Log:Not So Lonely March

Not So Lonely March
"Liffe n' swee, pleaf."
Participants Ziv_Allendale, Darby, Cornelius	17 October, 2017 Winters meet at Darby's for bad food.
Location Outside, then off to Darby's Shithole Apartment
The light is waning in the sky overhead, the sinking sun in the west painting some brighter colors over the sky - but not quite enough to really warm the evening. It's gotten chillier as time has gone on, and the clouds heavier, even though it's still easy to see the rising disk of the moon. Which offers better light to see by, reflecting off the surface of the pond. Ziv is out at one of the more deserted sections, wearing flannel and cropped jeans unlike she usually has lately. They're better for the woods, as opposed to her frillier and lighter dresses - especially with the changing weather. A cut on her foot, due to some ill-advised lack of shoes recently, does make her walking more stilted but she's stubborn. And here is a good spot to indulge in less cultured, civilized habits - such as hunting frogs in the pond. That's what she's doing at present, perched on the edge of the bank and waiting, listening. There's an occasional twitch of her ears at a sound, trying to home in on the slightest. The day's warmth is quickly stealing away, purposely headed toward a temperature more like the previous' night's low and the next day's high beneath the fifty degree mark on the Fahrenheit scale. Wearing linen clothing that has seen better days and is far, far out of fashion, Darby walks with the easy pace of a conditioned runner into view, her clothes looking as if they were painted by the autumn dusk. The long, striped linen skirt that flares out as it descends to her calves with each new step, a lighter hue linen blouse, both in earth tones of ecru and burnt umber drapes across her slight torso, and the tights beneath the skirt offer a glimpse of a forest green color before the short boots on her feet in a scuffed brown leather steal away glimpse of limb or foot. She's wearing a too-large-for-her-frame trench coat. Under one arm she carries a sketchpad and at one hip hangs a bag large enough for at least a loaf of bread, should she be feeling particularly Jean Valjean this evening. The pond draws her as well, though the frog-cuisine opportunity doesn't have her dressed for the pursuit or efficiency. She's climbing off of a pedestrian footbridge (or little dock of sorts) to push her way through some tall grasses and approach an area where she can watch the moon take form over the water with a few late-season lightning bugs when she catches sight of Ziv's hunt, far later than Ziv could have noticed her if she were remaining vigilant to the approach of others. Ziv has remained still and poised most of that time - possibly because she's waiting to see if any frogs are feeling emboldened by her lack of movement. Possibly because she waits to see who is approaching along the way - and noisily so, considering the rustle of tall grass would have likely caught the attention of any mundane humans in the area. Her head does turn towards Darby, though, ears pricked in that direction and quivering. It's entirely possible that she's more easily seen than the other Beast, considering the light reflected off of the pond's surface. Perhaps a dozen feet away, Darby stops short and regards Ziv for a time, not deflecting her gaze away when Ziv turns from the 'hunt' to her approach. "Have I interrupted you?" Of course she has. "I promise to sit oh-so quietly. None of the --" She waves a hand to indicate anything that may be under the water. "-- them will know I am here to dash your intentions." Whatever they might be. Darby's lips quirk a bit in the suggestion of a smile as she contemplates more obscure intentions with more of a glimmering of her brown eyes in interest. As if to display proof of her words (rather than wait to be turned away) she shrugs out of the too-large coat and lays it atop the wild grasses she's climbed through, flattening them enough that her view is just what she'd planned plus a Ziv. "It's Ziv, isn't it?" she inquires in an ambient sort of tone, the edge of the roughness to the base of her words audible. "You were there." For the Winter 'Book Club'. Darby settles upon her makeshift blanket, knees curved around to one side and lays her sketchpad atop her lap, pulls the bag over her head and sets it beside her other hip for each reach. Ziv's ears return to their usual movements and twitches, when Darby starts to talk - it's very likely she's listening, both to the other Beast as well as the water around them. It's entirely possible that the frogs will be avoiding this due to voices, but the batling doesn't move away from newfound company. "It's Ziv," says she, eventually. Her own voice is fairly high, girlish almost - either due to age, or what she is. "And I was. You're... Darby?" She squints slightly, the expression only just able to be made out in the twilight, while she watches the other girl get settled. "Do you come out here often?" An ear turns back to the water. Ziv's acknowledgement of the name results in quiet repetition of the name, then. "Ziv. It's got an electric feel across the tongue." The fact that the bat-ling is regarding the water seems to settle Darby a bit more than her typically-vigilant demeanor might otherwise attest. "Yes. Yes I am. I was disappointed not to .. ah .. catch you after things wrapped up. I've been quite alone here for some time beyond comfort. Having not joined the 'big club' yet, I wasn't so privy to easy acquaintances with others suited to cold weather. Congratulations on your new position." Darby takes the time to allow both the quiet spaces between speaking that will allow Ziv her frogging in a more successful quiet and to pull out a few art pencils that have seen quite an amount of use, a rusted knife that she then uses to 'sharpen' one of the pencils a bit, and a rubber mass of some sort of putty that she squeezes in the palm of her other hand after she's set down the knife. "Here?" She eventually muses. "I like the wild spaces. But people-watching can have its own merits." "New position?" wonders Ziv, perhaps