mathieu trinket. (flauto) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-04-24 08:11:00 |
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Crack, crack, that sickening crunching noise of bones meeting rock was the last thing Esther heard, a steady trickle of blood beneath outlining the contours of her body. The sky was grey white black. Crushed birds with their insides twisted; there was nothing left to sing. Esther registered the murmurs over her, the bare stirrings of consciousness that told her she was no longer dying but not that far from death. She was tired. Mathieu looked down to the clinic bed once again, having perched at her side and keeping himself there until he could afford to do so no longer. The past few days had already proven a nightmare, and this here before him seemed the worst part of all. The damage to the Rozenkatz estate could be repaired with time and money, his guild could be mended with enough effort (or so he continued to tell himself), and his optimism wouldn’t be allowed to fail him until this entire calamity was over, but this-- There were too many questions, too much doubt now about what had happened, or perhaps what had been allowed to happen. Rumors ran quick and virulent along the city streets, hooking him by the ear as he travelled from one damaged building to the next. Mathieu understood that he was not immune to their influence, but control was his most reliable weapon, and control over his appearance was what would keep him through this crisis. He ran a hand through his hair and looked away, over to the windows and the bouquet of flowers he’d brought along. “It looks like the sun is out,” he mused to himself, watching the warm rays of light spread along the room. She heard him before she opened her eyes, his familiar voice a comfort as her mind put together the pieces of when, what, how; her body ached in ways it never had before but Mathieu was here and that in itself (while not surprising) made her smile weakly. “S’time to wake up?” Sandpaper voice scraping the silence. Her mind assessed the damage, feeling the breaks and tears of battle — Esther decided that she didn’t like battle much, and she moved a little, carefully testing how far she could turn her head, wriggle her fingers, shift her legs and turn her hands. Pinpricks of pain here and there. And she was glad, so glad not to wake up alone but with Mathieu, and in that way not worry about where he was, and whether he was alright. “Be careful not to overexert yourself,” he said (voice light and almost teasing), his attention drawn to Esther’s voice and watching as she began to move around. A relief washed over him, and Mathieu was instantly grateful that the mage was able to talk. Sitting around in silence, perched at her side as she slept, had not become a well-liked hobby. “And how are you feeling? Do you need one of the healers to come around?” Charging around the clinic for aid seemed a good way to be rid of some of his nervous energy, he thought, shifting his seat at her side. Had she been able to laugh and dispel his worries, she would’ve done so but Esther was still sluggish, she tested each limb carefully trying to stir some energy into herself. Wake up but it refused to do so. Yet Esther felt - how did she feel? Beyond the injured limbs and confusion — she was fine. More importantly, she was alive. “Tired.” Her body felt heavy, her mind exhausted despite the fact she had just woken up; Esther smiled warmly, “S’glad not to wake up alone. You’re okay? Everything okay?” Was it over? Had they won? Or where there still beasts roaming along the streets of Emillion? Mathieu smiled his most generous smile and took Esther’s hand. As he was there to comfort and reassure so many, he was there to comfort her as well--but this, he knew, felt quite a bit more genuine. “Nothing to worry about,” he said, and the smile eventually reached his eyes, “the guilds and the Kingsguard are busy sweeping up the streets as we speak! Everything will go back to normal in no time.” The last part he knew to be a lie--there was no way to tell how long it would take for Emillion to resemble normal once again. Who would have ever thought that a guildmaster could bring about so much destruction, so much devastation? A question to keep him up at night, but for now he concentrated on his friend. “Rest up, and as soon as you’re better, I’ll promise to take you out somewhere in celebration.” He comforted her with every little action and her fingers closed around his hand, “I see, I’m glad.” Visible tension vanished at the reassurance that it was over for now and while Esther’s guild had been directly involved in things she still had no idea of what had really transpired. Not beyond that frightening monster protecting the Tower and then - and then — “Will rest, just like the healers order me to,” She couldn’t take away his responsibilities or worries but maybe she could help him with this; her fingers gave a weak squeeze: Don’t worry, I’ll be fine and beneath it all that quiet, selfish whisper of just stay. Esther would never ask him to, he had duties and Faram forbid she obstructed him from any of them. Being a noble came with a price, it was not all about lavish parties and expensive tastes but also of responsibilities and expectations. Mathieu continued to smile, shifting his weight carefully on the edge of the bed--attempting to lift her spirits in whatever way he could. Giving some thought on the nature of recovery, and what was said to help the effort along (a bard could heal, after all, but he was no proper white mage himself), his posture perked up slightly. “And while I’m still here,” he said, looking slightly mischievous, “I might as well share a new song or two…” |