Visiting Hours, Party Hours

[vocarrah]

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.

Comments

[vocarrah]

"Ah? And what would you find fearful?" The boy's mother seems like a smart woman, he thinks, if, perhaps, somewhat melodramatic. Humans are the true monsters.

He'd thought if he'd had to be killed, he'd prefer something that could look him in the eyes and acknowledge him, but...perhaps there's something secure in the anonymity of being killed by something with no capacity for higher thought.

Or perhaps now he's thinking too much.

[abbatis]

"Those who look like humans but are something much more," he says with a knowing tone. It is quite hypocritical for him to say this but Ianchus doesn't know about any of that.

"Humans themselves are already capable of unspeakable horrors. But you'll learn to know their physical limits, right? There are some things that they simply can't do so you can at least try to prepare for the worst. But with those who aren't human?" He shakes his head.

"You didn't answer my question, though."

[vocarrah]

"About your astuteness? Just listen to yourself talk." Ianchus sits back with a huff. "You certainly sound like someone who's had firsthand experience. Else you're remarkably good at understanding the minds of those a little less than human."

But after a pause, he gives him a somewhat straight answer.

"I suppose in knowing how to listen for those who know nothing of what they talk of...one learns to hear when someone is quite the opposite."

[abbatis]

"The latter one might be closer one, I think. After all, I'm still so very young so I possibly couldn't have that much experience." He rolls his shoulders nonchalantly. "I just read a lot and like to listen to others. Though I do believe that wisdom can be found from the unexpected places." Like from mouth of a child for an example.

"But that isn't the question I meant. You never said if you've been chased off the cliffs by the monsters that walk on two legs."

[vocarrah]

"MMmmmmmm. Astute and curious." Ianchus makes a massive show of stretching and thinking about it, and then, simply:

"Yes."

[abbatis]

"Is that bad?" He asks, making his voice sound oh so young and innocent as he bats his eyelashes twice. "You interest me."

And as for his answer? Well, it only works as an affirmation to his previous thoughts. He thinks he's already managed to paint a good picture of just what kind of man he is, which has been correct so far. His expression doesn't change nor does he seem to react to his words in any particular way.

"I suppose it wasn't a tag gone wrong?"

[vocarrah]

"A tag?" There's a lot of words that Ianchus isn't familiar with that the residents of Hadriel use--this is one of them. He is rather amused at being an object of interest, though. Not that he minds.

[abbatis]

"The game." He explains. "It's one where you chase someone as they run away from you. Once you catch them they become 'tag' and have to chase you. It's pretty popular where I'm from."

At least he and Allan loved playing it. Although their rules were a bit different from the norm.

[vocarrah]

"Ah! I see. No, I wouldn't have minded nearly as much if it was a game gone wrong, I imagine." He chuckles at the thought. "And I imagine anyone I was playing with would be here, groveling in apology."

He'd overestimated how likely people would be to want to get along here, perhaps. Ah, a shame.