a little bit obliviously on that topic. She's speaking quietly, perhaps not to startle any amphibians that happen to stray close to her. Both wing-hands are given a shake, and she flares them out, bringing both forward while keeping her poise - it does appear she's favoring her right foot, some. "I think you, um, might have me... confused with someone else, there. I don't think I went up for a position." She moves slightly further forward, moving one foot in front of the other and leaving just the claws touching the ground. "I've met a few outside of the Freehold, here. I couldn't imagine doing it myself. At least, not yet." "Archer of the Lonely March," Darby argues more directly, though she does cast a glance around, behind, stretching up a bit to look over her shoulder before speaking those words. "You left before the final votes were cast on the same breath as the meeting was adjourned. You along with Rex were 'pinned'." That face that gives little by way of full expression offers a wry little look toward Ziv's back. But the expression is quickly replaced by a faint furrowing of her brows. "Are you injured?" Whatever start at sketching Darby may have been starting is abandoned, pencil, putty and sketchpad are summarily shoved off of her lap as she pushes to her booted feet and approaches from what is about five long strides away up the bank. "Oh! No one told me yet... it's something I should be pretty good at," says Ziv, sounding somewhat surprised, as evidenced by a turn of her head towards Darby. She's still balanced forward mostly on her left foot, and her eyes narrow somewhat as Darby begins to approach. She doesn't shy away, but her posture definitely stiffens - probably not expecting much out of her fellow Winter. "It's nothing. I cut my foot last night." Darby stops within arm's reach but not closer than that. "Have you dressed it?" Cleaned it? Disinfected? Darby regards the injured foot with some invested speculation. Who is she to say what the proper wound treatment is for a bat? "Perhaps you are a master with skin and bones, but if not --" Ziv only shakes her head at Darby's last question, readjusting from the coiled poise she had prior when she was frogging. No sense in continuing that as of now, with someone up close and asking her questions. Very briefly, she does study Darby, looking at her face and then over the rest of her. This leads into, perhaps, a short span of awkward silence which she breaks, saying, "Someone cleaned and dressed it for me when it happened; I haven't done anything to it since." Darby nods with a faint dip of her chin. "Good. Then you know someone who can take care of such things in a trustworthy capacity..." Whether that is statement or question isn't particularly clear. "Were you hunting, being hunted, or was it simply an accident or ritual?" Darby, it appears, isn't shy about asking pushy questions. Whether or not she trusts said stranger with Ziv's only slightly-less strangerness, Darby is still inspecting what she can of that foot. She reaches out with a hand that isn't too strong to bat at, intending to grasp the bare ankle of that foot. Ziv's jaw clenches somewhat as Darby reaches out for her, her upper lip twitching - but she doesn't pull away. At present, she appears to be keeping it together, though there's some -barely- contained wild hostility there - the type one might find from a cornered animal that has teeth. But she lifts her foot, so that Darby can grab hold of it and take a look. The bandage is really rather dirty, though does appear to have been changed since last night. "I was looking for someone's dog - kind of like hunting," she says, with a small shrug of her wings. There's a tone that suggests more goes into that explanation, but she's not volunteering it. Instead, she's watching Darby with a keen intensity. Darby rolls forward from her crouch to press one skirt-clad knee into the loamy fall soil as she lifts Ziv's petite ankle gently and dips her head, hair falling forward a bit in the motion, to regard the bandage. The outside can be soiled - especially out in nature and at the base of a foot - so long as what is beneath is still protected. "Hunting then," she muses as mechanics who inspect engines and musicians who inspect instruments might. "Make sure to change it before it gets too loose," advised with a gentle touch to the dressing to see if it is still serving its purpose well enough. Finally she draws back up and releases Ziv's ankle. "I do not doubt you can care for yourself. But I do find I care that you are well and I have an apartment where you can soak it if you need such a place." She regards the faintly hostile expression with a neutral one of her own, brown eyes dark in the thinning, moonlit light of the evening. "...Soaking it?" asks Ziv, cluelessly, in answer to Darby's words. Her expression softens subtly, but she's still watching the other beast with intent eyes... and a vague hint of confusion settling into the lines of her face. As if she's not quite sure what to make of Darby. Her claws flex a few times, within the fairly tightly wrapped bandage, and then she puts her foot back down. "Do you have... any other advice on how to care for it?" she wonders, a touch apprehensively. If nothing else, she didn't flinch or pull away with Darby's touches. "And I have a place, but it'll be a while to get back home." This is followed with an indifferent shrug. "Mmn. Yes. Soaking can draw out the poisons. And there are some unctions that, while disturbingly messy, seem to serve as well or better than licking the spot in question incessantly." She listens, regards the shrug, then offers in what some would say is a permissive amount of trust, "You can come there when you need aid, comfort or company. Rex has." How Cornelius may have injured -his- foot is and interesting topic to ponder. Darby lists an address in a bad part of town within walking distance of the university. "Why will it be awhile before you get back to your Place?" Ziv looks at Darby skeptically, eyes slowly moving over the other beast's face with a vague look of apprehension. "...I will probably take you up on that," she