faderift | (OPEN)

Entry tags:

(OPEN)

WHO: Cosima Niehaus - and you?
WHAT: Catch-all log for August
WHEN: Handwavey depending on when your character will be around Skyhold
WHERE: ...Skyhold
NOTES: While Cosima is going to be ill in one of the starters, it is fair to assume she'll be back on her feet within a week or two, so feel free to assume she looks fine if you run into her outside the healer's tent. (Alternately, if you'd like her looking a little peaky as a hook, that works too!) If you want something other than the hooks below, or want to chat first, DM me or grab me on plurk.

I. Healer's Tents

Cosima has been instructed to rest, and at first, the instruction is unnecessary; she's too weak to do much else. But spirit healing seems to have done the trick, at least temporarily, and as her strength starts to come back, it brings her curiosity with it. Thus, whenever no one is there to order her back to her cot, she wanders - mostly respectfully keeping her distance, but occasionally asking a question if she thinks she can get away with it. Some of the healing is related to medicine as she understands it. Some of it she has no frame of reference for at all. But concerns like "not wearing herself out" are secondary to learning more about what's going on as they patch people back together. She's not as well as she'd like to think, but she's well enough to get restless.

II. Kitchens

It is well known that convalescence requires baked goods. Cosima is still hesitant about overstepping, since she technically hasn't joined the Inquisition; she's a refugee, and she's well aware of how long she wouldn't last if someone decided to kick her out. So she is very scrupulous about asking first before she takes anything and about trying not to be unreasonable in how frequently she asks.

It's not her fault that those little buns with the jam that tastes like peach in the center are so addictive.

III. Various Around Skyhold - Roommate Search

Once she's determined that she's eligible for a barracks room, Cosima has decided to get one. What she hasn't entirely resigned herself to facing is a randomly assigned roommate. She's too old for that nonsense. On the other hand, she doesn't exactly have a huge roster of acquaintances to ask. So she's compromising by asking around. If someone else is looking for a roommate, at least they can have a beer together and make sure they don't hate each other before committing to cohabitation.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Cosima doesn't generally oversleep. Didn't. But ignoring the fact she's unwell with no way to treat it somehow did not result in making her autoimmune condition go away.

Until now, it had mainly been the blood in her coughs, and then only occasionally. Easy enough to hide, with some planning and some attention to laundering handkerchiefs discreetly. But this particular morning, she's finding it hard to get out of bed at all. She feels sore all over, and while she obviously can't see her own face, her color is on the gray side.

Maybe, she thinks, she'll sleep it off and feel better. Maybe she'll ride out the episode and no one will notice her absence. Maybe she'll wake up at home.

(Or maybe she'll cure pancreatic cancer using elfroot, honey and wishing really hard, a small part of her mind offers sarcastically.)

She pulls the covers over her head and waits for something to change, too weak and sore to do anything else.

Korrin's been a frequent visitor to the healing tents ever since her sudden return from Orlais late last month, stopping in to check on one patient in particular but not so antisocial as to ignore anyone else she passes. Granted, her deepening concern has her a bit distracted these days, but she never intends to be rude about it. The tall (at least a head taller than most human men), horned woman is just returning to the tents with a plate of fresh hearth cakes, hoping that will tempt a certain person into having an appetite, when she spots the human woman who's not one of the healing staff. A patient, then.

"Let me guess, you're not supposed to be on your feet yet." Her lips twitch a little, those her gaze is understanding. If there's anything she hates, it's being stuck idle in a cot and told to remain that way until someone deems otherwise.

Edited 2016-08-06 17:42 (UTC)

Herian, for her part, isn't much inclined to call in at the rooms of those she does not know well. It strikes her as a presumption, as a means to corner people in one of the few places they have for their own, especially in a place such as this, and Herian understands well the value of the privacy, and of sanctuary. When Cosima is not where they had agreed to meet for a foray into the wilderness (which she suspects on her part was a means to collect flowers rather than work, and thus not truly justified) she is not initially concerned. People are late, and she has learned that those with a love of knowledge are especially inclined to be so. They could drown in words quite happily.

