middaeg | (OPEN) It never hurts to give thanks to the broken bones

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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

shroomish c:

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[ Well, at least the boy is showing her a bit of respect. Lucky for him or she might ahve been inclined to be vindictive about the whole thing. As it is, she just smiles and settles her hand against the hilt of her sword. ]

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?

We would be happy to help.

[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.]

[ Ah, good, Solas isn't being a stick-in-the-mud. Really, he's being downright chummy. Iramaat appreciates that. Always good to have someone around who'll be your friend. Back you up. That sort of thing.

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?

[He analyses her from above, with his small, cool eyes. He’s observed, over the course of his life, a million little power plays: he recognises a plausibly deniable intimidation when he sees it. He’s able to connect this with the behaviour of other spirits, and with her own mention that she’s never had a childhood: small wonder she does not have a social instinct to protect it. Interesting, though, to think of what she might have done if the little girl had responded otherwise.

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.]

Edited (typos) 2019-05-23 04:32 (UTC)

Oh, come now-!

[ 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.

Edited 2019-05-23 04:42 (UTC)

[He turns cold and sharp: he dislikes seeing that hand in the child’s hair.]

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.

[ Iramaat arches a brow at Solas' sudden, sharp tone and then she laughs again, giving the girls's hair one more affectionate little ruffle with her hand. ]

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!

[The little girl buries her head back into her brother’s leg.

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.]

[ Iramaat gives the children a cheery wave as they set off and then doesn't look back. She's got that same stride in her step - eagerness and confidence, very much the swaggering knight off to adventure. Even if all they're really off to do is get more water from some witches. Not that important in the grand scheme of things - but it is a task and she's said she'll do it, so she will.

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?

Your conduct.

[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.

[ Iramaat's brow furrows and she looks a little confused. ]

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. ]

[He gives her manner a curt, scrutinising once over with his eyes. She is acting sincere, certainly.]

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.]

Edited 2019-05-29 05:00 (UTC)

[ Iramaat's expression turns to one of slight sheepishness and regret. ]

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?

[He tenses when he feels her hand on his shoulder, then exhales that frustration out at length, a sigh that sounds harassed but defeated.]

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.]

[ With nothing more to be said about it, Iramaat follows alongside him, taking in the little not-quite-village they're in. Really more of a shanty town or even a badly run-down suburb. It's not exactly great, but Iramaat doesn't seem to mind terribly. She even dallies for a few moments to peer at a peddler's cart to see what they have on offer before she hurries after Solas again.

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?" ]

[Better to open with an extended hand than to open with a demand.]

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.]

[ Well, well. Iramaat gives Solas a side-long, sly glance and then follows his lead with a grin. ]

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." ]

[Solas appears to be listening obligingly. Unnoticed, he’s analysing the warehouse, writing mental notes and filing them away. This is what these people are accustomed to: this is the infrastructure there is to work with. There’s room to improve, certainly, and opportunity for intervention. A new path, an offer things could be better.

“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.”]

Edited 2019-06-04 13:45 (UTC)

[ Iramaat isn't doing any such analysis. She's almost the opposite of Solas; she goes on instinct, on her own whims. Any strategy comes in the moment. Impulse and emotion and the mad laughter that comes when one is caught up in a single point of time that seems to stretch out for a brief eternity. So she's casual, listening relatively attentively and very openly taking in everything around her, apparently without caring that someone might see her very obvious interest.

She awaves away this potential insult, apparently because she's more interested in seeing what's going on here. This is simple work, but simple isn't bad. She's a little disappointed that they don't have something for her to slay, no great problem for her to help with. ]

No dragons to slay, hmm?

[ It's meant as a joke, mostly, since she apparently is still willing to work. She settles her hands on her hips, one eyebrow cocked as she gives the queue a long look. ]

Well, how do we tell that, aside from recognizing people? Is there a list or something? And what's wrong with a bit of entrepreneurial spirit?

[Drily:]

If you wished to fight a dragon, we would have to forge much deeper into the Cwyld. Though with only our current power, I would recommend against it. It was more Titan than dragon.

[The Witch opens her mouth to respond, confused at this strange offworlder humour, and then thinks better and shuts it with the universally understood expression of ‘I don’t want to know and I’m not going to ask.’