says eventually, in something of a quiet tone, her eyes still having not left Darby's face. Eventually, she does blink, after the address is presented and gives a small nod of her head. "This is out a ways from my apartment, in the city," she explains, when questioned about it. "I don't drive; so it'll be a bit of a walk. Is all. Or I may take a taxi." Darby listens with an open yet still neutral expression. Whether or not Ziv chooses to visit her residence, her easy brown gaze will remain steady. "I am sorry I do not drive, either. I don't own a vehicle aside from an old bicycle. Its breaks don't work most of the time," she adds. "If you need some relief sooner, you could lean upon my shoulder for the walk." She looks apologetic, given it's probably no less than a mile away. She adds quickly, "Or I could run back and bring the bicycle." "...I'm not really too concerned about it," says Ziv, attempting to have something of a reassuring tone with Darby - who she still regards with more than a little confusion. She does eventually offer though, with a glance to the still pond which reflects the moon overhead, "But it is probably time to start walking back. It's alright - I don't mind it." There's a sense of calmness there, or maybe just bravado given that she's a Beast and is probably ignoring the injury. For the most part. Darby flickers another long look down at that bat-ankle then finally back up at Ziv. "As you say." She rises, a smudge of brown left on the kneefront of her skirt where she knelt, picks up the over-large trenchcoat and slides it on. If Ziv is intending to tell her that she meant she would visit Darby some other time, the deer beast has misunderstood. Her purse is pulled back over her head to hang at her hip, the art materials are stowed and the sketch pad folded over and held under one arm. "Do you enjoy baths?" she inquires as if asking about the weather. She isn't particularly familiar with bat hygiene. "Are you saying I'm dirty?" wonders Ziv, but it does indeed sound as if she's making a joke, a subtle lilt of humor slipping into those words. She starts to move along after Darby with a slow, easy pace, in constant contemplation of the more prey-like beast she tags along after. "Do you often open your home to other Winters?" she wonders, twisting one ear out to the side, taking stock of the world around them. Darby isn't familiar with Christina Aguilar's version of Dirrty. So she shakes her head. "Earthy. Natural. You are not soiled or tawdry," she answers, though her brown eyes glimmer with what might be a far less literal awareness. She tries to keep her pace such that Ziv can walk beside her. The mile home could be very slow and awkward if they are single-file. "Often? No. But if there are any who receive direct invitation, they would be our closest cousins." There is something incredibly resonant and clear in Darby's faintly raspy tone. The Wyrd shimmers briefly around her when she speaks it, as if she had made an oath. "My home will always be open to those with similar allegiance." As much as it is a home. Ziv's not moving too terribly slow, thankfully, though she does continue to favor her right side. A glance of awareness is given to the glimmer of Wyrd that surrounds Darby when she speaks those words, her head dipping in a motion of acceptance and understanding. "I'm just slightly... surprised," she admits, keeping a listen on the area around them just in case anything happens to be sneaking up. Sometimes in Fort Brunsett area, you never know. "Most of us are very... standoffish." Despite the way Darby arrived, there is rarely a time that her general demeanor doesn't include some sort of inclusion of all around herself -- and around Ziv for the time being -- as she moves through the world. They leave the more 'natural' space and are soon back into the city at large as they walk. Traffic is steady but not heavy. Cars have their lights on. Now and then a pedestrian does something stupid that has a few horns honking, someone yelling. They pass a drugstore that has all sorts of gaudy Halloween decorations out front. "Most of us have hidden agendas, I'll agree. But I've found more purpose in common than at odds." This opinion would likely change drastically if it were to include all the seasons. "How many others have you met and how long have you been here?" "I came here in... I think it was August. Until recently, I hadn't actually... met anyone else," admits Ziv, seeming to be slightly more comfortable as they enter the city - for whatever reason. Perhaps ill-advisedly so, considering this is a World of Darkness. Still, she's ever watchful and her head snaps towards the sound of horns and the pedestrian, but she gives no comment on that. "Now I know yourself, Cornelius, Nathania, and a new one named Levi who has no intention of joining fully. Like yourself." Darby drags her fingertips along some hardy hedge-bushes in front of a brownstone as she and Ziv continue walking. "I've not met someone named Levi," she muses. "What flavor is he?" August. "I arrived on the demise of Spring. But I kept to myself. This is my first solo city." The stories that simple statement holds! As to intentions and joining fully? "I told Rex I would make my Promise to the larger familial stakeholders if he would seek a leadership role." She shrugs her linen clad shoulders gracefully as if to say, 'Now it's my turn.' But the words aren't spoken. Ziv looks at Darby's fingertips while they drag along one of the bushes, but keeps her own wings to herself. At least at present. "She is... rocky," she says, soon enough, after some extended hesitation. "I think likely some type of elemental," the Windwing's head bobs shortly in agreement with herself. "It isn't a terrible place; at least as far as I've seen... I've only been back... here," she lifts both wings, gesturing at the world around them. "For a few months. I came back in June." The shift in gender for the Levi she's never met doesn't seem to disturb Darby as she listens closely, glancing down at the injured foot again before they move together to step into the crosswalk as they reach another intersection. "I've known