zacheus aleyne. (nocking) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-07-30 10:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, guy lenard, zacheus aleyne |
WHO: Guy Lenard & Zacheus Aleyne.
WHAT: Recovering after the riot.
WHERE: The Aleyne home.
WHEN: Backdated to immediately after the riot.
RATING: PG?
STATUS: Complete.
It was bad luck that landed him in the Bazaar district right when the rioting broke out. Zacheus had left his shift with every intention of heading straight home to the Commoner’s District. But the threadbare gloves he was sporting reminded him that he needed to pick up a few supplies. Maybe a gift for Lille, too. But gloves and gifts were forgotten by the time the area descended into complete chaos. While he wasn’t a member of the EKP, he had done his best to try to quell some of the fighting; he’d received a sharp jab to the ribs and a right hook to the jaw for his trouble. He wouldn’t call spotting Guy a few yards away a stroke of good luck — not when Guy was unwillingly drawn into the rioting as well — but it was certainly the impetus he needed to leave the spreading uproar behind and get the hell out of there. Once they were safely tucked away into an alley, he quickly looked the synergist over and decided the best thing for both of them was to go straight to his home and tend to their (or really just Guy’s) injuries. Lille and his father were thankfully out when they arrived. Zacheus sat Guy down at the kitchen table while he pulled out necessary supplies: bandages, salve, a potion. He set the potion down on the table in front of Guy with an expectant look. It was all too easy for him to slide into the role of caretaker, even with friends. Zacheus wasn’t going to press him on his aversion to healers, but he was going to make sure Guy left the Aleyne home with nary a scratch. “That should help. And I can use Cure if it doesn’t,” he said quietly, eyes serious as he scanned over Guy’s visible injuries. Guy wiped his forehead with the back of one hand, his gaze on the potion Zacheus had set out for him. The blood on his face had already dried, but the mess was still on his shirt and cuffs, and the cut still oozed a raw red, something that would need to be tended to first and foremost. Unfortunately, he seemed to have gained the most injuries of the both of them while out, with scrapes across his knuckles, a black eye from an unintentional strike in his direction, and the above mentioned cut above his brow. Feeling sore and tired, it was no wonder to him that he’d someone agreed in his exhaustion to follow Zacheus back to his family residence. Tired as he was, however, sitting at the kitchen table and realizing his predicament, Guy couldn’t help but to begin fidgeting. He wasn’t especially accustomed to anyone tending to his wounds, even outside the healers he loathed. Hesitantly he reached for the potion, tapping it with his fingers as if considering it thoughtfully. Meanwhile, his eyes wandered around the kitchen and lingered on Zacheus. “Cure?” He echoed, trying to sound more impressed than he was stalling. “Well now, I doubt that should be necessary.” Of course, Guy couldn’t see the miserable impression he was making either. He winced, blinking his bruising eye and toyed with the cap of the bottle. Would it be poor manners, he wondered, if he were to smoke in the kitchen? “I’m sure you do,” Zacheus replied, with a slight lift of his eyebrows. His expression was still tense and concerned, but his shoulders relaxed and there was a hint of amusement in his voice. As the older brother to a very clumsy younger sibling who never wanted to inconvenience anyone, this was the sort of disagreement he was accustomed to. Oh no, Zacheus, it’s really not that serious at all! There’s no need to trouble yourself, I’m sure it will heal nicely on its own. And so on. He would’ve grinned if he wasn’t so sure Guy would somehow use it to press his advantage and get out of being healed. There was a brief pause before he moved forward, leaning down a little and gingerly catching Guy’s chin with a gloved hand so he could tilt his head up. It wasn’t an especially intimate touch, but Zacheus felt self-conscious all the same, biting down on his lower lip as he took a closer look on the gash on the synergist’s forehead. If Guy absolutely refused, he supposed he could simply clean it up and send him on his way with a bandage. But— “And I’m sure you would say the same thing if I dragged you to the bathroom and let you have a look at yourself, but I think it’s necessary. It’s a nasty cut. Cure would be the quickest way to stave off any chance of infection.” Guy had to school his expression, trying not to pout, scowl, or give too clear of an indication of his unease. The sound of his fingers tapping anxiously against the potion bottle did enough to give it away as it was, and once Zacheus had begun a more hands-on approach, Guy’s right leg started to infect with the same anxious jitter. His heel tapped against the floor, making him seem for a moment every bit of a youth struggling to behave. He forced himself still, however, and put most of his effort into not pulling away either. There was reason in Zacheus’ words, Guy knew, and he tried to measure his response around such logic. His lips twitched in what was either a wince or an attempt at a smile. “If you’re sure of it,” Guy replied, sounding very much like he himself was not. “I don’t mean to inconvenience you any further, Zacheus.” Really, by now he was only stalling. Refusing to meet the other man eye to eye, Guy wondered if he would’ve endured this if it had been anyone else. Certainly, if it had been a healer, he would’ve shoved him aside by now, with or without some manner of apology. He tried to distract himself with thoughts of the scene they’d just escaped, the seemingly random swell of violence that had infected the patrons of the Bazaar, and not, very much not, the lingering sensation of Zacheus’ hand on his chin. Zacheus pulled back, head tilting slightly as he studied Guy, quietly assessing the moment. There was no missing the man’s obvious discomfort. It was almost enough to make him drop the matter. Asking him why he loathed healers (and being healed by non-healers, apparently) was