i'm kissaphobic | private, amelia

The scent of blood wasn't something she was entirely used to. At least, in the quantity that Ozy presented. She was more used to the prey blood that dressed the ground after messy eaters - her most extreme case since integrating into the Clan was Arthur's injury, and that was already partially scabbing over when she got to it. But this metallic taste in the air was fresh, worrying - but not at all a surprise when she spotted the canine that was more or less suffering.

Amelia's paws stalled for a moment, ears drawn back uncomfortably. As much as they both wanted, she couldn't leave him be. Infection was a horrid thing, she knew, and she wasn't going to let her personal fears get in the way of if someone got gangrene or not. And so, she slowly crossed his path, head low and submissive in some feral way, "Ozymandias," she spoke his name clearly, her tone hinting at her fear and worry very clearly, "Can you come with me to the infirmary?" no use in stating that he was hurt, or what the small trip would be for; Ozy was dense, but he wasn't dumb.

His first few words sounded fake, almost. They were a blatant lie, she felt, and his subsequent stumble and fumble proved that he, ultimately, was not fine. Amelia wasn't smug about her deduction, instead worried over Ozy. Why did he feel he had to be the tough guy all the time? It must've been exhausting, but then again, she was constantly fretting over one thing or another, frazzling her own nerves often over nothing - it seemed, at least to her, that the both of them (and perhaps others) were often bothered by something.

Amelia was quick to follow him, catching up and trotting beside his limp leg, her tail occasionally brushing against him. It wasn't meant to, and each time she would look down and away from Kingpin's son. Her tail was much like a flag in this sense, flapping around the faster she went. He explained his situation and she was quick to seat him down, "I'll get something to prevent infection, but for the sprain, you're going to have to relax for a few days. Sprains can, ah," as she spoke, she searched her shelves and cabinets and began making a paste, "Mess you up if you aren't careful," she finished. Amelia came over, a bandage slathered in a greenish paste, and sat before him. A moment would pass with her blank mind before she held out one of her own paws, "Let me just wrap your wounds first," she murmured, hoping to be given his injured paw for easier access to the more serious wounds he had.

"I don't expect you to," make promises. None of the Brigadiers seemed the type to make nor hold a promise - herself included. It was partially admirable that Ozy would forgo the icky bits of breaking a promise or creating a hollow one, by refusing it outright. Is that how low my standards have gotten? A small, careful smile fell onto her face. Ever the friendly girl, Amelia found herself giving more and more to try and find comfort in the Clan. And, for once in the few moments she had been here, she was comfortable. A small bit.

His thanks reached her ears and, thanks to the pale tones of her fur, a reddish hue colored her cheeks. It was faint, though the heat radiating from the warmth of her blush was not. It was more unnatural words coming from the canine, accompanied by his paw in her's, that caused the reaction. It was her doing her job, him thanking her, nothing more, nothing less. Amelia wasn't a girl of fantasies after having her only wish shattered by joining a Clan of ragtag misfits and monotoned dads - but for a moment, she wished that his words meant more, that their touch and mutual closeness meant something.

Dear Heavens above - she was touch starved beyond belief. She stared at his paw for a moment or two, then blinked and got back to work. The band-aid wound around his paw with careful grace, an unsure expression on her round face. His question fell into the air, and for a moment she wondered how much was she was dreaming. Was this real? A civil interaction, the closest one she had in a while, "Your father asked for Interns," she mused softly to him, "And I wanted a purpose. I guess luck was one my side when I actually came to like it," she chirped, leaning forward to tear the bandage and tuck the end into one of the wrappings. A pause, "What about you? Why do you like... ah, fighting so much?" such different people, she was well aware of such.

The Brigade was truly lucky to have Amelia around.

