[open]

[heirring]

WHO: Wysteria & YOU
WHAT: Anchor-related adventures and/or drama in fantasy September.
WHEN: Kingsway
WHERE: Various
NOTES: Some anchor and rift-related peril; open stuff is in the comments, but may use this as a catch-all. If an open prompt doesn't suit you, feel free to wildcard me or hit me up and I can write something bespoke. Prose or brackets is a-okay.

Comments

infirmary

[venenifer]

There's been no reason to speak until now, because for the most part, the black-clad Chantry brother preparing Wysteria's herbal treatments and the like has mostly done so while she was sleeping or otherwise too feverish to be lucid.

It's only now that he approaches with the usual damp cloth and herb packet that he sees her eyes opening, and he leans over to check if her gaze tracks to him at all.

[heirring]

The fever comes and goes in waves. It has persisted at this height, much to the apparent chagrin of the Orlesian physician who has studiously been assisting with Wysteria's care since her return to the Gallows, for a day or two resulting in a patient who is more or less very skilled with sleeping like the rattling death or rambling in disconnected, half formed attempts at conversation with her visitors-slash-self-appointed-caretakers.

For better or worse, Madame de Foncé is not an unpopular patient.

Here though, for the first time in a great many hours, Wysteria closes her eyes in defense of the invasion of her space and makes a small noise of protest. Her left forearm and hand, poulticed and wrapped tight, comes up just a little as if to object to shadow which falls across her, but the limb must be weak for it flops down again after only the barest movement.

[venenifer]

"Lady de Foncé? Are you awake?"

His voice is the sort of quiet that's ideal for an infirmary, low and still and well-enunciated if not completely gentle.

"I need you to eat," he adds, "I'll help you."

The implication is that she will be imbibing broth either way, but it will be easier on both of them if she does so willingly.

[heirring]

"Yes, I'm awake."

This, croaked out to the tones of But imagine if she weren't—wouldn't that be nice?, or maybe, Don't tell her what to do; she'll mind herself, thank you, or maybe just on account of the fact that her mouth is dry and she really only half conscious. But here, her less problematic hand rises and this one is much more confident about getting some sort of elbow prop situation going so she might lever herself up by a few inches.

"If you must do something, you may help me sit up."

[venenifer]

If you must do something. Oh, yes, if he must.

Wordlessly, Gideon extends a hand to support her in her efforts, snatching one of the pillows from behind her to prop it at her upper back and allow for a more upright position.

Once she's settled, he expectantly holds out the bowl and spoon again. She can either take it from him, or he'll do it for her, but he's not leaving until something is done.