Tim's doing his best to wash his arms in the sink with a cloth, but it's a losing battle between his height and the sheer extent of the cuts - which is a generous term at best. It's more like carvings, intricate designs that draw from fractals, or maybe spider webs, that start tight around his wrists and creep up to his palm, but spread out across his entire forearms, front and back, tapering out unevenly as they reach his elbows. At least they're only bleeding sluggishly, welling immediately once Tim stops washing them clear.
They're also gouged over thick scalpel lines: ones just barely healed so that they won't bleed, that go straight up his arms and join over his collarbone, where they proceed up his neck and circle his face in a thick, precise loop, and down his bare chest into his pants, lancing neatly through a fully healed mess of what would have been ugly gouge marks from blunt, dull claws. When he turns to look at Jacobi there's also a fierce bruise on his temple, but the scuffed skin there is clean and dry.
"Well, at least you're looking good," he comments dryly. At least he doesn't sound like he's suffering from the blood loss.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2022-10-09 11:51 pm (UTC)They're also gouged over thick scalpel lines: ones just barely healed so that they won't bleed, that go straight up his arms and join over his collarbone, where they proceed up his neck and circle his face in a thick, precise loop, and down his bare chest into his pants, lancing neatly through a fully healed mess of what would have been ugly gouge marks from blunt, dull claws. When he turns to look at Jacobi there's also a fierce bruise on his temple, but the scuffed skin there is clean and dry.
"Well, at least you're looking good," he comments dryly. At least he doesn't sound like he's suffering from the blood loss.