Look at the Sun (Lukas)

She didn't know what 'politically correct' mean. Witches and warlocks were hardly mentioned as actual terms in political matters, even if many politicians were warlocks. She assumed he meant it was 'wrong' or 'inappropriate for polite, standard discourse'.

“Thass a quare thang indeed. Mother had no problem identifyin' herself as a witch tah me or anyone else. *'Be a--'” she caught herself slipping back in a female persona, but quickly corrected herself before she made such a mistake. “'a warlock, it would make mummy so proud.' But I guess I could see where that would be problematic. Acourse she never identified 'erself as such tah anyone of dem ignorants. Dey never did take too kindly tah our sorts. Guess its tha stigma dat surrounds it by certain, popular religious groups.”

She could see (and smell) that he was losing blood still, after she retracted and becoming light-headed in the process. She then felt very terrible, even for a self-serving monster of pride and greed. She could at least recognize his generosity, and her gluttony might cost her in the future, if he ever decided to let her feed on him again. If he even survived.

“I'm so sorry! I ain't got no bandages though, not no more.” She shifted her weight, pressing the tips of her index fingers against each other. “I'm feelin' mighty better. Wish I-I could make ya feel better too, somehow, but I wadn't dat studious neither.”

She had the same feeling as when she was with Willard. If she listened to her dear old mother, then things might be easier for her.

“I ran outta personal supplies a while back after tha retreat. I don't think it'd be wise ta let a novice try a hand at your wound neither. I... don't even know how omnipotent my power source would be anyhow.”

That was a weird thought. Demons could transcend dimensions, couldn't they? They existed before the Fall, before 'dimensions' existed, so they should be unaffected by such petty differences.

“Speakin' of which, my mother's a Dooright. Father's a Zmejavic, but he don't really do that sorta thang no more. Don't even go by that name no more either. Bein' dead kinda puts a damper on bein' a zmejavit. Then again, I cain't say if this means anythang ta you. I didn't recognize yer family's name, and Scandinavian witchin' families are the only ones I'm familiar with outside of the British ones.”

But she didn't recognize his name, and he likely didn't recognize her, as prominent as it was. She didn't know if she could believe that demons would be the same if the families weren't. It was worth a try though, she figured.

“How good are you at magick?” He could maybe summon someone, maybe, if that theory proved true... except, she didn't know how he'd even fair for the next thirty minutes. Desanguination was a very real threat now, and that survival was more important now than making it back home. But she didn't really know how to stop the bleeding. He apparently didn't either, and he was a 'mage'.

“Um, here!” she looked down to see across her chest, that even if she didn't have anything of use in her haversack, she still have the sack itself. She could use the sling of it as a temporary tourniquet. She threw off the bag and held either sides of the sling in her hands, presenting it forwardly so he may put his arm through the loop and she could wrap it around to cut off the circulation to his artery.

*complete with an affected posh British accent

“I was jus'... jus' curious!” She slapped herself in the face. "Argh, don't worry about it!"

Jimmy tied the sling around arm tight. The contents spilled out-- most notably the little 'trophies' she picked up from their victories She pulled it tight as she could, but his muscles were too dense.
And it was still bleeding. Maybe his initial injuries were too severe for the amount of blood she took from him?

She had a shirt, a shell jacket, a pair of pants, underwear, and some linen wraps. She had to contemplate whether are not she was thankful enough to offer up her clothes. Ultimately she decided she wasn't that selfish.

“Wait a moment.”

She ran behind the tree to disrobe. Her jacket was too hot, and dirty, and it just wasn't the best at absorbing liquids. Her shirt and linens were perfect though. She pulled the billowy bib shirt off her bony chest along with the linen wraps. After that, she coated herself in the shell jacket and rebuttoned it all the way to the top (despite the heat) before returning.

“Here.” She handed him the pile of fabric to him. “Use these to soak up tha blood.”

Jimmy nodded. The reason she didn't want to shred the article herself was because she was afraid she might not be strong enough to tear it. She didn't want to further embarrass herself. Gripping the fabric between the dull, awkward bones of her fingertips, she rend the shirt into strips.

She used the pieces to swathe up the blood before wrapping the linens around his forearm.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean fer none of this tah happen....” She tugged the brim of her hat over her face.

“No, not all!” This all happened because she decided to drink from the wrong blood vessel. “It's okay, I-I fucked it up, I should be the one who pays fer it!” And it certainly didn't equal the costs.

She gulped and nodded at his suggestion, and as much as she'd like to trust his plan, she had no faith in their setting and circumstances. She sighed, then continued.

