set during recovery/prior to dieu-departure

Vermier couldn't eat sand. Vermier couldn't eat much of anything. Or talk much. Most would say this was an improvement. His demeanor, however, had not improved. Where was the Vermier of nights past? The Vermier that had dreamed of sweeping up a land for his family as though it would jointly sweep Genya into his arms? It had gone. In the nature of sweeping passions it left cold ash in its wake. The miasma-pointed male listlessly lay his sore chin upon his carefully crossed paws and looked out at the sea. The horizon and the waves had gone through many moods today and he had failed to catalogue any of them in rhyme.

Now it was afternoon. He eyed a far off cloudburst, hoping it would not reach this far islet of the lagoon because then he would have to move for shelter and he did not feel like moving. It only reminded him that he was going nowhere until he healed. He sighed through scorched, wounded nostrils. The cuts around and within his mouth had bloated and he couldn't fully close his lips. There were wounds on his front limbs that he had left ungroomed, save for his sister's assistance, because he sensed he would only be transferring blood from one of his wounds to another if he tried. He flicked his ears and shuffled his shoulders to quickly startle the flies away. Shoo, pestilence and burden.

It had not been that long since he won his Lagoon. And thus Vasilis was making his rounds through his borders and through the inner parts of his territory. His eyes scanned the beaches until a figure was noted. The same figure he had taken in to heal. Turning back to where his den was, Vasilis marched through the island's groves and shrubs till he found more items that would benefit the young man healing. His own wounds were healing nicely due to Elijah - his lead medic - help with wrapping his paw and making sure it was healing nicely.

He knew not much of it all, but enough for cuts and deep punctures. He stood up and soon headed back to where the lone figure of @Vermier was resting at. His body chuffing and stopping just shy of where the man was. "Here...take these. The lagoon has the best Oil balm. " there was a large leaf with smaller leaves chewed and gnawed on. " the oil will work to keep any germs from entering your wounds." he nodded. Thank goodness for Elijah being his medic and his watchful eye seeing all he did for his own wounds.

"I hope your family is well while you are here?" he asked scanning over the injured male.

please do not mirror XD this is for tipsy achievement

Vermier was aware that the golden male was making his rounds. King now, he supposed. King because I failed. He supposed the guy was pissing on every scrub he could find. Doing what Vermier was supposed to be doing. If he hadn't failed. If he hadn't failed then Vermier would not have the luxury of sitting in the shade, looking out over the sea, counting or not counting the interminable days until recovery. This felt like time out. Like punishment. He lifted his lips, cringing at the pain as the leather scraped over his dry teeth, but he could not help the resentment. He wished he had won. He accepted his sister's alliance, because of course he did. To go against her would add the sin of stupidity to the demerit of weakness. But she should not have to make it. She should not have to negotiate from a weakened position. This male should be coming to her. He should have to beg her. Worship her. How could Ambrosine not resent her brother for putting her into such an ignoble position?

The king was coming back. Whatever they were calling the bosses nowadays, some new-fangled catchy phrase to disguise that it was the same servitude as always. Obey the High Sovereign. Keep the 'peace'. Hopefully he could catch some fools crossing the borders and rip them apart. Seemed he was allowed to do that and nothing else. How was he supposed to make Mishio do anything if he wasn't allowed to punish anyone, huh? His thoughts spiraled and he was tired enough to let them. He tilted his head just enough to look at the golden male with his direct rather than peripheral vision, but only kept his gaze low and glowering as the male made his approach. Once it was apparent that the king was coming to see him and force conversation upon his wounded mouth he lifted his head and forced himself to stand in one quick, certain, but far from fluid movement. The roll in the sands had bruised him; the other male was larger and that counted for something, even though he didn't have Dieudonne blood so he only counted for weak in the end.

Weak. In the end. Vermier sized up his injuries. Swollen mouth, mostly useless. Versus fractured paw, mostly useless. Neither of them would starve to death while they had the pride at their backs. Ambrosine ordained them to recover and keep to heel. He was told to obey this male so he would. But he could be told to kill this male tomorrow so he needed to know his weaknesses. Size him up. A background process, calculating lightly behind eyes that were mostly displeased. He couldn't communicate emotion except through eyes and slightly slanted ears, pointing out that he was displeased but he would obey. Because his sister told him so. It was important that all his actions strengthen his sister. That he present himself as a high quality instrument of his sister's will. The only form of redemption available to him at this moment. Could she not offer him something more sacrificial in nature?

