Aspel Cassul: When in doubt, Aspel! (weaponry) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-12-06 03:16:00 |
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This was a strange place to be. In a vague attempts to function through her fevered brain, Aspel has shifted, lifting herself from bed, and laboriously found her way into the bathroom - to empty the contents of her stomach - before stumbling into the living room. What was this place? Where was she? Who had brought her here? Eyes narrowed, attempting to place anything, everything around her. What could possibly be going on? This didn’t make a lick of sense, and Aspel wasn’t about to stand about, and allow herself to be kept locked up in Faram knew where until someone decided they wanted to come let her out. A low growl like noise slipped out from deep within her throat as a hand grasped the back of the couch in the living room. Had someone drugged her? It felt like it could be a poison. Maybe something else. It was hard to tell with how dazed her mind felt. Everything was so hot too. It was troublesome. Was Li here? Jareth? Where could they have gotten off to? Jead perhaps? Turning her gaze about the room, a low metallic scrape echoed across the back of her mind, startling the smith. “Who is there?” Whatever defensive stance she could manage, was obtained. Yet, no one was in the room, nothing was there other than a somewhat lived in looking apartment, with a store of books, metals, and various other - rather tasteful if she were honest - decorations littered about. Swaying slightly on her feet, arms which had been raised in preparation to fight slightly lowered before simply falling away. This place… Who… How… The last thing she recalled was… What was going on here? She heard footsteps approaching and turned to look at the doorway in time to see a redheaded woman walk in. At the sight of Aspel in the middle of the room in some sort of combat stance, Mag stopped in her tracks, takeout bags dangling from her hands. She told herself she needed to act as normal as possible, for Aspel’s sake. Keep herself together. And so she went into the kitchen and left the bags on the counter, aware of Aspel’s eyes following her progress. It was a behaviour miles away from the previous night. Mag tried to keep her calm—at this point, she had no idea what else could go wrong, but she had no desire to find out. In a tone as even as possible, she said, “You should be in bed, Aspel, honey.” Wait, what, how… Eyes snapped down, trying to find any metal on the woman, trying to scuff out where the source of the metallic scraping noise could have originated from and… Nothing. Fingers loosely balled into fists slowly began to relax. “Who sent you here?” Her brain tried to wrap around speech, and the words were obviously laden with how strained they happened to sound. Though, one thing spiked through clear as day. “Where… is here…?” There was a slight struggle to get the simple sentence out. Her fever soaked brain felt rough, ragged and put upon with each thought that tried to press through. There was a definite haze that disrupted every fiber of her being. This woman she’d… They’d met before. They’d… A hand fell to the back of the couch as her knees swayed. Collapsing to the floor here would do no one any good. The groceries were forgotten at once; Mag rushed out of the kitchen and was at Aspel’s side in an instant. She caught her just as it seemed like Aspel’s legs might give out, and half-carried her to the couch, where she helped her to lie down. She scanned the room for a blanket—she’d left one here the previous night, she was certain of it. She spotted it crumpled on top of the table, and covered Aspel with it, pushing her friend back down gently when she tried to get back up. Mag made sure Aspel’s feet were properly covered. As she went about the motions, only one thought echoed louder than the worry she felt. My best friend has no idea who I am. She sat on the floor by the couch, a hand coming up to brush Aspel’s hair out of her face. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, and she looked paler than she had a couple of hours ago. Mag decided to call the healer as soon as Aspel was a little calmer. “My name is Mag,” she said, putting on a smile. “Nobody sent me here. I came because I’m your friend. You’re ill, Aspel. I came to look after you.” "Fine." It was an attempt at stating how she would be, how she could be. Even if it’s a lie. Though, there was one thing for certain. No one could ever say a Cassul wasn't stubborn, and Aspel would be to the end. The hand that fell to Mag's shoulder seemed resistant at first. However, there was no real strength behind any push or pull she could manage, and clearly - even with an attempt to wave her off - the other woman wouldn't be dissuaded. That factor was what left her simply following along. Had she been poisoned? As predicted, the smith would try to sit up, just to be pushed back down. A low grumble rose from her throat at the - in her mind - needless mothering, and eyes closed. Though... "I know you." Though the words were low, and her entire being felt sore and slow. However, her thoughts were broken, only things that instantly caught her attention could be managed, but even then, not for long. "Everything is broken. Why is everything broken?" Some