Peony Min (blackmagicks) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-08-19 17:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, cyclone kapur, peony min |
Who: Peony & Cy
What: Tea, curry, and misery, tbh
Where: Cy's apartment at Cormac's clinic
When: Lunchtime today
Rating: PG-13 (Cy's potty mouth)
Status: Complete
Peony had awakened the morning of her promised visit to Cyclone with a headache of her own, which had only reconfirmed the need for a large vat of soup to be set upon the stove while she went about her morning tasks. By lunchtime, she feared the two of them would be sniffling side by side, for even ginger tea followed by a potion only barely touched the tickle beginning at the back of her throat, and the walk to the clinic left her somewhat winded. She could only hope she had caught the illness in time; Wednesday was settled one way or another, and she would rather not go with a fever, though she had certainly done it before. The entrance to the actual domestic part of the building was around the side, a separate door leading to Cormac and Cy’s living area, held separate from the clinic. After Peony rang the bell, the door was answered by a bleary-eyed synergist with the faint glow of magic wreathed around her, a blanket slung around her shoulders, one wrist still resting in a sling. “Come in, come in,” Cy said, waving her friend in. The scent of curry - still discernible despite the state of her nose - greeted Peony, and she had a small smile on her face which faded only slightly when she saw Cyclone’s condition. “Good afternoon,” she greeted, holding out the covered container. “I have brought you soup – and, it seems, an illness of my own.” This had become almost a joke with them, by now – they so often seemed to find themselves ill simultaneously, although it was generally not in the summer. “I shall stay a good distance away so that we do not compound the problem, but I did not wish to break my promise, so I am here.” “Who knows – maybe our colds will meet and breed and have adorable little disease-children.” Cy accepted the container with a feeble grin and started shuffling down the hall towards the living room, her oversized slippers scuffing on Cormac’s lovely hardwood floor. The woman was an automaton, forging stubbornly onwards throughout the years – but when it rained, it poured. The few times she was ever incapacitated, she was incapacitated with a vengeance. “Thanks for stopping by. I’m trying to get well as bloody fast as possible so Cormac’s not alone in the clinic.” “No thanks are necessary, of course,” Peony said, following Cyclone into the living room and noting the fact that one corner of the couch seemed to be the preferred nesting place for the synergist right at the moment. She selected a seat on the opposite side of the room. “I only wish I could do more. I heard something about a… very large bird?” Cyclone had not been the only guild member involved in what had apparently been a quite large disruption somewhere outside the walls, though Peony had some doubts as to the veracity of the tales featuring a chocobo standing twenty feet tall and throwing around high-level magicks. “Perhaps I can make tea?” she offered after a moment of thought. “Compared to you, I am practically in hearty good health. If you will allow me to make myself at home in your kitchen...” A very large bird. That was one way of putting it. Cy eyed her nest longingly, the container of soup pressed to her chest – soon, she’d be able to crawl back into it soon. “Sure,” Cy finally said, tearing herself away. “Start prepping the tea, then I can dole out some curry and regale you with all my horror stories.” Her voice dropped dramatically, with a slightly campy, ominous inflection. Her experience certainly didn’t measure up to the dark terror of the undead or that Thing from the tenements, but who had ever seen a twenty-foot tall chocobo? Who? The two invalids (one slightly moreso than the other) strolled into the kitchen area together, where the stove and its steaming pot awaited. Cy immediately started portioning out two bowls for both of them, one with soup and the other with curry and rice. Peony set about making tea, completing her task right around the same time as Cyclone finished hers, and loaded all necessary supplies onto a tray. Generally, she preferred not to eat on the living room couch, but today’s circumstances seemed to call for an exception. Accordingly, she set the tray on the coffee table, waited for Cyclone to sit down across from her. “I am quite interested to hear them,” she said readily, though she doubted they were quite as ‘horrifying’ as all that, if Cyclone could joke about them when her bruises had not yet fully faded. “It seems you had quite the adventure.” “Yeah, about that. I’ve had it up to here with Adventure.” The synergist crumpled back into her nest on the sofa (there was even a distinctly Cyclone-shaped indentation in the cushion), readjusting her blanket where it draped over her shoulders like some oversized cape. Their last training session had involved discussing how Cy could better handle the stress of combat situations – but it seemed last week’s experience had set her right back again. “So there was this merchant, right?” With a sniffle, Cy cradled the piping-hot bowl to her chin, breathing in the blistering smell of the spices. “He lost his caravan and supplies to a chocobo. Wanted the bird brought back alive, and his merchandise with it. He mentioned it was big, but neglected to mention how absolutely bloody enormous it really was. It was twenty feet high, Peony! Absolute fucking king of all the chocobos!” Peony took up her own bowl of curry, a soft smile playing across her features as she inhaled the fragrance. Others might have found it painfully spicy, perhaps, but she thought it would be just the thing for her stuffy nose. She was about to comment on it, but then Cyclone began her story, so instead she took her first bite and listened. Once the initial telling of the tale was complete, she knitted her brows slightly, commented, “I do not believe I have ever heard of a chocobo quite that size.” Even those larger birds she had seen in the wild - in her days of assisting the Rangers – were hardly over twelve feet at a guess. “I assume it did not desire to release its ill-gotten goods to your care?” she asked. She knew that chocobos – even of a normal height – could be extremely dangerous when provoked, so she could only assume that a bird of such an abnormally large size would be a formidable opponent indeed, magicks or no. “How many of you did the merchant engage?” “Not at all. Didn’t much like the idea of being taken in alive, either. But even if we did try to kill it, it’s not like we could do it easily.” The taste of the curry, now being shoveled into Cy’s mouth between sentences, was like a comforting blast of home: it reminded her of her