#BERNIE YOU ARE SO DEAR TO MEEEE

[crookedorel]

BERNADETTA SNIVELS AND BLUBBERS UNINTELLIGIBLY AND STARTS WRAPPING BERKUT WITH BANDAGES AS SOON AS HE GETS TO THE MED TENT. BERKUT MY SCARY AND COOL BUDDY BERKUT. SPEAK TO ME. BEKUT SPEAK TO BENIE

The walk to the medical tent was almost more embarrassing than the short time he spent on the field, with as long and as public as it was, flanked by two white clad priests who escorted him into the medbay and to a designated cot, firmly insisting he seat himself while they prepare healing spells and supplies.

It was certainly enough time for him to spit his irritation to them, that he was fine, that the wound cleaved to the meat was merely superficial, a scrape that a true Rigelian would shoulder with the stoic mien of their heritage, which they took in patient stride and wagged a finger in his face before disappearing.

No sooner their departure, another shuffling figure appeared by his side, and Berkut almost did not have the time to acknowledge who or what it was before it began to pile and wrap thick pad of gauze over him, indiscriminate of the wound itself or its proper care, and leaving a thick trail of tears and snot along the untorn shoulders of his tunic.

Finally, the fringe of violent violet poked out, and Berkut hissed out a baffled, "Bernadetta?" before something more unkind and less directed could escape his mouth.

"Child I am fine, this is - AH - !" A press too far split the wound deeper, though he jerked it from her sight, lest she find herself in even deeper a tizzy over it. "Calm yourself, I've borne far greater than this. Look, it's almost stopped bleeding, do you see?"

It hadn't, comparatively, but if he pressed the pad of gauze just so, it might pass convincing.