No pus was a promising sign at least. He rose, a frown as part of 'the look' still etched on his forehead. "How about swelling or throbbing? Any pain?" He walked over to where he had water and soap ready and began to wash his hands. "I'm going to have to inspect it for any dead tissue, so I'm going to have to touch it, if you are alright with it?" This kid was used to being touched in even more intimate places, he knew. But Tristan wanted him to feel like he had a choice, even if a no meant walking around with a health hazard another week. "I'll be careful, but it might hurt a little." He decided not to tell the kid yet that if he did find any dead tissue, he would have to cut it away. He hoped it wouldn't get to that.

Chéri forced themselves not to change expression. They didn’t need to give anyone more material to make them uneasy. “Sometimes it swells, like now. No throbbing, except when it was first cut. But that never came back,” Chéri kept their eyes on the doctor. Whatever he was doing needed approval.

They bent their head to the side and gave a troublesome reply “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, right?” they weren’t giving themselves much of a choice, but in this case it was out of logic. They’d rather not, but it was the most intelligent course of action.

Chéri shrugged. The prospect of a little pain left them indifferent. “Will i lose my leg?” apparently the scenario they had in mind were fairly apocalyptic. That one also left them a little more nervous.

Once again, the challenge slid off of him easily. He was used to defiance and mistrust, and truthfully, it was those patients he usually found most interesting.

When he had finished washing his hands, he returned and knelt down on one knee in front of the young foreigner. "Most likely, no. Not if we treat it." The kid might die if certain germs had gotten in, but he decided not to mention that. He brought his fingers to the skin around the wound, touching gently at first, then pressing a little to feel for any abnormalities. "I'm sorry," he apologized in advance. Then he carefully pulled the skin on either side of the first cut, to see if there was any dead tissue.

Tristan did seem unfazed, which oddly enough made Chéri slightly less distrustful. Maybe the look was not specifically directed at them. Unlikely, but it was possible.

Chéri nodded and this time, there was a hint of relief on their face. Not if they treat it. What did that mean though? Pomade? Could his pomade be better than what they already had? Chéri hoped so. Chéri bit their lips a little, but otherwise didn’t react. They were clearly used to hide pain. “Doing your job,” was their only answer. The resented the look, but otherwise Tristan was behaving perfectly. He had been kind to them and because they were now kind in their books, Chéri kept away from them. They had already taken enough from him and he didn’t deserve to have them around as an added problem.

Tristan's eyes moved up to Pierre's face and he smiled shortly, before turning his eyes back on the wound. Given the kid's earlier behaviour, he had kind of expected to be berated when the examination got painful.

The first cut was mostly clean. It had clearly not healed properly and there were signs of mild infection, but it looked a lot better than he had expected. The colour of the skin around the wound and the fact that the wound hadn't healed, meant that infection and worse was still possible, but it gave him some hope. He did not voice it however, but moved on with the next cut, and the next, and the next.

When he had inspected the entire wound, he rose and walked over to the water and soap to wash his hands again. "You've been lucky. It..." he stopped himself, pausing his hands and looking over to the young courtesan a little embarrassed. That had been insensitive. "I mean... given the circumstances of course." He continued washing his hands. "I'll disinfect and suture the wound. It will still pose a risk until it heals properly, and I want you to pay close attention to your health the coming weeks. If you get a fever or feel ill in another way, I want you to see a doctor immediately."

Tristan seemed surprised. Chéri bent their head to the side, examining him curiously.

They barely breathed as the doctor examined them. They had been told, once, that to doctors we are all but meat when they are doing their job, so they tried to do their part as well as they could. The silence did make them a little bit nervous, but they used the one, tiny speckle of patience they possessed to wait and see.

Lucky sounded good. Lucky was nice… and then Tristan got weird. They blinked “Given the circumstances?” they hadn’t said shit about what had happened. Chéri was not snitch. What the hell did the doctor mean? They sighed and nodded “Fever or sickness, alright. Which doctor?”they asked, practically. Generally they couldn’t go just to any doctor.

Now he had made things awkward. He did not want to draw any attention to the wound and its cause that the kid hadn't drawn to it. He shook his had so as to say 'never mind'. "You are welcome to come to me, if you feel comfortable," he replied to the question, while he dried his hands. Then he opened his bag. "Or Dr. Witaker. Just make sure you tell him about the wound."

He took a syringe from his bag, found a needle, and then a little vial. "I'm going to make sure you don't feel any pain when I suture the wound, alright?" he said, while he filled the syringe. "It might make you feel a little funny," - the kid did seem like lightweight - "but you won't fall asleep or anything. You'll be conscious of everything that's happening."

Chéri bent their heads to the side. The doctor had been seeing them semi naked. He had also heard them speaking before, so it couldn’t be how they spoke or what they said, hopefully. Chéri had been on their best behaviour, so it was confusing. What could it be. Chéri bent their head to the side “Do you think you could try not to judge me?” that was how they could feel comfortable. They asked sincerely, for Tristan was nice and polite, but people with that look on their faces tended to make assumptions and, Chéri knew, assumptions were a rather dangerous thing for them. They nodded. Or Dr. Witaker. The man was probably going to judge them just as well, but they ought to try anyway before making a choice, have all the cards on the table.

Chéri looked at the syringe with distrust. They had seen syringes before, but not exactly for medicine, not official one. Chéri stared at it “Is that so that I don’t feel pain?” they asked. “A little funny,” they repeated “How? For how long? Will I be able to speak and decide what to do?” Chéri was now growing somewhat nervous. It was one thing to endure pain, another to let somebody, anyone, dull their senses “Is it a lot of pain?” maybe they could take it. They were good with pain.

Tristan stopped his preparation to look over at the kid, not with 'that look' this time, but with surprise. He judged a lot of people. He judged the person who had marked Pierre like branded cattle. He judged whoever had gotten him into this life and exploited him in the past. But how could he judge what looked like hardly more than a boy.

He lowered the syringe. "I don't judge you, Pierre. I'm sorry if I've made you feel like I do. I was not aware of it."

Since Chéri was barely an adult, they believed themselves to possess all the knowledge in the world and obviously hated it when somebody didn’t share their opinion. But also, they were used to it. They fixed their hair and blinked at Tristan.

“No? Haven’t you thought of me I needed to be in school or somewhere where I wouldn’t be a “poor unfortunate”? Or that I do not understan my choices, victim of somebody stronger, older?” Chéri was all these things. But they refused to believe it. Somebody who believed all these things could hardly muster the strength to survive. Chéri had heard them before, many times, from people that didn’t actually care about them. And as they always did with words coming from uncaring people, they boxed them into the “lies” section of their brain. They didn’t, however, talk in an unkind tone. In fact, they stayed a little distant, as if Tristan’s opinion was none of their business.