braymitch thornathy. (grever) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-01-12 01:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, bram thornton, perdita arkady |
great scott.
Who: Perdita Arkady & Bram Thornton
What: Two convalescents run into each other while checking out of the clinic, and the councilman makes sure his favourite scholar still hasn't gotten herself killed.
Where: A white mage clinic.
When: Around December 21st, shortly after Cúchulainn's attack.
Rating: Tame.
Status: Complete!
He was getting too old for this. Each battle meant it was harder and harder to pull himself back together afterwards, no matter how meticulous the white magic or stringently-applied the potions. Bram waded into conflict with his usual gruff composure but then came wading out slower, his actions a bit more hesitant, his bones creaking just ever so much more. The clinics saw their share of bruised and banged-up guild members after the enormous monster attack on the Mages Tower, but even so, they were less full than they’d been during the plague. The councilman weathered the ministrations patiently, waiting while a mage finished reapplying his bandages and refreshing the poultices on his back, in the places he couldn’t reach quite as well, stiff from both age and injury. (Once upon a time, perhaps he would have asked his wife to work on the healing; these days, his pride sent him limping to the clinics instead.) Cure spells and Dragonbinds were quite useful in the field of battle (or retreat, in her case) but a broken bone still meant a trip to a white magic clinic once the dust had settled. Mag and Juliette had found someone to splint her broken arm once they had gotten to Shieldwyrm Hall, but again, a white mage was needed to finish the job. “You’re lucky the fracture wasn’t more serious,” chastised the white mage, an older woman with pursed lips and gray hair pulled back in a tight bun. “I’ve seen some closed fractures where we had to do surgery, just to make sure that all parts of the injury healed properly!” Wordlessly, the white mage touched the lower part of Perdita’s arm, a green glow emitting from her palms. Perdita shivered, she could almost feel the broken bone reknit underneath the skin! Despite the eerie sensation, Perdita smiled at the white mage when the spell was complete. “Madam, I cannot thank you enough,” Perdita began, but she was cut off as the white mage went on. “You’ll need to apply the poultice to your arm before going to bed this evening, that should prevent any bruising,” the white mage told her. “Don’t overexert yourself for the next day or so.” The white mage helped Perdita off of the cot, and began to lead her out of the office and to the waiting room. “Cura is not a cure-all, Faram knows how many scholars and squires I’ve had to say that to since I started--” And it was right when they were wrapping up and the dragoon was settling up his accounts when he spotted a familiar face slipping through the waiting room. “Miss Arkady,” he said, surprised. Perdita turned her head, seeing Bram Thornton in the waiting room as well. “Sir Thornton!” she said, beaming. “Miss Arkady!” said her white mage, frowning. “Healer Scott,” Perdita said, her smile replaced with a meeker expression. “You can pick up your poultice at the front desk with Apprentice Healer Curry,” said Scott. “As well as settle your payment for the prescription. Good day, Miss Arkady, and remember: no over-exertion.” With that, the white mage left Perdita in the waiting room, and went to help the next patient. Perdita quickly hurried over to the front desk while the dragoon watched and waited in line behind her. “One poultice for Arkady?” she asked the mage sitting at the desk. He held a small white bag. “Thank you! And Healer Scott said that I could make my payment here…?” “It’ll be 100 gil, miss.” “One hundred?” “One hundred.” “Very well, then,” Perdita said, turning the coin over to the apprentice. He, in turn, gave her a small white bag. “Thank you,” she said, “And a very Happy Faram’s Eve to you!” With that, she turned and left the front desk, but waited by the door for Sir Thornton to finish his business. His exchange was much faster, conducted with brusque grunts and a scrawl of a signature setting his bill to the council’s expense account. “It’s quite a surprise to see you here, Sir Thornton,” Perdita said, once he went to the door, “I hope you’re well. Or, well now?” “Not entirely well,” he said, holding the clinic door open for her as the girl scurried out beneath his arm, the white of the bandage standing out beneath his sleeve. “But better. Thank goodness for the white mages of Emillion. And you?” The man turned a scrutinising look onto the eager little scholar, brow furrowing in concern and a little bit of disbelief. He’d overheard enough of Healer Scott’s instructions to pick up the gist. “Don’t tell me you were out in that fray, Perdita.” “Sir Thornton,” Perdita said, raising an eyebrow, “the entire city was ’that fray.’ My friends and I had no sooner exited Lux & Livre than we ran into two slimers! I was struck by an Aero spell,” she elaborated, “Not my finest hour. It was quite lucky that Miss Paget rescued us.” The man made a thoughtful hmph upon hearing the name. As she went down the steps, Perdita spotted the bandages underneath the dragoon’s sleeve. “Not entirely well?” she repeated. “Ser Thornton, appearances would suggest that’s an understatement! If it’s not too rude to ask, what happened?” “This and that,” Bram said vaguely as they walked along together. Reflecting on how badly he was injured never sat well with him. “Matsudaira put out a distress call for the Mages Tower. Many citizens came to help out in the battle. Practically part of my job description.” After a bemused pause, he added, “But not my finest hour either. Did you say Paget rescued both you and your friends? Hardly surprised.” “I was very grateful for her aid,” Perdita said as she walked down the steps with the peacekeeper. “I was--” she glanced downwards as she recalled the events from the previous day, “woefully unprepared for a combat situation.” Perdita thought of Juliette, absorbing the impact from one of the Aero spells, of Ridley’s pale, frightened face, and the sickening, chilling fear Perdita had felt when she realized how ill-equipped she was for the whole thing. “No matter,” Perdita said, raising her head back up, “Next time I will be better.” “You do know you can pace yourself, pick your battles.” As much as Bram tried to avoid it, that creeping note of concern seeped back into his voice. It was the sort of coddling wariness that he’d always told himself he wouldn’t indulge in—but the squires, scholars, and apprentices looked more fragile than ever nowadays, small and young and unprepared. He wondered, vaguely, if it was them or him. “There’s getting practical field experience, of course. And then there’s taking on an enormous mysterious monster attempting to raze the Tower.” “I didn’t go after an enormous monster!” Perdita protested, “I wasn’t even going after anything! I was attacked by slimers. Flan. Absurdly slow beasts with no visible brains…” she muttered. Perdita then made an expression that she would insist was not sulking. Young ladies of high society, substantial fortunes, and no depth made those sort of expressions, not diligent scholars dedicated to magic and academia, nevermind the fact that Perdita was both of those things. However, Perdita’s expression was most definitely one of sulking, possibly even pouting. It passed quickly though, as a question regarding the situation formed in her mind. The councilman held back a thin smile. “About the monster that attacked the Tower,” Perdita asked, “Have you heard anything about it? Who summoned it and why, that sort of thing. All I’ve heard is gossip from my classmates.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, nothing. As of yet.” Admitting ignorance to a teenager rankled; the councils had been put in that unenviable position far too often this year, the monsters of Valendia riled up for some reason they couldn’t fathom. But Bram was quick to add, “We’ll have all of our best researching this, however. If you hear of anything promising at the Tower, or stumble across anything in your books, let us know.” It was already likely that Peony would devote herself to the matter full-scale—Bram had a general idea of how the young woman functioned—but the more eyes on the matter, the better, even if they were students. Never underestimate the young, he reminded himself. Perdita nodded. “I’m sure that Miss Min and the other members of the Council will want to investigate the matter thoroughly, as do I. I have no intention of ignoring an attack on both the Tower and the city,” she added, her jaw set. By now, their conversation had led them far from the white mage clinic, and to a small square in the Commoners District. Paths led to other parts of the district and beyond, and four teleportation crystals glowed in each corner. “I am headed to the Tower now, actually,” Perdita said, glancing at one of the crystals. “Where are you headed, Ser Thornton?” “The Fighters Guild, as always.” He looked down at the girl, who was plucky and determined and indefatigable as always. There was a sort of perpetual chipper energy in Perdita Arkady, carrying her stubbornly through whatever obstacles life threw at her. Mulling over it, Bram felt a bone-weary relief that yet another city attack hadn’t extinguished it, and had left the girl intact—having kept her safe at the docks years ago, he was determined to keep it that way. “But actually.” Bram’s pale eyes shifted, looking at the tall Mages Tower in the distance at the heart of the city, where it loomed over the rest of Emillion. “It was just a friend’s birthday. I could walk you over, pay him a visit.” Perdita smiled. “Ser Thornton, I would not mind that in the least,” she told him. “Lead the way.” So he extended his arm (the uninjured one), a gentlemanly little crook of the elbow, and the battered old warhorse escorted the scholar towards the crystal, Perdita chattering away as they went. |