But Cosima was not at the healing tents, nor the library, nor any other logical place, and then Herian began to think, and it occurred to her that a Rifter might have few inclined to look to their aid. More realistically it occurred to her that Cosima might just be in her room, that alone was not reason enough to disturb her there.

Herian approaches with a long, efficient stride and her sword at her side, standing before the door a moment wondering if this is wise, and finally commits to knowing. "Lady Cosima?" The title has stuck, somehow, despite the lack of nobility. "Please forgive me the intrusion. I sought only to deliver something to your own hands."

"Uh." She offers a sheepish shrug. "...guilty as charged. Sorry."

...sorry, but making no particular move to go back to her cot, for the record.

"Are you visiting someone on staff or a patient? If you don't mind saying." She knows that the stranger probably wants to get to whoever those cakes are for, but Cosima is conversation-starved and can't pass up the chance for at least a small exchange.

He doesn't notice her right away, busy frowning at some notes as he chops some herbs, but when he does his frown increases. It's the woman he'd ambushed with Sam during the snowfight, and a patient. A patient who should be resting.

"I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to be on your feet yet." Despite the frown, his voice is friendly enough. He's not angry, simply thinking. "Is there something you needed, or something keeping you awake?"

A groan is not a terribly polite reply, even in Cosima's world. She moves to emerge from the covers, fumbling as she reaches for her glasses with shaking hands. "Sorry, I - sorry. Come in?" Her voice is a bit raw; she's been coughing more than usual and hasn't had any water in a while. (Nor is she quite focused enough to hide the bloody handkerchief at her bedside, the other evidence of that cough.)

Cosima looks properly chastened. "No, I'm okay. What are you chopping?" She's still getting the hang of Thedas herbalism, and while she's here, she might as well expand her studies?

(And she really doesn't want to continue staring up at the roof of the tent. Do tents have roofs? Surely there's a different name for that.)

And thus she enters, a book in hand, expression careful and concerned. She is no healer herself, but she is the daughter of one, and has never shied from sickness. If nothing else, her mother had taught her, to pull away from those in need was cruelty. Healing hands should be loving ones, as well. It is not a conscious thought, even, more something worked into the very bones of her.

Herian's gaze is quick and assessing. The pallor of Cosima's skin, its ashen tone, the stark darkness of blood drying into white cloth. She sets down the book, and crosses to Cosima's side, kneeling down next to her. You are unwell hardly seems necessary to say.

"How long have you been in such a state?" she asks, gently catching one of Cosima's wrists to feel the strength of her pulse. Normally she would ask permission, but this hardly seems like such a time, her other hand dropping to a water flask at her side.

For a moment Andres considers trying to chase her back to her cot. She needs rest. But there's a point when one can't really rest any more, and he relents.

"Pull up a chair, at least, please." That will be less strenuous than standing. In the meantime, he nods his chin toward a couple of the whole leaves sitting by the cutting board. "This is Dragonthorn."

He pauses for a moment before realizing that that... probably means nothing to her. "It tends to stabilize volatile compounds, but right now I'm trying to see if I can get it to a point where it counters something volatile. Specifically, herbal-enhanced fire. There's grenades that..." Anders trails off, looking a little amused. "I've no idea if you're asking to be friendly or if you want me to bore you with details, and I've a habit of talking too much."

She concedes the point, grabbing a chair as instructed. "Oh my god, please, hit me with details. Details were my life, back home. Plus I've never heard of Dragonthorn, so literally everything you say will be interesting."

That's not only the cabin fever talking, either; she really does seem genuine. In fact:

"Do you have to crush it, for the stabilizing effect? Or is it some sort of oil on the leaf, and you're just trying to increase surface area?"

The apology is met with a shrug. "Oh, I'm not lecturing. I've no right to, not when I was being a huge pain in the ass about resting up a few months ago here. They won't hear about you from me."

