#jabberswildworld; alastor.

[gctchell]

Yep, that sure was some body language entirely new to the Boss in her experience. Niffty looked up at Alastor with a few massive blinks, popping her lips idly, completely snowing over the discussion of privacy and moving straight to the meat of the matter. "Yeah, yeah, sure, okay." She waved off, leaning back in to look at the wound peeking from beneath the closed shirt. That blood smelled fresher and fresher all the time, didn't it? Kinda coagulated downstairs, but Niffty's nose never failed her; this thing was not stitched up properlike.

"Sooo, are you going to let me see it, or are you gonna keep it covered up like that? It's definitely going to get infected at this rate, sir." Niffty chided, tilting around to try and see it better beneath Alastor's protective clasping and guarding arms. Honestly, the fact it was there at all was pretty shocking. It felt so.. weird, to see him hurt. Like seeing the Mona Lisa frown. You know it's possible for the woman to look like it depending on where you stand, but you just don't see that at your regular point of view, no one does. But, here it is blowing her little mind now - one horrible injury deep in her Boss, real as anything.

This was weird.

He’d been caught. The second Niffty popped out of the drawer, coming uncomfortably close to his wound, Alastor was quick to step back, his tail instinctively raised to expose the flash of white beneath. He hadn’t expected anyone would notice his hasty departure, much less follow him. But he knew Niffty was clever, more clever than she let on oftentimes. Perhaps he should have expected this at some point.

“Niffty.” His hands had moved to cover his wound at some point now, pulling his shirt closed again as he eyed her carefully. “I do believe we’ve discussed the importance of respecting privacy. Have we not?” His tone was clipped, he was tense, and every word radiated with agitated static hissing in each syllable. Unfortunately, the pain in his chest forced him to back down from any confrontation of the issue, his face contorted into a crooked grimace.

“No one is to know of this… Is that clear?”

[gctchell]

If there was one thing that never failed to escape the nose of Niffty, it was the scent of blood; old, fresh, long caked, and diseased — she knew it anywhere. The moment old threading came loose and sent down crimson trickles, she clocked the Radio Host almost immediately. Now, blood on Alastor was not unusual — it was something that co-mingled quite often, but this was fresh from the wound fresh, and the maid felt certain she had not seen any sanguine packets stored on his person.

As everyone fluttered to and fro in the foyer following Charlie's lead in some tour of the rebuilt Hotel, Niffty spotted the man bleed into the shadows.

Huhm..

Alastor approached the drawers and pulled on the knobs, and out popped mop of red hair accented with yellow.

”Wow! You really botched up that job, didn't ya, sir?“ Niffty exclaimed, swinging out of the drawer with kicking legs, getting right up close and personal with that injury that he did so well to keep hidden from view before this moment. ”Geez, is it infected? That looks like it could get infected.“

@gctchell | for Niffty!

It hadn’t been easy to get a moment to himself. Charlie had been keeping everyone busier than ever. New activities, working harder toward redemption, trying more than ever to appeal to new residents.. All that sort of thing. It had forced him to take a bit more of an active part in her endeavors, which left him little to no time to himself. That meant he’d had to repeatedly push back the ache in his chest, to ignore the pain and the pull of the meager stitchings he’d managed.

But now, he’d managed to slip away from prying eyes, had crept away in the shadows. But just that had taken enough effort that he was worn out already, half-dragging himself through the hall, one hand braced against the wall and the other against his chest in an attempt to still hold himself together. A little further, just a little more.. and he’d reached his own room, slumping heavily into a chair. He shed his coat, taking just a moment to allow himself a crooked grimace of pain. Finally, his bow tie, then his shirt tugged open to reveal the deep wound across his chest.

A few of the haphazard stitchings had been pulled loose, completely tearing through flesh and leaving the rest barely held together. Blood oozed in crimson rivers from the wound, seeping into his shirt. A hiss of pained radio static as Alastor dragged himself to his feet again, with his ears pressed flat back against his head as he moved to the chest of drawers, fumbling now for the needle and thread he’d been using as of late to repeatedly repair his stitches every time they’d been pulled loose, again and again.