the med tent is the hoppin place to be

[atouts]

Who: Childermass & open.
When: D90-D91
Where: Back at the carnival, in the medical tent.
What: Childermass had a bad time with a bear's claws and now he's stuck on bed rest.
Warnings: Mentions of violence, injury.

The tail end of the entire Eden fiasco is a blur to Childermass. He made a very poor tactical choice when dealing with Bezaliel, one of the Architects with far more power of the shadows than the magician could have ever imagined. One set of iron claws later and he only vaguely remembers being found by Syrlya and Lambert, bleeding to death in the forests of Eden. They brought him... somewhere.

The temple? He imagines it must have been, the one the healers kept, or else he doubts he'd yet be alive. Who and how he was brought back out of Eden is a mystery and one he hasn't inquired about. Someone carried him or the Ringmaster whisked everyone away, most like, and now all that's left is for him to lay still as can be in a cot and dwell on all the 'should haves' running through his head. In fewer words, sulking, although with his usual lack of emotion, it'd be hard to tell as much.

With his left side and chest all stitched up, along with deep scratches across that same side of his face and what's bound to be a brand new scar across his sharp beak of a nose, there's not much for him to do but wait. Eventually he'll be free to move without worry of popping a stich or two but until then, if he spots anyone approaching by foot he'll eye them and ask in a hoarse, gravelly voice:

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to help me escape back to my own trailer..." It's a pointless request. They wouldn't make it very far. "Or at the very least bring me something to read?"

Or if it's only someone else stuck there with him, well, he clearly can't ask them for aid. They're in as much a bad spot as he is, meaning the best he can offer is a curious look and then a somewhat pained shrug.

Comments

[atouts]

"One would hope it would simply dump him out on the ground somewhere," Childermass says but even now, he's realizing that's wishful thinking. "But we're never that lucky, are we?"

[whattaprick]

"We never are." They've had this conversation before, Lambert thinks, or something like it, which is really a sad testament to the sorry state their lives have become. A little stiffly -- bandaged arms don't make for the smoothest movement, even if he's grown wise enough to hide the worst of his injuries under the kimono that Carly dug up for him during the Solstice -- he moves to set the book down on the side-table, then rests his fingers lightly against the back of Childermass's hand.

And that's all. No reminders that Childermass had told him he wasn't out to collect scars, no angry accusations, not even asking what the hell happened to get him this fucked up. Lambert's expression is stormy, furious, but nothing he says now will particularly help Childermass get better any faster, or undo what's been done.

[atouts]

They likely have and Childermass can't be bothered to recall it. The conversations begin to blend just as much as the disasters from world to world do, apparently. With Lambert saying nothing more, instead moving rest a hand over his own, all the magician can think of doing is turning his hand over under his fingers and loosely hanging onto them. That done, he'll let his eyes drift shut again, though he's certainly not dozing off again. Not yet, anyway.

[whattaprick]

The rhythm of breath tells him Childermass hasn’t slipped off to sleep yet, but Lambert keeps his silence until a few more minutes have passed, keeping hold. When he finally says something, it’s with a sigh, tail brushing the floor.

“You want some water?” It’s fairly inane, as comfort goes, but since he can’t offer anything stronger...

[atouts]

Not as inane as he might think. Water isn't something Childermass is going to turn down, especially since he can't reach for the pitcher easily himself. He opens his eyes again, blinking blearily a few times at Lambert before giving a small nod.

"I would," he answers simply enough, "But help me sit up first. I'll just spill it everywhere otherwise."

[whattaprick]

“Then let’s get you up.” Not the situation Lambert hoped to be saying that in, but... he eases the arm on Childermass’s good side around his neck, slips an arm under his back, and carefully gets him up to a sitting position, huffing softly with the effort. Once Childermass is propped up on his pillows, he returns with a glass of water and offers it to childermass— not without a brief comment.

“Nice fangs,” he jokes, albeit weakly. “Now we match.”

In more ways than one, with the scars now lining Childermass’s face.

[atouts]

Childermass hangs onto Lambert and does what he can to help get himself propped up against the pillows, settling comfortably while Lambert goes and gets the water. Once he passes it over, he gives a faint snort of amusement.

"Wondered if you would notice those. I keep biting my tongue..."

Which he'll get used to sooner than later but, just for now, just for Lambert, he'll actually bother giving voice to such a minor complaint.

[whattaprick]

Lambert shrugs, then winces slightly -- he still forgets not to do that -- before he leans back in his chair. Thankfully, his back's in a state where he can actually do that.

"You get used to it." His own tongue slips out to lick lips and fangs, absently. "Could be worse. You could have come out of Eden with floppy ears ... or a wagging tail."

Now that's an amusing mental image, Childermass gaining a tell for his emotions so much less subtle than puffing feathers.

[atouts]

"If I had ended up with a tail, I'd be asking the Ringmaster for something else," Childermass says, nose wrinkling as he grimaces at the very thought. A tail. How terrible. He drinks his water instead of saying anything else on that particular matter, thanks.

[whattaprick]

Lambert laughs quietly.

“You like tugging on mine often enough,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low. “But you don’t want to let me return the favor?”

[atouts]

"I can't read what's on your mind from your tail alone, Lambert," is Childermass's excuse. Besides, there's a massive difference between a dragon tail that can actually pick things up or act as a defense and... a fluffy, wagging dog tail.

[whattaprick]

“I could use the advantage,” Lambert grins. “And I could brush it and put braids and ribbons in it. Can’t do much with fangs.”

He manages to keep the straight face for all of a moment before he laughs and inevitably winces. Oogh. Laughing hurts.

[atouts]

"In theory, you could still put a tiny ribbon around a fang," Childermass points out, grasping at whatever humor he can right now, while he can. Even if it might make poor Lambert laugh again. "I just wouldn't appreciate it very much."

[whattaprick]

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Lambert snorts, hands curling on the sheets instead of what he really wants to do, which is pull Childermass to him.

“How about we just get them capped with gold or silver instead?”

[atouts]

"Too gaudy," Childermass replies. Shiny things he may like, but on his own teeth? Hard pass.