King dude was carrying a bundle of suspiciously helpful things, which Vermier resented as charity. Charity. If he was strong enough he wouldn't need them. All the sores and cuts in his mouth seemed to unite in wanting to curse. Instead he had to lower his head and continue glowering, because he considered it implicit that there was nothing behind it but his need to vent his emotion, and he was a passionate beast and therefore he would vent. The king tried to offer a greeting, which Vermier ignored. Something hot tumbled over in his chest but make a friendly greeting in reply he could not. Here... take these... the only words Vermier understood, because he wasn't trying too hard to understand. Understanding English was a huge chore even when he wasn't tired, and in pain, and face to face with the source of his exhaustion and pain and the reminder of resentment. Wounds. Family. OK, he understood those words, but not the context they were in. Yes he was wounded, yes he had a family. Ambrosine would have ensured he knew that. She would have made sure the right lies and truths had been told. So skilled she was. She probably had this guy grateful that the Dieudonne had graced him with a challenge.

She shouldn't have had to do that. He shouldn't be here. There was an alternative future - one where he'd won - where the Dieudonne had not feigned mercy and where this golden male was a lightly tanned carcass on a spit. He sighed. He had failed their future. At least his throat wasn't sore. "I eee' o'...?" he didn't know the word for pat down and realized he couldn't even communicate that he was wondering how to take these herbs. Eat them or let them sit on his wounded jowls? "Eeeeeeuuuugh!" his throat rumbled. His mouth hurt too much even for French! He flopped over and gestured impatiently at his mouth. His hindquarters tensed at the pain and bruising through his chest. Get it over with! Stop reveling in his defeat, stop this display of charity, and let him return to the mindnumbing pastime that was staring out at nothing and feeling sorry for himself! " o' eet! D-do... eet!" Do it, whatever needed to be tended to, and leave Vermier to his misery. He glared at the dude. Did he even know dude's name? Ambrosine had probably told him. Probably was important. Something Durrrr. Whatever. His tail lashed, winding furrows in the sand and flicking up a little trail of dust. The ocean repeated its waves behind him. Over and over. Taunting him. Had the king exiled them to the bitter reaches of the lagoon for a reason, hoping they would be swallowed by the sea, or signifying that they were only driftwood and a sudden tide would sweep them away? So long by the waves and one pondered one's own insignificance.

There was something about the young man, he seemed off the rocker. Something breaking him and making his words worse for wearing. He shifted and watched him - he tried to say something and it came out too broken for the king to understand. Turning his eyes over the man's face - he really did a number on him, he felt bad but it was a battle that had to take place.

His voice broke out minutes later, something strangling and sounded weird for him to understand yet again. 'Eeeeeeuuuugh!' what? He had wondered if perhaps the man before him had obtained himself a fermented fruit and drank its fine wine. Perhaps that was exactly what he needed to get over this painful experience for him.

But he had recalled from his Gentry that she would take care of her family and Vermier's healings. But what she did or how she did it was unknown to him. Just that it was something she was making sure to do. He watched him sway, and once more say something. Then he glared at him, his eyes screaming at him ' o' eet! D-do... eet!' AHH! now he understood his notions.

Vasilis nodded "It'll sting. I am sorry in advance.." he tells the younger man. He bows his head, dips it forward as he pointed to his wounds on his body. "Please relax. I will rub it on the wounds on your body." He then scoots closer, his paw grabbing the large leaf filled with the leaking chewed up leaves. He made his paw press into the lagoon sands, making a scooped out section and placing the leaf inside it securely.

Vasilis would look at the man's wounds before dipping his paw to the first place he wanted to fix up. His paw smoothed into the leaf - soaking it before reaching for the man's face. His nails kept hidden and safe in their ducts. The king would then reach and aim to rub his soaked paws where the wounds are the most severe, he was gentle as if he was working with a child who had obtained a severe skin laceration. Tapping his toes gently, then smoothing his paw down and in small circles as he pats the area.

He moved his paw down and resoaked it in the leaf before doing it a few more times. Once the severe ones were done he grabbed the clumps of the leaking leaves - rubbing them between his paws to make them secrete more of the precious oils. He takes the clumps and speaks softly "Please open your mouth and place these inside where you have any cuts." after all the mouth was a place full of bacteria too. He would step aside from Vermier and rush to the seawater with a small leaf, grabbing enough of it and running back to where he was.

"@Vermier...this is...going to hurt....a lot more than the oils...But I have to add it to the places that feel 'hot' to touch. Is there anywhere that you are hurt that has been feeling as though it was on fire?" he asked while pulling the oiled leaf from his paw-made beach hole in the sand and putting the sea-water leaf in its stead. He would wait for him to reply, to see what he would do, to check him over with a quick glance before fixing his weight backward.