Who: Ari & Cas What: Visiting the invalid (and sneaking him beer) Where: Cas’ house When: Backdated: afternoon of 5/20, shortly after this. Rating: PG Status: Complete
Cas’ butler knew her by now, which made gaining access to the invalid somewhat easier. Fortunately, she did not have to lay on insincere concern -- when she’d heard from Aud about the injuries the sentinel had sustained, she had been worried. It was only that her life had become far too hectic and difficult and painful to worry about everyone.
She did feel bad about it, though.
Which was why she pulled out just a bit of artifice upon sight of Caspar -- who did actually look quite terrible -- and under the pretense of wanting time alone with the man, she managed to get the well-meaning servant out the door at last, at which point she set her too-heavy instrument case down and rubbed her shoulder. When it was opened, it would be revealed that the expected mandolin had been replaced by a number of bottles. She plucked one out, offered it up to the man half-reclined on the couch. “You’re welcome.”
"I love you forever, Arielle Chiaro." Caspar said with a grin, which quickly turned into a grimace as he leaned forward to take the beer. With his right arm in a sling and heavily bandaged chest, even that small lean forward was enough to make him wince. Add the bandaged head and the immobilized leg to the mix, and he was a sad, pathetic sight indeed. "The healer won't let me do anything fun. It's like he has no respect for the fact that I'm a warm-blooded Kerwonian, and ale is more necessary for my good health than water is."
Once he had downed a satisfactory amount of the bottle's contents, he turned to examine his friend. She was as pretty as ever, but he didn't have to look long or hard to know that something was wrong. The downside to being out of commission for so long was that he had no idea what any of his friends suffered, or whom they lost. Especially when no one seemed willing to fill him in on the details until he was 'feeling better'. Whatever the fuck that meant.
"How've you been, Ari?" He didn't want to ask about the days of the battle just yet.
She didn’t take a bottle for herself -- after a moment, she began stashing them under the bed. It seemed as good a place as any -- hopefully, she wouldn’t be the sentinel’s only sympathetic visitor. “And why wouldn’t you?” she said, making a fair attempt at her usual cheeriness. “I’m so lovable, after all.”
She almost wished she had brought the mandolin, though. His injuries looked painful.
(One problem at a time, she reminded herself.)
“I’ve been… better than you,” she said eventually. “Though I haven’t been getting nearly as much sleep, it seems.” A non-answer, but… what else could she say? Life seemed to be miserable for everyone lately, and her own situation was complicated enough that she shied away from discussing it with anyone.
"I sure hope you're better than me. I hope everyone is doing better than me." Even though he knew they weren't. He took a few moments to examine her face closely. Although he had learned long ago that it was taboo to comment on how tired a woman looked, he felt he could make an exception for a good friend. "You look like you've barely been sleeping at all, Ari. What's wrong? Is every...one okay?" He bit his lip and swallowed. He didn't want to ask it, but he had to. "Did anyone... die?" Somewhere in the back of his head he knew that of course people had died. He had seen the bodies in the street. What he needed to know if someone close to her — or him — had died.
She couldn’t hold his gaze, dropping hers to examine her hands. “Yes,” she said. Then, “And… no. It’s... complicated.” Miles had laughed at her ability to cure death, but how else could she explain it? “Those who are dearest to me are… presently alive.” She did not say ‘well.’ It would be a lie too difficult to tell right now. Almost everyone she cared for was struggling in one way or another.
He raised his brows when she looked away. Her words made it sound like things weren't so bad, even though her body language screamed the opposite. "Alive is good." He reached out his uninjured arm and gave her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. She didn't want to talk about it and Caspar wasn't the guy who pushed people to open up. "It's good enough for now. The rest of it... well, at least you'll have time to figure it out." Dropping her hand he focused his attention on his bottle, his voice perking up in a manner that was both obviously fake and deliberate. "Until then, we drink?"
“You drink,” she corrected. “You did not sleep quite as long as the sleeping princess -- it is only the end of Taurus, and I have dues to the stage yet to pay. What I brought was all for you.” An apology of sorts for forgetting all about him while she was mired in her own problems, though she doubted he’d recognize it as such. “But,” she added after a moment, “I can stay with you for a little while, if you like. Tell you amusing stories. We can pretend it’s just another Tuesday.” She offered him a smile that was a dim facsimile of normal. Theirs was not the sort of friendship where he would comment on it. “I am very skilled at pretending. I would go so far as to say I make a living at it.”
Caspar shrugged to the best of his abilities. He was quite alright with this arrangement. "You're good at pretending, but let's see how good you are at making me feel like it's just another Tuesday." He finished his bottle and opened the next one Ari handed him with a smile. Pretending nothing was the matter sounded exactly like what he needed right now, especially after the news Drake had shared. "Tell me a story that'll make me forget I'm trapped in these bandages in this bed, Arielle Chiaro. Make me believe."