savage

Under normal circumstances, Ruìsāng would have sought out Viktor for assistance. However, given the current complexities, he opted for a more professional consultation, turning to a doctor he had previously placed his confidence in. Trust was not easily given by Ruìsāng, but this doctor had proven himself once before. Their history, where Ruìsāng had once saved him and others from a perilous situation, only solidified this trust.

With a determined stride, Ruìsāng entered the clinic, his posture firm and decisive. “I’m here to see Dr. Lamar Sault,” he announced with ease, recalling the name of the doctor.

His visit was driven by a concern—to ensure the unsightly claw marks marring his skin would not become a source of infection. He would kill the bitch if they did.

The doctor arrived promptly, inquiring how he could be of assistance. Ruìsāng responded with a hint of sarcasm, pulling down one side of his mouth, “I’m here for a cup of tea.” Almost immediately, he inwardly winced at his own remark, exhaling deeply as he rolled his neck, trying to dispel the unease that always accompanied visits to the doctor’s office.

“I was scratched by someone with rather sharp claws. Just want to ensure it doesn’t lead to an infection,” he explained with a resigned sigh, gesturing towards his face. For once, he had opted not to conceal his wounds with bandages, leaving the claw marks on his hand and lower arm visibly evident. Thankfully, this meant he wouldn't have to point out the locations of his ‘ouchies’.

Ruìsāng's nose wrinkled in distaste as he followed the man, his expression souring further when the offer of tea was made. “I hate tea,” he muttered under his breath. Although 'hate' might have been a strong term, he found little enjoyment in tea, especially when compared to coffee, unless he was seeking warmth.

As they entered the room and the door closed behind them, Ruìsāng felt his fist clench reflexively. He had to consciously remind himself that he was in control, fighting the instinct to react defensively despite being the visitor in this scenario.

“Yes. I disinfected it, but she— the bitch had literal claws. I don’t know if I did well enough,” he sighed, conveying his uncertainty about the adequacy of his self-administered first aid. “I just— you know. Some alcohol, and stuff,” he added, summarising his basic yet pragmatic approach to treating the wound: clean it, cover it, and try to forget it ever happened.

Ruìsāng settled into the chair with a resigned sigh, his dislike for doctor's offices lingering despite his trust in this particular one— second only to Viktor. He found a momentary distraction in tracing his fingers along the scarred skin of his lower hand, mimicking the motion of scratching as a way to soothe his nerves.

As the doctor began to clean his wounds, Ruìsāng watched the gentle application of water, finding some comfort in the soothing touch against his wounds. However, when the doctor inquired further about the incident, Ruìsāng’s expression darkened with concern. “She clawed at me like a rabid animal. I wouldn’t be surprised if she carries diseases,” he admitted.

The doctor mentioned that injections might be necessary to be certain, prompting a resigned sigh from Ruìsāng. "Well, then, get on with it," he huffed, his displeasure evident, yet he was prepared to endure it. He wasn't exactly afraid of needles—he despised them, and painkillers unnerved him due to fears of addiction. Nonetheless, this was something he could handle.

The man expressed his gratitude for Ruìsāng's previous help, which Ruìsāng quickly dismissed with a wave of his hand. "It’s alright. I barely did anything," he reassured the man. After all, it was his Pokémon that had truly risen to the occasion. Míngzé had taken charge, Hēixié had provided warmth to those in need, and Lìeyàn had confronted the ghost.

Ruìsāng exhaled softly, his expression a mix of annoyance and discomfort as he reluctantly pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie to expose half of his upper arm. He looked away, clearly not enjoying the situation, but remained silent, giving the doctor the access needed to proceed.

The conversation soon shifted to the incident, one that had evidently left an impression on the doctor, despite not doing the same on Ruìsāng. However, the doctor expressed a desire to prevent similar incidents in the future and discussed wanting to be better prepared should such a situation arise again. This prompted Ruìsāng to scrutinise the doctor more closely, his gaze piercing.

“You people really need to be more specific,” Ruìsāng sighed, his tone laced with a blend of exasperation and challenge. “Do you need me to tell you how to punch a ghost in the face, or do you want to be one of the big evil guys training your Pokémon to be able to battle?”

The man said he couldn’t help people if he was punching, and Ruìsāng shrugged. “Dunno,” he answered obstinately. Sometimes, he felt that a good punch did help someone. And Viktor, as both a doctor and a boxer, would probably agree.

Still, it was about training Pokémon, and Ruìsāng folded his arms, his red eyes glaring up at the man with a contemplative look. A part of him wanted to deny that he battled, but he knew there was no hiding it. They’d seen Lìeyàn fight without a single instruction from him. That kind of trust only happened after practice.

“Fine. What are we working with?” he asked, needing the man to show him the Pokémon. “How much have you trained already?”