[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]

don' take it personal or nothin', i mean, when it comes right down to it 'm as much of a baby catcher as you are.

[someonesdog]

"Yes, I know," she concedes. "And I don't... take it personally. It's just a job, really."

A job that permeates everything you do.

[mnt_raph]

you like it? or is it just somethin' to make ends meet?

[someonesdog]

Angua considers this for at least a whole mouthful of pasta.

Chew, and swallow.

"It started of as the only thing, but I don't really see myself doing anything else, now."

Not really an answer, but it will do.

[mnt_raph]

fair 'nough.

*Raph looks down at his own pasta before slowly turning to reach into the drawer of his nightstand, where he retrieves a throwing knife.*

[someonesdog]

Angua watches him retrieve said knife with a puzzled frown.

"The pasta's not good?"

[mnt_raph]

huh? nahh s'fine. look that way so i still look like a tough guy as i cut this up.

[someonesdog]

"Ah," Angua does so, successfully hiding a fond smile.

"Guess it isn't tender enough?"

[mnt_raph]

ain't the pasta's too tender, s'my jaw.
...
er...i mean,...yeah, stuff's like a frickin' rock.

[someonesdog]

Angua nods, and continues to hide both the smile and the concern.

"Yes, I'm a terrible cook," she says.

[mnt_raph]

*Raph glances up at her, and smirks.*

can't win'em all.

[someonesdog]

She turns back to him, finally allowing both into her expression.

"You're OK, though right? There's nothing else I can do?"

[mnt_raph]

nahh. 'm fine. still breathin'. ain't dead. what more could a guy ask for?

[someonesdog]

She takes a deep breath, and looks down at his injuries again.

"All right," she concedes. "If you're sure."

[mnt_raph]

what, you sayin' i don' look sure?
...
don' answer that.

[someonesdog]

Another good humoured chuckle.

"Honestly? You look like Dea...

"You look like shit."

[mnt_raph]

*Raph pales.*

didn't get kicked that hard....

[someonesdog]

"Sorry."

Now she just looks away.

[mnt_raph]

sa'right. no problem.

...


really.

[someonesdog]

There's an extended pause, and Angua pushes her chair back.

"I should go..."

[mnt_raph]

angua? thanks. you know, for the food. you're good people.

[someonesdog]

"Thanks," she says, with a genuine smile. "I try."

[mnt_raph]

yeah well, you succeeded.

*Raph half smiles back at her.*

[someonesdog]

And that half-smile's enough, really, Angua thinks. Because at least he's sort of cheered up.

"Have you finished with the bowl?"

[mnt_raph]

*Raph looks down at the bowl in his lap. Somewhere in between the talking and the hiding he's actually managed to eat a good portion of the food. Sure there's still some left over, but it'll keep and he can always finish it later.*

f'now, yeah.