[ P ] chokechain

First Aid Textbook

TW: Thoughts of death, assault

Another day, another task given by the colonel that she knew her body would suffer for. Months had passed since her assault and the war, and each day was fucking agonizing. Her body wanted to yield; to give in to the darkness that blanketed her each night as she made her mind forget with a concoction of potent herbs, followed by a mug of fermented berries just to ensure that she slept deeply. It was routine at this point, and she began to hate each time she woke up.

Today she was instructed to tend to the wounds of a prisoner. Great. Getting down the steps to the dungeon felt amazing as her weight was transferred to her injured soldier, and the cramped atmosphere suffocated her and brought memories flashing back to when she was pinned down against her will. She hated this. Hated the army, her existence. Each breath made her ribs ache if she inhaled too deeply. But there was nothing to fix it, except for her nightly routine.

So all she could do was wait for the day to be over again, and for now, she kept the company of a man who looked like his fur was on fire.

It wasn't, though. But boy, what a trip that would be if her drugs were in her. As a guard opened the cell door for her to enter, she approached the man with not even a sliver of hesitation.

If he attacked her, that just meant that the end would come for her faster.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, unsure in the dim lighting if he was awake. Both her mind and eyes were void of emotion. But there was the softness of empathy still there, wrapped around her like a shawl.

code by claerie

there's no above or under or around it
we're surrounded
and we're hounded
for "above" is blind belief
and "under" is sword to sleeve

Word had it that a nurse would be visiting him, though the reasons were unclear. He’d accept the company, if not the help. She arrived swiftly, her exhaustion evident—whether from mental strain or physical fatigue was none of his concern. As she approached, it was clear she was here on business, but still he could not figure as to why.

“You’re tending to the wrong wolf,” he said dryly, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “You should see the other guy,” he added, his voice laced with menace, a dangerous reflection in his eyes suggesting Malachi was in far better shape than was let on in comparison to his victim.

“You must do what you must, right?” Malachi leaned back against the cold stone wall, his thighs parting slightly, his bright orange gaze locking onto her purple eyes. “I can tell you of another itch that could use some scratching.” Worst-case scenario, she’d be appalled; best-case scenario, she’d find herself with the same kind of itch. Regardless, he could make her visit worth her while.

A heavy silence settled between them. If she looked closely, she’d see that he might only need treatment for pneumonia due to the abysmal conditions of his cell. Though she was a mystery to him, her presence was clearly orchestrated by someone. By whom? It didn’t concern him. What mattered was that it had grown increasingly tedious in this dreary confinement.

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First Aid Textbook

He fancied himself a jester, apparently, but his attempts at humour fell on deaf ears. His voice affirmed he was indeed awake and seemingly expecting her approach, would would hopefully make this entire exchange easier.

“You’re tending to the wrong wolf,” he spoke, his voice hoarse from lack of hydration. And a chuckle, though there was no emotion behind it. “You should see the other guy,” Ikrie's ears swiveled forward in interest, her head canting to the side at this... pursuit of intimidation. She gave a roll of one shoulder in a shrug.

"I don't give a shit about the other guy - I was sent here for you." she replied plainly, stepping forth as her nose twitched, taking in his scents and anything note of infection or blood. But there was nothing. So why was she here? She was confused, but there was no visual reference to this. She knew that down in these dungeons, you left nothing for them to pick up on.

“You must do what you must, right?” he spoke again, and there - she caught it. His voice, there was more than just dehydration going on. His lungs were thick with fluid, and she knew enough that it was probably immensely uncomfortable for him, especially down in these damp cells. Another step forward, another sniff until he continued his ridiculous attempts at conversation.

“I can tell you of another itch that could use some scratching.”

She halted, her body responding before she could think. Past memories of Lachlan came rushing back, and she took a moment to breathe her way through the sudden anxiety. No, she had control here. He couldn't take that away. Ikrie glowered then, in the dimness of the cell. Why were these men so disgusting? Her body remained still, but her tongue lashed with fire.

