Yeah, we're super dead. Know any good morticians? We're looking to prolong this state right now, rather than reverse it.

How dead can I be if we are having this conversation?

FEN 2017/03/03(Fri)13:54 No. 784573 ID: b68e42
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You don't know french, but it's not hard to guess what she means. You shrug. Don't want to rot, you write. Please help.
Yve sighs. "Does your friend know about this?" She gestures to the hole in your torso.
Friend? ...Ah. Duncan. You shake your head. No.
The physician rubs her nose. "Okay. Well." She sighs again. "I can do some early embalming if you want, clear out the punctured intestines and whatnot. I'd need to borrow some supplies from the Marquis, though..."
[i] Marquis? [i]
"Aye." Yve stands up slowly. "Less than a day's ride from here, so it shouldn't be a problem." she pauses. "He is a man of much curiosity, I am afraid, so you may be forced to let him examine your... condition, if you want any more lasting treatment than salt, though."
You shrug, not really sure what to think. Yve coughs awkwardly.
"Well, that's it on my end for now," she says. "I trust you'll be able to wash yourself? Forgive my leave, but I'm beginning to fear Ramsfoot might have talked that poor man downstairs to death..." The bathroom's door closes, and you're left alone with the soap and washbasins.

Having an undead, caved-in torso means you need to look at new armor options. You might be immune to further infection (or not), but you're not immune to getting eviscerated.

So, like, color me unimpressed. I was hoping to get at least a change of bandages out of the deal.

Suppose we follow the marquis line; Aren't we technically a fugitive? I guess the battle's said and done.

I'm pretty sure dying counts as an honorable discharge from your army. As you're short on leads, seems you'll be meeting this Marquis.

...Are you sure about putting salt in the wound?

She's awful chill administering to a walking corpse.

On the one hand, it's nice not to be treated as a monster. On the other, I dunno, it's a little you're not being taken seriously or something.

Avoid immersing yourself in water, you don't want to lose pieces that can be stitch together later. Use a piece of fabric to wash your skin.
You should test you sensitivity. If her plan is to remove your entrails and fill you with salt you need to know if your internal organs feel pain or are necessary.

1/2 (body horror/gore under spoiler) FEN 2017/07/30(Sun)07:52 No. 819478 ID: b68e42
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You pick up the rag hanging off the edge of the basin and dip it into the tub. You can feel something like an indication of temperature, not the wetness itself but an awareness of the water's existence. You swirl the cloth, watching it absently. Outside, there's a soft thump as Yve slides down onto the floor, head leaning against the bathroom door. You wonder if she's crying.
You wash yourself with the wet rag, going over your face, hands, chest. You stop at the hole in your torso, unsure of what to do with it.
Gently, as if touched by some sort of strange impulse, you press a finger into the flesh.
It doesn't hurt. You don't feel surprise- you don't feel anything, really- just an absence, like you know there should be a sensation accompanying this, but there isn't. The dark, almost purple red of the wound is wet by itself, slippery, soft tubes giving way beneath your hand. There's a sort of absent horror somewhere in the back of your mind, a knowledge that there's something wrong about this situation, but there's a haze separating you from it, pushing the thought away, cloudy and grey. Your fingers close around the end of a broken rib. Solid. There's no pain, barely anything at all. Solid, soft, slippery- malleable then almost liquid, then something like the sticky threads of a spider's web, catching on your skin. You press your hand against the skin of your stomach from the inside, and then the wrongness finally comes through. It's overwhelming and cold, like a blade through skin- painless, precise but horrifying, horrifying horrifying awful awful awfulawfulAWFUL- you jerk back your hand with a splatter of blood.
You wash your hands in the basin, this time with soap, and you try not to look at the pink whorls that appear on the surface of the water.

2/2 FEN 2017/07/30(Sun)07:53 No. 819479 ID: b68e42
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There's a knock at the door and Yve comes in, carrying a simple animal-skin bag and a small roll of pale linen. "I realised you could probably use some help with the bandages," she says softly, setting down her things. There's a hint of red around her eyes, but her voice is steady. Maybe she has been crying, maybe not. You can't really tell.
"And I've got a stick," she continues. "I thought maybe we could put it between the parts of your spine. Could we? I mean, would that work?"
You shrug. You really have no idea.
"Fair enough," Yve looks away. Then she takes a deep breath and holds it for a very long time. "I'm not sure how to do this," she finally says when she exhales. "I really don't know. You shouldn't be moving anyway. Hold this." She hands you the bandage roll and sets about inspecting the mangled bone sticking out of your chest. She's crouched down in front of you, sitting close enough that you can see her bite her lip as she tries to keep her face steady. Her face is pale, and small. You close your eyes.

If you can, try to support yourself on on a table or something. It would be helpful if the distance between the vertebrae isn't compressed by your weight.

>>819479
She's a professional, she had to keep her shit together while she was in front of you.

A stick is better than nothing. Wire it in, and think about longer-term solutions like metal rods and screws.

You probably shouldn't be awake for this, but since you are would you mind holding your ribcage open for her?