themorbidsocialite | A Marsh Guest

Mori had made it to one side of the branch before slipping himself off and into the arms of the Brash Devil. Despite how careful they surely both were, the Socialite still choked on the pain shooting up one side of his body. They braced against the Devil, very visibly shaking and willing themselves not to let tears fall.

Trying to control their breathing, they turned, hands still gripping tight to the Devil's shirt. "Thank... Thank you. I do appreciate your help, but I have... much, still, to do."

Devil let out an "Oomph!" as he caught Mori. Mori was, annoyingly, just slightly taller than him, so he had to adjust his grip so as not to drop them or let their leg dip into the marsh muck and get even more infected.

"Okay, first of all, this isn't working, hang on-" his arms adjusted so they had a firm grip on Mori's thighs (not so firm as to cause unnecessary pain) and so their legs were up and around the Devil's waist so there was no risk of the open wounds getting more marsh muck in them.

"Now look," the Devil looked the Socialite face to face, "if you want to be an idiot, hobble along on this leg, probably get further chewed up by the creatures in here that's your business. But we both know that's what's gonna happen, and unless I misjudged your ability to think, I'm guessing you don't actually want that. So why don't I take you to Maven, she can get you taken care of, then you can go back to doing whatever it was you were doing."

Mori stared into the Devil's eyes, trying to figure out motive and best means of approach. The knot in his chest tightened and he spoke directly.

"I need that wolf body, both parts, and I dropped my bag somewhere in the fray. Help me find those and I can potentially agree to coming with you." It wasn't a binding promise, but it was good enough to hopefully not start a proper row and keep the good doctor's pride safe.

The Devil rolled his eyes and let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a tired sigh and a frustrated buzz. He looked around, and seeing a large rock he walked over and set the Socialite on it, "Stay up here, don't put your legs down." He then went to get the head from where it flew and figure out where the bag was.

The trail of blood leading from the tree to the location of the attack was fairly evident, even with the marsh ground. The bag was a short ways off, flung aside and, thankfully, still latched shut.

On the rock, Mori held his spinning head in his hands. How could he go and do something so stupid? He'd probably lost all his research to the contamination of the marsh, all that work put in for such little output as to be pathetic. The wounds throbbed nauseatingly and Mori had to groan. Everything they worked for, gone, completely ignoring the bleeding injuries they had sustained. They still didn't move from the rock. They wouldn't have been able to without falling. Should he have forgotten the marsh-wolf corpse? It was more useful to him than what he'd gathered, but it rather seemed like taking advantage of the Devil's kindness. All of this seemed to be taking advantage of him. How horrid. How immoral. How untoward.

Mori moved to stand, then immediately fell back on the rock, dizzy.

Devil came walking back, bag and head in hand, "Alright, I found the freakin' bag. There's no way I can carry you and the dead wolf at the same time though."

Head still in his hand, Mori waved the other dismissively. "It's alright. Just leave it. I can... I'm not sure, but I may be able to do something. Just... I can go home. This isn't a big cause for concern at all, I can take care of it." A hand reached out, asking wordlessly for the bag. "Please." Whether that was about the bag or about going home, it was unsure, but it was clear there was no going anywhere without help. Whether the Devil would be the one to help them was another story.

"Now look-" whatever the Devil was about to say, he stop short and his focus was on behind Mori. Fucking hell, more wolves were coming.

In a flash he is suddenly leaning into Mori, but still looking over their shoulder. One hand was one the rock at Mori's side. (was he just stabilizing himself or was he actually protecting Mori?) He's also pulled out a smaller gun, as evident by the BANG that sounds out (much smaller than the bang from before, but still startling)

The most notable part was that his face had gone rather feral. He was buzzing again, but this time it was the sound of a predatory animal growling out a warning. The mouth twisted into a snarl, the edges of the lips pulling and showing his sharp teeth, more teeth than was possible for a human body. His eyes were glowing like embers just pulled from a fire, still hot and dangerous.

From behind Mori, there was the sound of canine whines and whimpers and the retreat of many quadruped feet.