"Keep it up and I'll leave you here for your lungs to rot from the inside out." her voice was factual, crisp even as she clicked her tongue. Who the hell had sent here here for this excuse of a man? It had come from her superior but... when had they ever really cared about their prisoners? She didn't know his history or why he was here, and she didn't care. But she cared about her time being wasted. "I'm sure someone like you has friends in high places, and soon enough you'll be free on the streets to fuck all the whores you want." Another Lachlan, it seemed.

code by claerie

there's no above or under or around it
we're surrounded
and we're hounded
for "above" is blind belief
and "under" is sword to sleeve

She wasn’t amused, that much was clear, and he could only imagine how tight her ass was. Malachi could almost feel the tension in her posture, an unspoken testament to how tightly wound she was. His lungs were heavy with phlegm, a sign of infection that gnawed at him.

He was acutely aware of his deteriorating condition—every labored breath and ache in his body a stark reminder. Had she taken him up on his offer, it was likely he wouldn't have made it past three thrusts.

"So boring," he muttered, exhaling a labored sigh that sounded more like a raspy wheeze. He rolled his shoulders back, forcing himself to compose as best he could. He needed her help, though he would never admit it—to himself or to her. So here he was, dependent on a nurse who was both disinterested and rigidly professional, and who had no intention of indulging his whims. What a delightful predicament.

Maybe she knew something he didn’t, especially when she hinted at his connections with powerful people—Murrough, no doubt. That bastard would be coming for him. Malachi was sure of it.

"For the record," he said with a smirk, "the harder they are to get, the more fun they are to pursue. Whores are too boring." His words were a deliberate provocation, a test of limits. She had already threatened to let him die, but in truth, he was indifferent. The consequences of his actions never frightened him.

Some might call it madness, but to Malachi, it was merely a way of living—an embrace of the chaos that seemed to define his existence.

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First Aid Textbook

Before she had made the journey down here, information had been given on what was suspected to be the mans ailment, if only for Ikrie to prepare and bring the correct treatment. Symptoms had been described to her while the informant had stood in the wooden doorway of her home, and she'd given a nod of understanding before she had gathered what she believed would be the mans best chance at recovery.

She carried this now, in her pouch that was strapped to her bad side.

Removing a small cup, she placed it on the ground as Malachi muttered to himself, clearly displeased by her refusal to fuck him. The nurse didn't react, instead focused now on his treatment, as the guards posted outside of the cells moved about - a pyromancer had joined the chambers, fixing to light a fire in an enclosed stone arrangement to hopefully burn some of the moisture away from the dank dungeon.

While it wasn't warm anymore, she deposited a concoction of eucalyptus and peppermint that was mixed with water and had been boiled into the cup. She then brought it to him, handing it over with an expectant expression. "Drink." while her tone lacked the demand, it was obvious there wasn't an option for him.

It was only after this that she backed up a few steps before sitting at the edge of his cell, close to the closed door. Relief flooded through her shoulders and arms as the pressure of carrying her weight was taken off of her bad arm. Purple eyes were alert and sharp as she watched him, waiting for him to cater to her request. The nurse had to make sure he adhered to her treatments, less the others think she didn't at least try to help him.

"What you do in your spare time is of no concern to me," she finally acknowledged his... brag? "Though it sounds to me like you don't know how to take rejection." it was her turn to smirk now, the faintest sparkles of amusement touching her dull eyes. If he wanted to test her, to push her buttons to see what she'd bite at, then she could play that game as well. After all, it wasn't like she had much to lose here.

code by claerie

there's no above or under or around it
we're surrounded
and we're hounded
for "above" is blind belief
and "under" is sword to sleeve

**tw for language and sexual mentions**

She left him for a brief moment to concoct something. In the silence, he watched her intently, his orange eyes lingering on the curves of her form as he idly licked his lips. The thoughts running through his mind were dark and twisted. He knew she wouldn't indulge come around, both literally and figuratively.

When she returned with a drink in her paws and handed it to him with a commanding gesture, he examined her briefly. He reasoned that the worst she could do was kill him—and even that seemed a preferable option compared to the tormented anticipation he felt within these walls. Malachi took the drink, swigged it back, and grimaced at the bitter taste. He handed the cup back to her and moved on, the slight curl of his lip betraying his discontent.

