[attr="class","cc_text"] A mounted invasion made good pals for money - a battlefield to be sure. But it was also dangerous. For that point, Nikkotsu had changed her hair color through this stinky, ilk of a white dye which permeated through her scalp for the next week, and as of such she had been dealing with the aftereffects of her interaction with people for it. Thankfully, many washes later the white remained with wisps of black clashing throughout, and she had adopted some heavier makeup that she could find - looking a little dirtier and grubbier than usual.
Even so - a battlefield was a battlefield, or it was soon going to be anyway. So, Nikkotsu was in the southern part of the northern fire country with some expected activity - further out to the right hand side and closer to the cloud, further than what she was hoping to see hidden stone ninja anyway. As a mercenary, she could be hired. She had actually taken to a back alley doctorship, healing people in their homes and performing basic surgery that ultimately costed less, since she was... Kinda breaking people's bones into the correct shape. All in a day's work.
Today, pitched up in a vacant tent that had been erected for newcomers (since of the recent influx of people) was a shared common tent of people, a fire selected in the middle and smoke billowing up and out through the cut top - a little more difficult to see since that wasn't an intended design but a forced one, given the fact that strands of cloth were breaking and wafting around where the smoke exited the tent.
For now, her chosen caste was the murmur of shinobi which hadn't yet met the sign of the hidden stone headband - and she had taken to a small corner and amassed some blankets and a few cushions to protect against the cold and hard ground. Ultimately, going to stay that way for today, she thought.
[attr="class","monbody2"]Creatures chirping, the stretched whites in the sky, and a penetrating light that sparks a new burn. Those are the three first things that Kizua sees. Those, and — after a moment's delay — a blur. No — a spin. The world spins now.
Or maybe it always did.
Regardless of what games his vision plays on him, Kizua decides to heave himself up, and — as expected — it isn't such a good idea.
"Ugh...!"
Knitted eyes, a clutched fist pushing him off the terrain below. He looks up, and —
"ah — " blinding. Still very blinding.
And he's stepping forward once, twice — (and gods, what is this insufferable sting?) — until;
"young man!"
Kizua halts.
"Young man, you're bleeding! Come, quick, quick!"
A meek arm curls around his own, and he's pulled along side a shorter, frail lady. Pulled and pulled, and she seems to worry and fret —
over what? —
"you'll get help here, don't worry! Just come!"
When Kizua blinks again, he finds himself before a woman's (familiar?) face.
In turn, Nikkotsu would find him obliterated. Cuts, bruises, and a rib broken underneath the shredded pieces of red-tainted fabric.
Today was shaping up to be a lazier day unless someone came to change that. Which, in a 'careful what you wish for' moment, it would be made so. Ears perked at initial commotion, causing her to come to a stand, and toward the source of the noise - to be greeted by a familiar face. A familiar injured face.
She swore to herself. Why was he stumbling through the tent closer to death's door than when she saw him last?
She could perform surgeries - that required equipment, medicine. She did not have the exact skills to just seal somebody back up with medical ninjutsu, to heal up his pathways. She could stabilise it, though. "Lay him down over here." She took control of the situation, just by the entrance of the tent - the entrance had certainly garnered some interest from those around. It was good that she'd prepared a disguise from the get go.
She peeled his initial clothes, as to see would require a diagnosis first. ... Oh. It wasn't that- bad...
She stared at it, seeing that it was not as bad and her care receded. "You, grab water." There had to be some area, right? But, a stiff point and a stern voice went a long way. She would disappear from his sight for a time, to her pack. A small package - a bag. She returned, and barely offered him a look before she was pushing something at his lips and the entry to his mouth. "Painkillers. Eat." Morphine, to be specific: one of nature's wonders found from the poppy plant. It was enough for a good dosage that would provided he ate it, block out all of the pain for a good while - at the expense of feeling a little trippy.
The secondary look would offer her a chance to think. Would that possibly mean internal injuries? Some pressing in various areas would offer some answers. While she didn't know immediately it was a broken rib, that would come with time. And, unfortunately, not an injury she could heal herself beyond giving him a prescription of rest.
"What on earth are you doing here," She hissed beneath her breath. "Half way across the world, nearly, and you're the face I see. How come a platoon of hunter nin can't find us but I run into you more often than grass?" she wouldn't be paying him much attention while she justified her least informed medical opinion.
[attr="class","monbody2"]Deeming the situation inelegant does more harm than good, Kizua thinks to himself. Tries to shove his pride somewhere deep and endure what is (generously) offered to him.
But it's difficult. He cracks, says;
"I — "
well, attempts to. Is bluntly cut off by capsules invading his throat —
and so he coughs instead, the words long-buried behind a set of heavy drugs soon to wear his senses down. Not soon enough for his voice cries out in pain once or twice to the prodding that Nikkotsu so kindly delivers.
Perhaps he should have died on the road instead.
"I'd like to ask you the same," Kizua's scratchy throat rings in response.
"But I don't think it matters now."
An eye wanders.
His tone dies down to something soft.
"Hey — "
"isn't this risky?"
Because where the man donned furtive attire and masks to conceal identity, he also treaded in the opposite direction of where settlements lied. Nikkotsu has one part down — wouldn't say it's pretty in any shape or form — but Kizua finds it curious that her workplace is amongst lawful persons.
She would continue in her checks, pressing in places to watch the man's facial reaction. She had been quick to offer him morphine and that soon would be able to alleviate all of its pain (it was a strong drug) but also tended to make people puke. He would need to pad out the drug with food, soon. That part wasn't her problem.
Someone would return with water, and people had receded - there were eyes watching them however now that there was care being given. "Thank you." Even in her absence from a village her manners could not be missed, but they were an effective tool for keeping people well on her side.
"Risk and reward," She spoke quietly and to the tune of hissing. That was the truth: she wouldn't have chosen here otherwise. For the sake of imprisonment, death? There were four fifths chance that they wouldn't be recognised by villages of other nations and a smaller chance.. but she needed money to live, just like Kizua did.
Though he might've had similar thoughts in the occupation of those and truly; she couldn't know. She doubted their involvement in criminal activities but didn't expect to be called out by anyone. If anything, Kizua was an opportunity to get away and so that too was valuable.
"You will be well with rest. Come." She returned to her little nook in the tent of filled furs and so she could continue to watch him unless there was something beneath the surface that required more immediate attention. "You can pay me for the drug later. Why are you here?" She would inevitably state as she sat cross legged on the ground, throwing a throw of blanket at him. Not quite cold, not quite warm, being one of the outer layers she had been using.
