Faolan has made a slow and steady trek back up to the cabins, holding his side and limping slightly. He needed privacy, and this was the only place he could get it. He'd entered the room and noticed Lucien wasn't there, even better, no need to worry the pup.

He'd taken a seat on his cot, bent over and breathing heavily, and that is how Lucien had found him. He turned his soot-coated and sweat-stained face toward Lucien as he registered his voice, his brow furrowed and his eyes half-shut as his pulse throbbed.

[color=a36209]"Mm...what happened?"[/color] He grunted and winced, then looked down at the hand that was still clutching his side. A pool of dark red blood had begun to seep and drip through his fingers and stain his already filthy shirt. He pulled his hand away, revealing the shiny end of the broken blade that had punctured him. 

He'd been at a hard day's work in the engine room, shoveling coal for four hours with the other boys. He had hardly tired by the time he could take a break. Four of the men had already passed out from inhaling the fumes, and had been taken away on stretchers to the infirmary. He had shoveled twice as fast, and barely showed signs of stopping when his shift lead told him to drink some water. He was dripping in sweat, covered in black soot, and heaving for air, but felt good. It was nice for him to have his body working, it took his mind off of the oppressive space he had been forced to call home.

He was sitting on a crate, alone, splashing his face and drinking from a pale of fresh water when two men entered the space. He recognized them instantly, both by stature and smell. They were two of the men from the deck on the day the ship had taken off, the ones who had attacked Lucien. He stood immediately, and was about to warn them when the first lunged at him. His hand came up to stop the punch the man was throwing, and he paused, for just a moment before breaking his arm.

It was during this pause that a sharp ringing pain shot from his side, up to his shoulder and into his brain. He howled in pain, and twisted around to face the man. He'd been stabbed, which normally wouldn't have been a problem, his skin was tougher than most blades. That was excluding silver ones, which this shooting pain told him was the case.

He caught the second man by the throat, squeezed and tossed him aside like a rag-doll. This would have killed the man, if Faolan's strength hadn't immediately been sapped by the silver's contact with his blood. He whirled around again as the second man turned and fled, clutching his wrist, and called out to his friend. By the time Faolan turned again, both had run back up the stairs and out of sight. He reached for the blade and found nothing, and the clatter of metal brought his eyes to the floor. The handle of the knife, a tiny letter-opener, lay at his feet.

From here, he'd limped to his cabin, clutching his side and fading in and out of focus. The pain was immense, and it was spreading to his legs and his other arm now. Adrenaline pumped his blood through his body, carrying the silver's deadly toxins towards his heart. He needed this blade out, but there was no bit of it that he could reach without cutting into himself, and for that he needed his bag.

It was in this state that Lucien found him, blinking hard and sweating, with black veins stretching up from under his collar and onto his neck.