fine in the fire

Deimos Deimos had been wounded often; a soldier’s plight along the battlefield. His skin was marked and notched with various scars, some from opposing blades, some from passing arrows, some from simple bludgeoning gone completely awry; but he wore them proudly, signatures and namesakes of survival, of being bent, whittled, carved, and sculpted, but not entirely broken. He’d stood and lived, he’d maintained and endured, he’d fortified and become more so that when the cry of war drums and the seething animosity of an adversary pressed against him, he shoved back, ignored the bestial scorn of his senses, until later, later, later, when they could be treated and sent back out to the slaughter. It repeated now. He hadn’t even noticed at first, too intent on giant flinthoppers, dragging dry debris from fiery husks and holds, and then flinging companions and strangers over the inferno’s edges to really give a damn about his own wellbeing. Thereafter, tucked away at home, he’d peeled off the layers of his clothing to reveal holes and a subsequent burn along his left shoulder, singed, bubbling, boiling; seared at some point in the melee. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have cared – continued on with his daily rituals, ducking it in a bucket of water and cooling it off, but after some time, the pain returned, simmering, smoldering, igniting, causing him to growl, to hiss, at the slightest movement. He took great care in selecting a light article of clothing, so perhaps the material wouldn’t catch on the angry surface, before wondering what to do next. He had no intention of alarming Amalia, or frankly, telling anyone in particular – leaving his house and shifting down towards the temple, with its infirmary in the back. It wasn’t makeshift field tents staged amidst the backdrop of a barbaric plain – tipping his head in, quietly shutting the door, revealed quiet, wooden rooms, a study, likely stocked with something to assist in the healing process. He had too many things to do to be laid aside by a damned burn (and it riled, coiled at his senses, to be his father’s son and marred by the very elements he once enamored). Seeing no one nearby, perhaps occupied by other patients, he rapped his knuckles on the closest wooden panel, a call to attention, to his appearance. Then he shuffled inward, emboldened and incredibly inquisitive, leaning to poke his head into the nooks and crannies. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

VAI The huntress The rap of knuckles against the wooden panelling was enough to bring Vervain out towards the reception area. Although as bad luck would have it, she peeked around the corner at the exact same time as Deimos, and it was only his greater height that prevented them from bumping heads. Instead Vai more or less headbutted the warrior's chest, stumbling back and half laughing, half seeming awkward. "Ow. Okay," she said, blinking up at him (and up and up) and arching an eyebrow. "Hello," she greeted with a light smile. "Are you here to visit someone?" Because he didn't look hurt.

Deimos Of all the things lingering amidst an infirmary (instruments, tools of the trade, a few vacant rooms, bandages, splints, stores of items he couldn’t name), a racing form wasn’t what he’d expected. A body managed to crash straight into his chest, and had he been smaller, less muscular and leaner, he might have been launched, sent backward, careening into whatever was behind him. But since his stature was of an impressive height and build, grounded, rooted into the surface, the other individual stumbled back, and he stayed solid, albeit a bit bewildered. His eyes focused on the smaller figure, mumbling his apologies “Sorry,” for the sudden intrusion and untimely disposition, hands reaching out to steady her if she required it. Only then did he realize who it was; recognition a part of his memories and collection of moments – especially those so keenly pinpointed and gnarled in his mind. LongNight and its stretch of immorality, the simmering iniquities, the hostile, acrimonious entanglements hadn’t quite seared into his form and mind until he witnessed Amalia’s death and resurrection. It’d been this woman, Vai, who’d performed the feats of enchantments and invocations to bring the baker back; so he was already indebted to her, whether she knew, understood, or comprehended the notion. “Hello. I am Deimos,” he responded in turn, offering his hand in greeting at the arched brow, his features removed from some of their stoic, nonchalant intervals, a little lighter, the tiny indentations of a bemused smile forming their way into his lips. He shook his head at her inquiry, before continuing. “No – I was burned, thought I should get it looked at.” The beast’s eyes dipped downwards, along the incline of his left shoulder, shrugging and then hissing at the pain. Then his gaze implored, as much as they ever could, for some meager assistance, or what to do next. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

VAI The huntress A breathless sort of laugh escaped Vai's lips as she was steadied by the form that had been solid enough to knock her backwards. "Don't worry about it, really - my fault," she said, grinning and giving his hand a firm shake as he held it out. "Deimos. Nice to meet you - I'm Vervain, but just call me Vai." It was habit to introduce herself, even though the majority of the people who came in to see her knew her from the Rathskeller anyway. As he confirmed that he was, in fact, the apparent patient, her brow furrowed and her blue eyes flickered along the length of his shoulder to the burn she presumed was hiding beneath. "Let's get it looked at," she said with a nod, leading him through onto the ward and beckoning for him to follow. Drawing the curtain back on one of the examination rooms, she ushered him in. "Are you able to take off your shirt, so I can see?" Already drawing the curtain behind them and making sure there was adequate basic equipment, Vai glanced back at Deimos to see if he needed help.

