faderift | ( open ) | i'm fired up

Entry tags:

( open ) | i'm fired up

WHO: Sidony & you!
WHAT: Catch-all/open for the month
WHEN: All the month
WHERE: Various - library, garden, infirmary!
NOTES: N/A currently

I. LIBRARY

All the books that Sidony had brought with her from Nevarra would never be enough to sate her curious nature, not when there was so much more for her to learn.

She doesn't spend much time with anything that spends a great deal of pages discussing magic or the nature of how magic might aid health - she avoids them completely, skimming them with a turned up nose, frustrated, trying to find something else. She longs for the libraries of the Mortalitasi, what she was able to see, what Ilias had been able to share with her once, the knowledge she had been so close to obtaining before she was casually dismissed.

It's hard not to be frustrated by that, though she does try. Most of the time.

When she has a handful of books in her hand, she makes herself comfortable with practically an entire table, spreading them out and turning here and there to look at specific pages. It's only then that she stops and unravels her own parchment, frowning as she looks at diagrams of the human body - different to what she's experienced personally, but that's to be expected. Not many people, even in modern day Thedas, might have the access to the dead that she does. Another thing she ought not to mention to anyone.

It's there that she can be found for many hours of the day, her candles constantly burning low as she turns pages, often ending up squinting in the half-dark with people milling around her.

II. INFIRMARY

This is where she spends most of her time, even if it might not be entirely obvious.

Sidony is always careful to clean up after herself. The little area she had been given when she had first arrived is enough for her, a small section of notebooks placed at one side, a series of vials and jars of poultices and herbs settled on the other end. It's always incredibly neat; as if she fears inspection at any time, as if she imagines that someone might come and demand something of her, demand that she do or appear better than she is, as if she is not good enough. Sometimes, things from childhood are difficult to shake.

More often than not she is making notes in a little planner, settled comfortably, leaning on her desk. Even here she is dressed very well - handsome, almost as if designed to make her beautiful amidst all the hassle and dirt the infirmary might itself bring. If someone comes in she's quick to put her quill down and glance over at them, to peer, a small, thin-lipped smile on her face for a stranger and something a touch softer for someone she knows.

A squeak as her chair is pushed back: you have her attention.

III. WILDCARD

( Find Sidony in the Gallows (her rooms!) or the garden, or somewhere else! Feel free to message me for a personal starter )

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Walking to and from the shelves had never been much of an issue for Sidony when she was in Nevarra; there were always people wishing to help her, to aid her, to give her support in return for a whisper in her mother's ear or the promise of a dance at some point, but the Inquisition is different. There is no one to carry her books for her because she is a surgeon now, a physician in her own right, and it seems silly for her to imagine herself eighteen and young as she had once been.

Idle thoughts had never settled well with her, and so she keeps herself busy.

It's with a pile of books in hand that she walks along the sections of the library, barely paying attention as she goes. She reaches for one a little higher than her slight frame, a few inches from the top of her fingertips, and she frowns, leaning just a little more, pushing herself -

before she goes tumbling completely into someone else.

Gasping, she stares down at the man she has dropped an armful of books onto, hesitating for a moment before she leans down to begin to gather them. She is, certainly, more embarrassed than she is apologetic.

"I beg your pardon. I did not mean to shower you in dust."

In between his studies on the Fade, Finel has also taken to trying to learn more about healing magic. Unfortunately it's one thing to read about such techniques, but without a proper teacher he's unlikely to progress very far on his own, at least not where certain things are concerned. He's mulling this over, perhaps not paying as much attention as he should have, otherwise he might have noticed her rather precarious position and been able to lend a hand, or at least avoid the cascade of heavy texts.

As it is, he's knocked to the floor with the suddenness of the avalanche, corners and weighty volumes bruising against his limbs. Dazed, he stays where he falls for a moment before trying to pick himself up with a pained groan, rubbing at his head as he looks up at her, a little in disbelief.