She made a point to distance herself from him before she addressed him again, which elicited a faint smirk on his lips. A touch of light from the dim hallway illuminated her features, casting her in a slightly ethereal glow.

"You don't have to move so far, you know," he drawled, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. "I'm not that bad." He knew she could leave the cell at any time but seemed to linger, perhaps seeking some form of entertainment, even if it wasn’t the kind he preferred to give her.

"There are more of you where you came from,"he said with a soft, sinister chuckle. "You're not the first to play this game of cat and mouse. You'll let me flatter you until you're satisfied, act like you don’t crave attention for a while, and then come back when no other men are groveling at your feet."

He rolled his head and inhaled a slow, measured breath. "You're wise not to fuck me, you wouldn't go anywhere else afterwards." He stood and approached her, closing the distance to a mere few feet. "But I'm bored now. Get out." His eyes narrowed, and the smirk that had once played on his lips vanished, replaced by a cold, hard expression.

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First Aid Textbook

Her skin prickled with the weight of his eyes as she was away from him, but after being maimed by Lachlan, the feeling of eyes on her was no longer an issue. She just didn't care. And so her silver furs remained unruffled, her muscles as lax as they could be considering the ever so slowly tightening of her damaged arm, and her eyes were lifeless as she then watched him take the drugs. He seemed to consider her for a moment, and it was obvious he was thinking about something... but she couldn't place what. His mask was just as impassive as hers, it appeared.

And then he returned the cup to her, much to her mild shock.

"You don't have to move so far, you know," purple eyes focused on him. "I'm not that bad." one white brow cocked in disbelief, knowing he had to have done something bad to find himself in these specific dungeons, but she decided not to comment on that.

"I'm not afraid of bad boys like you," she drawled back, mimicking his shrug - but just with her good shoulder. "You just stink." a spark of life brightened her eyes for a moment, interested to see how he'd react to an insult thrown his way.

He continued to speak, talking as if he were some kind of sex god in which she'd be foolish to pass up. This earned a genuine laugh from the medic, coupled with a shake of her head. No other men? Her memories flashed images of Galadriel, causing her to wonder, for just a second, where he was now. Was he even alive? His scent had essentially disappeared after his learning of Lachlans attack on her, and that was the exact opposite of what she was hoping he'd do. Instead, he'd all but up and left her. Her heart swelled with bitterness, brows furrowing.

Malachi approached her then - must have not liked her attention not being on him. Ikrie glanced up, lifting her chin. "You're wise not to fuck me, you wouldn't go anywhere else afterwards." She refused to give him the satisfaction of riling her, so instead she simply rose to her paws and took a step or two towards him, leaning in as he told her to get out. A sick sense of bravery thrummed in her body at the look he gave her, and she met it with sly smirk of her own - a challenge as she dared to brush her cheek against his, if he didn't flinch away.

"I'm wise not to fuck you because I don't want to catch any disease," she hissed at him, her eyes hardening with a confidence not there previously. And then she turned around, uncaring if he was close enough for her tail to whip at him as she slid through the gated door and left the jail.

-- exit ikrie --

code by claerie

there's no above or under or around it
we're surrounded
and we're hounded
for "above" is blind belief
and "under" is sword to sleeve

Any other words that left her lips after he demanded she leave fell on deaf ears. His pride was not hurt, nor was he baffled by the fact that she had no desire to take him up on his offer. She spat venom, and he looked at her blankly while the doors of the cell closed behind her and she made her way down the corridor. Malachi remained where he sat, his back against the cold stone wall. Murrough would send for him; it was only a matter of time. Until then, he would remain patient and wait for her concoction to work its magic on this growing infection. Truthfully, she could have let him perish, but alas, that was not part of her job description.

He lay against the cold ground, resting his chin on his paws, sleeping the time away until he would be free. Almost like clockwork, a guard walked by and informed him of an upcoming trial. A wicked smirk tugged at the edges of his dark-lined lips. He knew Murrough wouldn't let him down. Malachi said nothing in response and remained sprawled on the cold floor, taking the time to sleep until the following day.

Exit Malachi

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