All we do is play it safe [Open]

[wearyallalone]

WHO: Vanya, assorted visitors
WHAT: Vanya has a Bad Time getting off lyrium
WHEN: Various points during Kingsway (feel free to handwave relative to mod plot if you'd like your character to be there for a certain portion)
WHERE: Various points in the Gallows
NOTES: Content warning for themes related to (fantasy) drug use and withdrawal. Medical stuff possible but definitely not required, especially in the infirmary starter; if you want to hit that one but not have anything medical in it beyond what's mentioned in the starter itself, just let me know oocly and I can avoid it.

I. The Infirmary

Permission obtained from Commander Flint, Vanya approaches the infirmary staff with his intentions. He intends to burden anyone else as little as possible, and part of that is making sure the relevant staff know of his plans and have input (within reason) as to his approach. The upshot of this is that, despite his protestations, the early days of the process are spent in the infirmary, under supervision.

It's best that they insist. The cravings and the thirst would be hard enough to endure without the disorientation that accompanies them. Depending on which day Vanya gets a visitor or a colleague in the infirmary for their own reasons, he may or may not recognize them. But he does his best to talk to anyone who engages them, regardless of how lucid he is or isn't.

II. Former Templar Tower — Vanya's Room or Communal Lounge

Eventually, the confusion ebbs. He's still thirsty and tired, and his head is splitting more often than it's not, meaning he's not yet fit to resume his exercises in the training yard, much less his duties. But he's not bed-ridden. He can fetch his own food and move about the Gallows as long as he gives himself enough time and doesn't push himself.

Mostly, though, he sticks to his quarters or nearby. His instinct is to hide, but he doesn't fully give into it; if nothing else, the infirmary staff checks on him often enough that it feels only polite to leave his door ajar in case he falls into a doze.

He wonders, more than once, if someone would give him lyrium at this point if he said he'd changed his mind after all.

He doesn't ask. That said, he gives the impression of a man who would be grateful for a distraction. At night, his neighbors may be unavoidably aware that he's having nightmares, though that's not as rare in the Gallows as it might be.

III. Aftermath

One day he reappears, resuming his usual routine as if nothing had happened. Someone has cleared him, presumably, but he seems to be going through the motions in part by pure force of will. He seems a bit gray and peaky, but he reports for training, duty, meals, all as usual.

Occasionally, though, he finds himself staring into the middle distance, unsure why he walked into the room or how long it's been since the person sitting next to him at dinner last said something.

Comments

[luaithre]

Marcus considers Vanya for just a moment longer before he reaches back to take his staff in hand, tugging it free and bringing it around with a more elegant and swift swoop of movement than a weapon like this should probably be entitled to. Dark wood, iron, a bladed attachment, and runic engravings that glow passively once the weapon is in hand.

He steps onto the field, foregoing the more familiar duelling distance to instead come within melee range. A flash of magic, empty hand casting to draw bright white-blue glyphs on the ground beneath their feet to sheath them both in harmless, defensive magic as the Barrier spell pulses and enchants.

A little bit of insurance. Assurance.

"You attack," Marcus suggests. "I'll defend."

[wearyallalone]

Vanya nods; his expression is much as it's always been in Marcus's presence, business neutral, though the touch of illness and fatigue this time is an involuntary addition. He backs up just a step or two and meets Marcus's gaze to ensure the other man is ready.

When he attacks, some of his form is unsurprising. Regional variations aside, Templars all receive much the same martial training. The foundation that's been drilled into Vanya is one Marcus likely know the shape of well, even if Vanya isn't reaching for any way to disrupt magic now. But it is perhaps a bit more surprising that there's a more unconventional layer on top. He's taken some practice and trouble, clearly long before the past weeks alone, to acquire some skills and approaches that are more chaotic that his demeanor might suggest. Nothing in this fight is a cheat or playing dirty, though it's suddenly easier to imagine him employing those tactics in a match with higher stakes. But there's more feinting than Marcus might have guessed ahead of time, and more flexibility to the way he meets his opponent's moves.

All that said. Vanya is still far from his physical best. (And, too, to some degree he must be fighting decades of instinct to face a mage opponent and not even gesture toward reaching for the powers he no longer has access to.)

[luaithre]

Circle mages are not educated in how to fend off attack from a sword, save for those uniquely charged in martial experience for whatever purposes a Circle may have for them. Marcus is no Knight-Enchanter, anyway, and moves with instinct and an absence of fear that is probably at least half the battle, when it comes to what he might lack in lifelong training.

But he's done this before, certainly.

Enough so that he can spare some of his mind towards making a study of Vanya, noting all those similarities, those differences, and any instinct to reach for magic-cancelling disruption—or the lack thereof.

