<img style="" src="http://i1105.photobucket.com/albums/h341/ratoly/fada4433-6d65-4b2a-8c4e-b7c643e89c8f.jpg" style="max-width:100%;float:left;]Weary eyes watched her actions from his seat by the fire. Her dedication to the food in front of her told him small details about the way she chose to carry herself. About the way she treated those close to her. And the way she seemed to be interested in dealing with him. Not much of course. Just little inklings that added up slowly to something more useful. A picture of this woman. It was fuzzy and poorly detailed, but it was a work in progress. Cauldo watched her hands as she worked the meat over the fire. Then she asked him about his sick again. It seemed her curiosity was not quenched with a simple affirmation of his illness. She wanted details. He ground his teeth for a moment, and before he knew it, she had burdened him with more questions. Why wasn't he at the Oasis. Did he have a face. What kind of questions were these? Clearly this one handled things in a more interesting way than he thought, but the nerve of the question still bit him rather harshly. With a slight hiss, he settled back in his seat and turned slightly away from her.
"My sick can't be fixed. The Oasis doesn't want me. I have a mask."
Three answers to three questions. But he didn't feel good about it. He didn't like talking about these things already, and her insistence on asking these questions was wearing thin on him rapidly. He turned back toward her, studying her face as he noticed she was offering him food. He took it, feeling the slight sting of embarassment over his curtness now that she was sharing her meat with him. He wasn't planning on starving, and she had offered him food. It meant he could last longer, so he couldn't afford to turn it down. Not in this lifetime. Still, eating meant the mask had to come off, and with some tenderness, he used his free hand to slide the hood off his head and take the mask off in one swift motion. He made no comment on his appearance. He knew it was rough enough to ruin a meal. He wouldn't bring it up.
His face was a sight to behold, surely, for those with an affection for the grotesque. While the leprosy hadn't done much damage to him, it had compromised his ability to feel pain correctly, and as a result, his face was riddled with deep scarring. Self-inflicted bite marks around his lips. A healing hole in his cheek. As well as the distinctive patches of darkened flesh that revealed his leprous status. His hair was mostly gone, and while he took care to keep his head shaved, there was light stubble where hair had once been, and was planning to grow again. His eyes were brown, and had heavy bags beneath them from many sleepless nights in the desert. He set the mask down next to him and began to eat, taking it slowly and carefully to avoid spillage through the hole in his cheek. Residue could cause an infection, after all. He paused after a long moment of chewing to swallow and ask a question.
His thoughts were cut off by the sudden movement by Bajazet. On reflex, he grabbed his mask and pulled it back on, forgetting his food for the moment as his ears picked up on the sound of the engine. It was getting closer, and Cauldo rushed to get his hood back on. Face concealed again, he settled into an easy sit as he waited to see what would happen. When the stranger arrived, he didn't seem to notice the ex-dreg immediately, more interested in the scout he was currently relying on. But it didn't take long for the newcomer to notice the medic, and Cauldo could almost hear the cogs turning in his head. His arms tensed, preparing to grab for his weapons if a fight were to break out. If necessary, he would take a blow if it meant establishing trust with the leader of the caravan. But it didn't seem that the newcomer was interested in a brawl. Only supplies. Cauldo relaxed some. Not all, but some, surely. After all, if this one was here to trade, he posed little threat to Cauldo presently. However, it did mean some bad news when it came time to disengage.
"My sick can't be fixed. The Oasis doesn't want me. I have a mask."
Three answers to three questions. But he didn't feel good about it. He didn't like talking about these things already, and her insistence on asking these questions was wearing thin on him rapidly. He turned back toward her, studying her face as he noticed she was offering him food. He took it, feeling the slight sting of embarassment over his curtness now that she was sharing her meat with him. He wasn't planning on starving, and she had offered him food. It meant he could last longer, so he couldn't afford to turn it down. Not in this lifetime. Still, eating meant the mask had to come off, and with some tenderness, he used his free hand to slide the hood off his head and take the mask off in one swift motion. He made no comment on his appearance. He knew it was rough enough to ruin a meal. He wouldn't bring it up.
His face was a sight to behold, surely, for those with an affection for the grotesque. While the leprosy hadn't done much damage to him, it had compromised his ability to feel pain correctly, and as a result, his face was riddled with deep scarring. Self-inflicted bite marks around his lips. A healing hole in his cheek. As well as the distinctive patches of darkened flesh that revealed his leprous status. His hair was mostly gone, and while he took care to keep his head shaved, there was light stubble where hair had once been, and was planning to grow again. His eyes were brown, and had heavy bags beneath them from many sleepless nights in the desert. He set the mask down next to him and began to eat, taking it slowly and carefully to avoid spillage through the hole in his cheek. Residue could cause an infection, after all. He paused after a long moment of chewing to swallow and ask a question.
His thoughts were cut off by the sudden movement by Bajazet. On reflex, he grabbed his mask and pulled it back on, forgetting his food for the moment as his ears picked up on the sound of the engine. It was getting closer, and Cauldo rushed to get his hood back on. Face concealed again, he settled into an easy sit as he waited to see what would happen. When the stranger arrived, he didn't seem to notice the ex-dreg immediately, more interested in the scout he was currently relying on. But it didn't take long for the newcomer to notice the medic, and Cauldo could almost hear the cogs turning in his head. His arms tensed, preparing to grab for his weapons if a fight were to break out. If necessary, he would take a blow if it meant establishing trust with the leader of the caravan. But it didn't seem that the newcomer was interested in a brawl. Only supplies. Cauldo relaxed some. Not all, but some, surely. After all, if this one was here to trade, he posed little threat to Cauldo presently. However, it did mean some bad news when it came time to disengage.
The mind is a fantastic, dangerous place. Don't go alone.
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