“I had a temporary shelter – me en ma friend did – but I don't even know what direction it's in no more! When tha first rain poured on in, a mist grew so thick we gots lost in it! It made no sense! It was like we got transported from where we was previously! Ya see, we were investigatin' the edge of tha jungle, en I know it wadn't a dream, er everything else here would be too, but it isn't! We saw tha ends of tha earth en then a rainstorm separated us and placed me elsewhere! I ain't see nuthin like I was last, so I'm just completely en utterly lost!”

She could smell the rain on the air, and so she knew another wretched pljusak was going to blow in. The last thing she wanted was to lose Lukas too. She wrung her hands, staring at the ground as she swayed.

“I'-I'm afraid we'll get lost from each other, like last time...”

She gulped down a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Okay, okay...”

She gripped his hand tight in her own. She was kind of embarrassed because her hands were so small and weak compared to his (though thankfully not rotting anymore), a pitiful excuse for a man's hands, but it was comforting. She liked that she didn't have to be the big, strong one this time, because he had that job covered for her. With Willard, she had to big and strong, and she just wasn't that. She wasn't even that when she was healthy. She signed and leaned the side of his arm.

“This jungle is an island in the air,” she stated with her cheek pressed against his shoulder. She furrowed her brow, watching her feet move beneath her as they walked. “If I remember right, therr were... roots. Roots on tha underside uh tha island like tha legs ova table. Or better yet, tha riggin' ova great ship. I don't know what they're anchored to, or where they go, but I saw 'em. May 'ave been an ocean cast below, but I wasn't focused on it. There were too many clouds in tha way, and it's hard tah tell the violet of the sky from tha purple waters here. Either way, I never did saw nuthin like it in all my time.”

She laughed. It was a weak, pathetic laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

“Frog man, huh?” That was precious, truly precious. It seemed like this place was just full of talk animals. “I was with a weaselboy. A sailor. What you call that if not an Able Seaman? An Able Seaweasel? Reckoned he might've been a member of the Seelie Court, but he had no glamors er nuthin. Guess it makes more sense iffen we're from different places altogether.”

He pulled her closer to him and she let out a quiet 'oh'. It was comforting, honestly. She felt protected. At the same time this marked him as a flaming homosexual. She didn't know if that was conforming or not. Even less comforting was this news about this massive, feathery sky serpent.

“Ain't heard of no giant sky snake,” she replied, shaking her head. “I mean, I've sawed some purty impossible creatures in this here jungle, but nuthin of tha likes you speak. What you mean doe? Like a zmaj? Or some other serpentine dragon?”

She looked at Lukas in his deteriorated condition, her eyes stuck to the injury on his arm. She pulled her lips back into a frown.

“I don't think we kin find a proper shelter with ya bleedin' like that. You keep movin', yer gonna bleed out more. We kin jus' bivouac.” It was a meek offer, but one she felt was preferable to trekking the rainforest for unknown hours. “Trus' me, it ain't that bad, I've done it plenty uh times in this sorta weather.”

“Well, iffin yer willin' ta play tha princess, I do reckon I make fer a charmin' man!” Jimmy pressed her hand to her chest, then snorted and spat at the ground. Old, dry phlegm was the worst. She then wiped her arm across her mouth and pondered the thought of this so-called 'ketsulcovatil'.

“Nah, dragons are fer days of tha old, but my father's line is supposedly descended from one. That was a long ago, acourse. From my understandin'... the last dragon died during the Crusades against those dirty, nasty, filthy Mohammedans.”

He said she was pretty knowledgeable for an old American soldier, and it's true. She was, but the longer she was a soldier, the more she realized she had no place being there. She was so stupid. She neglected her study and ran away to fight a fight she had no business concerning herself with. She felt like a guilty, sorry piece of shit.

“But thass only from what I know about 'em.” She shrugged, scratching the back of her neck. “Ye, but not as much as I should. I shoudn't... really be a sol--”

She left the topic right then and there.
What was she thinking! Of course she was meant to fight this fight! And she couldn't wait to get back home to fight some more!

“I mean, I don't know whatchya mean by 'Quetzalcoatl'. My mother's a British witch, and my father was a Serbian one from way back in the time of Lazar's Morava, so I don't know a damned thing of Mesoamerican magic and monsters.”

She halted when he came to a stop, then looked up to study his features. He looked worried, though she couldn't fault him for it. So was she. She couldn't have been here longer than three days, but it felt like months, maybe even years.

“Well, thass about right. You don't hafta sleep. We kin jus' sit en rest. But if you want tah keep movin', I'll march, by Goshen!”