lostcarnival | the med tent is the hoppin place to be

Entry tags:

the med tent is the hoppin place to be

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.

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Surprisingly, it's Strange walking in instead of using his magic or being a show off. Once he enters the room, Strange almost instantly down on a nearby bed. He's upright and not wounded but he still winded add hell. The magician looks like he shouldn't do anything more intensive than picking up anything larger than a small suitcase.

"If West wants you to stay in the medical tent, then I'm not going to say otherwise." West may be a creep but these past few days have raised Strange's opinion of the man with regards to medical matters. Looking over at Childermass, Strange gives him a weak smile.

"Between the three of us, I think in the one who came out of this the best." Says the person who had to be literally reformed by the Ringmaster. "How are you feeling?"

Yelling can happen later. Right now he just wants to talk (while also not moving or doing anything too strenuous.)

It isn't even something to question. After spending a few days trapped in a mirror, Childermass wouldn't be surprised to hear Strange avoiding those for, at the very least, a day or two. He does give the other magician a fairly unimpressed look, par the usual course, for claiming he came out the best.

"Depends on how you got out of that mirror in the end," he says, as though withholding judgment on who's worse off until someone actually tells him. He expects Strange will, so it shouldn't be too long, but to answer the actual question here, he adds, "I feel like shit."

Very straightforward of him this time. For once, there's no way to just shrug this off.

"If I knew how, I'd tell you," Strange admits, with a shrug. "I was focused on trying to stop Lilith, I must have blacked out. When I came to, I was with the Ringmaster."

There's more to the story that Strange isn't telling Childermass. He knows that the Silver Mirror was shattered because that's something people were talking about, but he's got no idea how that affected him or what the Ringmaster actually did to fix him, revive him, or what have you.

As for Childermass feeling like shit...

"What happened to you anyway? When I came to, you were already in the medical wing." Strange has a feeling it's something iron mostly because Childermass is still laid up, but better he hear it from him directly.

When Tyki heard that Childermass had been mauled by something and sent to the temple in his rounds around Eden, he had only briefly checked in to see if it was true. He hadn't asked why, if he was alone or with someone, or who he was up against. He could take a pretty good guess given the size of those wounds. Information spread quickly, even in a chaotic place that battlefield was, and if he knows the reasons for his injuries, he doesn't mention it. It's pointless now. This is how he was, how he was injured, and bringing it up seems to do little good in carnival. People are far too stubborn.

His hand touches the back of a chair and he drags it over with some finesse. He has minor scratches with minor bandages. Tyki had mostly been on the defense for most of the fight, with two assistances in breakouts of those caught in prisms. He sits down, setting down a carton of cigarettes next to Childermass' bedside and a bottle of wine, "If I'm honest, helping you escape does sound fun and I certainly couldn't deny an order if you gave one," he says casually, maybe serious or maybe not. Childermass would likely get hauled back unless Tyki played watch dog. "I certainly find every means to escape every time I'm brought here."

He looks at his injuries, his brow raising, "Maybe a comb would do you better."

"Hm," Childermass makes a fairly noncommital noise, not really sure what to make of the entire blacking out and waking up to the Ringmaster part. That could mean anything, could mean nothing at all. "Well, you do look to be in one piece, so I imagine she did something... As for myself, I'm afraid I decided to have a go at that bear. It wasn't the best idea."

"I can't honestly claim 'help me escape our dear doctor' to be a very valid acquisitions request," Childermass, unfortunately, has to admit. He does give a hint of a smile at Tyki suggesting a comb instead, though, but only a hint, that slight upturn of the edge of a lip. "And I wager that my hair looks about as poorly as it ever does, so no need."

His attention does stray to the cigarettes and the bottle, however, and at those, he raises an eyebrow.

"Maybe a light instead of either a book or a comb?" A hopeful question, even if it's one he dashes all on his own. "Not that Dr. West would be all that pleased with the smoke, I'm sure."

"But if you put in an acquisition request to have one Acquisitioner delivered to a trailer, it might work," he jests, giving him a look at his hair. It's true, it was almost always in a mess much like Strange's. Then again, the other was mad. He was beginning to question the England they came from. "I have been known to kidnap as well."

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a set of matches, resting it next to the cigarettes, "As if I haven't done horrid things in this medical tent already. What's the worse he's going to do? Throw you out?!"

Edited 2018-08-27 01:30 (UTC)

Strange manages to hold his tongue before he says the first thing that's on his mind: of course this was a bad idea, did Childermass even stop to think before going to fight that bear, why even go after him in the first place? There's a suspiciously long pause before Strange sighs a little and tries to hide his emotions while forcing a neutral tone in his voice.