mother’s cooking, of Ordalia, of taking refuge in her parents’ house, no matter how hapless and hopeless they were. She was stubbornly independent, but being an entire continent away from her family – her noble cousins most decidedly did not count – occasionally took its emotional toll. “There were seven of us, including meself. A fighter, two archers, Gale, a machinist, and a bard. You’d think it’d be a pretty solid group, yeah? Nice variety of abilities and specialties. But.” Cy gestured helplessly to her arm in a sling. “Twenty feet tall.” “Quite unfortunate,” Peony said, her tone commiserating. Still, even at twenty feet tall, that one single bird could do such significant damage to such a large group, comprised at least partly of people who were experienced in the field… “Were you able to subdue it, in the end?” she asked, curious. “I can imagine such a bird might fetch a price greater than the sum of the merchant’s reward with some of the local stables or breeders.” Not that she knew a terrible lot about animal husbandry, but generally rarity did tend to drive up prices. “I wish. It might’ve made the pain worth it, since the merchant wanted it alive and all. But no, it just up and disappeared on us. We got the supplies back after that.” Cy shook her head, now leaning back in the sofa. “Nice and anti-climactic end to my story, innit? Still, it did a number on us. I’m inclined to chalk this up to rotten bad luck. Because then there’s also the summer cold.” She sniffed again, then looked across the table at Peony – who, even in her own illness, managed to look elegant and composed as always. “How’re you doing, anyway?” “Better, with this curry,” Peony told her with another smile, this one full of sincere gratitude. “I do believe I can breathe through my nose again at last, which I consider a marked improvement over my state a mere half hour ago. Thank you, again.” A bit more curry, then, “I must admit, I am beginning to believe in ill fortune myself. These times are very… trying.” She thought of her visit with Merrion recently and the heavy topics they had discussed, of Siana’s tightly coiled nerves at the silence of the necromancer who had previously contacted them both, and of the monster in the Tenements which had demolished half a district before vanishing. Much like the sea serpent had done… “Some good news, perhaps, to bolster our spirits,” she said at last, setting her concerns aside for the moment. “Quenten will graduate to her primary class within the next several weeks, if she is diligent in her study. I will be taking her out into the field later this week – cold or no cold – or a bit of practical experience, though perhaps I will ask our hired fighters to steer clear of birds!” “They ought to,” Cy said stubbornly, her face twisted into a reflection of her own sour mood. But the expression soon relaxed at the thought of Quen’s graduation, twitching and easing at the sides like a mask dropping. “So I hear. I’m trying to help her out a bit, when I have some spare moments.” The scholar might not be one of Cormac’s favourite people, but Cy’s heart perennially went out to causes in need of aid. “If I heal up fast enough, maybe I can get some more training time in with her before she takes her test.” Cy’s voice was musing and thoughtful, already starting to tally the statistics she knew on convalescence time. “I imagine with regular healing for your injuries, you will be steady on your feet within the next two or three days,” Peony said. She had some knowledge on the subject despite her utter lack of healing ability, mostly due to the fact that she did tend to get injured with rather alarming frequency. It was one of the unfortunate perils of being a mage whose best deployment was on or near the front lines of a fight. “The cold, however…” She sighed, then added, a mournful note creeping into her voice – for her, practically the equivalent of ill temper – “I am certain you can sympathize: I’ve far too much to do to be ill.” Someday, some white mage would at last discover the secret to healing upper respiratory ailments with some measure of success. It was, in her opinion, an avenue of research that needed exploring. Surely the common cold was one of Faram’s most insidious reminders to humes of their own frailty. “And that,” she said, “is quite enough of my ungraceful complaining. I shall be well enough to go, I am certain, although any assistance you can offer Quenten prior to her exam would certainly be welcome. She does so wish to learn.” And hopefully, with the majority of her control issues resolved or at the very least tempered, she might be able to do so in a way which would not lead her to harm herself and others. “Are you kidding me?” Cy asked, with a smile above her now-almost-empty bowl. “I’m practically, like, the queen of ungraceful complaining. You’re fine, mate. And I can only imagine, the amount of work you’ve got to do as a councilor.” They made for an odd pair, these two: one calm and well-spoken and reserved, the other a windmilling vortex of energy. But that was precisely what made the friendship work: Cyclone (her name so very, very apt) tended to simmer down around the older woman. After a slight, thoughtful pause: “You don’t know anything about abnormally-sized animals, do you?” “Unfortunately not,” Peony said with some regret. “I wish I could enlighten you, but alas. Have you tried the library?” The guild library contained so many books and scrolls that she doubted even the librarians knew exactly what information was hidden among the stacks. She had spent an inordinate amount of time there lately. “I have not been consulting bestiaries most recently, although Merrion has – perhaps he may be able to assist.” She had set him the task of finding what in the ocean might have provoked the serpent and caused the missing shipments, and although the waters surrounding Emillion appeared to have become calm once more, she was not entirely comforted. “Hm. Dunno, not so much. But I’ll go digging the next time I’m at the Tower, and ask Merri if he’s come across anything.” Over the course of their conversation, and the rapid inhalation of their food, Cy had started slumping further and further down in her seat, turning into nothing more than a blanket-wrapped pile with a head blinking owlishly out of one end. “Speaking of the library,” she said, her uninjured arm darting out of the nest to grab a nearby book from the coffee-table, “have you read this?” Ordinarily, Cy would have flung it at her friend, but instead just scooted the book across the table towards Peony. “I tried to use Stun during the fight, y’see, so I was thinking—” It was an easy switch, the both of them seguing back into academic discussion and debate. Cy’s head might be foggy, her body battered, incapable of tending to patients in the clinic today (much to her live-in boss’ displeasure), but some things never changed. |