another tempting option. Surely that’s what anyone a shade more inquisitive than Zacheus would do in this position. But it was none of his business, really. His priority was tending to Guy’s cuts and scrapes, his bruises and black eye. But his gaze did not linger on his injuries. “You’re never a—” He started, but he quickly cut himself off. It was the sculpted cheekbones that caught his eye for a moment too long; Zacheus immediately lowered his eyes once he realized what he was doing. “It’s no trouble at all,” he continued, hoping he sounded reassuring. He removed his glove and leaned forward again, his fingers gently touching Guy’s temple. Cure was the only bit of magic Zacheus had in his arsenal. It wasn’t as thorough or exact as what one would get with a proper mage, but he could manage a few cuts. Startled, Guy cleared his throat. He was not accustomed to this, and hadn’t been in a very long time. With his eyes wandering around the Aleyne family kitchen, he let his mind wander to a different place and time. “Your family is out?” He asked suddenly, simply as a means to distract himself. “I would’ve like to have said hello,” Guy went on, and wondered how genuinely he meant it. There were so many things, after all, said to simply be agreeable. Real sentiments were unfortunately more difficult to discern. But with the warm sensation of curative magics being cast, already putting him out of sorts, and the light feel of Zacheus’ fingers lingering near his temple, he couldn’t help but ponder it. It was probably for the better that he visited them while not so poor a sight. Guy reasoned that making a terrible impression by way of blood and oozing injuries was surely not likely to afford him many future invitations. And, as the two of them were good friends, that would prove to be disadvantageous if anything. He allowed his mind to ramble on and on in this direction, waiting patiently for Zacheus to tend to his wounds. “Mmm,” Zacheus nodded, distractedly, focusing less on Guy’s words and more on the steady stream of magic flowing from his fingertips. Lille was still at work, his father was spending the day with a friend of their mother’s. It was good for him, they all agreed, to get out when he could. All thoughts he would’ve voiced if he wasn’t so preoccupied with watching the bruises and cuts marring Guy’s face fade into practically nothing. “They’ll be back in a couple hours,” he murmured, after a moment. “You could stay for a meal, if you like.” Guy tried not to squirm too much as Zacheus concentrated on healing him, but the synergist couldn’t help but let out a short burst of laughter. Moving one of his hands up to scratch at his own beard, he wondered if he shouldn’t try and say no, all things considered. But attempting to muster up an appropriate sounding excuse seemed to be strangely more difficult than he imagined (this was becoming something of a habit that evening). After a moment of thinking over his options, Guy shrugged in acquiescence. “Well,” he began to say, “I suppose I’d better try to clean myself up in that case.” He worked up a decent semblance of a smile and gestured to the blood on his shirt. “I must look quite a sight.” The corners of Zacheus’ mouth turned upward as he took a step back to admire his handywork. There would probably be a faint scar, he thought, though the more minor scrapes and bruises were gone, wiped away like ink. He dusted off his hands (there was no need to, it was simply a compulsive habit after using magic) and folded his arms across his chest, making a show out of giving Guy a once-over. “Absolutely terrible,” he shot back, returning Guy’s faint smile with a full-on grin. “But they’ve seen worse, I assure you. And this,” he added, gesturing to their very lived-in surroundings, “is not Atelier. No one is going to turn you away for being a bit bloody.” Guy ran a hand through his hair, looking slightly sheepish. “At least you’ll show me where the bathroom is?” His face no longer ached, and as he reached idly to touch at where the cut had been, noted that the skin was now nicely mended. He wondered how good Zacheus was with his cure spell, how long he’d been practicing. Now that it was over, of course, he allowed himself to feel relieved. Not so bad for such a minor scrape, was it? Standing up from the chair, craving some kind of motion now that the other man wasn’t attentively looming over him, Guy shuffled around and began to roll up his sleeves. He could mitigate some of his no doubt ghastly appearance, after all. Now that he’d given in and decided to stay for dinner, some effort ought to be made to look at least a degree of presentable to Lille and Zacheus’ father, no matter the archer’s opinion. “The least I can do is wash up and try to help with dinner, after all.” “Fair enough,” Zacheus agreed, raking a hair through his own short hair as he took Guy’s seat. Truthfully, he was a little surprised Guy was so... amenable to the idea of staying around for a few more hours. His sister would be the first to point out this obvious silver lining to the riot in the Bazaar. The thought of the teasing he would be forced to endure from Lille once Guy left for the evening was almost enough to make him flush. “The bathroom is down the hall, third door on the left,” he said lightly, gesturing in the direction of the hallway. “There should be fresh towels in there already, but let me know if you need anything else.” There was a slight pause before replying, as if Guy was thinking something important over. But after an awkward moment of shifting around in place, the synergist glanced down the hallway and simply nodded his head. “Third door on the left,” he repeated, already bounding in that direction. Hopefully, he’d resemble something a bit more pleasant by the time the others arrived. He carried the potion with him as well and, with the combined effort of Zacheus’ healing magic, was sure he’d feel much better in no time. “Thank you,” he said at last, glancing warily over one shoulder. Guy was already halfway down the hall then, but he made certain that the gratitude in his voice was clear. Hoping he could sneak outside for at least one cigarette before dinner, he shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door. |