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In which Ghoulmask gets treated for a sprained ankle all the while interrogating and teasing Cinnamonpaw ‘cuz it’s fun.
Look, just because he was fabulous didn’t mean he didn’t manage to find himself in sticky situations.
Sometimes they were just more sticky than he’d like to admit.
And by sticky he literally meant sticky as in wood because who would’ve thought there’d be a log underneath that mound of snow? He’d just plowed right into it because… well. Fresh powder. Could he really be blamed?
So he’d found himself in the medicine den, getting treated for a sprained paw because of course.
Most of the damage had been done to his face – y’know, the part of his body that he deemed his money maker, the one thing to get he and his clan out of situations – but that’d heal eventually. He’d have scars, sure, like… all over his face. But that was alright, it just added to his appeal. After all, his name was Ghoulmask, it was fitting.
But his paw was another matter because he refused to gimp around like a fool because he’d decided to run headfirst into a snowbank that was a log. Honestly, how was this his life.
Thankfully, Mistyveil, with her sarcastic retorts and desire to irritate him in literally everything, hadn’t been around. Instead, the new guy – Cinnabun or whatever – was there, which was admittedly strange because why but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and decided to just roll with it because what could go wrong.
He should’ve asked himself what could go right. It was beyond fun to tease the apprentice on literally everything.
Besides, if he was going to be a medicine cat he should know these things, right?
We still have loads of catmint, obviously, but maybe I should gather a bit more Rosemary,
Cinnamonpaw gazed proudly at the herbs he had just neatly organized. Mistyviel was out for a bit, and he decided he may as well, since he had nothing better to do and liked to keep organized.
It would also help my memory.
The sound of a new voice startled him, a voice belonging to someone who he didn't hear come in. Ghoulmask. He lay his fur flat and--awkwardly--stared at the tom for a few seconds. "The--dead bodies?" He repeated. "Oh! We--uh--we bury them?" He gave a nervous chuckle. Straightening himself up to look presentable, he asked, "So, what happened? How can I help you?" Was he nervous? Of course. He had never treated a real injury before, it had all been just the simple stuff. The medicine stuff. They had went over, of course, and he had expected something like this to happen. He was their medic, he had to be confident in his job.
