Private Finished ... But he won't bind your hands.

((Sunday, June 3rd, 1-2am))

As he stumbled out of the Forbidden Forest into the slightly safer section of the woods, Ishvi was slowly coming to the realization that he probably wouldn't make it back alone. The wounds themselves weren't anywhere near fatal, even his missing tongue not doing much more than filling his mouth with blood and pain, but he was bleeding a lot, too exhausted to fly.

The idea of just lying down and letting some wild animals devour him was morbidly tempting. He could feel himself falling, drowning. Even spitting out the blood to avoid suffocating took so much effort. Ishvi leaned against a tree for a breath, sliding down with tears in his eyes. He wasn't even comforted by the fact he was not in nightmare form right now. Somehow the half-angel was clinging to his daggers, though he'd stopped being able to summon them during the duel, and even now they were burning his hands - a reminder of what this fight had cost.

But he couldn't die like this - he'd probably come back if he did. So he pulled out his phone. And stared at it for a very long time. The closest person he had to a friend was Ebby, but he didn't want to worry her, or drive her away like he'd done with Smokey. That left the other police. He wasn't close to any of them, but he did have some numbers. It was almost at random that he chose Garrick. Owl cop, nighttime, in the woods - seemed like a good fit.

Texting him a quick message that just said help with a location stamp, Ishvi lay against the tree and tried not to pass out. When Garrick arrived, he'd find him there daggers in hand, barely awake and spitting up blood, but with his clothes hiding most of his injuries.

@WuffyWuff

Ishvi wasn't unconscious, but it was a close thing. Mentally and physically exhausted, he hadn't even heard Garrick approach, though he could see him just fine. Agitated, he tried to brush the other man off, careful not to stab him with the dagger still burning in his hand. He attempted to say he was fine, but all that came out were gurgles, and he turned his face away to spit out more blood.

Fumbling for his phone again, Ishvi blinked up at the owl cop. His mind was foggy - all blood loss, pain, and something bleak gnawing at him. He was disappointed he hadn't died, too tired to hide the tears in his eyes, for once uncaring that someone was seeing him weak. Though he did hope Garrick thought it was just his injuries making him cry.

Somehow he managed to type something out on his phone, holding it up for Garrick to read. Hopefully the owl cop could actually see in the dark. - First aid need go station - Then he leaned back again, eyes half closing. His breathing was easy, aside from the occasional burble of blood from his inured tongue, but he was shivering slightly, and seemed to have forgotten that he would need to stand up to go anywhere.

Garrick's energetic calmness was somewhat offputting to Ishvi, so at odds with his own dark mood, but it was better than panic. His mind was foggy, body aching all over. He'd never been this beaten up before, though he'd had intense training, and he had the feeling it would have been worse if Maarab hadn't been injured - sling bullets could break bones.

Still unused to being unable to talk, Ishvi tried to say yes to Garrick's question, wincing at the unintelligible sound, then coughing out more blood when he nodded. It was mostly exhaustion that was keeping him down, he should be able to walk, but he didn't think he'd be able to do it without support. Especially when the part of him that wasn't numb and drowning just wanted to lie down and die.

He'd already slipped one dagger into his pocket. It wasn't a proper sheath, but it should do for now, since he couldn't desummon them anymore. He put his phone in his other pocket, unwilling to let go of the dagger he was still holding, even as it burned into his palm so bad it would probably leave a scar. It meant he had no way to talk - he wouldn't have been able to focus on typing anyway.

Ishvi accepted the other man's hand, leaning against him for support, noticeably shivering now, but not so weak he would need to be carried. He was a little taller, which worked well for leaning, and not overly bulky. Blood was soaking through his clothes now - he didn't know if Garrick could see it, but the owl cop would probably feel the dampness, and it would be obvious by the time they got to the station.

Arriving at the station, Ishvi could feel the eyes on them, the questions waiting to be asked. Especially since he was currently on leave, and there was no way for anyone to know he'd just been in a duel he'd initiated, rather than assaulted in some way. He probably would have been better off going to the hospital, but he was going to have to face these people eventually. Best to get it over with.

Still, he didn't sit down right away, somehow managing to nudge Garrick towards an empty interview room before letting himself collapse onto a chair. Finally, he let go of his dagger, placing it on the table right in front of him, and just staring at his burnt palms until the other man returned with the first aid kit.

Everything was hitting him at once. Ishvi was unable to hold back tears, though they were silent and he did his best to hide them. Fairly difficult with Garrick right there. He didn't take out his phone, unready for conversation, but he took off his shirt, letting the guy bandage him up without resistance.

There were plenty of round bruises and knife wounds, but nearly all of them were superficial - intended to bleed, to hurt rather than be fatal. The majority were on his chest and arms, with one thin line at his throat, his missing tongue being the worst injury. The palms of Ishvi's hands were also severely burnt where he'd been holding his daggers. Those he refused to let Garrick look at, gurgling something unintelligible and pulling his hands away.

When Garrick gave him the items to treat his hands, Ishvi kept them pulled back, hiding them like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar. He shook his head a little more wildly than needed, struggling to speak, and only gagging on the blood from his tongue. There was nothing much to be done about that except letting it heal and not straining it like Ishvi kept doing. He'd hoped the first aid would take longer. Now that he was here at the station, everything was overwhelming. His tongue a reminder that he wasn't dead, that at least part of him had wanted to be. His hands a reminder he was falling.

Finally, he pulled out his phone. But he hesitated to actually type anything. Garrick deserved an explanation Ishvi wasn't quite ready to give, or even able to. He lowered his head, tears still staining his face, typing slowly. - Resigning. Lost duel. He didn't kill me. - The message quite likely brought up more questions than it answered. All the half-angel really wanted to do was ask why he hadn't died. That was a question that only Maarab could answer though, and Ishvi wasn't sure what the consequences of meeting the half-demon again would be.

He was still so tired, numb, eyes half closing again as he sat there. If he didn't do this now, he felt he might never go through with it. And he wanted to do something right in this whole disaster. They would fire him anyway once they found out. He was so unstable he probably wasn't just a danger to himself as a police officer. - I'm not ready. - Wiping at his face, Ishvi put his shirt back on, doing anything he could to delay. - Will explain after. If you help me home. -