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(OPEN) It never hurts to give thanks to the broken bones
Who: Solas & Iramaat, Solas & Petra, Solas & an open prompt!
When: mid May!
Where: Undermael’s library, and the Outer City!
What: Fae transformation research and the Out of the City quest! Ruminations on healthcare and class divisions!
Warnings: Nothing that isn’t Aef-typical!
i. heal (maiuril 18-25)
[It’s an ethical obligation: know the sickness for what it is, and, if it is within your means, help heal it.
Serious, immersed in his assigned work, Solas has been providing injections (and sometimes counsel) to the afflicted and forgotten of the Outer City since the early morning. He set out at dawn, dressed in plain Coven robes, matched now with the generic face mask and gloves handed out by the dozens to the volunteers.
The musky summer sun hangs directly overhead, exacerbating the humidity and the acrid, sick smell suffocating the Coven healers’ station. He’s been told it’s his break, so he leaves out the back, through a flap door. Outside, he pulls down his mask, and inhales the cooler air. He’s worked up a sheen of sweat, and the relief is palpable.
When he lifts his tired eyes again, they happen to fix on a newcomer. His thoughts have had a full day to rattle around inside his mind, and he feels compelled to speak them. In subdued undertone, he remarks, in lieu of a greeting,]
The healers here do good work. And they do so weighed down by futility. No matter how many they treat here today, come tomorrow the number of infected will have increased.
ii. wildcard
why not! solas spends the first ~two weeks deep in research, and then over the remainder of the month spends a lot of time volunteering and building links within the outer city. i have other plans i’d like to put into action and thoughts i’d like to toss around, though… so please feel free to hit me up with anything or reach out to me with ideas or requests at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
shroomish c:
When: mid May!
Where: Undermael’s library, and the Outer City!
What: Fae transformation research and the Out of the City quest! Ruminations on healthcare and class divisions!
Warnings: Nothing that isn’t Aef-typical!
i. heal (maiuril 18-25)
[It’s an ethical obligation: know the sickness for what it is, and, if it is within your means, help heal it.
Serious, immersed in his assigned work, Solas has been providing injections (and sometimes counsel) to the afflicted and forgotten of the Outer City since the early morning. He set out at dawn, dressed in plain Coven robes, matched now with the generic face mask and gloves handed out by the dozens to the volunteers.
The musky summer sun hangs directly overhead, exacerbating the humidity and the acrid, sick smell suffocating the Coven healers’ station. He’s been told it’s his break, so he leaves out the back, through a flap door. Outside, he pulls down his mask, and inhales the cooler air. He’s worked up a sheen of sweat, and the relief is palpable.
When he lifts his tired eyes again, they happen to fix on a newcomer. His thoughts have had a full day to rattle around inside his mind, and he feels compelled to speak them. In subdued undertone, he remarks, in lieu of a greeting,]
The healers here do good work. And they do so weighed down by futility. No matter how many they treat here today, come tomorrow the number of infected will have increased.
ii. wildcard
why not! solas spends the first ~two weeks deep in research, and then over the remainder of the month spends a lot of time volunteering and building links within the outer city. i have other plans i’d like to put into action and thoughts i’d like to toss around, though… so please feel free to hit me up with anything or reach out to me with ideas or requests at
no subject
So speaks the spirit of chivalry. Judging from the Coven's briefing, we shall yet find plenty of wicked shades on which you will be able to test your blade.
[Today is a chance for them both to fulfil a higher purpose – they’ll need such reminders, if they’re to keep their beings from twisting in so foreign a world.
Out beyond the wall, the blackened branches of the trees are oddly winding and twisted. Where there are leaves growing, they’re mottled and sickly. He intends to remain fittingly on guard whenever he is beyond the wall, alert to the possibility of attack from any quarter, even above. He’s read in Coven literature even the birds can be Cwyldtid.
Ahead on the road they walk, he sees a meagre slum, a neighbourhood where the buildings have fallen into shambles and disrepair.]
no subject
[ Her expression perks up when she sees the twisted trees ahead of them and the slum that stretches out on the road. There are poor mendicants moving about it. Those who cannot afford to move within the walls - or for whom there simply isn't enough space. She glances at Solas as she picks up the pace a little. ]
Shall we ask these sorry sorts if they need our assistance? Or shall we press on past them?
no subject
We should help them, if we can.
