Sir Guy of Gisborne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
landlesslord) wrote2012-03-23 12:52 am
landlesslord) wrote2012-03-23 12:52 am
Entry tags:
Sherwood Shenanigans, Epilogue
In his small room at the castle, it takes an ungodly amount of time to remove his leather jacket, on his own and without jostling the wound too much. Even so, Guy has to halt his progress a number of times till the more agonising waves of pain ebb slightly.
"IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK THAT YOU HOLD ON TO JUST ONE OF HOOD'S FILTHY IDIOT LACKEYS? HMM?"
The Sheriff's rage can be described as a good few leagues beyond apoplectic. The guard that Caspian overpowered has been...dealt with, but that has done nothing to quell the tide of furious muttering and pacing that Vaisey has been occupied with since the escape was discovered.
The remains of a crushed songbird lie on some of the day's paperwork.
Guy remains silent. There's little he can say that would make any difference.
The undershirt is awkwardly cut away. Guy can only really slice carefully down the front and then struggle somewhat out of the remains. At least it's not as stiff and heavy as the leather.
On the other hand, he'd had to keep it on until the bleeding had slowed under the cloth he'd pressed against the wound over the hole in the shirt. The result is that the shirt and the wound were somewhat stuck together.
The only way to remove his undershirt fully is to tear it from the wound, undoing what little repair his body has managed to work in the short time since he left the Sheriff's rooms.
That the blame is laid on Guy for Caspian's escape is not unexpected. What is unexpected, though not as surprising as it might be to another who had spent fewer years in Vaisey's service, is the blade ferociously driven into his shoulder.
The only blessing is that he doesn't twist the knife. It's a few more long minutes of raging before Guy's dismissed and he can escape into the hallway to try and push past the pain so he can do something about the injury.
He can only breath deeply through his nose with his teeth gritted so hard, and cursing is restricted to a mental litany of the most blasphemous sort. The flow of blood from his shoulder needs staunching again and it's some time before he figures it's safe to remove the bloody cloth so he can dab at the area gingerly in an attempt to clean it.
The slow work to clean the dried blood done, the next task is to sew the edges of the wound together. Thankfully the blade was sharp so the edges to the cut aren't too jagged - the scar will not be too ugly when it heals, provided his handiwork is competent enough. At least he will not have to contend with desert heat and sand that works its way into everything this time.
"IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK THAT YOU HOLD ON TO JUST ONE OF HOOD'S FILTHY IDIOT LACKEYS? HMM?"
The Sheriff's rage can be described as a good few leagues beyond apoplectic. The guard that Caspian overpowered has been...dealt with, but that has done nothing to quell the tide of furious muttering and pacing that Vaisey has been occupied with since the escape was discovered.
The remains of a crushed songbird lie on some of the day's paperwork.
Guy remains silent. There's little he can say that would make any difference.
The undershirt is awkwardly cut away. Guy can only really slice carefully down the front and then struggle somewhat out of the remains. At least it's not as stiff and heavy as the leather.
On the other hand, he'd had to keep it on until the bleeding had slowed under the cloth he'd pressed against the wound over the hole in the shirt. The result is that the shirt and the wound were somewhat stuck together.
The only way to remove his undershirt fully is to tear it from the wound, undoing what little repair his body has managed to work in the short time since he left the Sheriff's rooms.
That the blame is laid on Guy for Caspian's escape is not unexpected. What is unexpected, though not as surprising as it might be to another who had spent fewer years in Vaisey's service, is the blade ferociously driven into his shoulder.
The only blessing is that he doesn't twist the knife. It's a few more long minutes of raging before Guy's dismissed and he can escape into the hallway to try and push past the pain so he can do something about the injury.
He can only breath deeply through his nose with his teeth gritted so hard, and cursing is restricted to a mental litany of the most blasphemous sort. The flow of blood from his shoulder needs staunching again and it's some time before he figures it's safe to remove the bloody cloth so he can dab at the area gingerly in an attempt to clean it.
The slow work to clean the dried blood done, the next task is to sew the edges of the wound together. Thankfully the blade was sharp so the edges to the cut aren't too jagged - the scar will not be too ugly when it heals, provided his handiwork is competent enough. At least he will not have to contend with desert heat and sand that works its way into everything this time.