[OOM: The Roof.]

[mnt_raph]

*If one were to follow the path of blood that goes up and over the outside wall of Milliways one might just find themselves with in earshot of the moody grunge rock that blares from within the tent that dreams of being a studio apartment. And for good reason, the sole inhabitant of said tent is feeling less than stellar at the moment. Actually, less than stellar is a rather large understatement. Raph feels like ass reheated in a non-microwavable container on high for fifteen minutes. That's sort of what happens after you go three rounds with a Slayer.

While it's entirely possible that that he's suffered worse injuries in the past, he's never looked worse. There's something about green skin that just hides bruises better than the pink he's currently sporting.

Currently the entire right side of his face is swollen and purple. He has a staggered line of black stitching running from his elbow to his wrist of his left arm. There is a square of gauze taped to his right thigh which is clearly visible below the cut off sweat shorts he's forced to wear due to his...um...other injuries.

Sleeping hasn't been much of an option. And eating is right out as well. Thankfully, Raph has a well stocked fridge when it comes to beverages.*

Comments

[mnt_raph]

*A woman's voice? April. No wait...not April. The voice isn't quite right for April, let alone that if it were her the door would already be open and she'd already be giving him grief.

Now it stands to reason that someone there to kill you doesn't usually offer a greeting first...well, unless they're from Raph's world which seems to be composed mainly of the world's worst ninjas, but the mun digresses. At any rate Raph, reaches over to his nightstand where one of this trusty sai rests. Firmly in hand, he yells to the quasi-unfamilar voice.*

We don't want any.

*Yelling, he's decided for what could only be the millionth time, is a bad thing for someone with broken ribs to do.*

[someonesdog]

"Raph?" Angua repeats, approaching the tent in urgent strides. Someone else might have their hand on their sword. She's tugging at the buckle on her breats plate.

"Are you OK?"

'Yes' is not the right answer.

[mnt_raph]

Fine.

*He manages to cough out in a very not fine sounding way.*

[someonesdog]

"Bullcrap," Angua says, standing by the tent now, and pushing at the tent flap. "Are you hu..."

She catches herself. No matter what he smells like, he's always human.

"Are you decent?"

[mnt_raph]

if i say no will you leave me be?

*He's trying not to cough, but the yelling took a bit out of him.
It should be noted that he is decent, for a given value of decent. Propped up on the headboard, wearing a tank top and boxers. There might even be a ninja blanket across his lap.*

[someonesdog]

"No."

And with that sufficing as a warning, Angua pushes the flap open and steps into the tent...

...and straightens up, blinking at the studio.

"Um..."

[mnt_raph]

don't you gotta have like, a warrant or somethin' come bargin' in here like this?

[someonesdog]

She stands there for a few more seconds, blinking at the place, before sighing. Bloody wizards.

She turns her attention back to him, hands on her hips, on buckle on her chestplate hanging undone.

"I'd offer to go back and get one, but ins Ankh-Morpork the words 'warrent' and 'ball on a chain with spikes' are pretty much the same thing."

Removing her helmet, she proceeds over to his bed, frowning in worry. "What happened?"

[mnt_raph]

sounds like a charmin' place, your 'burg.

*The closer she moves to the bed, the more of an effort he makes to look anywhere but in her direction.*

nuthin'. fine. you lick a thumb to try an' wipe my face, i promise you i'll break it.

[someonesdog]

"Oh for gods' sakes," she rolls her eyes at him. "I'm not your mum. And I'm going to spare you the details of what happened to the last idiot who tried to break any of my finger."

She just stands above him for a few seconds, assessing his wounds, frustrated enough to hide her worry.

"You do that yourself?" she asks with a nod at his arm.

[mnt_raph]

*The stitches are sloppy, but they're working and that's what matters. It'll be some time before that angry scar settles down and blends in with its neighbors.*

nah, got martha frickin' stuart in here special.

[someonesdog]

She glares at him irritatedly and grabs his hand to have a closer look.

"Not bad for one-handed," she remarks. "Though it's kind of stupid trying to do it yourself."

After this snippet of wisdom, she stands up straight again, worry still lining her face, and looks around the studio.

The scent of beer is very nearly as strong as the lingering red of the blood, and when Angua sees the basket of supplies Alanna sent up, she puts two and two together and makes an assumption about Raph's state of nutrition.

So she turns away from the sulky invalid and heads towadrs the kitchen area.

"You wanna beer?"

[mnt_raph]

what woulda been stupid was bleedin' to death.

*He grumbles, mostly to himself. The conversation is cut short by her mention of beer.*

....

what?

[someonesdog]

"Let me guess, Bar full of wizards and soldiers and lawyers and not one doctor?" Angua says, grabbing a bottle of beer and tossing it over to him with a "Hup!"

"Or even an Igor? Why doesn't that surprise me?"

She stays by the basket, pulling a bottle out for herself and opening it using the blade of her sword just above the hilt. Then she continues to rummage in the basket as she drinks.

[mnt_raph]

*He doesn't even need look up to know where the bottle is, such is the universal nature of the beer toss. Holding the bottle between his knees for stability, Raph pops off the cap with the center prong of his sai.

Then he takes a good long sip.*

bar's got plenty o' doctors. i just ain't been to the bar.

...

what the fuck's an igor?

[someonesdog]

"They're..." Angua pauses, before pulling out a bag of pasta. "...well, they're like doctors, but they really take it seriously. Make an artform out of it. There's not an injury in the world an Igor can't fix up, and they get plenty of practice on themselves."

The pasta is followed by a bag of tomatoes, some peppers, an onion...

"Why haven't you been to the bar?"

[mnt_raph]

can'tgetdown.

*Yet another mumble, this one is almost drowned out by the following pull from the beer bottle.*

[someonesdog]

Angua's doing a farily good job of not looknig at hm at all, drinking from her own beer as she opens andd shuts some cupboards before locating a saucepan.

We'll gloos over the way that she stares blankly at the sink before hestitantly turning a tap and jumping back in surprise.

Totally gloss over it.

"You got up," she says, over the thunder of the water hitting the bottom of the pan.

[mnt_raph]

up don't require landin'.

*He says in total gloss mode. He's smart enough to realize that not glossing will only bring her attention back onto him and that's the furthest thing from what he actually wants at this particular moment.*

[someonesdog]

"Neither does going straight in from outside," Angua says, carrying the saucepan over to the...

"OK, I give up. How does this work?"

[mnt_raph]

that weren't an option....how does what work?

*Raph looks over.*

the stove? don't look at me, i can barely make spagetti'os.

*Biting back a cringe, he scoots himself up for a better view of the kitchenette.*

[someonesdog]

Her head snaps up when he moves.

"I've got it," she lies. "It's just... bloody technomancy, I hate it."

Holding the saucepan in one hand, she tries turnng some of the knobs experimentally.

[mnt_raph]

a'right a'right...

*Is all he's able to manage before a large burst of flame spurts out from the top of the magical stove.*

Woah, watch your eyebrows....

[someonesdog]

It's not a yelp taht comes from Angua's mouth. It's more of a scre...

No, OK, it's a yelp.

Hesitantly, she pokes at it again and manages to get the flame down to a manageable size. The pan goes on top.

"OK, I've got it now," she says.

"Why wasn't it an option?"

[mnt_raph]

why wasn't what an option?

*Raph, far too fixated on watching her work the stove, doesn't realize he's walking back to a place he'd rather hoped they were leaving for good.*