"Alright fuck this," Devil says as he holsters the gun, and walks to the tree to get his rifle, "I'm not doing this bullshit anymore! You are coming with me and that is it, got it?!"

Mori flinched slightly at the close sound of the gun, but saw the urgency of the situation and nodded. "Fine, yes, sure, we can fight later; please, let's get out of here!"

At least he wasn't entirely foolish, knowing when to prioritize safety over pride. Yes, it was humiliating to be carried out of an emergency he'd gotten himself into, but keeping them in the emergency on the off chance the Devil might give up and let him walk alone was beyond idiotic. They held tight to the Devil, ready to go.

Once the guns were holstered and Devil was holding both the Socialite and their bag, they headed out of the marsh. Occasionally he would hear more things and he'd let out another buzzing growl of warning. He couldn't very well fight off anything when encumbered like this, but he could warn off the threats for now.

----

Eventually they reached a cottage at the edge of the marsh. It was one of the larger ones in Watchmaker Hill, large enough to have a second story. The outside had many fungi and some of the hardier plants that had proved capable of living in the Neath, and there was a pond off the side with several silvery fish in it. It overall looked like a very cute, quaint, picturesque place to live.

Mori couldn't help a slight chuckle, looking up at the place. "My second time here this week... Both houses jus' absolutely lovely..." His words were starting to slur a little, of perhaps he was too tired to keep up the posh accent, a hint of northern slipping in. His head, too heavy to keep up, kept falling in the crook of the Devil's neck as he was carried.

They still had the strength to lean up against something, if the Devil needed a hand free to knock.

"Fuck you're losing too much blood," Devil muttered. Mori needn't lean against anything, because once the Devil got up to the door he briefly balanced on one leg and kicked the door a few times, "Jane! Emergency! We've got a bleeding idiot here, in both senses of the word!"

After a moment some hurried footsteps came towards the front. Maven opened the door, dressed in a wrapper over her chemise with her hair pulled in a loose low ponytail. It was clear they had not been expecting company this evening.

"You're already back? What-" Maven started as she opened the door, then gasped at the sight, "Oh my goodness what happened?!"

"Marsh wolves," Brash Devil said simply as he carried the Socialite inside.

"I do apologize, Doctor Rosewood, for the short notice as well as the mess. I did insist I be allowed th' trek home, but someone was insistent..." Mori waved a hand as he passed by. "I c'n assure you, I can stitch m'self up just fine once the, um... Once the dizziness passes. I'll be right."

In the light of their home, it was much clearer that the Socialite had lost quite a bit of blood and was a sickly pale. How they were sitting upright was a mystery in and of itself, let alone how he was still awake. He squinted up at the Devil. "'m sorry, 'm leavin' blood in your house and I never got your name, lad."

Maven was in the process of getting her doctor supplies as Devil brought Mori over to the couch. He had briefly considered the table since it would be a bigger surface to lay him on, like those operating tables he'd seen. Plus then there wouldn't be blood seeping into the couch. But he knew Maven would insist on making Mori comfortable as she worked, so the couch it was.

"It's Derek, now pipe down and stop with this nonsense about you doing this yourself. You aren't the only Doctor around here."

"Quite right," Maven had placed all the needed supplies on the table beside the couch, then walked over, "Okay Mori, I'm going to have to undress you in order to see the wounds better." While she still spoke with concern for the Socialite, her voice was becoming a bit more clinical, the panic of the sudden appearance of the wounded classmate replaced with the sense of a professional at work.

Despite being told to remove the clothes in a normal manner, Mori pulled a set of shears from his bag and cut along the buttons of his shirt and the whole of the pants leg. "If I'm losing 's much blood as I likely am, can't waste time on formalities. Best t'jus' do away with the lot of it. Jay-sus, the loss is dizzying... If you don't have disinfectant handy, we'll need clear alcohol like a gin or vodka. Might take a swig of it, too, to numb the pain. Bastard shook its head in the brawl, so the leg'll need a proper restructurin', maybe even a death an' reform. The side, however, can be stitched proper. I c'n do the stitching myself. 's what I do best. But the leg's the nasty bit. I can respect, if you don't want to do it on short notice. I c'n go home to have a game with the Boatman."

