Obeisance Barrow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thereneverwas) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
faderift2024-03-26 12:46 pm
thereneverwas) wrote in faderift2024-03-26 12:46 pm
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Shortly this shitshow, a heavily bleeding Barrow huffs and puffs his way into the infirmary with a colleague under each arm. He has the wherewithal to deposit them both across one mattress before he has to catch himself on the bedframe with a wince, clutching at the ugly laceration on his hcest.
"Anyone here," he calls faintly, glancing back over his shoulder to see the veritable trail of blood that has followed him through the building from the smithy. Just as well.
"Anyone here," he calls faintly, glancing back over his shoulder to see the veritable trail of blood that has followed him through the building from the smithy. Just as well.
Since the first call for people acting strange, Tav has decidedly attempted to Stay Out of It. What can he do with escorts following him around, reminding him of the danger he poses to all he comes across?
Heal, he remembers, far too deep into this mess. So, he calls the two guards to allow him into the Infirmary to heed the call of the injured. While he's not sure how many injuries he'll be able to care for before the exhaustion takes over, Tav will do his damnedest to work his hardest.
To remind himself he is more than a monster.
He barely beats Barrow to the Infirmary and is in the process of setting up a bed when the man enters.
"Tav," he calls out, smoothing the sheets and gesturing for Barrow to join him. "Lie down and I'll be using magic to close up the most serious of you injuries first."
More because he's only seen his magic in action when it came to his own blisters and it wasn't strong to completely seal those. But perhaps he hadn't used the strongest form of his healing magic at that point.
Heal, he remembers, far too deep into this mess. So, he calls the two guards to allow him into the Infirmary to heed the call of the injured. While he's not sure how many injuries he'll be able to care for before the exhaustion takes over, Tav will do his damnedest to work his hardest.
To remind himself he is more than a monster.
He barely beats Barrow to the Infirmary and is in the process of setting up a bed when the man enters.
"Tav," he calls out, smoothing the sheets and gesturing for Barrow to join him. "Lie down and I'll be using magic to close up the most serious of you injuries first."
More because he's only seen his magic in action when it came to his own blisters and it wasn't strong to completely seal those. But perhaps he hadn't used the strongest form of his healing magic at that point.
The voice is familiar, but not in a way that Barrow is interested in recalling at the moment. He shakes his head, gesturing toward his two semi-fallen comrades.
"'s bleeding like a bitch but won't kill me," he mutters. "That one hit his head and probably worse," he explains, gesturing to Cedric, and then to Vanya: "that's one of the missing folks, Maker only fucking knows how bad he's off."
"'s bleeding like a bitch but won't kill me," he mutters. "That one hit his head and probably worse," he explains, gesturing to Cedric, and then to Vanya: "that's one of the missing folks, Maker only fucking knows how bad he's off."
"I'll heal them in a moment," Tav murmurs as he moves in closer to Barrow; bleeding is easier to treat than head wounds and the mysterious wounds.
He wiggles his fingers, drawing forth on what he knows is a limited font of healing magics, turquioise light dancing along his hands. Glancing up at Barrow, he reaches for the injured man's chest.
"Here we go," he prompts before he murmurs the incantation, "Vis medicatrix!"
The wound will mostly knit shut, bit by bit under Tav's hands until they begin to shake. A scab will most certainly be left behind as the elf pulls back, catching his breath.
He wiggles his fingers, drawing forth on what he knows is a limited font of healing magics, turquioise light dancing along his hands. Glancing up at Barrow, he reaches for the injured man's chest.
"Here we go," he prompts before he murmurs the incantation, "Vis medicatrix!"
The wound will mostly knit shut, bit by bit under Tav's hands until they begin to shake. A scab will most certainly be left behind as the elf pulls back, catching his breath.
Edited 2024-03-27 03:03 (UTC)
With an intake of breath as though to argue, Barrow is already too late to stop the elf from touching his chest, healing it; and though he can't deny that it's accompanied by relief (deeper than he thought-- he's not going to die again, really really), when he sees that the healer is winded, the tension returns to his brow.
"All right," he says gruffly, "now them." His tone is uncharacteristically brusque; if it turns out the newcomer's magic is spent from that, they're going to be having Words.