Solas is quiet as Iramaat proceeds with questions.

“Entrepreneurial spirit!” The Witch gives a tart, humourless laugh. “Ha! Unfortunately, miss, this isn’t a factory line. All magic has a price: we can only conjure so much in a day. We have to make sure there’s enough for everyone. That said – Reveal-Me-Please!”

She flourishes her hand, and two sheets of parchment inscribed with a simple pink runic mark are conjured, floating before Iramaat and Solas.

She explains, “We make sure everything’s fair with these revealing glyphs. Just hold this up before you hand over the box of rations, and it’ll stick. If someone already has it, it won’t, and you shouldn’t give them the box. It holds fast through disguises and illusions for a week, so it’s quite useful. Right. Any more questions?”]

Aren't Titans giants...?

[ Iramaat shrugs. She's not going to quibble too much on monster terminology. It's not her place and it's not all that important to her. Besides, it's an amusing little exchange and soon enough her attention is back on the Witch who's walking them through their tasks. It sounds a bit dull to Iramaat, honestly, but she tries not to let that show. She said she'd help and so she will - she is, after all, a woman of her word. If this is what gets them their water, she'll do it. Has to do, as far as she's concerned. If she promises to do something, she does it.

The display of magic is more interesting to her and she reaches out to take one of the sheets of parchment and gives it a look. She was never very magically inclined, aside from her own innate power, so this is all a bit academic to her, but she stills finds it interesting. After a brief moment of nodding, she switches to shaking her head. ]

No, no questions-!

[ And that said, she immediately turns and heads for the queue to start. She settles into it - at least for the first dozen or two people through the line.

Then she starts ignoring the glyph nad just handing the box over with a careless laugh and a wave of her hand.

She is, after all, a touch flighty and she's still helping, right? ]

[The Witch blinks after Iramaat, taken aback by any display of enthusiasm at her workplace. “All right, then,” she says, and she proceeds to bustle off to help a Puca gentleman trying to placate an aggrieved local.

Solas takes the parchment with curiosity that elapses into frustration. He does not know how the glyph works, and he cannot exactly ask the Witch for specifics. More aggravating – it’s a reminder that he’s without the usual magic it’s his instinct to reach to to understand a new magic. Like with so many things in this world, he’s no option but to take it at face value – for now, at least.

But he doesn’t begrudge the work. He undertakes it with seriousness, attentive and brisk. It’s meaningful, and it’s a chance to talk to honest people and observe much of the real social system at work.

It’s a chance to observe Iramaat, too – and her own work ethic. He’s not surprised by what he sees. With no small amount of irony, when they happen to be passing each other, he says:]

How are you finding human drudgery, Iramaat?

[ At least she's still doing the work. She can be counted on to be reliable, at least, once she says something. That doesn't always mean she'll do it as thoroughly as others would like. Which in this case means she's slacking off on checking against that whole "no double-dipping" thing. Which means she's at least speedy, right? Better than being too slow, as far as she's concerned.

She pauses as they pass by one another and lifts her shoulders in a shrug. ]

Could be worse, honestly. How are you faring? Not too badly, I hope?

It is hard for beings made of dreams to have their interest long held by mortal travails.

[His voice is tart. He steps up to catch the last client Iramaat served, a Puca who freezes, ear twitching in place. “Um,” she says, “do you have a problem -” as Solas holds up his parchment. There’s a long moment while... nothing happens. The Puca, with her (second-dip) box in arms, says, “Uh, oh. That’s, um, weird. I guess it’s broken.”

Not paying heed to the Puca, he sternly concludes to Iramaat,]

Though that does not justify a lack of due effort.

[The Puca shuffles to the side while he speaks. Then drops into a dead sprint as a getaway, illicit loot in arms.]

[ Iramaat seems a little puzzled about his opening statement and then she pauses and glances at the Puca she's just handed a box to. She watches without a hint of anything besides vague amusement. No concern, guilt, or contriteness. Instead, she laughs as she watches the Puca go scurrying off. She's certianly not going to try and stop her.

She glances at Solas and spreads her arms in a shrug. ]

So much trouble over a little extra food. But I suppose I'll have to be more careful, won't I?

[ Well, at least she's saying she'll try harder. Maybe? ]

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