#steelgrin sirens

[latikaa-renaz]

FFXIV Writes; Day 25

cw: medical procedure, eye injury mentioned. Set during the Siren's Specter Campaign

characters: Latika'a, Sloane, mentions of Erlanis

The amount of slowly escalated fighting, genuine to the point of nearly reaching physical blows, that had gone into getting the consent he needed was intense. Careful suggestions, pointed comments, and genuine concern had all soured with time; each word said turning spiteful and angry with the hurt pride and fear coming from every side. Even a brief period of screaming when Latika’a had snapped, pushed too far from their situation and Sloane’s stubborn nature striking words like the bullets he shot against every one of Latika’as attempts to convince the man to let him aid. Had it not been for the terse snapped words Erlanis gave then, it would have drawn even more Voidsent to them than was already being sporadically fought off. 

“Fine. Just get it over with, but know if you fuck up…” The words he’d been *needing*, been *waiting* so impatiently for, that Lati would have given up on if this weren’t such a drastic situation. When Sloane finally gave in after another fitful attempt at rest for the three, the bells of moving and scavenging what they could with less and less results wore them down hard… Lati nearly dropped the makeshift bag of lichen and seaweed he’d been trying to clean. The few measly fish they’d managed to gather had already been cleaned and ready to cook as much as possible- the skins stripped down to act as bandaging under the strips of cloth already gathered. “Yes, I get it, you-” Deep breaths were taken, teeth audibly grinding. 

“I get it, I do. I won’t mess this up, now lay down and let me work.” The tension does not dissipate, while Lati turns their hiding spot into an emergency operation zone. Strain and stress fill both Sloane and Lati’s faces as the ultimate creativity and supply use has to come into play. One does not have the tools of the trade needed, and the other struggling past deep rooted fears and thoughts that while Lati does not know… he can empathize with. It’s why he’s let the man go so long without either forcing the procedure or leaving Sloane to die.

He gets it, so much more than Sloane thinks he does. He understands the glimpses of someone else that come in the moments of giving silent company when another nightmare of past traumas lurk up from Lati’s mind, when rough words come out in demands for Lati to take care of himself, when Erlanis is showing his insane amount of skills in fights and there is finally a working balance between them all. Sloane is an asshole, and sometimes so unpleasant when their conversations aren’t superficial flirtations… yet Latika’a grasps what understanding he can.

So he works with precision, with what speed he can- shaping tools from the very earth around them and turning them sterile with his ingenuity and precise spellwork. He cycles the work of slicing mangled flesh out with continuous waves of healing to keep the agony at bay. The wrapped leather torn from his own clothing can only do so much to cushion Sloane’s gritted teeth when the pain flows, the lichen being used as a sponge only holds so much blood that flows from the eye cavity being emptied. It is not an easy procedure in comparison to many- but he takes the route where as much as possible *can* be saved. 

He takes the route of a future prosthetic being possible, even if it means having to fashion a grotesque and slapdash version of the clean dressings he’d normally use. Fingers stained and slick with the eye’s fluid and the body’s blood work through the disgusting sensations. It’s draining, both on his mind for how it screams at the many risks taken and the lack of what he desperately wants in hand compared to the pale imitations he uses despite how his heart screams that he cannot let crew fall. He cannot let the stubborn ass of a man succumb to the infection that awaits, when a future of painful but necessary adjustments and *living* is in sight. 

The moment he’s done, when he can be grudgingly satisfied that the burn of tense muscles have signaled a job well done… what water they have will be split between himself, and the panting Sloane that he eases into sitting. 

It was messy, but it was done. They can call it a day.