[He allows Iramaat to take the lead, interested to see how she’ll handle this. Curious, too, to see how the Outer City responds to those sent by the Coven.]
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[ Iramaat sounds a bit dismissive, as if she would never have considered doing anything but helping. She runs a hand against her belt with a little 'hmm' noise. ]
I haven't really earned much money, though.
[ She glances at Solas with a roll of a shoulder, trying to sound him out, even as the urchin tries to get their attention. ]
You're from the city, aren't you- [ The urchin pauses as he realizes Iramaat has horns and he glances at Solas warily, as if expecting some sort of answer. Apparently not everyone trusts "monsters". ]
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Ears obscured by his Aefenglom-style hat as they are, he is aware he passes as a human to an unobservant eye. He believes a good example will be denied less easily than words, so he doesn’t challenge their reaction right now.]
Yes. We are working for the Coven.
[His face lights up, but it’s less relief and more, I knew it. He explains what he wants without preamble.
“It ain’t gold I need,” he says dolefully, eyes darting briefly to Iramaat, to her sword at her hip, then fixing firmly back on Solas. Though he speaks with self-assurance, his gaze is lowered submissively, with the customary shame of the poor when talking to the rich.
“It’s water. Last night going home, I get swooped by a bird, right. Big one. Fought it off, but my sword gets stuck in it. It flew off with it.” He scowls, evidently much frustrated. “’Course I drop the barrel. Went back, told them – they thought I was trying it. Told me to bugger off.”
His eyes gleam. “Bet they’d listen to you.”]
no subject
She's quietly relieved they don't want money, because she doesn't have any to give them and wouldn't that be an awkward start? Not really worthy of a hero. Still - their own fault for being poor. Not hers for not having money to hand out, hmm? She settles her hand on her sword. ]
So, you're asking us to tell someone that their water got stolen by an infected bird...? Or your sword?
[ She cocks her head, trying to get a better idea of the problem. ]
Happy to help, of course, but... give me a bit more clarity, hmm?
no subject
“Nah. Bird can have the sword. Fu- Forget that.”
He points towards the centre of the slum. “Witches give us one full barrel of water for the week, then we make it last. That was mine.” He glances down at the little girl who’s pretending not to be staring at Iramaat's horns, and corrects himself, “Ours. Me and three sisters. So’s. We need another barrelful.”]
It seems unreasonable that they would not listen.
[He shrugs, sour. “They don’t like me, do they? Dunno why.”]
no subject
Well! Hardly the most romantic or heroic venture, but we can probably find you a barrel full of water somewhere. What do you think, Solas?
[ She nudges him in the side with her elbow. Very chummy. ]
Shouldn't be too hard, hmm?
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[He agrees also to (by way of not shrinking from) Iramaat’s chummy elbowing. It’s new, strange and uncomfortable, this sort of casual contact, but not necessarily unwanted. It’s heartening to be treated as a comrade: he felt it with the Inquisition, and he feels it now.
The boy exhales, and though he seems the sort to always be drawn tense, something close to relief washes over him. “Alright,” he says, gratitude not making him any more eloquent or forthcoming. “Yeah, nice. Cheers for that. The Witches who give out the stuff are set up down the way. Bit hard to miss.”
At this point, the little girl tugs on his arm, stands on her tiptoes, and hisses loudly into his ear, “Finn, are they her eeeeears?”
Finn's eyes widen at once, and raps her smartly on her head with his knuckles. “Shut up! ...She didn't mean that!"
He’s unmistakably afraid rather than embarrassed. He lowers into a apologetic bow, scooping his sister protectively behind him.]
no subject
Which is not what Solas is doing, of course, but Iramaat chooses to ignore lots of things that don't fit her worldview. Or try to force them to fit, with awful, awful consequences. In any case, her attention is on the pair in front of them. Especially the girl who just pointed out her ears.
She arches a brow as Finn reprimands his sister and shoves her behind him. Iramaat smiles, but there's an edge to it, something a little menacing. Or maybe that's just a trick of the light. She wouldn't do that, would she? She leans down a little, to get on the same level as the girl, eyes tracking from Finn to her in one easy movement. ]
Oh, of course they're my ears. Don't you like them?
