Cinder Speak, extraordinary success
The question led to an unexpected confrontation, but from the looks of her, Mathus found he couldn't entirely blame Brooke for being on edge. She was in a bad state, skin already sloughing from her body. How she wasn't floored with agony could only be answered with a preternatural ability. It was the only reason Mathus wasn't more insistent that she sit down.
She presented the familiar coin badge, and then Livvy's things were dumped out on his kitchen counter. One eyebrow lifted, Mathus was quiet, observing the pair of them with watchful tension, like a hound awaiting a command from an unseen master. If this escalated, then the werewolf would be tossing two people out onto the street, but it seemed to stop at Algy, the man refusing to even rise to the outburst. All the while, Mathus continued his work with Livvy's clothes, his hands steady.
Mathus was glad to see most of the woman's clothing was natural fibers. He didn't need to contend with polyester melted onto her skin. With the woman already in the recovery position on her right side, he was pulling fabric away from her left, from burns around her head, neck, and shoulder. He was careful, gentle, his fingers cool and quick.
With the sink running, filling with cool water, he calmly answered the room, “Mathus Dascălu, at your service. But you may call me Matt. Or Matty, if it pleases you.” He carefully peeled away Livvy's jacket and the shirt underneath. It all smelled of cooked flesh, tortured and raw. Having gotten what he needed out of asking for people's names, he started speaking to the unconscious woman, in a low soothing voice that resonated on timbres outside of normal hearing. “Livvy, can you hear me? You are safe now. We are going to help you.” As he spoke, the werewolf projected his gentle calm out into his words, hoping the magic would let it filter down into Livvy's unconsciousness.
The question led to an unexpected confrontation, but from the looks of her, Mathus found he couldn't entirely blame Brooke for being on edge. She was in a bad state, skin already sloughing from her body. How she wasn't floored with agony could only be answered with a preternatural ability. It was the only reason Mathus wasn't more insistent that she sit down.
She presented the familiar coin badge, and then Livvy's things were dumped out on his kitchen counter. One eyebrow lifted, Mathus was quiet, observing the pair of them with watchful tension, like a hound awaiting a command from an unseen master. If this escalated, then the werewolf would be tossing two people out onto the street, but it seemed to stop at Algy, the man refusing to even rise to the outburst. All the while, Mathus continued his work with Livvy's clothes, his hands steady.
Mathus was glad to see most of the woman's clothing was natural fibers. He didn't need to contend with polyester melted onto her skin. With the woman already in the recovery position on her right side, he was pulling fabric away from her left, from burns around her head, neck, and shoulder. He was careful, gentle, his fingers cool and quick.
With the sink running, filling with cool water, he calmly answered the room, “Mathus Dascălu, at your service. But you may call me Matt. Or Matty, if it pleases you.” He carefully peeled away Livvy's jacket and the shirt underneath. It all smelled of cooked flesh, tortured and raw. Having gotten what he needed out of asking for people's names, he started speaking to the unconscious woman, in a low soothing voice that resonated on timbres outside of normal hearing. “Livvy, can you hear me? You are safe now. We are going to help you.” As he spoke, the werewolf projected his gentle calm out into his words, hoping the magic would let it filter down into Livvy's unconsciousness.