She smiles, though that smile fades a little as she answers the question. "I'm visiting an old friend who's a patient. Asher, big hairy Avvar guy with his old-as-balls mabari. He's...been here for a while." If Cosima's seen him, she'll know about his infected wounds slowly killing him...and if she hasn't, then maybe that's for the best. It probably doesn't help someone's recovery to see another steadily declining.

Edited 2016-08-07 00:49 (UTC)

"Um, that's... Complicated question," she says, a little fuzzily. She doesn't seem to be feverish, at least, but her languor is hard to mistake for garden-variety fatigue even for an untrained eye. Her pulse is steady in rhythm, but probably weaker than Herian would like.

"I started presenting symptoms a couple weeks before I came to Thedas, but the condition is hereditary, so it's been latent even before whatever triggered the expression of the trait. Since gestation, probably, though it's not clear why we're getting sick at different times if it's purely something gone wrong with the gene line."

It's probably not a great sign, in itself, that she didn't parse Herian's question as "how long have you been in bed" rather than "what is your medical history?"

She smiles. "Thanks, I appreciate that." The directness is refreshing, and it's nice to know she's not the only bad patient they've seen. The smile is brief, though, as the other matter is clearly a bit more serious.

"I've seen him from a distance, I think, though I'm too new to know from Avvar." But big guy, been in the tents awhile, healers with very serious expressions... she can put it together. "I didn't want to bother the other patients too much. Lots of people don't want company when they're sick or hurt."

There are memories woven into this. Her mother in people's home, tending their sick and frail. Others brought to the home of the healer, when it was possible. Herian was only young, then, six or seven at the oldest. She doesn't frown at the come and go of Cosima's pulse, nor at the history. That such a thing is necessary, comes to mind? Aye, that is a concerning thing.

"You have been sick all this time and did not present yourself to a healer?"

Her severity is a sheathed blade, for now, but that does not change that it is still a sharp sort of thing. Carefully, she raises the water flask. "With your permission I'd like to raise you up to drink, unless you've strength enough."

A little water, and then she is going to be Promptly Dramatic.

Water - Cosima can grasp it's a concrete step she needs to take, and so with some effort props herself up on the pillows. Besides, water actually sounds appealing enough to be worth the effort - her throat hurts, and she's not sure how long she's been dozing.

Once she's up enough, she takes the flask, the tremor in her hands slight enough she's in no real danger of spilling as long as she concentrates.

She doesn't bother answering why she didn't seek out a healer. That, too, is complicated.

It is a talent of hers, waiting. Some consider her too cold, without feeling, as if she were carved from something other than living flesh. Patience and waiting do not necessarily go hand in hand, but they do for this. She waits until Cosima is finished with the water, and re-stoppers the flask to return it to her side.

Cosima is exhausted, it seems. And perhaps not entirely prepared for dealing with questions, at least from the likes of Herian, one who arguably has no business asking after the health of others.

"I apologise for the abruptness of my manner," she starts, before standing, grabbing the book to set it into the pouch at her side even though it doesn't quite fit, and leaning over to slide her legs under Cosima's knees and her back. It is abrupt, and probably rude, but Herian has little care for the details in this moment. Instead she lifts Cosima up, blankets and all, making sure she has her not-patient steady against her chest before starting to make for the door. "You will not escape a lecture, I fear."

Now he smiles. Someone who wants to learn will always win approval for him, and he nods to the latter.

"It's what the leaf contains, and the more surface area exposed, the more potent it is. Which also means you've got to be careful what size you cut it into. For most potions, you want larger slices of Dragonthorn, to balance them out enough to not explode when they're bottled, or fizzle into uselessness in an hour or two." Anders takes one of the leaves off to the side and cuts it into three, gesturing toward it. "That's the cut you'd want for that."

Meanwhile, the rest of his board holds very finely chopped Dragonthorn. "Now, there are potions that cause fire to spread, and then fire's naturally inclined to spread as well. What I'm looking for is something that can stop the spread, contain the flames, or, if I'm lucky, put them out completely. Throw it, bottle shatters, no more fire." A beat, and the smile goes wry. "That's the hope, at least. The goal."