[ She's looking for an answer. And that might decide what she does or doesn't do next. For whatever reason, there's a bit of tension creeping into the conversation. But why should there be? It's nothing, probably.
Wordlessly, the girl nods, still wide-eyed and a little afraid after her brother's reaction.
And at that, whatever tension there might have been is gone. Her smile eases slightly and somehow it's much warmer. ]
They are lovely, aren't they? Honestly, I wish I could give you a pair just like them. I think you'd like wonderful with them - don't you agree, Solas?
no subject
He wonders at the hidden meanings: is she doing it for fun, or is her vanity really injured? That concern with appearance may be a twist of Chivalry when it is unwise.
Perhaps, even, she wants to measure his character. As he’s not about to play along, he considers the game before him. When he decides how he wants to make his move, his air is aloof and he measures his words deliberately.]
Oh, I am not sure they would suit her. They are a little overlong.
[Finn is frozen and alert, eyes swivelling before them, ears bright red with some suppressed emotion.]
no subject
[ Iramaat laughs, high and clear and apparently without worry, although there is a glint of something more as she turns to Solas. She slips a hand into the girl's hair, giving it an adoring little ruffle. ]
I think she'd grow into them. They're rather beautiful on me, after all and I can't imagine them looking badly on anyone. I'd rather have them be overlong than too short. Not sure how humans manage with the poor little things they like to call ears...
[ She flashes a grin at Solas. Those words he used were pointed and she knows that, but she's also not willing to let them get to her. At least not visibly. ]
But... it's a bit of a moot point, isn't? [ She gestures irrelevance. ]
I can't just go handing them out, alas for you, poor girl. But I'll remember you and perhaps I'll repay you the compliment another day, hmm? I always keep my promises, you know. And I never lie.
no subject
Enough. [No more fun!] You are tyrannising her.
[He wanted to see what measure of elf she is, and he’s seeing it. How wrong-headed are his people! So readily twisted to egotism, sadism and petty power displays, despite all their potential to be better. It is surely a fault in their nature, in what they are as changeable beings manifested of dreams and their indomitable personal wills.]
We will keep our promise: that promise is to help.
[He turns to Finn, whose head is still down: he appears to be grinding his teeth and hands balled into tight fists at his sides. Is he tensed to fight back? Solas wonders how broken his spirit is. He's got a scrapper's sharpness, but perhaps he's so accustomed to accepting blows from wherever they come he'd merely lie down and accept it, unresisting.]
We will speak to the Witches.
no subject
Solas! I didn't mean anything threatening by it. It was just a comment made in fun.
[ She glances down at the girl with a smile that's all warmth. ]
I always keep my promises; I told you that, I think. So we'll help you out and I'll throw in a gift in the bargain.
[ She's ignoring Finn entirely, apparently quite taken with the girl for the moment. She steps back, slips her hand from her head and then bows, like a knight from a storybook. ]
Fear not; my tongue is silver and I have no doubt we'll return successful!
no subject
Solas addresses Finn, tone clipped and clearly irritated. He dispenses with empty phrases: he judges Finn to be a boy concerned with practical matters, such as attending to his request, and removing Iramaat from their presence.]
We will reconvene with you here towards the close of the day.
[He licks his lips, doesn’t meet their eyes, and nods once, slowly. “Alright.”
Solas nods back, and without further ado retakes to the road. He waits for Iramaat to join him before they can walk into the slum proper together. He watches her narrowly as he does.
Spirits with malicious twists such as hers are troublesome and capricious to deal with. He does not know how much of what she’s said is really empty fun, or if there is actual danger to that smile glinting like a blade – but he dislikes it either way. It's changed little, however, other than informing his better understanding of her. They have a purpose to fulfil, here. That is important, for elves of natures such as theirs.]
no subject
She glances at Solas as they walk and catches that narrowed gaze. She regards him for a moment and then arches a brow, grinning. ]
You seem a little put-out, dear Solas. What's the matter?
no subject
[Acerbic and at once, acrimony clear in the eyecontact he keeps, even as he falls into step beside her.]
