sevenhorrors | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Mister Adair, Ms Fairplay, and you!
When: September 15
Where: At the bulletin board
What: A warning
Warnings: none

[ this morning, two Kin'uns are at the bulletin board, adding a new entry, and then simply loitering nearby.

Ms Fairplay, notably, has her arm in a sling. Mister Adair... fares better, with a few scratches upon his hands and face. both of them look... pecked. ]

There. [ says Ms Fairplay, of her clumsy signage. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[DON’T ACT LIKE YOU CARE-

Returns with a rattling bottle of pills and a glass of water. Sits next to her again.]

Your hand.

[So he can shake out a couple of pills.]

Ah...

[ gingerly, she holds it out, cupping her palm. it's clear that without the distraction of conversation she is in quite a bit of pain. ]

[Shakes out two pills for her. According to the instructions, that's how much she'll need for now.

Her reaction, every small piece of body language radiating pain. The guilt swims in his chest uncomfortably.]

Thank you for... climbing with me, by the way. I never said it.

["Thank you." He rarely does.]

Mmn.

[ two chalky pills and a glass of water. where's the panache? she sets both beneath her tongue, where they instantly begin to melt in the wet heat of a tiefling's mouth, and holds her hand out for the glass.

gaze askance. she heard him quite clearly, but has delayed her answer by the length of the dose.

thank you.
she rarely hears it. ]

[Melting beneath her tongue… One cannot imagine that tastes very pleasant.

He offers the water.

What he said doesn’t really require a reply.]

[ it is as bitter as chalk, too. but nobody ever said healing potions taste good, either. she drinks the entire glass in a single prolonged sip. gulping, gulping, until she sets it down on the bench beside her with a clink.

dabs the beads of water at the corners of her mouth with the back of her sleeve. ]

...

I like to.

[Awful-tasting as many medicines can be, maybe it will help with any pain or inflammation of her poor joint.]

Mm. Investigate?

[ she leans forward again; a pained, achy hunch, but also. it is easier to say things when she does not need to look someone in the eye to do it. ]

With you, yes.

[…Oh.

He should feel good about that, knowing that his company is not just tolerated but vaguely enjoyed amid an investigative venture. But watching her hunch over like that… Well. The guilt doesn’t precisely fade.]

Even when you walk away with a dislocated shoulder?

[ a scoffing laugh, and a low reply: ] We wizards blow our hands off and poison ourselves in our pursuits of passion. What is separated shoulder?

[ very, very painful. ]

Some might argue that is not a good thing, you understand.

[But he’s hardly the sort of man to declare this with any sincerity. Indeed, he only points this out because he had a hand in her injury.]

Even so, I am glad you are willing, despite the risks. It is… easier, sometimes, with another person.

You think... as I think. It is refreshment to me.

This... [ her injury, her pain ] It will heal. Be done. Like thinking, this is more permanent thing.

[Refreshment. It must be a rarity for her, who moves in the world of academics and yet is in possession of no one close to her to test that mind of hers.

Repeats himself with some wry humor:] Some might argue that is not a good thing, either.

[But of course, she is like him: there is nothing more critical than to have a mind that works, that outwits, that solves. She simply turns to magic, and he turns to (solving) crime. There is still solidarity there between them.]

[ he wonders whether she likes him at all and then brushes off when she tries to be more transparent. what a vexing man. ]

Some would find issue with all things in life.

[That is Holmes for you: difficult.]

Quite so. But for what it is worth, I am glad to hear you say it. I will— I have benefitted to having someone like-minded nearby.

[Waggles his hand, indicating that she should turn around. He still plans on doing her hair.]

It’s heartening to know you feel the same.

[ shuffles in her seat for him. the back of her neck and scalp are marred by pecking-marks and smears of dried blood. she couldn't exactly let go of the ivy to protect her head...

until that moment. ]

I could not be here without. These youths... they are so emotional. They think they are "all that".

[ —woman who emotionally thinks she is all that ]

["All that." help

She bears the same angry peck-marks as he does, too. If nothing else, at least the pain medication will help even those, and they will fade the quickest of all.]

That is the folly of youth.

[guy who sometimes also thinks he is "all that"]

Were you not emotional like them, when you were their age?

[He takes her hair, gently, and begins to divide it into three sections. His fingers sting a little, but it's fine.]

[ little, bruised punctures. cuts and lacerations. they sting, but it is his questioning which she feels the keenest. tips her face forward, tucking her chin—almost hunching down into her shoulders as he sections off her hair. ]

I was unhappy young woman. My grandfather passed so soon after I turn fourteen.

[These are rather the questions that she shies away from the most, and a part of him is surprised he earned a sincere answer.

He begins to braid in earnest. Though she cannot see it, from his precise movements, it is clear that he means to make it neat. As unclumsy as he can manage.]

I am sorry to hear it. Those wounds are even deeper at an age like that.

[ her grandfather, who would do this for her when she was too young to do it for herself. ah, it's a painful thing. a lump in her throat makes it difficult to swallow. ]

I remember being happy child. That girl... she was so blind to those horrible things in life.

[ but even this contains a seed of self-deception. was she happy? or simply happier than she is now? ]

Edited 2025-09-25 04:33 (UTC)

That is how we wish all children to be, even though it is not always the case for many.

[In his era, especially.]

Did you have many friends when you were a child?

[ her face lowers deeper. she hugs herself with her uninjured arm, even though it puts pressure on the other's socket. a self-soothing gesture, one might think. ]

[And it is clearly the answer to his question. And yet she proclaims herself a happy child, all the same. Perhaps only in the company of her grandfather, or at least that may have been where the brightest memories lay amid… all else.

Pausing, still working at her hair. A single braid will not take long, despite how meticulous he is.]

For what it is worth, neither did I.

Why...?

Because I was a child who spoke too much like an adult, and was too curious, too meddlesome, and often presumptuous. And brimming with unspent energy.

[Honestly he was just plain weird.]

And while my turn for logic and observation won me a few friendly acquaintances, especially as I grew older, I would not say I was ever given to close friendships as a general rule.