very few of them. But they are a wonder to behold." She turns a bit sideways as if her back could catch and stop any car that careened around the corner to knock Ziv over as they cross the boulevard. "And you are so newly returned. What aches do you find resonate most deeply for you?" The wings are regarded as they sweep out a bit and then she notes with a gesture to the next block. "My apartment is only a block further." It's a very rundown tenement building with a gathering of young men outside who are, at best, intimidating. They look as though they would be equally likely to sell drugs or mug the pair from the portrait their muscled, tattooed, gang-clad forms present. The building itself would be a fright for some people to approach. Thankfully, Ziv seems to be doing reasonably well on the injured foot. There is no blood that seeps into her prints, and the mud and dirt has tapered off from walking on dry pavement. As she notes the two men now, her attention is rapt upon them, though she doesn't address them directly. Her voice grows quieter aside to Darby, wings curling up and partially inwards almost protectively towards herself. Perhaps assuming Darby is likely able to take care of herself. "There are a few," she answers quietly aside to her current companion, though it's an evasive response - one she doesn't seem intent on expanding upon. Darby is nodding in agreement to the sentiment about residual aches when one of the gathering of four young men addresses Darby with a chin-uptipping and steps out toward the pair. "Nashster," he greets. "Ass is lookin' -fine- in that tent you're wearin'. What happened to your pee em run, hunh?" He's all bravado and well-worn pride as he steps up to Ziv. "And who's this li'l sweet thing? She needs-a pimp with some skillz, yeah?" He spreads his arms as though he's the best thing since white bread offering himself for service to Ziv, or at least some pimping. Darby's walk stops rather than trying to push by what looks to be her own particular bridge troll, though not a Lost. "Marcus Da Vinci Hernandez. You behave yourself." Her volume doesn't rise to the bait, but she shifts ever so slightly on her feet. At first when the rather large man starts to approach the rather small Lost, she shrinks back - smothering the impulse to bare her teeth and hiss. Darby could likely see a flicker of that, before Ziv gets a hold on herself. Then, instead, she presses something of a forced smile to her lips and lowers her lids over dark eyes, looking up at the man. "Don't know if I'd... um... be too good at that," she says, in something of a quiet voice that doesn't bespeak confidence. But it is somewhat wry. "Figure I've managed licking pussy just fine on my own, y'know?" She does cast a quick glance over to Darby, though. And Darby /just/ manages not to place herself between her new acquaintance and ... an older one? "Da Vinci?" Darby murmurs in a mildly warning tone, but then Ziv's reply shuts her mouth and earns the smaller Lost a baffled look. Marcus, for his part, not only has the wind nudged from his sails with Darby's use of his 'secret' middle name, but then Ziv is all about the not-men retort and Darby shakes her head at him, lifting a hand to pat-pat his muscled shoulder. "When I find the chica for you, Da-Vee, I'll make sure to point her out. Now let us head in so we can work on washing our hair, hmm?" Marcus actually kicks back a step and then shoves two of his ogling friends to the side to make way for the women. "Sure thing Nash. But don't let her convince you to change teams. My mama says I gotta marry someone like you. And I don't have a taste for many of them bitch-- I mean, girls." Darby kisses her fingertips and blows a kiss in the leader's direction while lightly touching at Ziv's.. wing?.. to keep her moving with more urgency than her demeanor shows. "Good night, Vee." she concludes as they make their way inside the broken outer entrance to the blocklike building. He grins back mimes catching the kiss than licks his fingers lasciviously and his cluster of friends laugh knowing, masculine laughs that would be enough to turn most women back the other direction down the street away from the place entirely. The stairwell is concrete and the sickly yellow, flourescent lighting flickers now and again enough to seed a gnawing eye twitch should one remain in the stairwell overly long, the urine scent there pervasive. Darby thankfully leads them through the door onto the second floor rather than leading her up any of three or four more flights of stairs. The hallway isn't much better. The carpet is stained, torn, and smelly in places as they walk past apartment after apartment. Alllll the way to the end of the long corridor. The last door is next to a window that leads to the fire escape. Thankfully someone has cracked it a bit and fresh air spills in. Darby reaches for her purse and pulls out a key then proceeds to undo not only the door but two deadbolts. "Err... umm... nice place," Ziv says apprehensively as she follows Darby further into the confines of the tenements, the hair/fur on her neck starting to bristle up - or was it already in such a state? She seems to have left some of the bravado behind, once they were out of sight of the men. The only thing she ultimately says about that, while keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings in the corridors, is, "You handled that well. I thought I was going to have to... you know, start using something." "Five months of diplomacy," Darby answers, pushing the door open and into her apartment. It's an efficiency, and a small one at that. All in the same space there is a small kitchenette with very old appliances, a loveseat and a chair beside a makeshift windowseat, a double bed, then a couple of doors that are likely a bathroom and a closet. At least one might hope. Aside from the general 'worn beyond use' state of everything, the decades-old stains, the place is quite clean. Nothing is dirty. There are no dirty dishes in the sink. There is a faint scent of coffee and of flowers in the space. She pushes the door closed after Ziv moves inside and locks the door and both