"Ah...it was a little more than dust..." But he manages a faint smile anyway. That's going to hurt later.

Gathering the books doesn't take too long; she picks them up and places them to one side in a pile, a hefty collection of tomes on healing and physiology, as limited as they are. Once the books are taken care of she casts a critical eye over Finel, making sure there's no signs of bleeding or serious injury; what kind of a reputation that would give her, a healer who cut down an elf in the middle of the library.

At least she doesn't sneer at him. That, she imagines, might be better than some people are given.

"Are you injured?" She's not going to reach out and start touching him - wildly inappropriate - but at least she might be able to do something if he is hurt. It is her area of expertise, after all.

There are no obvious abrasions, at least, even if some parts of him where the heaviest books fell are already starting to ache. Once they've all been cleared away, Finel wobbles to his feet, rubbing slightly at the back of his head before his hand moves to the tip of one ear, chafed and red. He frowns slightly at the pain, and then gives her a weak smile.

"Perhaps only my pride, a little." A bit embarrassing to be knocked to the floor by a pile of books, after all.

Perhaps something for bruising, then. There's a wrinkle on her nose as she looks at him, adjusting her skirts and smoothing them down, ignoring the dust on her fabrics. She does feel a little bit guilty, but he's not bleeding - that at least makes her feel less concerned about the situation as a whole.

"Nothing too serious, then?" Something like a tight smile settles on her face. "I am sorry."

An eyebrow quirks up despite himself, settling over a patient, closed-lipped smile. "Not so far, at least, thank you."

Finel glances at the books she's re-piled that had been on top of him only moments before.

"May I ask what it is you've been studying?"

Not so far. Something settles over her features and she picks up some of her books, moving to one side and hefting them to settle on a nearby table. At least he's not screaming or cursing her out, which she's sure might be prone to happen.

He's a little kinder than that.

"Medicine. I've read all of my own books so many times that I decided I might investigate what Kirkwall has to offer."

Some people might not have recognized the incident as an accident. In some ways he could be naive, but Finel also prefers to at least try to give people the benefit of the doubt; it's unlikely that she intentionally dropped them on him, after all. There's no point in screaming about it, even if he is going to be sore tomorrow.

Regardless, he perks up at her response.

"Are you a healer?"

Sidony has no personal vendetta against elves, at least; she has no reason to dislike them. Without faith in the Chantry to guide her she has no reason to think they're anything less than people. She treats the body, no matter what the race that inhabits them.

Awkwardly, she shifts, skirts curling around her feet as she shakes her head.

"Not a healer, no. A surgeon. A physician."

"Oh, I see. Forgive me, I hadn't ever met a non magical healer until I came here." By now he's met a few, but he's spent much of his time here in the library studying thus far, and not as much in the clinics yet.

"If you don't mind me asking, what sort of skills do you have?"

"Not many people have. I suppose you cannot be blamed for it." It's said with the air of someone who is more than just a little accustomed to being dismissed because she doesn't have magic, something a little tense knotting inside of her. Her nose wrinkles a little before she breathes out gently.

"I can set bones, repair bleeding, create non magical pastes that can aid against swelling and damage and I can treat an imbalance of the humours, as well as the needlework needed for any kind of surgery."

Finel at least has the grace to look a little embarrassed for it. There's so much of the world it seems like he had missed from being so isolated with his clan. It's hardly that he begrudges them for it, but the world was so much more vast and varied that he'd realized.

"Would you mind terribly if I came to observe your work sometime?"

It's not as if it's the first time she has been misjudged; it is something that will simply keep happening until she is either famous or dead, she thinks. At least this one doesn't seem to mean anything cruel by it, which stops her from being quite as snippy as she might have been otherwise.

"If you like. I cannot promise it will be the most novel of experiences."

Finel smiles, clearly pleased at not having been turned down.

