Carina had moved on from messing with the soul-stealing Islander to Lupin. Their sniper, and her source of awkwardness. This she internalized, eyes sharpening at the bandages before giving him a stern look. "Y'shoulda came t'me soonah'y know?" having come up to him, the medic prodded one of his cheeks, noting the strong jaw and cheekbones. It caused her heart to flutter just a little. But soon Carina had begun to carefully remove the bandages. All the while she cursed softly to herself. Murmuring of possibilities at what lay under them.
With a look of disgust, they were tossed aside. Looking at her handiwork, she leaned forward, her little nose taking a sniff at them. Which may have seemed odd to most, if not all of those without medical training. It was an age-old test. The smell of unwashed body, salt, but only the faint tell-tale sign of what she was watching for hit her nose. Her resulting sigh was loud, an 'Ughhhhh' following while laying a warm finger on his bare back. She let it trace down the skin, continuing her inspecting. The sites were red and inflamed.
But the stitching held well enough. The toughed polymer case cracked open, being sure the other prisoners did not see just how much was left she took a saline bulb out. Carina, with tenderness and care, cleaned them, then with a warning, "Prepah' for pain," he'd feel an intense stinging sensation as the antiseptic from the bottle she now held was spritzed on them. Carina left his back open to the air for a while before continuing. Explaining that it'd help to air them out every now and then.
Afterward, the job finished, professionally done, he was bandaged again albeit more lightly than before due to dwindling supplies. Then quick as a viper, or a Locust, she had nailed him with an injector to the arm. It was only a half-dose of anti-biotics. It'd have to do. With an anti-inflammatory pill thrown in and his favorite flavor of their small supply of lollipops that for some strange fucking reason was included in all of the second generation medical kits.
Before closing the kit, one of the prisoners had made a grab for the sweet treats only to meet her steel-like grip on their wrist. As they tried to yank away, cursing at her as pressure was slowly applied to the point of actual pain. A flat, almost dead look in her eyes sent a very obvious message that scared the man to silence once she let him slink off to lick his wounds in humiliation. A five-foot, seven-inch tall girl not even twenty had just intimidated a hardened criminal with a stare and deadly grip.
"Dunno about those parasites... fuckahs made'a hemosynthetic shit. Might be poisonous or somethin'. Same for the squids. 'cept them that look like crabs... fuckin' hell, now I want some lobstah from Fortuna. Some thyme, salt'n pepper, garlic, paprika rosemary'n parsley. 'an butter. Always tha'butter."
She visibly gulped at the thought. And hinting at the fact she may know how to cook. "Grill'em, use'dat garlic butter sauce on'em... roasted pot-- FUCK." the medic threw her hands up in frustration. "Now I'm fuckin' hungry... If I want some food, it ain't gonna be no Akemi's. I want tha' good shit. Or... well, Akemi's got some fuckin' fantastic onion rings with that spicy dippin' sauce."
Now beside Lupin who had been fiddling with his rifle, she had sat close to him. Knees almost touching. Her gaze was like a hawk as she eyed everyone after her tirade on gourmet cooking.
<' Well, my friend pretty much told me I'm a living communications system.'> she had kept the capabilities she had been slowly discovering and learning to control mostly to herself. Molotra had the right of it.
<'Water is going to be an issue, food, ammunition, and my supplies are in a tight spot as far as medicine is concerned. I had to give Lupin only half a dose of anti-biotics. Those stitches were beginning to get infected. This weather isn't helping and we need him healthy. He's part of our group. Rest of'em...'> her wording began to change, becoming more matter of fact, pragmatic, <'Are expendable. 'member the start of our little adventure there in the jungle, Tobias?'> dropping the hint. She had come to the conclusion accidents needed to start happening sooner or later as they went.
And told them that. The prisoners were necessary for now. But ultimately expendable and a way of shoring up their dwindling supplies. Carina, her profession giving her insight into the biology of those around her summed things up for Molotra, asking the squeaky tonk of doom just how much water rationing would be necessary. The Free Folk, for all their insanity, were masters of making the most out of what they could find. And water was more precious than gold.
But she also passed on an idea, however little. Dig a hole, line it, insulate it and place fabric or some form of tarp over the hole. Hopefully capturing just a little condensation from the cold night air. It wouldn't be much, perhaps almost ineffectual. But every drop counted. Her ingenuity was nowhere near that of the Folk, but options were limited.