"All right," he says gruffly, "now them." His tone is uncharacteristically brusque; if it turns out the newcomer's magic is spent from that, they're going to be having Words.
"Now them," Tav replies, still out of breath as he moves to the closest of the two: Cedric. A head wound will far be more difficult to pin point the exact place to start the healing. He can only guess by any sources of blood and if no blood, then beginning around the temples.
His hands already shake from the effort of healing Barrow when Tav searches for an obvious place to start.
"Did you see where he was hit?" he asks, even as he calls forth on the font of healing magic once more.
His hands already shake from the effort of healing Barrow when Tav searches for an obvious place to start.
"Did you see where he was hit?" he asks, even as he calls forth on the font of healing magic once more.
Barrow shuffles to the nearest unoccupied cot and sinks onto it, watching Tav carefully. He shakes his head; he was a bit preoccupied at the time.
Cedric's scalp is bleeding, and he's got a few nasty bruises, but is otherwise mainly concussed.
Cedric's scalp is bleeding, and he's got a few nasty bruises, but is otherwise mainly concussed.
Edited (deets from k2) 2024-03-27 17:40 (UTC)
Tav examines Cedric’s head and finds a few superficial cuts, but the bruising seems to be where he should focus his work. He swallows, unsure how deep his magic will reach deep enough to bring Cedric to awareness, but here he goes.
He reaches deep inside himself, positions his hands along the bruising and murmurs again, “Vis medicatrix!”
Turquiose light spills from his hands, down along Cedric’s scalp and then enters the skin, doing what limited knitting it can. It searches out any damage to the brain itself, but soon enough, Tav has to withdraw as sweat drips down his forehead and the beginnings of dizziness begin to take hold.
He doesn’t wait to see if Cedric wakes up, or to be directed to his third patient. Tav doesn’t want to lose what magic he has left waiting around.
He reaches deep inside himself, positions his hands along the bruising and murmurs again, “Vis medicatrix!”
Turquiose light spills from his hands, down along Cedric’s scalp and then enters the skin, doing what limited knitting it can. It searches out any damage to the brain itself, but soon enough, Tav has to withdraw as sweat drips down his forehead and the beginnings of dizziness begin to take hold.
He doesn’t wait to see if Cedric wakes up, or to be directed to his third patient. Tav doesn’t want to lose what magic he has left waiting around.
Beginning to relax a little, Barrow rests his elbows down on his thighs and continues to watch, his gaze flitting to the still and unconscious Vanya. The adrenaline is beginning to leave him, exhaustion taking over.
Tav moves over to Vanya and struggles to find just one place to start. He supposes one hand on Vanya’s chest and one on his head will have to be enough in this moment. He only has so much magic left, the font inside him feeling so empty, so depleted.
So, he places one hand on Vanya’s chest and another on his head before reaching down into himself for his magic. He hopes there’s enough, perhaps just enough, bur enough all the same.
“Vis medicatrix!” he says one final time as turquoise light spills from his hands and down into Vanya.
Tav pushes the last of his magics into Vanya, imagines it spreading into every last finger, every last hair. He pushes until vision becomes spots and then continues past that warning. He pushes until his legs give out and physically drop him to the floor, panting and sweating.
“Hope… Hopefully that helps,” Tav is approaching a blackout, so he props himself against the wall and waits for either himself to go down or his patients to wake up.
So, he places one hand on Vanya’s chest and another on his head before reaching down into himself for his magic. He hopes there’s enough, perhaps just enough, bur enough all the same.
“Vis medicatrix!” he says one final time as turquoise light spills from his hands and down into Vanya.
Tav pushes the last of his magics into Vanya, imagines it spreading into every last finger, every last hair. He pushes until vision becomes spots and then continues past that warning. He pushes until his legs give out and physically drop him to the floor, panting and sweating.
“Hope… Hopefully that helps,” Tav is approaching a blackout, so he props himself against the wall and waits for either himself to go down or his patients to wake up.
If nothing else, neither erstwhile Templar is in imminent danger of death or advanced brain damage, which means the operation was a success.
"Good," Barrow sighs, hefting to his feet once more as he goes to pull the lighter of the two-- Cedric-- by the arm around his shoulders, so he can help him to his own cot.
