[open & closed] and when that day comes

[thereneverwas]

WHO: Barrow & friends
WHAT: ye olde lyrium detox in its various stages
WHEN: vaguely Wintermarch
WHERE: the infirmary
NOTES: I'll be adding a few starters at a time since I want later developments to feel organic and make sense. please feel free to request something if you don't see it here!

Comments

[thereneverwas]

"Fuck," comes Barrow's growled response, punctuated by a rattling of the bedframe as he shudders again, "fuck!"

It's not very articulate, but it at least communicates how he feels about being told to display willpower: this is what displaying willpower looks like, when every inch of him wants nothing more than to sling Strange around like a rag doll. He keeps himself turned away, grounded by his grip on the infirmary bed.

🎀

[portalling]

Strange watches for a moment, worry briefly flickering in his expression before he manages to smooth it over back into stolid neutrality.

He’s not unsympathetic. He respects Barrow well enough, even as fundamentally different as they are, in ways where he suspects they might simply never understand each other. But the doctor is stubborn and cold when he needs to be, and an old hand at knuckling through unpleasantry when it’s for their own good. He stands firm, and doesn’t relent. It’s only day three.

“Walk it off,” he says. “The servants can draw up a hot bath later, if that might help. If you need to punch something, I could have them bring some firewood and you can work on chopping that in the yard.”

Practical prescriptions, ways to keep busy, ineffectual methods to stave off whatever he needs to stave off. There’s not much else they can do. Perhaps some milk of embrium to help the man sleep, later, and to soothe any muscle aches— but the worst of it, Barrow will just have to bear himself. Over and over and over.

It’s only day three.