deadlocks, but not in a threatening way. Either of them could open the door with equal ease. "Would you like something to eat? To soak just the foot, or a full bath?" Her expression is neutral to the point where any of those offers could be suggestive or off-puttingly careless, either end of the spectrum. Or something else in between. Ziv's ears twitch and shiver as she listens to what Darby has to say, remaining quiet for a while. She looks down at herself, thoughtfully for a moment, but then offers up in answer, "I think... probably just a soak for the foot would be alright. I bathed when I got out of the sewers last night." And thoroughly washed the clothes she was wearing, but she doesn't say that. "And um... something to eat or drink. Whatever you have on hand, I guess," she rolls her shoulders slightly, taking stock of the apartment laid out in front of her and taking this time to lean against the wall. Her weight is removed from her right foot. Darby finds herself distracted and fascinated by those ears. This means she ends up standing in one spot in the relative center of the small space, finally stirring herself to action. "Then sit down!" a bit too urgent. She goes about rustling things up. A large plastic tub that may or may not be used to hold large amounts of popcorn on other occasions. Into the bathroom where the tub can be heard running for awhile, at least until the hot water reaches her pipes. The bowl is filled and Darby comes out to set it in front of Ziv, the pulls a box of epsom salts out from where she was holding it beneath her bicep. She pours a healthy amount into the hot water, then dips her hand in to stir the water until the dissolve. "I didn't think to ask if you can tolerate warm water. The salts blend better with it than cold." She settles to her knees in that flowing skirt and waits for Ziv to pronounce whether she needs cold water, apparently all about playing pedicurist for the moment. As she was told, Ziv finds a chair to sink herself into a little gingerly - both because of her foot, and possibly because the chair is hard. It's liable while Darby's off in the bathroom, she's been busy unwinding the gauze from around her foot, revealing a fairly large gash in the bottom pad at what would be the 'ball' on an ordinary human. Her skin is a kind of pinkish-brown there, as opposed to being covered by her fur, and is red around the edges with an unhealthy looking yellow liquid to it mixed with blood. It does not, however, appear to have completely split open in their walk back - only a little bit. "I'll be alright with warm," she reassures the beast, reaching out her foot towards the bucket. When Darby gets a look of what is a far more infected wound, she draws in her breath but keeps it quiet with a bit of a pursing of her lips. She doesn't look disgusted, but those expressive brows lower again as she watches between the foot and Ziv's expression. She settles her palms atop her knees rather than immediately getting up to get the woman some food. The 'how does that feel' inquiry is plain to see on her features. "The salt will draw the poison out," she repeats from earlier when they were at the pond. "...I'm alright," Ziv attempts to reassure Darby, though she grimaces at the feeling of epsom salts hitting that wound. There's a subtle hiss that comes from her as well, at the burning sensation of epsom salt contacting already inflamed tissue. Soon, however, she lets out an expanded breath and gives a small nod of her head. "Hopefully it helps..." she says, a bit quietly, watching where Darby is poking around the kitchen. "I might need to go see Regina, if not." "Who is Regina?" Darby inquires as she pushes to her feet once Ziv doesn't look as though she's going to fly out the window. She does go over to the kitchenette and begins looking through sparsely populated cupboards, drawers, refrigerator. "I have leftover spaghetti which might have a half meatball left. Cottage cheese. A banana. Some cheese and a slice of bread. Oh... and olives. Does any of that sound appetizing?" "Regina is... a big seal ogre... who can heal. She healed my hedgebat. I hope he's alright, since I left him at home..." Ziv frowns a little after this, slowly flexing her foot in the salt-imbued water and testing how it feels. She does grimace again, though, as the liquid hits a place opened up by her movements. "A banana will be alright," she says, not ultimately commenting on Darby's pretty sparse availability of food. "Will you have enough for yourself?" she wonders. Well, maybe she does comment. Darby fills a plastic tumbler with water, then grabs a napkin and brings them over with the banana that looks fairly edible, as far as the peel reveals. "I'm not hungry," she answers simply. She lays the banana and napkin on the small table beside the chair Ziv is occupying, then sets down the water for her apparently as well before grabbing the side of her skirt and tying it up in a knot near her hip that leaves her legs more free as she settles to the floor. Gently she reaches for Ziv's ankle, and if she is not fought on it, lifts it from the water to rest the base of her foot beneath the wound on her own bared knee. With gentle fingers she probes lightly around the wound. "What caused this? Tooth, stone, weapon?" She pushes a little, but with the warmth and the salts, the pus and infection has already been partly drawn out. She's attempting to get the rest of it. Ziv stiffens, but forces her leg to go slack, allowing Darby to draw her foot over. It's likely she'd rest her knee at the actual arch, leaving the pad where it can more easily be reached. Which draws a grimace from Ziv, and a faint, squeaky hiss as the already irritated flesh is pressed on to force the infection out. "Stone. But I was... well, walking on it through all kinds of stuff," she admits, swivelling her ears backwards. "As far as I know it was stone. I didn't really... um... stop to check what was in it. I figured I wouldn't really need shoes." Obviously she was wrong, though. "It wasn't in the muck, when it got cut, but the walk back was through a lot of it." Darby's hands are gentle, but the press of her