A sigh and a shrug. It clearly hasn't gotten there yet.

If she were feeling better, she'd have yelped in surprise, or at least protested. As it was, she wonders if maybe she's just hallucinating the entire incident and decides not to worry about it one way or another.

"I prefer seminars," she murmurs, absently, an academia joke for no one in particular.

"Where are we going?" she adds, absently. Movement isn't at all comfortable, but then again, neither was lying still.

"That has to be a pretty spectacular experimental process, when you get to the practical stage," she says with a small grin. "So you're basically looking for like... something that does to an accelerant what an antidote does to toxins?" She scoots a little closer so she can examine - but not touch - the chopped herbs. "Not something it would occur to me to use a leaf for. But then, I'm not a chemist."

Avery is currently the smallest person in the kitchens by almost a foot and maybe a hundred pounds, and yet somehow she is still less approachable-looking than the three massive, horned chefs working with her right now. It's kind of a gift when you think about it.

Still, it could be worse. They're at least all focused on the work rather than arguing today. One of the Tal-Vashoth even seems to be humming some sort of jaunty tune as he chops up vegetables.

Unfortunately perhaps, depending on your point-of-view, it's not him but Avery who notices Cosima first and narrows her eyes suspiciously. "You need something?"

Alas, the joke is lost on Herian, whose brow furrows with a harshness born of concern, but that ultimately comes across severely and with little softening to it. Her jaw is set, and though she manages to pull the door to the room shut as they go, from then on her focus is entirely on moving a quickly as she can without causing Cosima any discomfort. It is a tricky balance, she's sure, and her issues a polite - if rather blunt - command for someone to move aside as they proceed down the hallway.

"I'm taking you to the healing tents. They will be able to soothe what ails you." There is a moment where she has to turn to get through another doorway, and then the crunch of stone and earth begins underfoot. Going uphill while carrying someone: she's got this.

"He might not mind the company. It depends on his mood, to be honest. Just be prepared for a lot of weird stories and Chantry hate." Korrin will make a mental note to see if Asher seems willing to speak with other patients; if it helps distract him from his own state, all the better. But she won't push that on him if he'd rather only be surrounded by familiar faces.

She shrugs, then holds out the plate. "Take one, if you'd like. They're just hearth cakes the staff made; sugar, cinnamon, dried fruit and some other things. Asher's not likely to have the appetite for them all anyway, so some might otherwise end up in Bronson's stomach."

While in the past there was a comfort of sorts being in the tents, these days Bruce tends to wander around in the areas surrounding the tents. Its not as if there aren't people outside as well in need of help - its just that their need wasn't as urgent as those ushered in. Most of the other healers could handle those; Bruce would focus on the ones outside so they didn't have to wait for something as minor as a cold or a simple injury that some poultice and bandages could easily fix.

In fact, right now Bruce was about attending to a group of elderly folk (or at least, elderly folk who bore no grudge against him for the whole mage thing) when one of them paused to talk about 'that Rifter girl in the tents' who was now coming in their general direction. Bruce glanced over as well to see said 'Rifter girl', frowning as he recalls where he had seen her before. He wasn't the one who had looked over her, but he's certain that she should exactly be up and about anyway.

"Fine," she says, as if she has any say in the matter while being physically carried there. She can't really rouse herself to explain that however good the healers are at patching up battle wounds, this is a complex and insidious condition that trained geneticists haven't been able to crack. It'd be close to arguing, and she doesn't have the energy to argue.

Instead, she mutters into Herian's shoulder, "God I wish I had some quality weed right now."

"Oh, thanks." Gratefully, she helps herself to one. "Is Bronson the mabari, or is one of the healers stealing patients' baked goods?" It's a small joke, both because Cosima still isn't back to full speed and because not everyone welcomes jokes when visiting a gravely ill friend. Still.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 9

(OPEN)

for Herian

I. Healer's Tents (Early August)

no subject

no subject

1.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

II

no subject

no subject

I

no subject

no subject