Post by The Gourmand on Sept 6, 2018 17:00:20 GMT
March 22nd
The blisters on his hands that had been burned from his overheating craft should have been healed by then. They weren’t.
Though the Gourmand had been told the obvious thing, avoid irritating his burns, his desire to work with his hands was too strong. Some expressed their need to help by hanging around the med bay, getting supplies, pep talks, etcetera. The Gourmand expressed his need to help with craftsmanship. Namely, carving points onto logs for use in booby traps: working metal into perfect cutting edges. Lots of sharp things. Lots of sharp things he tested the sharpness of by pressing his fingers and palms into.
This constant opening of the blisters only made them worse. It had gotten to the point that his hands were beginning to ache. The Gourmand resigned himself to wearing bandages, but considering the type of work he was doing, they didn’t do much help.
The Gourmand, at the behest of some of his peers, now sat in the barn that had been designated a sort of healing area. He was annoyed. Not angry, just annoyed. He was eager to get back to work, but wouldn’t be able to do so safely until his wounds healed. As he sat, he began to distract himself, slowly growing less annoyed and more curious. He started to unwrap a teal stained bandage for no particular reason, even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to.
Hearing someone else stirring nearby, he dropped his hands nonchalantly.