thumbs against the sides of the wound is firm and efficient. She reaches for a towel nearby and pulls it over to wipe free the infected pus. "Soak a bit longer. You've released a good amount of it." She gently urges the foot back toward the water. "Do you typically do well without covered feet?" "Usually," agrees Ziv, goiing to put her foot back into the epsom salt soak and repositioning it a little, letting out a slow breath that soon is overtaken with a wince. "I don't have any hedgespun boots, or anything, but I mean to ask around so I'll... have that," a flick of an ear, her dark eyes settling on Darby. "...So I usually just don't wear them. Unless there's glass or something it's generally not an issue. I think I just... um... pressed too hard on something when I was crawling over the rubble." She reaches out with a wing then, curling it around the banana and bringing it back to herself. With the tips of the other, she makes a cut with claws, then starts to pry off the peel. "If Rex can't get you any, and I am willing to wager than he can, I know one of the 'officers' and I'm certain she would not only like you but be willing to rally her troops around your cause." Which would be hedgespun boots for the purpose of hunting and fighting. "Are /you/ sworn to the freehold?" Darby inquires. Ziv nibbles at the banana at first, as if testing it, once she's managed to get the peel off, "I am." It's said in agreement to Darby, after she listens to the explanation about who she might approach. Her brows draw together, thoughtfully, and then she gives a bob of her head, "I've been considering asking around, but I'm not sure who. I guess I could ask Cornelius..." She kind of lets the last part trail off, perking her ears towards Darby. Darby nods slowly to the name they've both mentioned. "And Dielle. She's a strong leader. I'll introduce you if you like." Even though the window is squeaky, it makes no sound as it is opened fully. As if summoned by the mentioned of his name, Cornelius has climbed up to it from outside. The only warning before he enters is the touch of a breeze blowing through the room, and appropriate amount of chill for a man that has been long in the Onyx Court, if still settling in the area. With a quiet roll inside followed by a loud slam of the window shutting, Cornelius stands and is walking towards the main area of the room as he says, "Hey, I brought that coffee I owe you so you would shut u-" He stops as he sees that Darby is not alone and that he has intruded upon not one but two of the ladies of Winter. He clears his throat, forces the scowl on his face to go neutral, and then pushes it the slightest bit further so he is affecting a smile. Barely. "Hello! I brought you both coffee. Do you, uh, like yours black, Batgirl?" He bats his eyelashes either due to surprise or an attempt to charm away any incoming questions. "I haven't met Dielle..." says Ziv with a faint squint, twitching her ears to and fro a few times. After testing the banana, she does what at first might seem to be sensual - putting it slowly into her mouth. The next part, however, would only be sensual in nightmares or the dreams of a severe masochist, considering the banana gets bitten off to be cheek-stuffing instead. Which is about the time that Cornelius drops in. Stopping, Ziv just kind of... blinks at the appearance of the Knight. One ear turns down and to the side, and he's probably not fooling her with the idea of the coffee being -for her-. Without swallowing, though, and speaking aroudn the banana she says, "Liffe n' swee, pleaf." Darby had set Ziv's foot back in the water and risen from where she was kneeling to head for the bathroom and a towel for drying the foot after it finished its soak. She stops with a hand on the door frame to the small bathroom, twisting around to regard the sound of the typically squeaky window banging closed and Cornelius' familiar voice throwing verbal face slaps with gloves and all about the coffee he owes her. And it's about time, too. "You're welcome to sleep here if getting back to your usual pillow is too far, Ziv," she speaks mildly, eyes on Cornelius, brows raising just so. "I insist you take the bed. The loveseat and I get along quite well when I'm reading." For sleep. "Come in." Belatedly. Pointedly. In Cornelius' direction. "Broke Back Mountain on a pogo stick, what the ruck am I interrupting?" Cornelius's eyes shift about as he looks from Ziv's very full mouth, to Darby, to the coffee, to the cabinet suspected of keeping sugar, and back to Ziv's mouth. "If it was a deep throat contest, lemme know how much the pot is worth and I might shock you." The end of the sentence lilts in a manner that would be very telling if he was of a certain persuasion and quite obvious. Setting the coffee on the counter, he starts to go through the cabinets looking for something. "Guessing this crazy granola doesn't even keep sugar in the house. Do you, toots?" He casts a look over his shoulder at Darby and shakes his head. "You got some honey, at least? Maybe a bee hive that you get it fresh from?" He looks under some clean dishes like sugar packets might be hiding there. Ziv swallows the mouthful of banana, kind of boggling at Cornelius's back while he's busy raiding the kitchen. Her head tilts to the side, and then her dark eyes slide over to Darby next. A flex of her injured foot is given, but she simply sits and waits for the time being. "Don't eat much sugar?" she wonders of Darby, with a quirk of an ear. "If you eat really healthy, you should stop by my work sometime. We have some good stuff." Darby shoots Cornelius a Look. "There are three cannisters in the narrow cabinet above the stove and to the right. "One is oats, one is flour, the third is brown sugar." Then she disappears into the bathroom for a few moments, returning with a towel and a handful of ... socks? She heads over to Ziv and settles with her bare knees on the floor in front of her, laying the towel across them, pedicure style and pushing the plastic dish of water to the side before patpatting at the towel in invitation for the foot which she'll go about wrapping and gently drying