"Thanks," he barely remembers to add, offering a slightly apologetic look toward Tav as he lays the younger man down and adjusts his positioning over the mattress, turning back to go do the same for Vanya.
"You ought to pace yourself. I'm certain we'll not be the last."
"Good," Barrow sighs, hefting to his feet once more as he goes to pull the lighter of the two-- Cedric-- by the arm around his shoulders, so he can help him to his own cot.
"Thanks," he barely remembers to add, offering a slightly apologetic look toward Tav as he lays the younger man down and adjusts his positioning over the mattress, turning back to go do the same for Vanya.
"You ought to pace yourself. I'm certain we'll not be the last."
Tav shrugs non-committally, leaning against a shelf as the spots in his vision become gaping holes and all the deep breathing doesn’t seem to help. At least he isn’t entirely monster if he can heal others.
He isn’t what his father made him; he isn’t just a monster.
Maybe there’s hope for him yet.
“I’ll do what I can,” he replies, voice dropping in and out as he works to stay awake.
He isn’t what his father made him; he isn’t just a monster.
Maybe there’s hope for him yet.
“I’ll do what I can,” he replies, voice dropping in and out as he works to stay awake.
Having finished with Vanya, Barrow sinks back down into a chair near the cot, finally succumbing to his own exhaustion. He's got something else he wants to say formulating, but it's lost when sleep overtakes him instead, cheek on hand.
After the day everyone's had, Gwenaëlle finds herself— still running on lingering adrenaline, searching out something to do, somewhere to be, what useful thing she can not have to worry about tomorrow when the dust has rightly settled. It isn't difficult to find, especially not in the infirmary, which is how she comes to be at Vanya's bedside,
a not unfamiliar place to be, at that. Some healing has been done already, and he needs the rest, but fully aware of what he'd been running on himself when he'd launched into the fray against the demon that had taken his place, she tamps down the inclination to shrink from pressing him and instead, with her free hand, very literally presses his shoulder. Gives him a little shake, relatively certain he's not going to swing for her the instant he wakes, if only from prior experience, and wafts the smell of a hot, plain broth near his face.
“You're not getting out of eating something,” she mutters, “stubborn idiot.”
a not unfamiliar place to be, at that. Some healing has been done already, and he needs the rest, but fully aware of what he'd been running on himself when he'd launched into the fray against the demon that had taken his place, she tamps down the inclination to shrink from pressing him and instead, with her free hand, very literally presses his shoulder. Gives him a little shake, relatively certain he's not going to swing for her the instant he wakes, if only from prior experience, and wafts the smell of a hot, plain broth near his face.
“You're not getting out of eating something,” she mutters, “stubborn idiot.”
Strange has been running back and forth across the island (truly, he has never missed his portalling so much as now), and when the message came, he’d had to hurry up from the houseboat and return to the Gallows proper. So he arrives too late to help, but when he pokes his head into the infirmary, he finds—
The immediate situation already taken care of, two unconscious patients in the beds, Tav asleep sitting on the floor, Barrow asleep in a chair. He makes a noise, a surprised little huh. He stands there for a moment, surveying the tableau; before quietly retrieving two spare blankets from a cupboard, draping them over the elf and the Master of Works, and then withdrawing to give them some rest.
The immediate situation already taken care of, two unconscious patients in the beds, Tav asleep sitting on the floor, Barrow asleep in a chair. He makes a noise, a surprised little huh. He stands there for a moment, surveying the tableau; before quietly retrieving two spare blankets from a cupboard, draping them over the elf and the Master of Works, and then withdrawing to give them some rest.
The fact that Vanya is roused is probably somewhat thanks to the healing he received earlier, or maybe it's what he's been through the past weeks. (It's not as if any of the four of them got decent sleep on the floor of a cell.) Whether it's one or both, his breath shudders and his eyes open promptly after she shakes him.
"Is it done? All four?" he asks before he's even fully awake. He does at least resist the initial temptation to sit up rapidly or, for the moment, at all. There's a brief sense of deja vu from Gwenaëlle sitting beside him in the infirmary, but his initial question is enough to keep him anchored to the present.
