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((Salem Fox continued from Burning Down The House (Naive Melody)))

It was hard to tell what time it actually was when Salem awoke. The light was low, but that accounted for more than half the day here. Honestly, good move on his part not developing seasonal depression during adolescence; he'd have been fucked if the weather decided to start getting him down on top of everything else.

Right, on the topic of everything else: it sucked. He ached in places he hadn't known could ache. The pad of gauze that he had shoved against the side of his head where Jacob's shot had clipped him was stuck to his hair, skin, and the sheet of the bed he'd collapsed into, and peeling himself slowly up made his eyes sting.

It took a moment to remember where he was when he sat up. It was the upstairs bedroom of one of the various houses, one that as far as he'd been able to tell wasn't playing AirBnB to a corpse or two at this point. The need for a nap had come up on him with a vengeance, and he'd only had the wherewithal to barricade the door with a chair shoved underneath the knob, more than a little like what Billie had done to try to keep him out.

The difference, of course, was that Salem had gone to sleep with a gun on the second pillow. If anyone had turned up and gotten ideas about battering the door down to get at whoever was inside, he'd have just needed to sit up and start spraying fire to remind them why breaking into places was his business. Come for the king and you'd better not miss, all that jazz.

His legs were shaky as he rolled out of bed, and he hissed softly, easing into putting weight in his injured leg again. He could feel his shirt sticking to his back again; the action earlier in the day had re-opened the slice that Madeleine had given him. It felt like he was about due for another round of stripping down and playing doctor with himself.

First thing first: his face. Or the side of his head. Whatever. He couldn't go around thanking God that at least he was pretty if he got some kind of gnarly infection that rotted half his head off.

There was a vanity with a mirror in the corner of the bedroom, and Salem hobbled over with his first-aid kit to drop onto the stool in front of it with a wince. Down to business.

Salem gritted his teeth as he finished peeling the gauze away, having to stop frequently to pick apart clumps of hair that had crusted together with sweat and blood. His fingertips occasionally grazed the raw spot at the top of his ear that he was trying not to think about, but eventually, there was no more dancing around it.

He pushed his hair back with one hand and turned his head, looking sidelong at himself in the mirror to get a good look at what Jacob had done to him.

The top third or so of Salem's left ear had been ripped almost cleanly off. There were some tiny shreds of ragged flesh that proved it hadn't been quite so neat, but if you didn't look closely, it looked like someone could have taken the eraser tool in an art program and just sheared the top of his ear away.

He sat silent for a long while, breathing heavily through his nose. His eyes flicked around in the mirror, making eye contact with himself and then away again.

Salem breathed out slowly through his teeth and then picked up his an alcohol pad from the first-aid kit and got to work.

((Salem Fox continued in Trigger Happy Havoc))