with more gentle pressure than rubbing. "Oats, huh? Isn't that one of the ingredients in granola?" Cornelius continues to tease as he adds four spoons of brown sugar to Ziv's coffee, sips it to keep it from spilling, and stirs it up. The spoon is rinsed in the sink and set to dry without ever seeing soap, and then--once the coffee is recapped--both the grande size cups of midnight oil are brought to the ladies. Ziv will find hers was a strong roast that is now very brown sugary, and Darby will find hers to be absolutely exacting to the way she makes it herself, but with a single drop of honey added to that recipe. "Here you are," he offers as he comes to turn where they are seated into a triangle. He winces as he sees the injured foot and looks at Darby with a frown. "What'd you do to my scouting buddy?" "She didn't do anything," Ziv says with a poke of her tongue, taking the cup of coffee from Cornelius with a look of no small doubt. She puts her foot into Darby's lap, allowing her to dry it off. If Cornelius is looking for such, he'll see an irritated gash in the pad of the ball, behind the toes, in the brownish-pink skin there. "I was looking for a dog, and... didn't make the best decisions," she admits, flicking her ears back then looking down at Darby. "Darby's... helping me." "I helped her when you weren't anywhere to be found," Darby answers simply, accepting the coffee and taking a sip before setting it down on the far side of her towel-clad knees. Once Ziv's foot is dry, Darby takes thin trouser stocking and folds it like the padding of a bandage. Then with another she ties it into place with a nice knot of fabric atop her adorable bat-foot. "That will have to do. I don't have dressing supplies here." She lifts her brown gaze to regard Ziv. "Would you like something to change into or are you comfortable as you are?" She reaches down to tug the linen fabric back to mostly cover her knees, except for where it is tied up at her hip on the side. Some modesty is better than none. "You-" She tells Cornelius. "Are going to arrange some hedge-made boots for Ziv." There is an incredulous look on Cornelius's face as Ziv testifies towards Darby's innocence, but he does force himself to be almost friendly. "Well, I suppose that's nice of her." He, of course, says this to Ziv rather than Darby. Laying on his side so that he is propped up on his left elbow facing them both, he looks too comfortable for someone on the floor. "Do I look like a cobbler to you? Wait." He tilts his head and purses his lips thoughtfully. "Isn't that what those yummy berry pie things are called? What's the word for someone that makes boots? Or is it the same but the spelling is different? Cob-a-ler and cob-ler? Hm." It seems like he is more interested in that than the errand that Darby has just 'requested' of him. Ziv's features soften a little as she sees what Darby is using for a bandage, resting the coffee in her lap for the time being. A dip of her head is given, and she offers up, "I'm... fine. Thank you. I'm a little dirty, but it's not a big deal, and... well, I think I will stay since you offered. But I don't need anything there," she assures. A flick of her ear is given, then her own dark deyes draw up to Cornelius. The commentary about getting her some hedge boots makes her blink, but she says after, "I've... got a few ideas, and some... friends to help me start making a few things. So I actually have clothes for winter." She pauses, clearing her throat, and not offering up any opinion on the differences in spelling. "Among other things," Darby agrees, in reference to the cobbler appearance. "A French one." Cornelius, prickly as he is, as tenaciously overbearing and presumptuous, doesn't seem to disturb her too greatly. One might even infer that she finds his company pleasant enough, given the misdemeanor nature of his arrival. "It's all about food tonight, isn't it? Why didn't you bring any with you? There might be a bit of leftover spaghetti in the refrigerator, but I was hoping to have that for breakfast." In regard to Ziv's clothing, first: "You are welcome to alter any of my nightgowns or pajamas as they might suit you. I have a pair of shears in the kitchen." It's a generous but sincere offer. To Cornelius, second: "It is the least you can do, helping her to establish her scouting gear. Broken back what?" "Well... poop." Cornelius sighs and gives Ziv a look over. "I guess you could use some new threads and-" He looks over as Darby's mention of broken back finally sinks into his brain. Without addressing it, he looks back. "A pair of goal-ash-es or something. Okay, Caped Crusader Female Type, I'll help. But believe me when I say that these hands," he lifts one with fingers wiggling, "are better at ripping clothes up than putting them together. So I'll help you get your stuff, but that's-" he puts back at himself with one thumb out; nearly stabbing his chest, "-all this daddy-o's got to offer. We cool, winged cat?" Without looking at Darby he adds, "I ate your spaghetti." While the two are bickering, Ziv mostly seems content to... listen and absorb. She has told both of them she's rather new to this kind of thing, but her ears are perked and quivering which suggests she's -at least- paying quite an amount of attention. The injured foot is lifted, and put across the thigh of her other leg, keeping it straight so as not to put too much of strain on it. "You don't have to do that. The nightgowns, I mean," says Ziv with a small shake of her head, eventually, even after Cornelius has already admitted to eating the spaghetti. "I can just sleep in my underthings. Or just no clothes. It's usually more comfortable that way, anyhow." Darby reaches for the bin of epson-salt-n-pus water and pushes to her feet, carrying it carefully into the bathroom to dump it into the tub, run some water and apparently wash it out. "However you're comfortable," she calls audibly from the small adjoining room. "However, Cornelius may not play lascivious games with you in my bed." Pointedly, even from the other room, addressed to Cornelius. "But you will tell me," her voice softens a bit as she returns from the