Marcus never learned if Templars can themselves sense it, when a mage pulls from the Fade, but he is watchful in the moment he does. It's a subtle thing, a sudden swooping up of a defensive strike to Vanya's raised sword where the bladed end of his staff would normally block his blow—but this time there is a flash of coppery light that glances off his iron blade and propels Vanya backwards as though he had struck him at full force rather than simply stopping.

He takes a step back to match that distance, a gesture of pause in the way he lowers his staff. Watching, taking measure.

[wearyallalone]

Whether or not he was capable of sensing magic being pulled from the Fade at one time, he evidently can't now. The light that glances off his sword lands like a blow to the solar plexus. Vanya stumbles as he's pushed back, and though he manages to keep his feet, it would have made a useful opening, had Marcus pressed his advantage instead of waiting.

As it is, it's clear when Vanya meets his eyes that he's aware of that hole and how easily Marcus could have used it. (He has the grimly funny thought, I suppose this is why people don't fight mages, usually, but it doesn't touch his expression.)

When he asks "Are we keeping a score?", it seems to be a genuine question. He's taken a defensive stance, waiting to see what next.

[luaithre]

Well, there's no fear there.

So that's interesting.

Not that a Templar would express or even feel fear in this specific setting, but maybe it's possible of one who no longer had his resources available to him. No anger, either, or irritation, or offense, or if any of those things, kept shuttered up behind a defensive stance and a sense of assessment.

Marcus taps the end of his staff to the ground, another flare of magic that re-establishes the diminished Barrier protecting them both from one another, before swooping his weapon back into both hands, pressing forwards with a step, the intention to take the offensive. "Would you prefer we did?"

[wearyallalone]

"I don't feel any need on my own behalf," is a careful answer, but a truthful one. He moves back, watching Marcus carefully as he advances, his own guard up.

It's still something he's working out; usually, his training would tell him to get close, that distance only favored the mage in this sort of combat. Now he's not sure the degree to which that training holds, and it gives him the air of a man doing quick calculations, even as decades of drills take care of his footwork without his mind's conscious input.

[luaithre]

"Another time."

And then he moves.

It is not the murderous energy of a true fight, nothing like the wild, careless swings he'd employed against the last Templars he'd matched against just recently—not that he'd enjoyed a victory then, anyway. Perhaps if there'd been only one other, like this, he'd have stood a better chance. Regardless, in spite of a somewhat impolite show of strength a moment before, Marcus treats this as it is—practice and sparring.

He does not make accommodations for Vanya's condition, however. The blunt end of his staff batters a raised shield, the bladed end matches raised sword, and he aims for strikes past Vanya's defenses with the comfortable knowledge that his own magic will keep them both from harm.

More aggression as he tires, but no flashes of arcane light. Less grace, also, than most mages.

[wearyallalone]

Vanya is briefly glad for that lack of accommodation. He doesn't want his hand held; he'd rather know how far there is to go ahead of him. And while it's possibly less than he was braced for, it is still a considerable way.

It's obvious to them both that he tires sooner than he's expecting to, and there finally is a hint of frustration, though it's clearly pointed inward rather than at Marcus. He doesn't call for them to stop immediately , but he's slower, and it leaves him open to more of Marcus's attacks even as the other man tires as well. It's evident that if it were a matter of will and effort alone, Vanya would be well-served, but finally he says, "I suspect I cannot offer you any more useful time today as a sparring opponent." He probably should have said it 10 minutes sooner, but he holds steady on his feet.

[luaithre]

To his credit, Marcus stepping back when time is called sees him catching his breath. He bears a heavy weapon and there is not a lot of opportunity to match his skills against someone who fights as a Templar is trained to.

In fact, there is no opportunity. None he has so far been willing to pursue, until now.

He nods, seemingly satisfied with—something, perhaps simply the sparring session. Maybe this is where more amenable opponents would go get a drink, either water from the nearest supply or a tavern across the water, but this thing doesn't cross Marcus' mind at all as he lowers his staff.

But he does say, "Another time?" in unconscious echo of the last thing he said mid-sparring, only poised as a question.

[wearyallalone]

Vanya nods, still unsure what exactly is going on, but not unwilling to engage. "I am here most days, around this time." He doesn't offer the drink together either, of what it's worth, but the information is an invitation in its own way. "I do not expect I will be assigned field work unless it is an emergency for another few weeks, at least."

[luaithre]

Marcus nods.

Not all of his curiousity is assuaged. Just some. But extracting the information he wants out of Vanya would take more finesse, he thinks, than he currently has available to him. So instead he takes Vanya's information as both acceptance and opportunity for dismissal, moving off out of his space without further comment, in search of water and shade.