[ the only indication of jayce's threat being a joke is the ensuing hm-hm of a chuckle, just barely under his breath. he'd absolutely hate it, yes, but a cold bath was better than nothing at all. they're lucky it's clean to begin with . . . not some puddle of rain water sludge.
it takes a bit, but the brace comes off, broken scraps bursting at one of the points of tension which makes jayce curse under his breath. he'd still needed this thing until they could get better materials for a new one. preservation was key.
he then also remembers, that . . . viktor no longer has his brace. it's something he was so accustomed to that, even after such a lengthy amount of time has paced— by the time he was ready to ask permission the way he used to, he finds nothing for him to work on. only the scabs of injuries, the runes they'd turn nights over studying, self inflicted. desperation.
jayce tries not to let his gaze linger. he knows viktor wouldn't like the guilty look in them, but he can't hide that any more than his own injuries. he knows what's coming, now. he keeps thinking it, the words he wants to say. ]
I should've never joined the council.
[ he admits, quietly, feeling the lump in his throat dislodge, although it doesn't get easier to swallow. his shirt comes off, still sitting. without the brace he feels a little less confident to throw is weight about. his right shoulder, his back— they hold bizarre scars. colorful, webbed and matching the anomaly's signature, the arcane has contaminated it like blight on foul flesh. less than, at least, his half-hexorized forearm. jayce's drenched socks come next, then his pants, coming off with more struggle but soon enough, left as a dirty pile on the floor that would never see the light of day again.
he's grown more hair just about everywhere to compensate the low temperatures in the ravine, but the worst is the remniscent of his fracture. the leg is not quite right in angle, if one's eye for detail was astute, having healed the way jayce could fix on his own. the hole where the bones had protruded is surrounded by a network of magical disfigurement— ugly blues, neon greens and pinks in layers, and layers, and layers. crusty caking of blood and arcanic puss circle the blooms of the chaotic blisters. he's never been able to properly wash it, and it's by a magical miracle he still has a leg at all.
jayce is guarded as he shuffles toward the tub with his hands in front of him, steps inside— and lowers himself down with a vice grip on the tub's edges, only because he'd been afraid of misstepping, slipping, and breaking all over again. ]
and cw: description of injury/gore
it takes a bit, but the brace comes off, broken scraps bursting at one of the points of tension which makes jayce curse under his breath. he'd still needed this thing until they could get better materials for a new one. preservation was key.
he then also remembers, that . . . viktor no longer has his brace. it's something he was so accustomed to that, even after such a lengthy amount of time has paced— by the time he was ready to ask permission the way he used to, he finds nothing for him to work on. only the scabs of injuries, the runes they'd turn nights over studying, self inflicted. desperation.
jayce tries not to let his gaze linger. he knows viktor wouldn't like the guilty look in them, but he can't hide that any more than his own injuries. he knows what's coming, now. he keeps thinking it, the words he wants to say. ]
I should've never joined the council.
[ he admits, quietly, feeling the lump in his throat dislodge, although it doesn't get easier to swallow. his shirt comes off, still sitting. without the brace he feels a little less confident to throw is weight about. his right shoulder, his back— they hold bizarre scars. colorful, webbed and matching the anomaly's signature, the arcane has contaminated it like blight on foul flesh. less than, at least, his half-hexorized forearm. jayce's drenched socks come next, then his pants, coming off with more struggle but soon enough, left as a dirty pile on the floor that would never see the light of day again.
he's grown more hair just about everywhere to compensate the low temperatures in the ravine, but the worst is the remniscent of his fracture. the leg is not quite right in angle, if one's eye for detail was astute, having healed the way jayce could fix on his own. the hole where the bones had protruded is surrounded by a network of magical disfigurement— ugly blues, neon greens and pinks in layers, and layers, and layers. crusty caking of blood and arcanic puss circle the blooms of the chaotic blisters. he's never been able to properly wash it, and it's by a magical miracle he still has a leg at all.
jayce is guarded as he shuffles toward the tub with his hands in front of him, steps inside— and lowers himself down with a vice grip on the tub's edges, only because he'd been afraid of misstepping, slipping, and breaking all over again. ]