[closed]

[heirring]

WHO: Flint, Bartimaeus, Wysteria, Fitcher & misc. guests
WHAT: Misc. socializing.
WHEN: Firstfall
WHERE: Kirkwall, etc.
NOTES: Catch all for closed starters. If you want something, hit my up by PM/discord/plurk/whatever and we can make it happen.

Comments

[heirring]

"Nonsense," she says, jamming the handkerchief back under her nose. "You're in no condition to do any lifting, and Mademoiselle Rialtoblan will have a conniption if the case is at all battered when it reaches the slip. We shall press gang the person able bodies we pass on our way to the clinic together. Come now, on your feet."

It's a very nice plan, and that last bit is especially motivating. But does she actually rise herself? Not yet. Her face is beginning to ache terribly and she needs just a moment after all.

[heorte]

At that, Ellis chuckles wetly.

"Getting on your feet is the hardest part," he tells her. It sounds like a platitude, but there's a deep wealth of misery beneath it. Ellis' whole life has been keeping on his feet, weathering blow after blow. Comparatively, a few broken bones are nothing.

He grits his teeth, braces a hand on the wall, and pulls himself to his feet with a pained grunt. After a moment of waiting to be sure he'll stay there, he turns to offer her a hand.

"I'll give you a hand up if you promise to be sure I don't fall down the last flight."

Between them, Wysteria looks a worse sight. The blood tips the scales.

[heirring]

"Of course. I will be your loyal guardian," she says, head still tipped back to staunch the flow of blood and spare hand feeling around in the air until she finds his offered hand. She quickly adds, "Within reason. I'm afraid if you start to go down, there will be very little I can do to stop you, of course," so that he might not get any untoward ideas about the level of her devotion.

To her credit, she does not haul overmuch on his hand as she gets to her feet. After all, he is the grievously injured party here. But for a moment once she is upright and after her head has stopped spinning, she is consciously aware of the placement of her hand steadied in his. The urge to clarify the whole situation rises up suddenly - 'I think you should know, sir. For the sake of transparency. I am honor bound to let you know that while your attention is of course quite flattering--' et cetera and so on -, and is nearly past her teeth when she instead plucks her hand free, smooths her skirts brusquely, and gives him a serious nod from behind the bundled and blood spotted handkerchief.

"Well then. Off we go."

And that is that. With a resolute turn, Wysteria leads the way.