"I'm just interested in learning as much about different types of healing as I can. Magic isn't always the best solution for everything."

Organising things in the infirmary is something that Sidony has found she rather likes doing. Surrounded by men as she is - which, she's sure, some people would not complain about - there is a certain effort on her part to be tidy, to be prepared, to appear as clean and well presented as possible. It's the sort of thing she thinks of because she fears what her mother might say if she should wander in, as if Lady Portia Venaras would ever lower herself to step into an army infirmary.

She might, however, do it to drag Sidony out by the ear. She can almost hear the hissing of her full name; Sidony Calogera Allegra Venaras, remove yourself from this place at once, think of your station -

A little lost in her thoughts, Sidony barely hears the sound of the door opening or someone coming inside until they're already halfway in, and before she turns she thinks, briefly, that it would be truly horrific if it was her mother coming to tug her back to Nevarra. A sharp turn and glance over her shoulder reveals a woman, instead, and that has her breathing a soft sigh of relief. One woman is far less trouble than Portia Venaras, certainly, and the smile on her face is something gentile, careful.

Walking around her desk, she tilts her head.

"Are you hurt?"

"Me?" The young lady in question is half turned, actively yanking the door shut behind her. When she spins fully around in a swirl of skirts, a basket hanging from her arm reveals itself. It's well laden with a variety of fresh cuttings of winter roots and scraggly brown things no doubt to be dried or flattened or ground into some kind of paste. "Oh no. Not even remotely. But thank you for asking. No, I'm but the unlucky pack mule today I'm afraid. Madame Ballory has refused to let me do anything in the gardens but pack and carry the cuttings. Something about being far too eager to cut things, which seems rather unfair if you ask me, but ah me - I suppose a little walking and carrying never killed anyone. Are you assisting here today? Would you like to help me sort and manage all these things?"

She says all of it in seemingly one great breath as she steps down away from the doorway and sweeps to the nearest open table. There, Wysteria begins unloading the contents of the basket: mushrooms and gnarled bundles of roots and scrapes of lichen and dark colored moss.

"Not that I mind, really. Being left out of the tending, I mean. Winter gardening is rather dirty work. I've been contemplating stepping away from the task entirely to focus on other things in fact, but I find a few hours here and there spend in the fresh air does a person good. Don't you agree?"

Assisting.

Sidony's nose immediately wrinkles and she pushes herself up, walking around the tables inside the infirmary to head towards the other woman. There's an urge to slap the basket onto the ground and throw something of a fit, but that would be wasteful as well as drawing attention, which she does not want. Instead, she reaches out and begins to look through the herbs that have been brought, fingers touching here and there.

"I work here. As a surgeon." Said with an air of casualness, but she stands a little taller, quite deliberately. "But it is always good to get more herbs for the infirmary. We need to make sure we are well stocked for potions and pastes, and given the way the Inquisition is going now..."

She hums, sighing.

"The fresh air cannot hurt."

"Oh!" There, that's a brought cheerful noise indeed. "How perfectly marvelous! You must excuse me. Even months here and I find myself still forgetting these things are common place. And you're so very young too! You must have been educated when you were only a girl."

And she's off, chattering along at a clip as she takes bundles from the basket and lays them out in neat little piles. "Of course, in all fairness, I should say that there are women physicians in Kalvad, but they're a very particular breed of course. I've never had the interest in the practice myself, though I must say I admire types like yourself with the discipline. And after that ordeal and Ghislain! My, that would have frightened me off the prospect entirely. You're all very bright, determined sorts aren't you? I imagine you must have an iron stomach. --Have you any twine? I believe these should be tied into packets."

This last part must be in reference to the assortment of thing laid upon the table.

"I have been well educated for a very long time. I started when I was old enough to read." Her mother had paid for quite a suitable set of tutors all in the hopes that she would use that education to acquire herself a suitable partner. That hadn't happened, of course, and now she uses that education to aid the Inquisition and follow her rather minimal dreams - that she wished to learn about the body, to see the truth of it all.