distress had crept into her voice, a hint of despair coloring the edges. "I am unaware when the clock broke." And that noise again... "There is a scrape, scraping. It tolls for me." Her speech had picked up in pace, but the continuity of thought was practically lost. Maybe she was losing her mind. Mag took a hold of Aspel’s hand—and unbidden came the thought I hope she doesn’t pull away. “The clock took an unplanned voyage down the stairs. I’ll get you a new one. We’ll go shopping when you’re better and you can pick your favorite.” She felt a pang of regret at her meaningless tantrum a few days ago, but put on a smile for Aspel. “And there is no scraping. Nothing tolls for you. You’re safe here.” She placed a kiss on Aspel’s forehead and ignored the voice in her head conjecturing how long it would be before Aspel’s condition worsened even further. She refused to let it happen—that was why she’d signed up for the mages’ mission. She was pulling her friend out of this, one way or another. “Are you hungry?” Another grumble and grating noise, it was distracting enough to dissuade any thought of removing her hand from the other womans. “There is a scraping. There is.” The words came out low, conspiratorial, though a desperate plea for belief at the same time. Then, nearly as an afterthought, more words came. “I hope it will not sail away from the horizon like the next.” Muscles stiffened at the feeling of lips pressed against her forehead. “This house, is it yours?” Blinking, her brow furrowed. “No, he says that is not right.” Fingers flexed, seemingly as though she’d completely forgotten her hand was held by the other woman. “I am…” Her train of thought seemed instantly lost. “The cuckoo clock, it chimes like a chocobo, no?” Mag became more and more alarmed with every nonsensical sentence that crossed Aspel’s lips. Delirium was far more serious a symptom than the loss of appetite or the fever, and it was new. The sickness was still advancing through Aspel’s body, not content with the damage it had already done. “This is your house, Aspel,” Mag said, though she feared she would not be able to pull her friend back to reality with words only. “And there is no cuckoo clock, and no chocobos. They’d shit all over the floor.” It was a last attempt to keep up good humor in the face of Aspel’s state, but panic had taken hold. Mag retrieved her communicator from her pocket and started searching for the healer’s number. If Aspel was getting worse, she wanted a healer here to care for her, even if the medical bills buried her up to her neck in debt. "My house would dance with the pale moonlight." Eyes lingered off to the side somewhere, seeming to look at something but taking nothing in at the exact same time. The smith's mind had fallen to processesing nothing at that point, her mental state and functioning capacity beginning to flicker out once again. "Oh." The word came out small and quiet, perhaps a bit like a scolded child. "but I do rather like chocobos." It was a truth too, Aspel had always had a soft spot for the beasts. Though, the statement would come out passive, low in volume as if she wasn't sure it was an okay thing to say and hands moved up, beginning to rub and wring against each other. The things Aspel said worried Mag; her sentences were cryptic, nonsensical, and the scraping sound Aspel had mentioned earlier—it was unnerving, to say the least. Mag frowned, trying to find some explanation, some way her friend’s words could be interpreted to make some semblance of sense, and calm her down. Who that he Aspel kept mentioning was, she had no idea. Perhaps Aspel was seeing someone else in the room—but when she referenced this he, she seemed lost in thought rather than looking at any point in the room. As if the words came from inside. Mag bit back a curse. Of course Aspel’s summon would add to Aspel’s distress now she was weak, big creeper that he was. “We can go to that rent-a-chocobo place when you’re better,” Mag said. “I promise.” After a pause, she added, “Don’t let whatever he says get to you. He’s a stupid jerk.” She touched the back of her hand to Aspel’s face and offered her friend a smile. “I’m going to get you that soup I brought before it grows cold. You’ll feel better after eating something. Okay?” "But I would want my chocobo." Again that same low, almost childish demeanor was present. However the topic would mostly be dropped. Though, the new rant from the woman next to her seemed to pull Aspel back for a moment, a low "Mm." Would be the only response. "Soup will fight the cold." Which, mostly was meant as a form of agreement. "It is terribly cold." A glance would be cast around, as goosebumps had started to rise on the smith's skin. “I’ll be right back, honey.” Mag lingered only a moment longer—Aspel seemed paler than before, she couldn’t help but notice—then stood up and went into the bedroom to fetch an extra blanket from the closet. The soup would also help, no doubt, but first, she had a call to make. The healer would not be able to cure Aspel’s illness, but at least the symptoms could be alleviated. That would have to suffice, for the time being. And the following day, Mag was going out with the other volunteers and bringing that magical herb back, whatever it took. Even if it killed her, she would not allow Aspel Cassul to die. |