Amelia wouldn't agree with the sentiment. It felt like, since her joining, she was nothing but a thorn in the side of the anti-Clan, Ozy included. She wasn't born a Clanner, so her questions came like flies, nuisances to all who allowed her to pester them. And, in that same vein, she clearly wasn't an anti-Clanner. She was pure of heart, innocent, and hopeful that things could change, that they could own up to their accidents and become better. But that wouldn't happen, not anytime soon, and no matter how many times she reminded herself of that, she lingered in her hope and prayers that it would. The only 'lucky' aspect about her was the fact that she took up healing.

Then again, unbeknownst to her, that was what the original statement was about.

Amelia didn't know why she continued to hold his paw, but she did. The interaction was far calmer than she was used to, far softer despite the subject matter. She figured that holding onto him would mean that she'd never have to let him go - a selfish thought burrowed itself in her chest and she slowly pulled away her dainty paws, letting his own dangle in the air, "You should be fine to walk, but try to not budge the bindings for a few days," she told him in the moments of silence, "I can make you a new wrap if it gets dirty within that time, just... come on by," her voice picked up something chipper, and her smile - though unsure - found its way back to her face for the first time in ages.

As he answered her question, her own smile faltered. She watched his do the same - rise and fall - and vaguely wanted him to do it again. She wasn't the one to make him smile, she knew that - but she wish she was. Touch starved, idiotic, Amelia wondered if she was pulling too much from the situation. He'd be right out the door and they would return to their positions as merely Clanmates - not friends, and definitely not anything closer. Right?

She understood his wording, though she was lost in thought and figured her momentary silence was why he reiterated himself. She opened her mouth for a moment, her thoughts clear, before closing it as they became muddled, "I'm sure you can tell I'm not the fighting type," she hummed, her tail twitching slightly, "I've never been in a fight, much less a battle or a war, so it's all new to me. And new... new is scary. A lot of the time," she pressed her paw into the ground. She didn't want the war, and had she any more confidence she figured she would be an advocate against it. But she was compliant, quiet, and ready to patch up the wounded, "I probably won't be much use in war, anyways. One big guy scoops me up and I'm a goner," she mused after a moment, the realization being something she'd had for a while now. Her ear flicked as her gaze find its way back up to his, twinkling slightly, faint tears in the corners. She wasn't going to cry - she hadn't done that yet and she wouldn't in front of him. But the realness of being so close to death in any case of strife did strike a chord in her, "I should probably train someone alongside me, huh? Do you know anyone who's interested?"

His agreement to her remedies was something she figured - short tempered, blunt, words muttered beneath his breath. She wanted to know what was going on in his head, if he was thinking similar things to her. Was his heart thumping like her's? Was he touch-starved in the way she was? Her tail twitched and her mind reset, trying to continuously focus her on the matter at hand. His injury, the conversation - it was just that and nothing more. Right?

Right?

His reassurance caused her to blink, her smile returning for a moment. Maybe she was reading too much into it, just like she was doing this whole interaction, but he seemed to care. He seemed to understand. And that was already far more than she could ask for. Even his insistence in that the inevitable - her capture - wouldn't happen made her heart fizz and bubble, warm and melt. There was something there, there had to be. There had to be.

It wasn't until the question was posed that she realized that she hadn't said much after tearing up. She pressed her pink pads to her undereye, swiping away the tears in one fluid motion. Practiced, despite having not cried in what felt like forever, "That sounds like the smart thing to do, doesn't it?" she didn't meant to sound cynical, and immediately spoke afterwards to try and correct it, "No - I mean, why hadn't I thought of that any sooner? It would've saved me some grief," a pause, "But not anytime soon. You have to heal before you stress your injury out," she reminded him, turning her expression back to the ground. She remained quiet for a few moments longer.

"Well," she stood back to her paws, "You can go now, if you want," please don't, "I'm sure there are plenty more loners and rogues waiting for you by the borders," stay here with me, "I have to... uh, get back to sorting my herbs, anyways. Yeah," she swallowed the lump in her throat, her smile stretching a bit more in an attempt to seem believable. She wanted him to stay, to chat, to sit with. Her mind even suggested to sleep next to, if only for the warmth he produced.