Questions, Questions, Questioning.

Questions, Questions, Questioning.

gotta love queuing posts lmao:

"Hm? Me?" A question from one of his rookies, catching him off guard, "That's... completely none of your business."

A chorus of 'please sir's and 'please sergeant' trying to butter him up. 'But sergeant, you're the best at these', 'You always answer our questions', 'Maybe we can defend you?' - completely inappropriate topic mid-training out on the track. Ugh.

"No, look, I understand the curiosity - you're like toddlers. Insatiable things," Groans, grunts and unsatisfied whines. From to-be soldiers, no less. Moth's busy drinking from a bottle of water, then answering, settles, "But, I won't carve my whole heart out to you, alright?"

Code for 'I'm telling you a secret'. Code for 'Don't tell a soul'. Lean in, like a huddle.

"I guess... I kissed a girl in sixth grade. If- if that crosses anything off mentally-" Well, there goes half the internal bets.

Once the flirt/compliment/appreciation mentally clocks:

This man is mentally SCREAMING FAINTING SWOONING THIS APPLIES PLATONICALLY AND ROMANTICALLY, MOTHHH❗❗DON'T DISH OUT WHAT YOU CAN'T TAKE-

Miscellaneous Moth Doodles

no context, no thoughts, head empty. just moth.

These? Oh, they aren't of any-

"Mercado!- Wh-" Dead in his tracks for a moment. Ah. No wonder his friend was screaming bloody murder in the middle of the field. Captain's already ahead with the others, and Moth could've done with one more lap around the place. Then again, he also tripped earlier, so it wasn't likely he would catch up too easily - low energy, long day.

"Hey, Dan," Hissed through clenched teeth as Moth crouched down to look at him. "Hala- it hurts, sir." It's quite simple.

Mercado's sat up, though grounded, one knee bent and being cradled, the other leg extended out. Click of the tongue and a quiet "Right then.". Fiddling a little, taking off a boot past its many secure ties. Gently- oh so gently- taking the ankle into his own two hands, and- "Scream when it starts hurting."

Pressure. That's how it always worked when he was younger. Using his thumb to put pressure on certain regions and slightly tilting at the joint. Ignoring the way his sergeant would cuss him out in a variety of different ways: "Tangina-" One area, "Ay- bobo-", another area, "F-FUCK-!" Bingo. Eversion.

"-Cado, it'll be fine," He speaks, peeling back the sock to check the skin, already starting to discolour slightly. Bruising. No way in hell is he letting him walk back without assistance. "You've just sprained it. Hurts more because these boots don't make it any better." Possibly a lie, though if it helped to hear then Moth would tell him anything.

Sorting it out. Normally, the stash of bandages is for his own personal use, but the truly injured take priority. Sitting with his legs crossed, foot on his lap, being wrapped with practiced precision. "Heh- with the way you're working at me, you should've been a medic."

"Ah, that's my sister. Hands are too rough for that," Tying the last of the bandage off, shifting the sock back over it all. "After you're back, I'll try and buy you a couple days off. Don't worry about it, just rest up. No walking it off."

"Dan." Packing everything up - taking any of Mercado's heavier belongings to carry himself.

"-And I'll do the paperwork, too. See if you can get rest without duty, you're my responsibility,"

"Danilo." Stern. Snaps him out of it.

"Yes, Cado?" Stare back.

...Concern?

Concern's written all over Mercado's face: "...Your hands are...".

Looking down.

Ah.

Dusty, dirty, covered in blood and scraped a little raw. He didn't just trip and fall - he pretty much ate shit after missing a rock and mis-stepping. Now that he's stopped to think about it, his foot feels like it's on fire. It's not great. It's not a main concern. It's not...

...Not sterile- "Ah! Cado- Don't worry- it's not an open wound or anything. Can't get infected, alright? We'll... still get the bandages changed, though." But the look on his friend's face doesn't falter at all.

Warmth rushing to Moth's face. Red. Running down his cheek, even. No, later. If it's cut then that's a later issue. Right now?

Loosely putting the boot back on his comrade. Helping him up to his feet. Slinging an arm over his shoulder. They'll walk eachother back - stumbling, but walking. They'll sit down and wait until a medic attends to the sergeant, and then he'll wait until his friend is properly admitted. Then. Then...

He'll check himself in the mirror later to see if there's any wounds left to lick.

Normally by then, they aren't of any concern.

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