He looks bad, but not significantly worse than when she found him yelling at the ferryman. He'll probably be a little better for a bath, a shave and new clothes, though that won't take care of the weight loss or the mess of blisters on his feet. At least none of the blood on his shirt is his.
"Is it done? All four?" he asks before he's even fully awake. He does at least resist the initial temptation to sit up rapidly or, for the moment, at all. There's a brief sense of deja vu from Gwenaëlle sitting beside him in the infirmary, but his initial question is enough to keep him anchored to the present.
He looks bad, but not significantly worse than when she found him yelling at the ferryman. He'll probably be a little better for a bath, a shave and new clothes, though that won't take care of the weight loss or the mess of blisters on his feet. At least none of the blood on his shirt is his.
He's washing the blood out of his hair when she arrives, stooped over a basin and shaking loose bits of scab. Magical healing is a marvel, true -
But fuck, he still feels run over. Cedric pushes the heel of his palm to mouth, considers the little Orlesian at the end of the row. It's a slow business to retrieve clean rags, more water; lay them upon the short table beside her. There if needed.
(Vanya looks like he needs a sandwich or a burial shroud. Take your pick.)
"All four," Probably someone's said that by now, time is fake. Cedric settles across the other end of the cot, perched on a chair, neck and chest ruddy with bruise. "So you should eat before she makes you."
But fuck, he still feels run over. Cedric pushes the heel of his palm to mouth, considers the little Orlesian at the end of the row. It's a slow business to retrieve clean rags, more water; lay them upon the short table beside her. There if needed.
(Vanya looks like he needs a sandwich or a burial shroud. Take your pick.)
"All four," Probably someone's said that by now, time is fake. Cedric settles across the other end of the cot, perched on a chair, neck and chest ruddy with bruise. "So you should eat before she makes you."
“Do not entertain for a moment the idea that I can't make you, Vanya Orlov,” has a certain ominous determination to it. Whether she thinks she can physically take him right now (a solid 'literally right now? yeah, I reckon') or is simply prepared to call in reinforcements— unclear. Although the eye she's casting over Cedric doesn't suggest she has interpreted him, precisely, as reinforcements.
He looks like he ought to be lying down, too. He's got a limited amount of time before she does something about that.
“It's done. Sit up, you're going to eat this very slowly—”
She remembers what it was, coming back after that long walk. Iorveth holding her on his chest at night, for warmth and a barrier between her and the hard ground; how little they had managed to scrounge and scavenge. No money, no weapons, no crystals to call for help...
She remembers making herself sick, at first. Even knowing better.
He looks like he ought to be lying down, too. He's got a limited amount of time before she does something about that.
“It's done. Sit up, you're going to eat this very slowly—”
She remembers what it was, coming back after that long walk. Iorveth holding her on his chest at night, for warmth and a barrier between her and the hard ground; how little they had managed to scrounge and scavenge. No money, no weapons, no crystals to call for help...
She remembers making herself sick, at first. Even knowing better.
He does sit up slowly, though whether it's obedience or the inability to move otherwise is anyone's guess. Cedric's appearance, though, got a small flicker of relief of its own. "Glad to see you aren't dead. I heard Barrow call your name." But ... they'd been busy, and then Vanya hadn't been conscious.
Why exactly Cedric is at Riftwatch is a thing he can pursue later, if at all. He doesn't know if Cedric is equally glad that Vanya made it, considering, but his own relief is unfeigned. Vanya is logically aware that a demon wearing his face doesn't make anyone that demon kills his responsibility, but the feeling would have been hard to shake all the same.
To Gwenaëlle, he adds, "I am not going to force you to force me, I promise."
Why exactly Cedric is at Riftwatch is a thing he can pursue later, if at all. He doesn't know if Cedric is equally glad that Vanya made it, considering, but his own relief is unfeigned. Vanya is logically aware that a demon wearing his face doesn't make anyone that demon kills his responsibility, but the feeling would have been hard to shake all the same.
To Gwenaëlle, he adds, "I am not going to force you to force me, I promise."
"Good," Off-hand. "Because we all owe her, really. I wasn't sure. Could be you'd just turned into a prick."