Deimos They’d met before, but it been under harrowing, disastrous circumstances, commands brought into fruition on dark, eternal nights; and he had no notion to revisit it. Instead, he shook her hand in return, taking the names of Vervain and Vai, a grin restored along her features as everything was sorted out; no harm done, no other pain or melancholies encountered. He hadn’t been akin to a mender’s scrutiny in a long while; not since ivory tents propped amidst the hundreds of others along the outskirts of a battlefield, torn apart then stitched back together again, sent along dirges and the hounds of war. But he could feel her eyes on him, likely assessing the probabilities and distinctions of his wound, there, cluttered amidst all the others. The warrior followed where she’d implored him to go, along through the ward, a curtain drawn back. At her inquiry, he simply nodded, inhaling as he lifted his shoulders briefly (a pulsing, reverberating sensation clawing its way – searing, coiling, smoldering – a reminder he didn’t require), tugging at the ends of his shirt and peeling it away from his form. Beneath the linen, gone and hanging loosely from his hand, undulated and rippled the distinction of his muscles, warrior-esque, broad, conformed to years upon years of sacrificial arms and munitions. It was clear the more one stared; scars webbed and zig-zagged from the top of his frame and down the length of his torso, his abdomen, marks and blemishes upon a canvas of stories nestled in lacerations and ancient injuries. Some had been serious, detrimental, and some had been mere cuts to the flesh, embodiments of times he’d been too distracted or taken a hit for someone else – but the crux of the matter lingered on his right shoulder, blazing and burning bright, skin mottled and inflamed, wretched and boiled. “Flinthopper,” the Reaper added, indicating which element had caused him to receive the singed skin, lifting his eyes to see what she would do. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

VAI The huntress The sight of Deimos perhaps should have been a harrowing one, scarred and marked as he was by his past, but Vervain had fallen wildly in love with a man whose torso looked similar enough. Indeed, a warm smile flickered across her face at first, before she schooled it under control. "You remind me of my husband. Your body tells quite a story, doesn't it?" she murmured, drawing closer to examine the burn along his shoulder. "A flinthopper?" she echoed, thinking of the tiny creatures, before remembering the news of the woods on fire. "Oh, the one from the Woodlands? You were there? That... thank you. For helping to stop the fire spreading." Smiling, she held up hands that, with a small nudge of willpower, began to softly glow. "This shouldn't take a moment," she said, her fingers hovering over the burn so she could try to soothe it into something less angry.

Deimos The Reaper wasn’t sure what to expect upon inspection of his wounds or chest; but it certainly wasn’t a warm smile, gone in an instant, and the mention of her husband. Perhaps he’d also been a soldier, rampaging through scene after scene, cut and slashed and bruised against for whatever cause implored their companies to brutalize. “A warrior?” He inquired, head tilting, curious about how many others lived amidst this world that had gone through similar circumstances. To think his scars told a story was an interesting notation too – minor details in a series of tales, little niches and outlines of barbarity, never the whole picture, but a slender note in a book. He shrugged, but liked the nuance, the sentiment, instead of potential other things they could’ve described (monster, menace, inept, ineffectual; just one more barbarian in a sea of beasts). He didn’t expect a thank you either, for the minor role he’d played in trying to impede the spread of the flinthopper’s fire. “You are welcome,” he bowed his head, staring at the floor – thinking back to the inferno washing over, scalding, threatening to take, and how he’d always seen combustion as something else: fringes of his father, memories of embers, ashes, and cinders, but nothing quite like that. Deimos finally turned to watch her work, gaze flickering on glowing hands settling above his burnt shoulder, eager to see how the healing process was orchestrated and adorned here. "Thank you,", he implored, awaiting and anticipating mended skin, as if naught had happened. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

VAI The huntress "Mm, something like that." Vai nodded. A warrior indeed, though not one by choice. And not a soldier, certainly. She thought Devrum would find it quite entertaining, to be considered a cog in an army. Certainly he'd scoff at it, though. Smiling at his thanks, she shrugged her shoulders and bent closer to try and inject more healing energy into his burns. "It's what the infirmary is for, don't be silly," she said softly, though a soft frown had made it across her face as she worked. Eventually Vervain stepped back, the glow fading from her fingers, Deimos's shoulder still scorched and reddened. "Do you have magic?" she asked, reminded briefly of an encounter with Edrei in the Rathskeller. The girl had life drain magic, and Vai hadn't been able to heal her either.

Deimos He’d always been an observer, a witness, an studious, meticulous inhabitant of any world. Most of the wiles were used for calculating purposes, a ruse here, a snare there, the ability to trap and ensconce someone due to their own flaws or defects. In the silence, in the softness, he noted a frown work its way into her face, causing him to grow taut and rigid, ramrod straight so there wasn’t a ripple or juncture in his spine. His eyes glanced at the fading glow of her fingers, at the still bright, blistering fire scorched and marked on his shoulder – as if nothing had happened, no healing, no soothing, no assuaging. The beast’s brows furrowed, curious: this sort of situation hadn’t occurred in Helovia, not when he’d returned from battle after battle, soaking his sore muscles in the hot springs or being tended to by the Time Menders, watching flayed open seams cast back into strands of perfected flesh again, with a few more scars riddled and rippled in their stead. He’d never been much worse for wear there – and on the battlefield alongside comrades and compatriots in Isilme, there’d been no time for piercing and piecing together lacerations and broken things; stitched up in a tent and sent back out into the slaughter if they could move on their own two feet. Her question hung there, in the air, a balanced counterpoint. Perhaps something was awry here, invocations mixing against other enchantments, sizzling and smoldering, canceling one another out. “Yes,” his voice rumbled, gaze swinging back to hers. “Life drain and creation.” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