He can argue with Childermass later, when he's not confined to a hospital bed. Still, Strange isn't the sort of person to try and brush past something like this. He's going to be a little judgmental.

"Obviously," he remarks, with a little frown. "Were you still a dog at that point?" Maybe that could explain the severity of some of the wounds...but then again, why the hell would Childermass fight the bear if he was a dog, that didn't make any sense.

Ever since Childermass was moved to the medtent, Lambert hasn’t strayed far — something that works out well enough, considering he also technically ought to be on bed rest. He lacks the strength to drag over a whole cot, so he’s taken up a chair by the bedside instead, distractedly flipping through a book and worrying something between his fingers. When Childermass speaks up, he straightens quickly, though his voice comes out tart despite the obvious relief in his expression.

“It’s a little late to have an interest in teamwork, don’t you think?” He’s had some time to think about what to say first, but it’s not what comes out. Lambert makes for poor comfort and a poorer nursemaid, and he struggles to tamp down the anger that fear and worry try to push to the forefront. It’s a poor showing to return the grace Childermass showed him during his own fuckups by acting like a shrew, especially when he rationally knows that — much like himself — death theoretically isn’t much of an issue for Childermass thanks to the Ringmaster’s intervention.

But time to think has also been time to fret, and while Childermass may be blessed to have a fuzzy recollection of the events that led to him being here, Lambert will remember seeing him flayed open like so much meat all too clearly — and the struggle to decide the best course of action for something he could do little about.

Well, if Lambert had been doting in his response instead, that would have only given Childermass a cause to worry. He's in no place to find offense at this particular brand of rudeness, after all. Even so, he does end up twisting his face in a scowl, if only a short-lived one. With half his face stitched up, twisting up in any expression isn't wise.

"That it is," he'll give Lambert that much in the end. "But even so, I see you do already have a book." One Lambert isn't like to offer to him, meaning he moves on to ask, "What happened to the Mirror?"

"A bird," Childermass answers, which is no doubt worse in Strange's opinion. "I hadn't meant to fight him straight on..."

That's just how it ended up.

One was mad, the other didn't care. Ultimately, England was free of blame.

"Even so, I'm not sure I have it in me to order my own kidnapping," Childermass says, at least finding some humor in the idea. That said, he struggles for a few seconds to prop himself up against his pillows. If he's going to smoke, it won't be laying prone, where ash can fall onto clean bandages and linens.

Strange has gotten better at controlling his emotions ever since Ignatius took him to task for his openness. However, this doesn't mean that he's succeeded at it. A look of pure aggravation flashes across his face as Childermass admits to fighting that bear as a bird before Strange tries to force it back under a calm expression. That bear could have literally eaten him! That's even worse than fighting the bear as a dog!

"Be careful," Strange chides. "A few more reckless actions like that and they'll point to me as a bad influence."

It's easy to tease about himself and what he knows are his own flaws instead of yelling at Childermass for what Strange hopes everybody agrees was a stupidass decision.

"You must realize I can be a bird the size of a horse when needs be," Childermass points out with a wan smirk. Even if Strange isn't throwing a fit imagining a crow fighting bear, it isn't quite as reckless as one might imagine. Mind, he did start off as a small one, but... well, there's no need to add that part.

"But you can relax on that account. I've yet to match you in recklessness, Mr. Strange. You won't catch the blame for some time."

"I do. Lambert told me about that new trick of yours." Because God forbid Childermass actually tell someone that something new's happened instead of keeping it a secret for needless reasons...no, focus back on the mood at hand, it's no use trying to even point that out to begin with.

"As for your other point, I'm certain they'll find other things to blame me for." Strange sighs a little, as he unintentionally takes the conversation back to himself and his problems. While he's definitely complaining about this, his tone of voice is more resigned than anything else: people will always find fault with what he does, might as well accept that. "I evade capture for over a week, provide valuable information on the whereabouts of the Silver Mirror, and befriend a former enemy of the carnival and yet certain people already have their lists ready, lying in wait to point out every small detail of what I did wrong."

Granted, all of those are the results of Strange taking a problem of his own creation and strong-arming it into providing useful results, but the point still stands.

"Hmm, then expect me later when the sun goes down and the good Doctor gets far too invested in his own work. I'll probably kidnap you then," he continues, the topic running dry quickly. He would in fact return later likely with a better blanket, more pillows... He understands the feeling of wanting to be in the comfort of his own trailer.

He watches Childermass begin to rise and his hands lift to assist him, his eyes trained on body language. He doesn't touch right away, letting them linger as if asking for silent permission.

