「 ❊ It doesn't take long for Carlino to wake. Thankfully, these things fade quickly - the high buzz in his head that kept him all but anchored to the soft embroidery of his antique couch has said its parting words within an hour or so, and he slowly, slowly raises his head, blinking peridot into awareness and taking in his surroundings. His living room, check. The book Rainer had been reading to him, tucked to the side on a coffee table, check.
The soft moans of pain from the kitchen are, however, not standard. Not what Carlino is taking into account.
He's up and on his feet in an instant, tearing around the corner into his small kitchen and absolutely gawking at the sight that greets him. Blood everywhere. Wine everywhere. Glass shards scattered about the floor, and in the middle of it, his brother, bent over and face smashed with what he can only guess is a dislocated shoulder with its sickly position.
The expression on Carlino's face is absolutely unintelligible. Mechanical, even, oddly serene as he breaths slowly through his nose, stepping past the glass to rinse a crocheted washcloth under hot water and wringing it out with a quiet, pained sigh.
"Oh, fræ." Murmured, so, so soft, gently brushing over his brother's back and guiding him to straighten up. "Here. Wash yourself off with-- with this. I'm going to put your shoulder back on--on the count of tréi, okay?" It's sobering, really. There would be time later when he was alone to linger on Rainer's words - on guilt and evil, and the anger he's buried in his heart. For now his attention is entirely on Cici, creased with worry and frustration.