VAI The huntress If she hadn't been expecting it before, his words confirmed it. Vervain sighed and nibbled at the inside of her lower lip, folding her arms across her chest and examining the wound. "Our magics are incompatible," she said softly. "It... well. It's a good thing you found this out with something I can work with. Just something to be aware of in future I suppose." Already moving away, Vai rooted around in cupboards and drawers before finding what she wanted; a salve made with cooling herbs, snow moss and a touch of peppermint bark. "I'll put some of this on now, and give you some to take with you. Unfortunately, though, this will be another scar to add to your collection."

Deimos Incompatible magic; he’d never heard of such a thing. It was a disconcerting notion, suddenly stuck there in perilous situations, incapable of beseeching and immersing himself deep into treachery without the threat of death ringing its ugly head down upon him again. It meant he had to be careful. It meant that he was caged. It meant he was trapped, snared, and tethered – having to think about his own safety and livelihood, rather than the missions unfolding, than the looming threats, than the treachery and upheaval resonating. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He detested it. But it wasn’t Vai’s fault – and at least they’d discovered it now, before he was on his deathbed, breathing his last because of some mortal wound to his gut; going out on ridiculousness instead of an onslaught on the battlefield. He hung his head, nodded, roaming over the newest information. He didn’t have anything to say though; accepted, resisted, pondered if there was a way around it, or he was eternally stuck in that abandoned clause. But the healer had other remedies for his burn, and he lifted his eyes to watch her gather materials, going from cupboard to cupboard, drawer to drawer, examining the things she’d collected. His own Menders had things similar, once, if their powers weren’t necessary, for little cuts, little scrapes, little bruises, little burns. He’d have to be diligent in their prowess and potential, since he had no doubt he’d be hurt again in some other dangerous display. As for more scars, that was fine too – and the edges of his mouth lifted in the smallest of smiles. “It will be in good company.” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

VAI The huntress Vai expected the silence - Deimos was more like Devrum than she gave him credit, and she was able to meander around the little room without interruption until she next spoke. The smile, small as it was, she still returned, pulling up a seat and sinking down onto it so she could get at his shoulder. "I bet it will. Alright, this will sting but it should feel better after." Quickly and gently, Vai worked the salve onto the burn until it was covered, the huntress handing him the remainder of the little jar once she was done and examining it closely. "It looks a little inflamed. Keep an eye on it, alright? If it gets any worse, come back to see me. But otherwise, keep a clean dressing over it until it has dried up and you should be good to go." So saying, she grabbed a fresh dressing to cover it up - an awkward task, considering where it was.

Deimos The mountain waited while she rummaged and meandered around the room, gathering adequate supplies for another process. While she accessed his shoulder, he gave no indication of the searing, blinding, burning pain; he’d had worse at some point in his life, hastened off the bloodied fields to be stitched together again, then tossed back out into the fray. His experiences, rituals, and endless trials were always going to be part of some maelstrom, some malice, some menace – it was who he was, who’d he become along the way, to here and now. A burn was not going to keep him down for long. When she applied the salve, he simply remained, chiseled and infinite, enduring and patient, unflinching, unattainable, unreachable in those brief moments – curling his mind to where the pain didn’t reside (lakes that never froze, despite the angles of the sun, despite the chilling, cold ramparts, despite the glacial expanse crooning over its water; tides that chased the earth and the moon). Once the doctoring was complete, he turned back to her, hands clutching the jar of salve. He listened to her directions, already contemplating how he was going to hide his wounds from prying eyes, and nodded an affirmation. “Thank you again. For everything.” he said once more, as if he hadn’t uttered it several times already, striving to make his acknowledgments clear when he had naught else to offer. The dressing was wrapped as best it could, bunching and coiling over muscles, flesh, and raw, gnarled sinew; but eventually, it’d heal. He’d probably be back here again for some other ailment or injury before too long. “Do you require anything else?” His head tilted, piercing gaze back on the mender, awaiting some signal or intonation of departure. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime

VAI The huntress Vai wasn't happy with the dressing, but it would have to do. The huntress stepped back when she was finished, smiling as Deimos thanked her again and shrugging her shoulders as if to tell him it was fine. Which it was - she worked at an infirmary, after all. "Nothing else right now, no," she assured him. "But come back if it doesn't seem to be getting any better. And I know this will be difficult for someone like you, but try not to get hurt again until that's healed up, okay?" Her smile was crooked and amused, Vervain stepping back so Deimos could get up and, when he was ready, leading him out through the infirmary to the exit. She too had a feeling she'd be seeing him sooner rather than later. But such was the nature of things. {END}