Her eyes flick over the other woman carefully, drinking her in, before she hums quietly.

"I have to admit that Ghislain was something quite remarkable, but I managed to survive." Reaching to the side, she brings out a set of wound up rope, offering it out to Wysteria with a nod of her head. "Shall we work on it together, then?"

"If you like. I certainly won't turn down the help - work goes so much more quickly with two, don't you think?" This, clearly, is a purely hypothetical question given that Wysteria allows absolutely no time whatsoever for response before she's galloping back to the more interesting topics at hand: "That must explain it, by the way. We don't have proficiency examinations until year ten, and from there the training is quite long indeed. Would you say that your time in the Circle focused your studies?"

She's already begun to pull apart the great clumps of moss, dividing them into more manageable sections and stacks to be bound in. --And then she pauses, laughing suddenly. "Oh, here I am chattering away without any manners whatsoever. You really must forgive me. I'm Miss Poppell. And you're--" Another pause here, followed by a spark of pleasure over recognition, followed by an immediate flicker of. Well, don't be rude Wysteria. She's hardly the first young lady with questionable taste in friends, now is she?

"You know Mister Rutyer, do you not? I believe I saw you in his company during Satinalia."

Those masks really don't fool anyone, do they?

"I'm sure it must." Sidony, who does not accept aid in most cases, simply continues with what she was doing, beginning to pick through the herbs and touch, here and there, as she organises. She can already see some things that she thinks might be useful for herself - not that she would claim them without sharing, of course, or asking, but she could make a note to have first selection if it were possible. Instead, she glances back over at Wysteria. "I have spent no time in the Circle. I am untrained on that particular front."

Why must everyone assume she is magically gifted? It knots her stomach and colours her with something sour, her hands flexing a little as she musters the will to quiet her own ire. At least the introductions are distracting enough for now.

"It is certainly a pleasure, Miss Poppell, I am sure. My name is Sidony Venaras, lately of Nevarra City." Her eyebrows raise and she looks over, frowning for a moment, sharp and intense, before she lifts her head and focusses on the plants again. She's hardly ashamed of her relationship with Byerly; he is something of a sentinel to her in this place, with all that has been happening in her mind.

"I would imagine that you did. He and I are dear friends to one another."

"I see. Well, I have known the people he orbits to be nothing short of pleasant." After all, he and Alexandrie de la Fontaine are... old friends, are they not? "Tell me Miss Venaras, has he recovered since Ghislain? He was in a very poor state when we last spoke."

Not that she cares at all, but surely no one deserves to be so miserable for long.

"There is something to be said of the friends he chooses." Sidony does seem quite pleasant, at least, and has an air of it being quite deliberately done. She gets nothing out of being unkind, after all, especially not here; she was raised a little better than that. "He seems much recovered, if you truly wish for my opinion. I do not imagine him the type to allow something like that to chain him for long."

No, there are other things that might destroy Byerly and she was privy to those, too.

"I suppose not," she says, quite airily indeed as she further separates a few more bundles of things. It's the one of someone thinking something rather different - That no, she actually could quite clearly imagine Byerly wearing a bandage for weeks longer than necessary if it meant being doted on and fussed over, having people open doors for him and carry meals up to his room - and electing not to say it for the sake of being polite. "In any case, I'm very happy to hear he's doing well. I hope the same can be said for all those wounded in the field."

Wysteria passes another bundle to Sidony for tying. "But I suppose talking about such things is very dull to someone such as yourself who spends all day discussing wounds and health and so on."

Edited 2019-03-03 20:19 (UTC)

Sidony is doing something of her best to make Byerly appear a little better than he might actually be; she would be more than content, of course, to sit idly and ply him with whine while he complained about the pitiful nature of his scarring, but the wound had been something. She had been worried for a brief period of time and the joy she feels at knowing he is recovered is something she has to keep close to her chest. She cannot allow anyone to imagine that she has feelings.