It's unlikely to be a book Childermass has much interest in, anyway. It's one of those strategy books Strange got him on the peninsular war, and he hasn't been reading so much as nervously fiddling with the pages. He slips whatever he was playing with in his other hand into a pocket, looking at Childermass with an expression that might be, for once, difficult to read.

"She broke it," he says, simply. Something Childermass would have been able to discern more information about in greater detail had he been conscious to witness it, but that much is incredibly obvious. Alas, he'll simply have to settle for Lambert's shitty, abbreviated version of events. "Then Lilith fucked off."

Edited 2018-08-27 05:52 (UTC)

"I could point out you lost your charge several times," Childermass says, entirely unhelpful and well aware of it, but he does, at least, add, "But I doubt anyone here would have been able to do any better, considering we hadn't expected the iron..."

The brand threw everyone for a loop, some worse than others and Ignatius worse of all. There wasn't much to be done about it then and there's no point in harping on it after the fact, so Childermass won't bother. He just moves on, though not to shift the topic back away from Strange's own hardships. Considering the other option is to go over his own screw-up again, only out loud this time, there's no surprise Childermass isn't keen on bringing this back around to himself.

"You may as well just listen to anyone else's complaints politely and then ignore them, Mr. Strange. You didn't have a lot of choice in most of these matters."

Strange frowns a little, about to point out the fact of the iron, but then his expression softens and relaxes back to a more neutral expression. Thank God for Childermass mentioning the iron. Everything would have been different if they knew about those damn brands ahead of time.

Still, what's past is past. It's no use debating what-ifs and hypotheticals, not in that regard. He adjusts his position on the cot so that he's leaning against the wall for support, not really caring that he's probably dirtying up the medical cot with his shoes.

"All in all, I think I did damn well up until I was captured—and even then, the Twelve didn't get any information from me." Sure there were things he could have done better. But considering the circumstances, Strange thinks he did just fine. "Truth be told, I think most of us did damn well. This could easily have gone the way of the Manor, where you'd have people imprisoned for days. But before that final conflict, we had relatively few casualties or people imprisoned."

Says the person who was stuck inside an all-powerful fae artifact to the person who got mauled by a bear. "And those who were imprisoned...I can't speak for the rest, but I can't fault Ignatius for what he did."

Syrlya stops and turns to Childermass when he starts talking, and there's a bit of relief. After the initial sight, he's glad that he's up to talking now and will probably survive. Syrlya himself is bandaged at the chest, and a little rougher for the wear, but he's not bed bound and likely won't stay in the medical tent.

"While I could, I think that would only end with a few people coming after the both of us to drag you right back," he muses with a slightly crooked smile. "But I will see what I can do about a book. How is your recovery coming along?"

Childermass doesn't wave away the offered help, noting Tyki's move to do so even as the other man himself watches for permission. He isn't happy about it, no, but he'll tolerate it. It leaves him looking exasperated over needing help at all but it'll also leave him sitting upright, which was the goal in the end.

"And then what? Perhaps we'll go hide on the moon instead of a trailer?"

A distinct possibility, all things considered, even though they are only joking around about it. Anyway, he'll be reaching for that box of cigarettes and those matches now, managing to wrestle one out and get it lit under his own power this time. It just takes a little longer, that's all.

"She broke it," Childermass echoes faintly, a distinctly ill look flitting across his face. The Silver Mirror, broken and apparently abandoned by Lilith. He'll assume that's what 'fucked off' means for now. "It's gone?"

"Oh, I don't know. I could always drop my trailer into a great big shadow once I get there..." Childermass would not, in fact, drop his trailer into a great big shadow once there but who knows. Maybe he could, just maybe. Still, the offer of a potential book lightens his expression some, so there's that.

As for recovery, well, the answer to that is a half-hearted shrug.

"And I haven't the faintest on that," he says. "It was iron. It's going to take a while. Right now I'm just glad Dr. West is an actual doctor and not some magical healer."

“Do you really think the Ringmaster could destroy an artifact that’s supposed to keep us safe from the Courts?” It’s the only point of comfort Lambert has to offer. “It looked like she shattered the glass ... if it was actually glass in the first place.”

The Rose, after all, wasn’t just a Rose.

“She put Strange back together, last I knew, so might be she’s putting the Mirror back together too. It’s been busy, so I haven’t actually had the chance to ask. We’ll hear about it one way or another, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Since iron is magic resistant, of course. Syrlya nods. "I will take the fact you did not immediately bleed out a positive sigh for your recovery, then."

He pauses as he considers whether Childermass knows his blood is some sort if weird shadow, and how long that's been going on... it probably isn't a surprise. "Can I ask what happened?"

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