Rochelle is used to seeing the human body do nasty shit. After the first time she saw a spitter, jaw unhinged and dangling, or saw a zombie, so close to a human, explode all over her, intestines flying past, she thought she could take anything. Wading in a sewer, getting vomited on. Rochelle's seen some of the worst the apocalypse can offer, but there was still something very, very wrong about those boils that swelled on his skin. Her first instinct was to cut them, but there were so many, all over his skin, he'd bleed to death before she even got halfway through.
She watches him carefully--He isn't screaming, he isn't trying to hurt himself, but he looks close to it. Those things must itch, they got to, and if she'd ever learned anything camping, it's that you don't scratch bug bites. She quickly reaches for that hand that's clutching his arm so tightly, trying to get him to hold her hand instead, where she can make sure he doesn't hurt himself.
"Shit, I ain't ever seen bugs like this, Luke." She murmurs, shaking her head, and trying to pull him up. But something about her arm catches his eye. She turns to look at it. Most of the scars have worn away at this point, though a few new ones from trees and rats and lord knows what else have taken their place. But nothing stands out.
That worries her. What did he think was the problem?
"My arm's fine, don't worry." She decides to focus him on getting back to camp, putting one of his arms around her shoulder. "Come on, can you walk? I don't know if I can carry you, Luke." She could always drag him, but no one would like that option. Upper body strength wasn't her strong suit, after all, and she didn't want to hurt him by pulling him over a rock or something.
She was now very worried. Zombies she could handle. Squatting in this shithole of an arena, she could handle. Mysterious crazy bugbites that were kind of making people freak out was something entirely new to her. But they had medkits at camp, and maybe Jane or Clem would have a better idea of what was going on, and what to do. She squeezes Luke's hand reassuringly. "Come on, let's get you to camp, we'll fix you up, okay?"
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She watches him carefully--He isn't screaming, he isn't trying to hurt himself, but he looks close to it. Those things must itch, they got to, and if she'd ever learned anything camping, it's that you don't scratch bug bites. She quickly reaches for that hand that's clutching his arm so tightly, trying to get him to hold her hand instead, where she can make sure he doesn't hurt himself.
"Shit, I ain't ever seen bugs like this, Luke." She murmurs, shaking her head, and trying to pull him up. But something about her arm catches his eye. She turns to look at it. Most of the scars have worn away at this point, though a few new ones from trees and rats and lord knows what else have taken their place. But nothing stands out.
That worries her. What did he think was the problem?
"My arm's fine, don't worry." She decides to focus him on getting back to camp, putting one of his arms around her shoulder. "Come on, can you walk? I don't know if I can carry you, Luke." She could always drag him, but no one would like that option. Upper body strength wasn't her strong suit, after all, and she didn't want to hurt him by pulling him over a rock or something.
She was now very worried. Zombies she could handle. Squatting in this shithole of an arena, she could handle. Mysterious crazy bugbites that were kind of making people freak out was something entirely new to her. But they had medkits at camp, and maybe Jane or Clem would have a better idea of what was going on, and what to do. She squeezes Luke's hand reassuringly. "Come on, let's get you to camp, we'll fix you up, okay?"