Even around the tired slurring, Dr. Malodrema was focused, zeroed in on the issue at hand, even if the assumptions on how to best fix the worst of it were overly dire and blunt. They were already looting their own bag for medical supplies on hand.

Happy to see Mori taking this seriously, Maven knelt down beside them and got to work, "I'll see what I can do about the leg. If you insist on stitching your side you may, but I will have to insist you not drink any alcohol if you do. Your mind is dizzy enough from the blood loss, you need to keep your wits about you. I can give you disinfectant to sterilize it, and maybe later once we've taken care of everything and gotten some food in you we can get you a drink for the pain." She glanced at the Brash Devil, "Can you prepare the towels for afterwards?"

He nodded and left to do that.

Edited 2025-07-06 21:21 (UTC)

Mori was oddly quiet in their focus, sterilizing the curved needle and cleaning their side of blood before starting work stitching. There was an unmasked exhaustion and dread across his face, unfamiliar and uncanny on the usually jovial, expressive features. There was something hard and cold behind the eyes that spilled the hand and pushed sight through the blinking stars in his vision and focused on the wounds.

Of course, shirtless, there were countless other scars across his torso, including a recently agitated one on his arm and a surgically precise wound, surface level, on the other hip. Each one had been closed with perfect sutures, a hand practiced at closing bodies to appear perfect and unmarred. Breathing was carefully timed with each stitch, ensuring that the chest was neither moving as the thread pulled through nor exhaling, allowing any inhale to strain, tear, or pop the stitching. He'd done this again and again and again; for what?

What in the world was Mementomori doing in the Marshes?

Maven was focused as well. The only words out of her mouth were to give Mori warning if she was about to do something that would cause them pain, as a courtesy and because she didn't want to make them slip in their stitches. At one point the Brash Devil came back with sterilized towels. He muttered to Maven something about taking dinner off the stove, to which she merely gave a nod of acknowledgement.

Meanwhile she focused on flushing out the wound of any remaining marsh bits left in and disinfecting the site. Once she was sure the area was as clean as she could make it, she got to work on stitches herself.

Still, she did occasionally glance up and noted the scars along Mori's body. Surely not all of those could be from similar emergencies. Was Mori experimenting on himself?

Something to ask about later, as well as what the Socialite was doing in the marsh in the first place. Right now, focus.

Mori eventually wrapped the stomach wounds with a wince, each one protected by a line of cotton poffs to keep from being disturbed by the bandages.

He wasn't unfeeling. He flinched and grimaced and bit back tears, but a doctor has to know how to work past it all. You don't work with bodies if you're squeamish or afraid of injury or blood. You don't work with scalpels, if you're afraid of getting cut. You don't operate on yourself, if you're afraid of pain.

Mori finally leaned back, blood-crusted arm over his eyes, swallowing down breaths of air like they might be their last as the Maven worked. "You didn't have to do this, Jane..." The voice was weak, soft, but clear in the focused silence. It wasn't biting, though, or accusatory or prideful. If anything, it was ashamed. Ashamed of being a burden, ashamed of needing help, maybe even ashamed of accepting help at all.

Maven was wrapping up the leg when the Socialite said this. At that her face softened. Now that the worst of it was over, she could focus on making sure Mori was alright emotionally and mentally as well.

"Of course I did," Maven said softly as she finished wrapping the leg, getting one of the many towels and wiping her hands, "There was no chance that I was going to just leave you and not help." After she wiped her hands clean, she tossed the towel into an empty bowl and got another one. She sat beside Mori and gently grabbed their arm so she could clean it. (she wasn't wearing her usual white gloves; on the forearm of her right arm there was a small tattoo of the sun)

Mori sighed, letting her take the arm, the other one wrapped around his stomach. "You needn't have interrupted your supper for this. I could have handled it myself, I can assure you. I've spoiled an evening you and Derek were sharing. You needn't have helped a man who can help himself."