"Most seem quite recovered, at least those that have visited since." Sidony begins to twine, carefully, lifting a shoulder, her skirt flowing perfectly around her as she does. "But I do not mind. This is the path I have chosen, after all, and I see no reason to find it boring or dull. I enjoy my work, Miss Poppell."

"It must be very fine indeed to have found something you care about so deeply so early in life. My, you have so many years ahead of you in which to hone your craft."

It is nice and it's a true enough thing to say, but Wysteria says it and finds herself-- well, she has only herself to blame. She finds the topic of Byerly Rutyer always puts her in something of a sour mood, and she should know better than to poke at her own bruises if it's going to result in her being sullen over every little thing. It's very cynical to feel any bitterness or jealousy whatsoever toward a young lady she hardly knows simply because she enjoys her career.

Ah well. Don't be a bore now, Wysteria.

"If you didn't study in a Circle, how did you come to your work? I've heard quite a lot of interesting things about Nevarran mages, but very little about their practice of science."

"Something that I think about almost every day."

Which is not a lie. Sidony spends hours reading and making notes, comparing what she leans with what is written in her books, developing her understanding of the world and not pausing to hesitate. What she learns in private - the bodies that are brought to her, that she can quite literally sink her fingers into - are for her eyes only, at least for now. Perhaps one day she will be able to write it all, but with the Chantry as it is...

She wrinkles her nose, biting back her sigh.

"I was tutored, quite extensively, while I was in Nevarra. Most eligible men do not want a dullard for a wife, my mother once said."

"Oh boo," she waves her hand dismissively, all good cheer. "That's not what I meant at all. Who isn't abused with such tutoring as a child."

(Uh Wysteria, try poor people for starters.)

"My mother said the same and I can't say that I would have had any education in surgery at all even if I had shown an interest. Is the practice of medicine so very robust in Nevarra that even young girls are taught it?"

"I did not think of it as abuse. I rather enjoyed the education that I was given." It has been most profitable for her - for the girl who has been taught to use her wiles against those she can, to flirt and tease and show her intelligence as much as she does her form, to take advantage of both.

But that is hardly the point, and she focusses on her twined herbs.

"Not at all. I'm afraid I had to beg and bully my tutors to get me the books I wanted, as well as engage in some subterfuge to get what was necessary."

"Then I suppose the question stands, does it not? How on earth did you decide to be so passionate about this from such an early age? My, as a girl I don't think I thought about doing any work whatsoever."

No, she'd been riding around the countryside and sneaking out of lessons and being awful at playing the flute on purpose. A profession? Spirits, no. It would have never occurred to her. The fact that it eventually had must even now be considered a horrible failure in raising her according to her mother.

"That does not surprise me in the least." It's not necessarily meant cruelly, but it might come across that way, and Sidony does nothing to try and soothe that particular sharpness. "Most young women are not raised with the idea that they might be permitted to do anything save have children."

It's not that Sidony had not been raised to imagine that was her future - she had discussed it enough publicly that she knew one day that particular chain would come for her - but she had never allowed it to stop her in the moment. The future is for her to live in a handful of years; this is her now.

"Well." A pause, some low flicker of irritation that she can't quite name. "--No. I'm not sure that's exactly quite what my education was like. I imagine it would have been very similar if I were a boy, give or take a few things. I learned maths, you know. And history and so on."

It wasn't all music lessons and embroidery, thank you very much.

"Perhaps mine might have been different if I was a boy." If she had been her brother and been gifted with the ability to have magic, to choose her path and become a Mortalitasi. She can feel some of that irritation curl around her now and she forces herself to calm down, to lift her head and face forward for just a moment. "But I was raised to be well bred, to be intelligent, to be a suitable wife. There is no denying that."

It's not as if she can lie about it. Her mother will find her, and then. Well.

