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, 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? ]

[His brow furrows as she laughs, feeling the onset of a tension headache. Iramaat will surely be responsible for a wrinkle or three, if he will age like a mortal now that he’s disconnected from the Fade. (He’s speculated on this, and thinks it likely. (It occurs to him now this information could be used to torment Iramaat, if he ever needs to take revenge – another time, perhaps.))

To hope for a being such as she to comprehend the seriousness of so mortal a concern as food scarcity… It stretches up above him as a monumental wall. It is a task he is too weary to undertake.

He only sighs in response, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. Then he makes to go back to his work, and leave Iramaat to do as she will.]

[ She does do as she wills. And she wills, apparently, to keep her word. Surprisingly enough, she does try harder, even if she's not nearly as careful as she probably should be. She doesn't really screw up too much else (although there probably are a few others who slip past her careless checking), but she's definitely improved.

She can't really fathom not keeping her word. Strange how that works.

The day stretches on and things are beginning to wind down when she finds Solas again. ]

So, when should we ask about that water...?

[He notes her improved effort from a distance. If he thought it was indicative of actual consideration it would earn his approval – he thinks that unlikely, however. Otherwise he keeps to his work with his customary quiet diligence.

He turns that same quiet air towards Iramaat when she approaches. He wipes his brow, and agrees,]

We’ve surely earned a favour.

[It’s probably not hard for them to track down the floor manager again.

She looks up when Iramaat and Solas approach. “You two should be free to go when you like,” she says sombrely. “...Unless there’s something else I can help with?”]

[ Iramaat does find his diligence rather admirable, if a bit dull in her own opinion. Still, he's practically a fae in some respects. She can enjoy that whiel they work together. Besides, he's an interesting sort. She'll stick close to him. Maybe he'll be useful - or at least entertaining. ]

One hopes! Although we certainly didn't get an agreement before-hand...

[ Oh, good, she's back. Iramaat turns with that winning smile of hers and a quick bow, one hand sweeping before her. ]

Of course, of course! Not a problem - it's just... well. We were wondering if we might beg a boon of you. A large barrel of water, perhaps?

[Her eyes seem to sparkle at Iramaat’s smile, but when Iramaat finishes speaking the corners of her mouth dip lower. “For you? Why? There’s plenty of water where you newcomers have been set up...”

Solas chimes in.]

A young man and his sisters require it for their household. Their week's barrel was lost in a Cwyltid attack. He stated he himself was turned away.

[Her frown deepens, and she sighs. “’A young man’… that wouldn’t be Phineas you’re talking about, would it? Fancy that boy enlisting newcomers!”]

[ Iramaat clicks her tongue. ]

I think that's the one, yes.

[ She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. ]

He asked for our help; we decided to give it. What we choose as our reward and what we do with it is ultimately up to us, hmm?

[ She flashes that smile, winning and dazzling and noble. ]

Surely we can reach an arrangement...?

[ The woman sighs again and pinches the bridge of her nose, "He can't just spin a tale of woe and get seconds." ]

[Solas speaks with quiet approbation.]

Seconds or no, his family will require water for the week. It is too inflexible to reduce the people in your care to numbers.

[She bristles defensively. “Listen, you,” she fires back hotly. “I dedicate every day doing whatever I can these people, always arguing to the Coven that they need more. I don’t need a lecture on charity from folk who doesn’t know the first thing about this city.”

Inwardly, he seethes. Outwardly, Solas’ doesn’t shift from calm and steady, except that his voice arches with sternness.]

You have a duty to ensure the households have the supplies they need to survive.

Apparently you do, if we have to come along and solve your problems for you.

[ Iramaat sounds perfectly chipper and happy. And probably isn't helping. Or maybe she is, it's hard to tell at times. ]

I might be new, but even i can see the injustice in denying someone the water they need to live because of an accident they have no control over.

[ And she slides her words in like a knife tries to cut the heart out of any opposition. The woman bristles still, stares at the two of them with a mix of resignation and defensiveness.

"Look, if I give in once, I have to give in every other time. So just-" Another pinch of the nose.

"Keep it quiet." ]

[He bows his head respectfully to acknowledge a peaceable end to their argument, then falls quiet once more. Not wishing to impose unnecessarily, he sets about personally locating the barrels and filling them on the outer side of the warehouse, together with Iramaat if she does so as well.

He feels, as he does so, gratitude and approval towards Iramaat. When they have a spare moment, filled barrel in hand, he proffers one handle of it for her to hold as well so that they're sharing the weight.]

Well done, Knight. [Laconic praise, but said with warmth and sincerity.] Finn will be relieved.

[ Iramaat joins him in filling the barrels, of course, and then joins in the carrying. Many hands, light work, all that rot. She hefts her side carefully, making sure not to spill any of it. ]

I certainly hope so. We went through the trouble...! But it's worthwhile, isn't it?

[ And she said she'd do it. So here they are. She starts the trudge back into the outskirts of the shantytown, humming tunelessly. ]

Something small, but it's a start.

[The street pedlars are in the middle of packing up their wares. The afternoon light casts the shadows differently over the main street; it seems a different place to the one it had been in the morning. ]

I’m glad we’re helping. [He likes this plan. He’s happy to be a part of it.]

Glad as well to see you play the part of a hero. [Verbal side swipe:] You have moments of thoughtlessness, but there may be hope for you yet.

I think there's a great deal of hope for me! [ Iramaat laughs, head going back. ]

I was practically created for this sort of thing. Why should I not play the hero? It's my role in life. What I live for.

[ She eyes him, eyebrows arched. ]

You seemed positively helpful yourself. Didn't realize you were interested in that sort of thing. I took you as a bit more... scholarly. Detached. But I may have misjudged.

That is likely. [He juts out his chin and leaves it at that, proud and sensitive. How often does anyone look beyond the superficial? Especially here. Almost everybody, when they look at him, sees only a pair of pointed ears.

In time, they make it to the outskirts where Finn hailed them earlier that day. He’s there waiting now, leaning against a Cwyld-twisted tree and focused on playing with something in his hands.

As they approach, he raises his head towards them, eyes bored. Indifferently, he puts the leaf he’d been fashioning into a whistle to his lips. He makes a long sharp note. A greeting.]

[ Iramaat, at least, seems as chipper as ever and she raises her free hand in greeting as they approach. ]

Hail the conquering heroes! We return, bearing water. The sustenance of life!

[ OK, Iramaat, don't be overdramatic. ]

[Finn responds with a deadpan whistle. B-flat. Then he drops the leaf and kicks off the tree, standing before them. In his hand he holds a bright piece of fabric.

“Thanks. Didn’t think you’d really be back.”]

The manager was not pleased, but she saw reason.

[“Thank you,” he says again, more heartfelt this time. “Me and my sisters really needed this.”

Solas begins to put down the barrel before Finn. While doing so, Finn glances furtively at Iramaat, not meeting her eyes.

“Um. Here,” he says. He holds the fabric in his hand out for her to take: it’s a finely woven green scarf. “As… payment...”]

Oh!

[ Iramaat sets her side of the barrel down and clasps her hands together, smile widening. ]

You didn't have to do that, but - are you sure? I can't take your fine cloth from you, can I?

[ She's refusing it - at least at first - curious to see if he'll press it or not. ]

On the other hand... payment is appropriate, isn't it?

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

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