Ianchus Cepheos (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
vocarrah) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hadriel_logs2018-08-15 10:40 pm
vocarrah) wrote in hadriel_logs2018-08-15 10:40 pm
Entry tags:
Visiting Hours, Party Hours
Who: Ianchus, anyone coming by the clinic.
What: Visitation, beratement, and/or patient gossip.
Where: The Clinic.
When: Early-ish August, after this and this.
Warnings: Injuries and stuff? Probably not much.
Nothing injured but my pride. That was a common phrase he'd heard among the explorer-mercenaries after any sort of slip-up, their fault or not. Ianchus' favorite version of that would be to say he had no pride, so he had nothing to hurt.
And yet, there seemed an odd little ache now, in addition to the massive ache that was his whole body (his wounds had been fixed, his ribs wrapped, his cuts stitched, and he was on the way to mending, at the very least).
It looked like he had some sort of pride after all, that could be wounded, small as it was. And Ianchus realized that, despite his idiosyncracies...that for the time being, he was tired of wounds.
He'd been quite surprised at how many people had responded to his half-incoherent messages--even to just check if he was alright after seeing all the other responses. He was...grateful. Incredibly grateful. Everyone was trying to survive here, and yet nobody seemed to want to watch others die, no matter how foolish.
Ianchus had managed to find spare twine, cloth, rope, and other similar objects around the clinic, and he'd whiled away the hours once he was awake by making Cephean sailors' good-luck charms; braiding several different kinds of materials together into a thick rope was not only relaxing (and would keep him from going stir-crazy in his bed), but it was the only way he could think of to repay the people he was grateful to. A little luck would certainly be useful, wouldn't it?
Thankfully he's well enough now to receive visitors. Are you a fellow patient? Have you come to check on him? Admonish him, perhaps? God, but he could really use the company.
What: Visitation, beratement, and/or patient gossip.
Where: The Clinic.
When: Early-ish August, after this and this.
Warnings: Injuries and stuff? Probably not much.
Nothing injured but my pride. That was a common phrase he'd heard among the explorer-mercenaries after any sort of slip-up, their fault or not. Ianchus' favorite version of that would be to say he had no pride, so he had nothing to hurt.
And yet, there seemed an odd little ache now, in addition to the massive ache that was his whole body (his wounds had been fixed, his ribs wrapped, his cuts stitched, and he was on the way to mending, at the very least).
It looked like he had some sort of pride after all, that could be wounded, small as it was. And Ianchus realized that, despite his idiosyncracies...that for the time being, he was tired of wounds.
He'd been quite surprised at how many people had responded to his half-incoherent messages--even to just check if he was alright after seeing all the other responses. He was...grateful. Incredibly grateful. Everyone was trying to survive here, and yet nobody seemed to want to watch others die, no matter how foolish.
Ianchus had managed to find spare twine, cloth, rope, and other similar objects around the clinic, and he'd whiled away the hours once he was awake by making Cephean sailors' good-luck charms; braiding several different kinds of materials together into a thick rope was not only relaxing (and would keep him from going stir-crazy in his bed), but it was the only way he could think of to repay the people he was grateful to. A little luck would certainly be useful, wouldn't it?
Thankfully he's well enough now to receive visitors. Are you a fellow patient? Have you come to check on him? Admonish him, perhaps? God, but he could really use the company.
no subject
[Ianchus sits back, putting the finishing tie on the braid in his hand and holding it out to Carlisle.]
Best take care. All manner of beasts can attack unprovoked.
no subject
[Despite his sharp manner, he does take the braid when it is offered to him, turning it over in his hand.]
What is this, exactly? Aside from a way to keep yourself entertained.
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[but he looks pleased that Carlisle's taken it.]
A sailor's charm from my homeland. I wouldn't say it's for luck as much as it is to ward off calamity. And...I'm sure it works perfectly fine, even if you aren't going out to sea. Which...I assume you're not? What with all the risks.
no subject
His inward tirade continuing to bubble, Carlisle looks the charm over again, wondering just how effective it could possibly be, given what unknown calamity clearly befell its maker to put him in the Clinic.]