It's late evening and Sidony is still working - if work is what you can imagine it to be. She's absorbed in flicking through pages in her notebook, all the things she had done at the recent battle and all the things she wished to explore as a result. One soldier - Marcoulf, she thinks - came with a wound she desperately wants to stitch for him and she's curious to see if there is anything else she might see that is a comparison for it. She wants that, after all; she wants to make sure she is the best.

If she is the best no one else will question her.

Still, she realises eventually that the candle has burned quite low and her eyes are tired, the kind which might demand cucumber and wine if she had the funds for it. Instead, she decides that tea might be a better option, slipping away from her desk for a moment to gather the kettle, the leaves, to brew a handful of cups. She is not the only one working late, after all, and it seems logical enough for her to make more than one cup if she is going through all the trouble.

It takes quite a lot of her patience to stop herself from tapping as she waits. Not everyone has the benefit of magic to warm their drinks, she thinks, as sour as ever about the nature of magical talent in Thedas.

Eventually, the tea is ready and she takes her own plus a second, slipping around her own area and up to Anders, placing the cup in front of him and nudging his shoulder. It's the kind of friendly camaraderie she would never have imagined possible for herself when she had first arrived, but it seems that time is wearing her down. She's yet to decide if that is unfortunate or not.

"Drink."

He looks at the suddenly appearing cup, a little surprised, and then up to her with a smile.

"I can hardly disobey an order like that." Anders takes the tea in hand and sets down his pen, leaning back in the chair. Further notes can wait. He has company. "What brings you over to this part of the Clinic? There's nothing all that exciting going on tonight, unless you count Isaac the Cat getting tangled while stealing my scarf again."

Said hairless cat is currently snoring on a cot, covered by said scarf in a way that suggests it might have actually been given to him.

"Have a seat?" He nods his chin toward a stool before sipping his tea. It's nice. Warm, which is the most important thing when it's cold out, but also flavorful.

Sidony watches, waiting until he's taken it properly before she relaxes and nods her head, sipping at her own and smiling.

"You're learning fast." She's not the kind of person to be disobeyed, after all. There's something quite soft about this, she thinks, almost comfortably domestic, and she realises quite sharply that she has a place here. She belongs with these people, with the other healers, and it leaves a rather nice warmth in her stomach. She's never really belonged before.

Drawing the stool closer, she sits, smoothing out the dress under her before settling with her mug on her lap.

"I thought it was time that I had a break. If I needed a break then you could certainly use one as well." She's fond of Anders, she thinks; he works as hard as she does and he has been nothing but kind to her. "You'll wear yourself thin otherwise."

His smile slips a little before he nods.

"It was easier to take breaks when I'd someone around who would be bothered if I missed them, I'll admit it." Anders takes a breath and regathers himself, puts himself back in the moment. Her company is nice. It's good to know a non-mage who works with medicine from an actual learning perspective rather than a 'cut them here and see what happens' angle. They bleed and get weak. That's what happens.

"Thank you. The notes... there's a spot where any number of words won't help, it's down to a matter of testing and figuring something out and that's not going to happen any time soon, unfortunately. Has there been anything interesting on your desk today, or is it all the mundane, regular complaints?"

"Then it's even better for the Inquisition that I arrived."

If Anders is the healer that he seems to be - he had done something good for her ribs, even if she was unwilling to admit it or accept it initially - then he likely needs to have some kind of rest, some kind of break to make sure his mind does not end up exhausted. It wouldn't be a benefit for the Inquisition to lose a healer, magical or otherwise, and she settles, tilting her head as she watches him.

"Oh, the same, I think. Someone has requested a kind of surgery, but there has been nothing interesting, particularly. I'm not suggesting that the Inquisition goes to war again but I would like to do something a touch more interesting if I can."

Anders considers her over his tea for a few moments before he lowers it.

