into a blank, almost sad expression. “Just answer me sometime. When you can,” he utters very quietly.
She moves to a somewhat curled up position on her side, slowly. The pain is still there. But the warmth generated by the flames from Prometheus had made is welcoming. Her eyes remain half lidded as she still watches Prometheus. She needs to repair that hand as soon she is well enough to do so.
He contradicts himself again… somehow. Artimys thinks for a moment, considering all of what he had said while she is laying on the tainted snow. Going home…. Sure they can go home. Someone has to help her to stand and possibly to walk.
The last couple of sentences he had spoke and his expression surprise her quite a bit. It’s not like she is going to die now….. It is just that she feels still weak. She closes her eyes, sighing a bit. A little rest maybe will work.
He watches her move for a moment. Well definitely alive. Not dead. But moving. Moving?!
“Hey, come up, get off your ass; let’s go!” he shouts at her face. “If you think I’m gonna drag you back, you got another thing comin’, old hag.” He hurls a few more insults at her before settling back down. That feeling of being exposed, out in the snow, in plain sight, was starting to wear on his nerves. He would be at a severe disadvantage in an attack. It was time to make tracks.
Prometheus lets out a long sigh. It’d be so easy to leave the old woman behind, but then there wouldn’t be anyone to fix his hand anytime soon. He couldn’t very walk into town and find another person to work on it. He kept seeing the old lady because she was underground. Unknown. Less likely he’d be traced to such a woman. It was convenient, to say the least. He wanted to pick and choose his time to receive attention; not have the authorities hounding him; as much fun as it could be.
It seemed there was nowhere else to go at times as well. Relying on that human for repair work was humiliating at times, but there were certain repairs he simply couldn’t do himself.
An annoying necessity. Fighting while not in top shape was a poor decision.
He was hotheaded, not stupid.
Another long sigh. “Fine old woman, I’ll see what I can do,” he mutters and stands up. He holds his scythe against his shoulder and uses his good hand to grab Artimys by her arm and starts to force her to her feet. If he can get a little help, he’ll drape her arm over his shoulder and start a slow walk out of there. No more being sitting ducks.