If you wish to luxuriate in feeling powerful and intimidating, know these people already feel menaced by us. We are strong and favoured by the powers of this city – that same city has left them downtrodden and miserable. [He works his jaw.] To bully them further is as unconscionable as it is unnecessary.
no subject
Solas, I wasn't luxuriating in any such thing.
[ She spreads her hands in a gesture of ignorance and helplessness. ]
If my compliment to the girl was taken the wrong way, that's hardly my fault, is it? Still, if my actions have been taken for cruelty, I apologize. I wouldn't want you to think that of me! My goal here is to help, after all.
[ She looks and sounds honest, eager, even a touch contrite. ]
no subject
Your compliment had every air of a sadistic jest.
[So he says, still hotly, but the fires of his anger when lit take time to burn out. Even as he speaks, he feels the onset of contrition and uncertainty. He greatly trusts his judgements, but he also does not really know Iramaat, nor the world that she came from. He may simply have misunderstood due to some cultural barrier.
And while he does not know Iramaat, he knows himself. Knows his flaws. Does he not have a tendency to expect the worst of people? The ugly propensity to decide their reactions for them? He imagines he can test and judge people, but that is not always so. He turns his head forward, frowning, tired all at once of it.]
no subject
I'm sorry if it was taken that way!
[ As Solas turns away, she moves to keep pace with him, reaching out to lay her hand on his shoulder. It's a companionable gesture, one meant to reinforce that they're in this together. They're friends, aren't they? Or at least allies. They should work together. Right? ]
Let's focus on the task at hand, shall we?
no subject
As you say.
[And he does agree – refocusing on the immediate work to be done has always worked best for him when he feels self-doubt.
The buildings here are of the same style as the ones just within the gateway they passed through. They’re dilapidated, though, and oddly grey and twisted, though that may only be the shadow of the Cwyld causing his imagination to run wild.
As almost all those who live in the Slums prefer to live close to the Bright Wall, they’ve also had substantial renovation work: roofs and walls knocked down to create more room out of ill-matching planks. They’re visibly overcrowded, with people and things bursting out of the confines out of the dwellings. There’s commerce here, too – streetpedlars lining and generally making an obstacle of themselves what is evidently the main road.
It’s lively and exciting, even if it is bleak.]
no subject
Before long, they're arriving at the little building that apparently houses the witches. With a glance and a shrug, Iramaat steps up and raps on the door. There's a few seconds of silence and then a rather dour looking sort of woman opens it and gives them both a long, appraising look.
"Can I help you?" ]
no subject
The Coven sent us. We hope we can help you.
[The woman scans them with her eyes. They linger with curiosity rather than with hostility on Solas’ ears, still half-tucked into his hat.
“Newcomers, no? You aren’t the first to come along and pitch in…” She steps back. Though welcoming, her dour expression remains fixed in place: perhaps it’s just what she looks like. “Do come in.”
Solas takes off his hat as he enters, according to the Aefenglom fashion. Evidently, the door they came in was one of several entrances. They’ve requisition something like a warehouse, and inside there’s a lot of people. Slum-dwellers, mostly queued up (though haphazardly) or sitting to the side, waiting and a handful of Coven witches attending to them with bored looks on their faces.
“Chaos as always,” their Witch comments laconically.]
no subject
That's what we're here for!
[ She gives the warehouse a long, appraising lead as she follows them in. Miserable people, miserable place. Can't really be helped, can it? Mortals really are rather miserable sorts, as a rule, and it's always been up to her to make them less so. Pity, that. You'd think they would figure it out on their own eventually. ]
What, precisely, do you need from us? [ Her eyes glint and the witch gives them both another slightly doubtful look, "There's supplies that need sorting, among other things. Or to be handed out." ]
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“Handing out is generally better work for newbies,” she extrapolates. “Sorting means I’ve got to hover, make sure you’re putting everything in the right place. Not meaning to be insulting.”
He does not reply We are not easily offended as he is unsure if that is true. Politely:]
Where would you have us begin?
[The Witch gives them the rundown, pointing out areas of the warehouse as she explains what they need to do. Essentially, they’re tasked with handing out ration boxes to the queue: said queue extends out of the building.
“Just watch out for folk trying to trick you into giving them seconds,” she says, firm on this point. “There’s always a few who try for seconds – but it’s only so they can go off and sell the chocolate bars and tobacco.”]
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