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Can Smeagol be helping, Precious?

Or is it food for Gollum, my love?

He pulled the injured wing in closer, wincing as he did so, "My wing is definitely not food."

How can Smeagol be helping nice Eagle Man, then, Precious?

"Falcon." He replied automatically, pain making him a little more short-tempered than he would usually be, "But close enough. You have any experience relocating joints?"

*He winces.* More than we'd like, my love, but only our own. And we not got wingses.

"It's about the same as getting a shoulder back into place." His brow creased, "And how many is 'we'?" Because he was pretty sure he was only hearing one body, but he'd been wrong before.

We is being myself and myself, my Precious. We is . . . we is not entirely sane.

*Two cold, long-fingered hands clutch at the wing, pulling it back into place.*

Is better, my love? Was it helpful, what we learneded in Barad-dur?

Alex makes a pained face. Okay, so, this is... way outside his area of expertise. For one thing... first aid on non-humans isn't usually something he does. Biologist, sure, but neither avian nor mammalian care (or... hybrids there of) are things he has a ton of experience in... aside from feeding and grooming Crow, and... Iggy here is waaaaay bigger than that.

"Oh, I'm not questioning their authenticity- you've got way too much muscle movement going on for the average comic-con cosplayer, for one, but-" turn off the biology geek, Alex. "How badly hurt?"

That was an explanation he could understand, anyway, and at the wrench he bit back a curse, but at least the joint was back into place and he could handle the rest himself. Stretching the wing carefully to a full spread before folding it back again, leaving it half-open, "Yeah, that's good. Thank you."

Honestly he didn't mind the biology geek, it reminded him of Nudge, and reinforced that he'd come to the right place. Or right enough, at any rate.

"If I'm lucky? It's just dislocated." And he was really hoping he was lucky. It didn't feel broken -and he'd broken them before- but he couldn't be entirely sure, either.

Isss being welcome, Precious.

Featherses be pretty, my love.

The Reptile House at the Columbus Zoo is certainly one of the weirder places for one to come for aid. But, hey. When you're not human and you need help, and someone in the know about all all things non-human says a Price is in town. Not that anyone is supposed to know about his real name- but the Cryptid community is helpful like that.

Yeah, don't mind Alex kinda just... staring for a few more seconds here as his brain catches up with the situation. "Huh, sorry, it's just... I don't think I've ever actually- I'm not actually familiar with-" frown. "Well, it's just that you don't exhibit the traits normally associated with the Calderius- I mean, you have hair and... an injury. I've reset a dislocated joint before and I'm pretty sure I can, but how careful do I have to be here?" Calderi wings would be a lot more delicate, seeing as their adults aren't flight-capable, but if this man was, the bone and musculature structure would be able to take a lot more force when he was re-setting it. Chances are a wing capable of holding an adult humanoid- hollow bones or not- aloft was probably stronger than any one of his four limbs.

[ooc: I am canon blind so forgive me if his hair is actually downy feathers on his head, so ignore that part and in that case and just go with the injury part... also sorry for the multiple edits.]

Edited 2015-02-23 05:42 (UTC)

"Iggy. Name's Iggy. And they're probably a mess. Been a long trip." And an apparent long walk off of a short pier at one point, not that he was still wet from his tumble into the water earlier, but he'd definitely taken one.

"Human-avian hybrid." It wasn't the first time he'd given the explanation, but it was still strange to him to be able to do so without worrying about getting a retrieval team called in to collect him.

He tapped his chest with an open hand, "Lungs." And lower on his side, at the bottom of his ribcage, "Air sacs. Semi-hollow bones, they've got that spongy, honeycomb texture that toucan beaks have inside. The wing struts are more like shark bones, which is really more like dense cartilage, flexible, but still breakable. You'll definitely be able to tell if it's broken at the joint instead of dislocated."

Iggy himself would be able to tell if he could pinpoint any individual pain instead of just a mass of pain from the base of his skull all the way down his spine. Not to mention the other smaller hurts that came from getting in a fight.

