Maybe… [She doesn’t know why scars would be their own change, but it’s just as likely as anything else given the nature of this place. The only benefit she can see at the moment is that the mystery of it is at least some form of distraction for Joan.
She feels a twinge of bashfulness at the prospect of Joan touching the scars, but she pushes it away. Joan’s a trained medic after all.]
[Joan presses gentle fingers to the marks left on Athena's lips, frowning in concentration. Wounds like this should still be bleeding, or at least a little raw and instead...]
These look old. Like they've been here for awhile. But we both know that's not possible.
[She can feel Joan’s fingers brush against her lips, but the sensation over the scars is dulled. They feel like old scars too, not a wound she had received only seconds earlier.
She pulls away from Joan’s touch.] This doesn’t make any sense… Have you seen anyone with scars like these before? In Ryslig or in… [She mentally grasps for the name.] New York?
[She's hesitant to say anything at first. For some reason, something's telling her this is bad news.]
...They look like suture marks. But I've never seen them over someone's mouth. Sometimes poor stitching can leave marks like this, but any respectable doctor wouldn't--
[Athena shakes her head.] It has to be some kind of spell. It almost feels like-- [She stops herself, brow furrowing, and sighs in frustration.] Never mind.
Whatever it is, I’m not hurt. We should be talking about you. [It may be a dodge, but Athena is also legitimately concerned about Joan. She had come to her with a problem and that problem takes precedence over whatever quasi-magical bullshit Ryslig just threw her way.]
[If Joan was expecting a harsh or horrified reaction from Athena, she’s not going to get one. That’s the way killing someone should feel, right?] There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a kill. It’s who you kill that matters.
You may not even have to kill at all if the soup kitchen has… food to spare. And if not… [She sighs, uncomfortable.] I could control you into killing someone who deserves it. I’ve… done it before to someone else.
I don’t know. [It may not be a reassuring answer, but it’s an honest one.] I didn’t know there were urges besides the hunger. [Then again, she doesn’t have to feed physically; she just has to drag some poor bastard into a ring.]
[Athena doesn’t know what it’s like to have to feed on human flesh. But she knows what Joan is talking about: bloodlust is a feeling that’s all too familiar to the gladiator.]
If this was Pandora, I’d tell you to take it out on some bandit camp or find a target on the bounty boards. [She shakes her head.] Things are… different here. [“Civilised” is probably the word for it.]
If feeding doesn’t stop the urges, you could always accompany me on one of my patrols. It’s harder to find people who deserve it out here, but it’s not impossible.
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[Joan isn't so sure that someone's behind this latest bit of mischief. Simply being in Ryslig seems to invite trouble.
She moves to touch the scars before pausing.]
May I?
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She feels a twinge of bashfulness at the prospect of Joan touching the scars, but she pushes it away. Joan’s a trained medic after all.]
Go ahead.
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These look old. Like they've been here for awhile. But we both know that's not possible.
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She pulls away from Joan’s touch.] This doesn’t make any sense… Have you seen anyone with scars like these before? In Ryslig or in… [She mentally grasps for the name.] New York?
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...They look like suture marks. But I've never seen them over someone's mouth. Sometimes poor stitching can leave marks like this, but any respectable doctor wouldn't--
[Wouldn't do something so barbaric.]
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Whatever it is, I’m not hurt. We should be talking about you. [It may be a dodge, but Athena is also legitimately concerned about Joan. She had come to her with a problem and that problem takes precedence over whatever quasi-magical bullshit Ryslig just threw her way.]
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I know I let you down this time. But I can still keep you from... losing control again. That’s more important.
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I can't-- it felt good. In the moment. Like I'd fulfilled some kind of purpose.
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You may not even have to kill at all if the soup kitchen has… food to spare. And if not… [She sighs, uncomfortable.] I could control you into killing someone who deserves it. I’ve… done it before to someone else.
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Will that help with the... urges? [The desire to feel flesh rend beneath her claws, the sharp taste of warm blood in her mouth...]
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What kind of urges are they?
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If this was Pandora, I’d tell you to take it out on some bandit camp or find a target on the bounty boards. [She shakes her head.] Things are… different here. [“Civilised” is probably the word for it.]
If feeding doesn’t stop the urges, you could always accompany me on one of my patrols. It’s harder to find people who deserve it out here, but it’s not impossible.
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I'm not sure if I'm ready for that. But I appreciate the offer.