bathroom, having removed her skirt and blouse and wearing a well-wrapped and tied bathrobe instead. "-- if you prefer to do some origami with one of my gowns, yes? I have just the one." Her brown eyes slide to the far-too-comfortable, side-resting Knight. "You -- owe me half of a meatball. And breakfast." she says with some disappointment to the rat-dragon. She sifts over to scoop up her cup of coffee and takes a few sips, one arm folded across her middle, the other elbow resting on that forearm. "I'm not a scoundrel!" Cornelius lifts his voice to reply to Darby with a swiftness, but then immediately lowly asides to Ziv. "I mean, I was about to ask if the wings have erogenous zones, but-" He stops as Darby comes back from the bathroom; looking quite interested in his claws all the sudden. "First I owe you a coffee because I thought I was a welcome guest and drank yours. Now I eat your spaghetti, and suddenly I owe you a half a meatball and breakfast? That seems like it's collected interest. Half a meatball a day is quite the compound number." He feigns a small sign and rolls over onto his back. "Don't worry, Batgirl, I'll be gone soon as I'm done doing my taxes." "I don't know," it's said kind of a little too quickly, coming out of Ziv in a surprised answer. She blinks a few time then, and flops her wings over her face, before giving a faint groan. When she lowers them, she instead turns her attention to the coffee and takes a sip - looking more than a little puzzled over the flavor. Then, she merely nods at Darby, and offers up a, "Thank you." Darby takes another languid drink of her coffee. Interest indeed. To Ziv, "The key, I suspect, is to push him harder than he pushes you." Conspiratorial but dry. To Cornelius. "I'm an expensive food source, I do not dispute it. Compounding hourly." She arches a brow. "Assume the position of footman, and you'll find we may be quite kind. Ziv, I suspect could use a massage to her good foot. It has been compensating for hours and hours." She all but extends her other hand with wiggled fingers and a 'snap to it' sort of expression. The horned man looks at Ziv with a grin. "Someone hasn't had anyone nibble all over their wings yet." The words are all sing-song in their teasing, but what Darby says causes him to look confused. "Did you get high while you were in that bathroom?" Cornelius asks. "I thought you hippie types were all about sharing your reefer?" He shakes his head. "Could at least offer me refreshments." Ziv gets up carefully from where she's sitting, putting the coffee and brown sugar amalgamation on the table next to her. The right foot is still favored, in its makeshift wrappings, as she does so. "I think I'll actually go to bed," she admits, not currently commenting on anything about how her wings may or may not be sensible. A dip of her head is given to Darby, a bit tiredly, and she comments. "I... thank you for your hospitality." Darby moves over to sink into the soft but stained cushions of her loveseat, tucking her bare feet up beneath her there. "I suspect it will be my pleasure," to Ziv, as if to offset the teasing words from Cornelius. Or ... to frame them. She looks back to Cornelius with a perplexed expression. "What do my hips have to do with anything? High? Do you mean like taking the drugs?" Yes, she just said 'taking the drugs'. "I did not take anything to enhance or supress my experience of reality. But if I had, why would I give the beast who ate my last meatball some in reward?" With a murmur of aggravation, she rises from the small sofa and heads for the kitchen. "Will olives do?" Four times Cornelius opens his mouth to speak, and four times he closes his mouth in order to either not interrupt one of the ladies or, perhaps, because he realizes what is about to spill out from between his lips should never be uttered. The fifth time proves to be the charm. "Goodnight, fuzzy!" Ziv gets a big smile just before Cornelius gets up and moves with such a quickness it might seem like he is trying to race Darby to the refrigerator. He distracts her with "What hips?" as he opens the door and looks inside. "...The ones you've been staring at while you were trying to get to the refridgerator," calls out Ziv, perhaps finding her voice and -some- snarkiness. It's surely lurking in her small frame, even as meek as she might be at times. Considering who she works with, she probably has to have some. "Don't knock her figure just because yours is lacking, Cornelius," says the batling, as she limps her way off into the other room, keeping as little of the ball of her foot on the ground as possible. "Good night, Darby," she adds, more gently, to her hostess. Darby reaches as she nears the small kitchenette in the open space of the small efficiency apartment, to flick off any overhead lights to create an ambience more suited for sleep for Ziv. She gazes into the largely empty refrigerator. There is a mostly full jar of spanish olives, a container of cottage cheese. A few individual packs of string cheese. Some salad dressing. Butter. A pitcher of what might be juice of some kind. And a bag holding two bagels. Ziv's retort earns the bat-girl a refrigerator-lit but fleeting smile from Darby across the space and over the top of the door of the appliance. "You don't like olives?" to Cornelius. Since it's one room, Ziv just goes to wherever there is to sleep! And she's not shy at all - off come the clothes, folded up with the dirtiest parts on the inside, before she flops down. "Not a bite of meat in sight." Cornelius looks from the sad collection of foot to Darby and is about to snark further when--out of the corner of his eye--something exciting is spotted. His hand blurs towards the cheese sticks, and he pulls them apart and begins to juggle them. "Cheese cheese cheeeeese... sticks stick stiii-" He stops as Ziv strips right in his field of view by Darby's bed. "I mean, definitely like a nine on the bravery but at most a three on showmanship," he comments to Darby. He waggles his eyebrows at her, leans in to bop her on the tip of the nose with one of the sticks, and heads out the door with as little warning as when he arrived.