[ooc: no worries, and it's definitely hair. Fluffy, but hair.]

We's being Smeagol. And we's still thinking they be pretty. Far more than little old usss, certainly.

"I am so glad I'm not a geneticist, because I'm pretty sure that would send me into some kind of fit if I were," even still, there's some part of his brain doing all KINDS of adding and subtracting of evolutionary sequences that could have led to THAT type of species hybridization (or even mimicry) and he's really not sure if he wants to jump up in down in joyful, nerdy glee about meeting a new subspecies or run flailing away from the thought of having to figure out how it all worked.

Maybe a bit of both.

But, first things first: Injury. Having become quite familiar with wing structure thanks to his pet pet church griffon, various pet coatls and more fricken dissections than he'd care to count or think about, he finds the wing joint fairly easy enough and- sure enough, the dislocation is easy enough to feel, along with tendons, muscles...

"Ideally, I'd prefer being able to X-Ray this, but given that I don't actually have access to the zoo's equipment on this short of notice," he says, apologetically. "On three- One-" and he pops it back into place before even getting to two, cruel, but effective.

"Sorry. My sister's trick." Antimony, of course. "The muscle stays more relaxed if you're not actually expecting it. I'm going to try and MacGuyver you a splint. I didn't feel any tearing in the ligaments, but chances are you're going to have some swelling and it'll be best if you keep it as immobile as possible. I'll get you some ice, too. I'd offer you painkillers, but I have no idea what would be safe to give you."

"Wouldn't know." He replied, giving a little shrug, being careful to keep his wing as still as possible, "Haven't seen you."

. . . we is not using Precious now, Precious.

There was a yelp and a bitten-off curse, still used to having to keep himself from swearing even though the younger siblings were A, all grown up and B, not present. Habits were habits and they didn't go away easily.

He managed to take a deep breath, and then another, breathing even at least if still a little unsteady, "It's fine. And ice is a good idea, going to veto the painkillers. They work, usually, but they also have a tendency to knock me out pretty hard." Which was something he was trying to avoid at the moment.

"Last time I needed to splint them I ended up using an ace bandage and the flaps off a couple cardboard boxes. Wasn't the best job ever, but it worked."

"Haven't seen a lot of things." He waved a hand in front of his own face, "Blind."

Alex's younger siblings would have been the source of the swearing if not the cause of it, or at least encouraged it mightily. But then, his family was... unique, and his skills in bandaging sprains and minor injuries were learned before the sixth grade, not in academia. There was a reason he hadn't brought many girls home growing up. Or any.

"I think I can do a bit better than cardboard." After rummaging around, he found some of the aforementioned Ace bandages, and a nice stiff piece of recently replaced DO NOT TAP ON GLASS signage that was just the right size. Thankfully, there was writing only on one side, which he put against the feathers, and began to wrap the wing so it was fixed into its folded, relaxed position. He tried very hard not to think of the way one would tie poultry to be roasted.

He would not be eating Buffalo wings for such a long time after this. Actually, even the thought of the chunks of raw chicken for his Gorgon assistant's hair in the office fridge was a little... strangely guilt-inducing right now.

Oh. Oh! Yesss, yesss, we gets it now.

Can touch us if it likes? We not bite, promise.

He shook his head, "It's okay. I know where you are. Like a bat." He gave a low whistle, a slow, tremulous sound, not quite a warble.

Some of the echoes came back wrong, he knew, but it was enough.

The Flock had learned first aid the same way, patching each other up, both back at The School -when they were allowed- and afterwards, after they'd made their escape.

He knew enough to stay still, at least, and more than just staying still, he knew where to shift to put everything at the right angle for splinting and bracing, making it clear that this wasn't the first time he'd had this happen.

He'd settled considerably by the time it was done, though still a little wary as he often was in unfamiliar territory, "Thanks."

Not know our face, though, doesss it?