I leave the sea to those who can at least swim.
no subject
[He chuckles at the thought, and then runs his hand through his hair.]
Those charms are made by rebraiding old ropes that have worn out their use in a ship. You see? By braiding them again they're strengthened.
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Are you a sailor, then? By trade?
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[He laces his fingers behind his neck, tilting his head back.]
I suppose I'm simply a bored rich boy. But much of that wealth went to sailors and explorers, and I traveled with them to see what they were doing with it.
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no subject
The reason that I managed to keep so much of my wealth was because I was investing it. In my world, exploration was lucrative...finding new resources, new areas, new peoples to trade with. I invested in two things--
[He counts them off with fingers held up.]
One. Small port establishments. One that couldn't get the capital to grow on their own, but would flourish when given a little...push!
The second was exploration. Again, I give the capital, invest in an expedition, and I, of course, receive a return of investment. The traveling was optional, but...
[a small shrug]
Despite how it looks, I'm not a man who enjoys sitting on his arse all day.
no subject
He crosses his arms, reminded just a bit too much of Bear Den. It, unfortunately, did not flourish from a specific investment, but due to the continued influence of his family. How sad it was that the village would no doubt struggle without them -- or him, should he never return. Given his limited lifespan, he is sure that will be the case. They will survive for a time, selling his family's estate and belongings, his entire lineage collapsing due to the failure of a single member.
There are reasons Carlisle is not a very cheery individual most days.]
And what did you do with your wealth? After your... investments had made their returns?
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I invested it back, of course. I didn't really think of where it would go afterwards. I just supposed that if...
[He trails off briefly, a smile still on his face but the expression growing distant. He catches himself quickly enough, though--]
If something happened, I wouldn't be reliant on family money, mmm? But even the money that I invested benefitted me. It's lovely to go to a port with a proper inn, hmm?
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I wouldn't know. I have never been to a proper port town.
[Bear Den had ports and was on a river, but most wouldn't consider it a "port town" by any standard.]
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Do you remember the dreams we had? A few months ago? Next time that happens...find me. I'll show you one. [and then, with a note of teasing:]
And there won't be beasts. I promise.
no subject
[Not that Carlisle doesn't think this fellow's dreams wouldn't be lined with bustling port towns and fanciful sailors, but he also knows the nature of dreams -- they can bring with them the worst kinds of monstrosities, horrors that can trap a man like himself in the den of his greatest fears. His dreams are often like that, unfortunately.
He pushes a quiet sigh out of him, knowing he need not be so cruel in the face of what might actually be a genuine offer.]
Tell me of one of your port towns. Your home, or your favorite, perhaps.
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But then Carlisle takes him aback entirely with that question. Ianchus blinks, the surprise clear on his face. Dare he say he's...a little touched? So far, they've only really sniped at each other.
He takes a moment to think, tilting his head, and then draws himself up.]
One of my favorites, then. A small port, set on an island that was unclaimed territory. It was the only way to dock on the island--the rest of it ended in cliffs. There were trees, grazing land...good fishing spots, though the sea was dangerous. Few people lived there, but the port had become popular with brigands, pirates, and others who...hm. Those who needed a neutral territory. For whatever reason.
[He closes his eyes as he speaks, a little smile playing across his face as he remembers.]
There were people from all over there. My country was much the same, but...there was always a tension when one saw a foreigner. Here, everyone was a foreigner...even the inhabitants had roots elsewhere. And in a way, it monitored itself. Too much disruption would attract unwanted attention, and because it was neutral ground, there was a danger of justice from different countries following them. But ah! That's why you keep quiet, no? [He puts a finger to his lips to demonstrate.]
There was something...relaxing about it. A kind of freedom in the air. Not that I condone piracy, of course, but...ah.