Could he have, though? Or would he have just let himself die it off? Could either of them truly know for sure what would have happened?

The bag was pulled close to his uninjured side, pressed against him. It smelled of marsh dirt, mildew, and musty water and clinked with glass when it moved. He hadn't checked the contents yet. Perhaps they were afraid of what they would see inside. Perhaps they were afraid of this all being for naught. Perhaps they were afraid of if they were intact...

"I must leave shortly. My partners will be expecting me." This was, of course, a lie. A yet unanswered invitation from just that morning had said his spouses were away for the remainder of the week: one at zee, the other on a Fourth City expedition.

Maven just gave them a raised eyebrow at that, and after looking at Mori for a moment said, "You really shouldn't be going anywhere right now with all the blood you just lost. We can send word to your spouses so that they don't worry. But in my professional capacity as a Doctor, and as your friend and colleague, I think the best thing right now would be for you to stay here and rest for the night, then you can go home in the morning. The dinner isn't ruined, I can easily heat it back up and finish it. You should join us for dinner, we're having a stew that should help fill you and restore some of your strength."

"I really shouldn't. I've imposed too much already and you needn't bother yourself with--!" Mori had tried to stand as soon as the bandages were secure, but found himself collapsing with a choked cry of pain, only barely catching himself on the couch. Strained tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, either out of continued pain or out of the realization that he was cornered. They weren't going to be able to back out of this one, but they were also certain they wouldn't be able to handle. The mask of formality had already started to slip in the process of getting here and getting patched up. They wouldn't be able to maintain it all night.

But they had no choice. Not after that fall. He'd just doomed himself.

Maven gasped as Mori collapsed back on the couch, then winced at the look on their face. She waited a moment for what she was sure a wave of pain to pass over, then placed a hand on Mori's shoulder and looked then in the eyes, "Mori, please. This isn't an imposition, this isn't a bother. You're my friend, this is what friends do. I understand the impulse and desire to insist things are fine when they clearly aren't, but you don't have to try this hard to put up such a front, it's okay to admit the truth."

Mori wanted terribly to scream at the thought. The truth? What truth? When had the truth ever been valued more than appearances? When did the diagnosis matter more than bedside manner? Nobody wanted the ugly, screaming, bleeding truth, ripped from his hands like a still beating heart. It was never about the truth! It was about ego and pride and being able to tell yourself you're a good person! Nobody wanted him! Not really! They wanted the Morbid Socialite! They wanted the man skilled in talking their way out of any situation! They wanted the poised, composed, jovial man with a penchant for the melodramatic! Nobody wanted the creature that would sooner rip apart his own sternum and sever his lungs than tell another person how he feels! Nobody wanted the monster covered elbow down in dead blood, unexpressive yet feeling far too much! Too direct, too emotional, too morbid, too much! They were only ever too much and he couldn't stand the idea of the Maven pretending to want that from them!

They wanted to take her shoulders and cry that this wasn't about what either of them wanted, that nobody cared about what was best for either of them. He wanted to open the bag and show her, show Jane Rosewood the skeleton in his closet before she could find it herself, ruin their friendship before it could take root. Their chest burst with the desire to just stop pretending, knowing that doing so, dropping the mask fully, would terrify and hurt the witnesses. He wanted to look her in the eye and tell her that he was about to spit in the face of God and kick His ribs until the holy corpse rotted and the blood salted the earth. He wanted to rip the truth from his stomach like a line of intestines and grind it into the dirt with his heel. They wanted to look the Maven in the eye and tell her that her sympathy shouldn't be wasted.

To the Maven, it was but a moment of thought, eyes flickering across the ground in front. When they darted back up, the Socialite looked at the woman across from him and let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"If you so insist," was Mori's weak, almost emotionless response. Not hateful or sad or scared; simply nothing. Nothing was easier than enthusiasm, even if societal convention forced him to accept. Even if his heart begged him to accept. Nothing was easier. "I cannot guarantee I will be pleasant company."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject