The word 'morphine' caught his attention even through his daze and he looked up sharply, wincing as he jerked his head. "Gift from God, that's what, lemme have some, would you?" he said, extending his hand.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
James looked over to Kratzer hesitantly, but he approached the formerly injured man and handed the bottle over. "Is it... a drug?" he asked, assuming the only reason Kratzer would want it so bad was because it helped with pain.
"Ja," he says, taking it and dumping a few pills into his hand before quickly swallowing them.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
James had no frame of reference to know if Kratzer was taking a healthy or unhealthy amount, but considering the man had been shot in the head, he wasn't going to call him out on it. He didn't know how regenerative abilities worked, and he wasn't the one in pain, so he kept his mouth shut, and looked back at Siren.
Siren nodded. "There's all sortsa stuff in there." she said.
She would have preferred meat, but she didn't find any, so she just sat at the table, and ate marmalade straight from the jar with her webbed, clammy hands.
Bad souls have born better sons, better souls born worse ones -St Vincent
James stared blankly at Siren, only moderately repulsed as she at what looked like some kind of fruit preserves from a jar.
"Ooooohkay," he mumbled to himself, leaning on the kitchen counter and holding a hand to his head, not really knowing what to do with himself stuck with two very different people.
Kratzer spat out a large clump of blood and proceeded to push himself to his feet and stumble inside. "Is zere...a...first aid kit of...some kind?" he inquired before falling back against the wall. He was still clutching his side.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
James curiously looked back over to Siren. Though he wasn't going to go searching where she was, he opened a drawer by the sink, and started poking around.
He made his way over to a chair and sat down unsteadily. "Danke, Herr James," he added, though his voice was a little strained.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
After opening several of the cabinets and drawers, James's eyes finally landed on something that would've matched Kratzer's description. At the very least, it said "First Aid Kit" on the front, though he had hardly ever seen a box much like it. Upon making the discovery, he walked over to the table and set it beside Kratzer silently.
He dipped his head by way of thanking James, unzipping it with one hand and finding bandages and a sterile needle and thread alongside some disinfectant. He proceeded to pull off his shirt and start to try to clean off the injury in his side.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
Siren scooted over to the table, still keeping a respectful distance from Kratzer. She set the marmalade jar on the table, and wiped her dirty hands on the tablecloth.
"Do you need any help?" she asked Kratzer.
Contrary to nobody's belief, Siren did not have a medical degree.
Bad souls have born better sons, better souls born worse ones -St Vincent
"Nein, danke," he grunted, grabbing the needle and stitching it up with smooth, practiced movements.
"All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost."
James observed Kratzer from afar, watching as the man started to stitch himself up. Eventually, his stare lost focus, and he ended up staring past Kratzer as he fell into thought.
He was thankful. That whatever powers-that-be had brought him to this place. But he couldn't help but feel like it was the still before a storm. He couldn't help but wonder if this was a dream, still, or if there really was a life after death and this was somehow it. There were so many things that were foreign to him and his world, things that didn't make sense, and that he couldn't reason away. It was better than being dead, but he didn't know where he was, and the uncertainty was almost just as frightening.
Would he be able to get back? Would he wake up again with a gun to his head, a bullet away from leaving the world of the living?
His gaze fell down to his feet, and he could feel the skin around his eye swelling up again, so much so that it was impairing his sight. He could only open his eye a crack. That, and he was tasting blood again in his mouth. He licked his teeth and swallowed, making a mild face of disgust.
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