He reaches for Vanya’s shoulder. A gentle grip bracketing Gwen’s own, sharper shake. Something of the uncertainty from speaking with the demon is,
Well. It isn’t gone (never goes entire). But sometimes, you just need to decide a thing: For yourself, for someone else. That afternoon's blurry anger - he’s decided. I'm glad you aren't dead.
"You know," As though this is a serious consideration, "The spoon could make griffon noises."
He isn't remotely keeping a straight face.
He reaches for Vanya’s shoulder. A gentle grip bracketing Gwen’s own, sharper shake. Something of the uncertainty from speaking with the demon is,
Well. It isn’t gone (never goes entire). But sometimes, you just need to decide a thing: For yourself, for someone else. That afternoon's blurry anger - he’s decided. I'm glad you aren't dead.
"You know," As though this is a serious consideration, "The spoon could make griffon noises."
He isn't remotely keeping a straight face.
Edited 2024-03-28 17:17 (UTC)
Something crosses Gwenaëlle's face — difficult to read, which means it's complicated because otherwise she never is. Maybe she wasn't keen on immediately taking credit for that; unhappy still how long it had taken her to piece together his strangeness, and in no hurry to admit to Vanya how much of his privacy she'd ended up having to crater to be taken seriously.
“You can hold your own spoon,” she says, extremely graciously, “unless you struggle with it. Griffon noises are entirely between the two of you.”
Men.
Not that she shows any signs of getting up to leave them to it; she is exhausted and fizzing from stress and combat and she could sit here and watch him eat soup until he's finished for as long as it takes, probably.
“You can hold your own spoon,” she says, extremely graciously, “unless you struggle with it. Griffon noises are entirely between the two of you.”
Men.
Not that she shows any signs of getting up to leave them to it; she is exhausted and fizzing from stress and combat and she could sit here and watch him eat soup until he's finished for as long as it takes, probably.
He notices Gwenaëlle's ambiguous expression and decides to save pursuing what, exactly, Cedric meant for later. There are maybe some things he'll want to say too, when they're not in the middle of the infirmary.
Instead, he takes the spoon. His hand is relatively steady, but part of that may be taking it slow. The temptation not to is real; the broth may be simple, but he hasn't had anything hot to eat in long enough that it's tempting to gulp it down even so. But he manages to be deliberate about it (no griffon noises evidently required).
After two or three slow spoonfuls, he says, "Is Gela getting some rest?" because he can't actually help it.
Instead, he takes the spoon. His hand is relatively steady, but part of that may be taking it slow. The temptation not to is real; the broth may be simple, but he hasn't had anything hot to eat in long enough that it's tempting to gulp it down even so. But he manages to be deliberate about it (no griffon noises evidently required).
After two or three slow spoonfuls, he says, "Is Gela getting some rest?" because he can't actually help it.
“Florent's taking care of her still,” she says, supervising that slow soup eating with a watchful eye; her only one, in fact. “I'm not going to throw her off the boat sooner than she's ready, but Stephen might want her here in the infirmary, I'm not sure. We'll cross that hurdle when we get to it.”
No need for Vanya to lurch out of bed personally to carry her back here like some kind of madman overcome with the need to express fraternal care and shunt aside, as usual, his own difficulties. She's willing to let that part remain implicit,
unless he pushes it.
No need for Vanya to lurch out of bed personally to carry her back here like some kind of madman overcome with the need to express fraternal care and shunt aside, as usual, his own difficulties. She's willing to let that part remain implicit,
unless he pushes it.
Vanya eats. Asks, eats. Gwen's eye glints. He's watching their hands. He's thinking about Gela. Things are sluggish still, take some sorting. It's not the right time to ask, but after a moment or two he does.
"What is," Tentative. "What's she actually like? Gela?"
A diversion from her care, or a different means to express it. They're her friends, they'll know: The good in her, whatever the demon saw there and sought to imitate.
Some measure of it must have been real. He believes that.
"What is," Tentative. "What's she actually like? Gela?"
A diversion from her care, or a different means to express it. They're her friends, they'll know: The good in her, whatever the demon saw there and sought to imitate.
Some measure of it must have been real. He believes that.
Edited (typos) 2024-03-29 05:01 (UTC)
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