open: "accidents" will happen.

[aberratic]

WHO: Ness Tavane (aberratic)
WHAT: An "accident" and an amputation
WHEN: Backdated-ish to mid-March
WHERE: The Gallows/Infirmary
NOTES: CW for amputation of a limb, illness from infection in said limb, confusion and disorientation as a result of fever. Lmk if you need any other cws and I'll add them!

It's early morning one balmy day in the middle of Drakonis, and the central tower of the Gallows is quiet. A few early risers have already made their ways to their offices, not to mention those who fell asleep in their offices—or those who never slept in the first place—but most of Riftwatch is still asleep, or at least milling about the dining hall. Coffee and tea are still brewing, breakfast is still being served, the work of the day is still at least an hour away for most.

This is purposeful; it means there's no one near the Quartermaster's office to see what happens. There is only silence, and then a sudden cacophonous crash to break it, and a high, sharp scream.

Comments

[wythersake]

"She's not a kid," Straight past Stephen's question. "Or we wouldn't have this conversation."

Big words from a man wearing a washcloth. He doesn't make for the desk, not yet. Let eyes roll where they may of the distinction, but it matters: Everyone here is an adult. Young as she is, Tavane makes her own choices. If he thought otherwise —

(Breath in his ear. In, out. Ragged without lips to wet.)

"And I hope that isn't how she talked you into this."

[portalling]

“That isn’t—”

Stephen’s always too quick on the draw and too fond of mouthing off, is the problem. So he starts talking and tips his hand a little too much before cutting himself short, words sheared off and interrupted and replaced with a fortifying sip of the wine.

Talked me into what? might have been the coy response, if he were trying to keep tossing up these veils and shadows and obfuscations.

But he’s tired, and it’s been a long several days, and his patient almost died, and he owes Isaac a great debt. The awareness of it keeps resurfacing, prickling and prodding at him, an undercurrent to the entire conversation. If he’s going to summon the other man from sleep for the equivalent of exhausting emergency surgery, he’s not going to fucking lie to his face about it. He’s used to being bluntly straightforward amongst colleagues in the O.R., and old habits are hard to break.

So in the end Stephen admits, world-weary: “She made a very persuasive, rational case both for amputating the anchor-shard, and for making it seem like a medical necessity. Lest everyone else all starts doing it.”

[wythersake]

"That was stupid."

Which can't be a revelation. If Strange didn't follow her lead, then he knew how slim the chances of a fad. Maker, they might have simply carried out the charade elsewhere. Call it field surgery, spare her the pain, and Riftwatch the shock —

He tosses the rag down. Rises on creaking legs to find the cup, glance within. He doesn't often drink. Doesn't trust the company: Any cup can carry poison, and each carries the chance, a rational and persuasive argument to do as he please. He'd been drinking, the night Leander found his room. Bled on his floor.

"But you do stupid things for love."

Easier to justify, than to look it in the eye. He drinks.

[portalling]

For a moment, Stephen seems on the verge of trying to deny it; he finds it so very difficult to admit when he cares for someone.

(Every so often on the verge of sleep, the words hover on the edge of his mind like a half-remembered dream, without context.
Everyone who knows and loves you— We’d—)

But with the fortifying wine and the awareness of the girl asleep in the next room and how close they all came, he says, “Probably. It seemed— perhaps not a good idea as such, but at least a manageable one and reasonable enough. I underestimated the danger of a messy amputation, an already-risky procedure. Uncontrollable variables.”

It stings to admit weakness like this; a flaw, a fault, a mistake.