"How do you feel about sewers?" There's a little amusement in his eyes and voice, though he's rather serious about the question. "Somewhere messy, and smelly, and with bugs, but all sorts of interesting ailments and injuries. It's not somewhere a lady would be... expected. Or a gentleman, for that matter. Nobility tend to look the other way."

Darktown always holds a challenge. A gang fight, giant spiders spilling out of a long-forgotten tunnel, a cave-in, new illnesses, there really wasn't such a thing as a dull day down there, unfortunately.

Her eyebrow raises for a moment, prim and proper, before she bursts into a little laugh, hand over her face. There's something soft about her then, almost childlike, betraying her age.

"I don't care about being in the sewers at all. I work with bodies - bugs are nothing when you are trying to stitch up organs and flesh regularly." A lift of her shoulder, a smile on her face. "I haven't been a proper lady since I first stepped into this city. If it wasn't for my sparse wardrobe people wouldn't know at all."

Which is, of course, completely ridiculous, because Sidony carries herself as only a noble lady might.

He raises an eyebrow in return, looking more amused, but he doesn't call her out on what gives away her status. It's nice when someone well-to-do thinks they can discard the divide that easily; it means they're not clinging to it.

"I go to Darktown most weekdays, after my infirmary shifts. And a meal." When he remembers. Nate's departure had made meals a lot easier to forget. "Would you like to come along with me one of these days? I've a Clinic and school down there, a lot of patients, a few students, and never quite enough medical help. But I should warn you that bugs doesn't simply mean the small ones you can step on. Nearly man-sized ones are not common, but I do see them at least once a month or so. It's the tunnels. The gangs and Coterie and Cartel can't keep them all clear, and no one knows where some of them go."

Sidony doesn't notice anything untoward about his raised brow, lifting her tea to her mouth and taking a sip before she considers her reply. She has no idea just how noble she seems - and would still seem, even arm deep in a man.

"I would enjoy that, I think. I have never been to Darktown - only Lowtown, for supplies." Which, of course, is obviously not something she has considered dangerous at all. Nose wrinkling, she breathes out for a moment before she sits up a little taller, trying to appear strong. "I haven't had any formal weapons training, nor do I have magic, but I have a dagger."

He reaches out, offering a hand.

"I won't make you come down alone, or go back up alone. I'll walk along with you, and send someone with you on days I can't. I'm not asking you to be ready to fight for your life. Especially when you've friends."

There's a moment's pause as Sidony looks between his hand and his face before she softens, reaching out to touch her fingers to his with a nod.

"That is kind of you. I appreciate the offer, truly, and I am sure it will be a marvellous addition to my training."

Kostos may have Sidony's attention, but she doesn't immediately have his. He's come to see her—obviously—but he's looking at her surroundings, at her tidy desk and preternaturally neat arrangements of jars, for a good five seconds before he meets her eyes and lifts his chin in a silent substitution for hello. It's almost polite.

"Can you do something about this?" he asks, and turns his lifted chin into a head tilt so he can show her the side of his face. The scar he acquired at Ghislain has shrunk considerably, over the last few months. It's only a thin line, now, and smooth enough, but it's pale against the rest of his skin, and also, he hates it. A lot.

Sidony gives him the benefit of her attention without too much scolding; her eyebrow raises, she watches, but she doesn't push him too hard. There's obviously a reason for him being here but she has no intention on pressing him or forcing him to speak until he's quite ready to, even if it might be somewhat irritating to sit and wait for him.

Finally he speaks and she lifts her head, watching, chin resting on her fingers as she turns in her chair.

"That?" Reaching up, no hesitation in her movements, she uses her free hand to trace the line of the scar. It's not too terrible a thing - she has seen worse - but vanity is certainly something common to their shared blood. Her thumb presses gently and she offers him a small smile. "I think I can do something. Will you sit?"

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( open ) | i'm fired up

finel.

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wysteria.

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anders.

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no subject

ii.

no subject