tristan
As the redheaded woman knelt down to better get a look at his wound, Tristan followed her gaze. The wound itself was a clean laceration that cut between two layers of skin into the flesh and sinew just beneath his ribs, blood dripping steadily downwards to stain the hem of his pants. It was a nasty injury, and one that he couldn’t remember getting, but at least it seemed like a clean enough slice. Catching the woman’s cursory glance, he simply offered a shrug of a shoulder in return. Should it need stitches, then he was alright with that. Anything to make it heal quicker and without more mess.
Despite his willingness, of course, it didn’t make it any less painful. The brunette grit his teeth as she began to clean and stitch the wound, doing his best to not shift around at the lingering pain, not wanting to make her job any more difficult but also not wanting to mess up her stitching. It was a necessity, and it wasn’t the first time that he’d had to stitch up a wound. Tristan truly doubted that it would be the last.
Eventually, it seemed his words had an effect. That or she took pity on his pained winces and sharp inhales, for she introduced herself in that same dulcet tone as ‘Georgia’. Little did he know that Georgia would be only the first of many names he would learn in this mysterious world. Still, earning her name was a true treasure, considering he had done nothing but invaded her home and crushed her poor flowers. Tristan felt honored to know it. That strained smile didn’t last, however, as Georgia went into detail about her grandmother and how she had lost the elderly woman a year ago, but to know that she held such sentimental adoration for the cottage they were now sitting in was endearing.
“Well,” Tristan gasped out, gritting his teeth as he inhaled sharply through the nose in an attempt to keep himself calm and still, “I think… She would be pleased with how well you’re taking care of it. The garden is beautiful.” From the bits he had seen, of course. Although that did make him feel all the more guilty about landing on top of her flowers…
At Georgia’s own little inquiry, Tristan understood it for what it was. Not only was she prying for more information about him, but she was offering him a good distraction. This woman clearly knew her stuff, and he would remember her genuine bedside manner. “Ah. Um, a small farmstead in the Briarwood. I lived there with my parents before striking off on my own, but it was always home.” He wondered yet again if he would see them again, or if he was stuck in this world for the rest of his life. The thought was a terrifyingly sober one, and doing his best to not jostle Georgia’s hands, the brunette plucked up the bottle from the table and took another swig of whiskey.
Eventually the wound was closed, and Tristan held still for a moment longer to allow her to wrap a soft, clean bandage around his middle before shifting and sitting up. Soft blue eyes watched as Georgia stood up and stretched, and the man smiled warmly. “Thank you, Georgia. I won’t forget your kindness. Um. Is there anything you need help with? I know you told me to take it easy, but… It doesn’t feel right to not offer some kind of trade. Maybe help with dinner? Or… Chores?”
More than likely she would give him a look and order him to just sit there and take it easy for a while, but he had to try.
Despite his willingness, of course, it didn’t make it any less painful. The brunette grit his teeth as she began to clean and stitch the wound, doing his best to not shift around at the lingering pain, not wanting to make her job any more difficult but also not wanting to mess up her stitching. It was a necessity, and it wasn’t the first time that he’d had to stitch up a wound. Tristan truly doubted that it would be the last.
Eventually, it seemed his words had an effect. That or she took pity on his pained winces and sharp inhales, for she introduced herself in that same dulcet tone as ‘Georgia’. Little did he know that Georgia would be only the first of many names he would learn in this mysterious world. Still, earning her name was a true treasure, considering he had done nothing but invaded her home and crushed her poor flowers. Tristan felt honored to know it. That strained smile didn’t last, however, as Georgia went into detail about her grandmother and how she had lost the elderly woman a year ago, but to know that she held such sentimental adoration for the cottage they were now sitting in was endearing.
“Well,” Tristan gasped out, gritting his teeth as he inhaled sharply through the nose in an attempt to keep himself calm and still, “I think… She would be pleased with how well you’re taking care of it. The garden is beautiful.” From the bits he had seen, of course. Although that did make him feel all the more guilty about landing on top of her flowers…
At Georgia’s own little inquiry, Tristan understood it for what it was. Not only was she prying for more information about him, but she was offering him a good distraction. This woman clearly knew her stuff, and he would remember her genuine bedside manner. “Ah. Um, a small farmstead in the Briarwood. I lived there with my parents before striking off on my own, but it was always home.” He wondered yet again if he would see them again, or if he was stuck in this world for the rest of his life. The thought was a terrifyingly sober one, and doing his best to not jostle Georgia’s hands, the brunette plucked up the bottle from the table and took another swig of whiskey.
Eventually the wound was closed, and Tristan held still for a moment longer to allow her to wrap a soft, clean bandage around his middle before shifting and sitting up. Soft blue eyes watched as Georgia stood up and stretched, and the man smiled warmly. “Thank you, Georgia. I won’t forget your kindness. Um. Is there anything you need help with? I know you told me to take it easy, but… It doesn’t feel right to not offer some kind of trade. Maybe help with dinner? Or… Chores?”
More than likely she would give him a look and order him to just sit there and take it easy for a while, but he had to try.
