#cianoconnell

Thomas runs a hand through his hair, feeling the need to kick something in the face just to take the edge off. Instead what he sees and hears is Cian waking up, still a bit drowsy, but the pain is obvious on his face. Thomas had been prepared for this moment, though he had hoped that help would come before he woke. He walks over to the man briskly, raising his fist, and promptly smashes it into his face. It'll probably leave a bruise, as if he doesn't have enough things to deal with right now, but Thomas only has his strength at his disposal, not any medication.

Thomas hasn't left Cian's side since Tessa left to find someone to help the burns on his back. He's taken to sitting in a chair in the corner, taping his foot impatiently and cracking his knuckles every half an hour, trying to disperse the stress that's accumulating all over his body. Thomas had walked over to the man while he was still unconscious, carefully lifting away the remaining tatters of the man's shirt to see the extent of the damage. He had gulped when he'd seen the way his skin was a mixture of bubbles and raw skin, singed black edges and shiny pink flesh. He had closed his eyes after that, trying very hard not to throw up. 

Still, he had to stay. He had to make sure someone could heal him, make sure he wouldn't feel the pain long enough to go crazy. There are no such thing as skin grafts anymore, and even if he could leave his side, he wouldn't go asking Omar for any pain medication. All he could do was wait for Tessa to return with help. Assuming the rest of the group wasn't on their death beds, he would say that Cian is the one with the most urgent need for care. He doesn't want to imagine what kind of bacteria are settling into the vulnerable skin of his back, and while it looked pretty fucking bad right now, his mind wouldn't be able to process what the expanse of his back might look like if it was infected. 

It was about damn time for him to open his Christmas present for himself. He’d had the medium-sized briefcase stowed away under the back seat of his car for far too long, almost six months now. He hadn’t even torn off the lock on it yet. It was with all the excitement of a child on their birthday that Thomas walked out to his car after he had eaten, maintaining a calm facade even as his inner five-year-old jumped up and down enthusiastically.

With a press of his thumb into the keychain, the car unlocked. His anxiousness escalated as he maneuvered the silver container out from under the seat to place atop the folded seat. He rubbed his hands together before breaking apart the lock with glowing red fingers. He was much more delicate with the clasps, flipping them carefully before he opened the lid. What he found inside was not what he had been expecting. Three sleek black throwing knives were inside, along with four military daggers and a small pistol. Upon further inspection, he discovered that the briefcase had two trays and the bottom one revealed a collection of hunting knives he had no idea how to use. Fishing was his manly sport, not hunting. He decided to see if Tessa knew what they were and so he closed the case and hauled it out of his car.