Quote:
Set immediately after this rp.
Juliette06
Blarney had, however briefly, considered wearing an overcoat to cover up his costume, but then he took one look at the weather app on his phone and decided absolutely the heck not. Let people stare if they wanted, he’d rather get weird looks than heatstroke.
That said, he didn’t actually get as many strange looks as he thought he would - people got all kinds of dressed up for Starfest, after all, and the flower crown did a lot to make people look once and look away. Nobody wanted to be bothered by a hippie-dippy flower-child, after all, especially not in this weather. It was his first time wearing his costume in daylight, and by the time he got halfway to the hospital, it felt like any other outfit.
Fortunately for him, one of the nurses he’d pawned the passed-out kid off to the night before was still on duty. He puppy-dog-eyed his way into the room number, the exasperated roll of the nurse’s eyes and the under-the-breath muttering making Blarney think that perhaps he was not the only powered person to come through these halls.
It was nice to have friends, or something.
He made his way to the room, though he peeled off the identifying sticker they’d forced him to put on at the front desk. The nurse had warned him the kid - they were calling him John Doe, since he didn’t have any ID on him when he was brought him - probably wouldn’t be awake for a few hours yet. Whatever had been done to him (this, she said, with an expression so thoroughly Done it almost made Blarney want to ask if she knew exactly what had been done to him) wouldn’t wear off for a while, but it wasn’t fatal, and it was a good thing he’d brought him in.
He let himself into the room, quietly shutting the door behind himself as he crossed the room. Hospitals kind of gave him the willies, but it wasn’t so bad here in this quiet, dark room. The guy - Mr. Doe, Blarney called him mentally - was in fact passed out to the world, looking somehow even smaller there in the hospital bed than he had the night before.
“Hey, man,” Blarney said, voice soft, even though he was sure he could dress in drag and do the hula without him waking up. “Just wanted to let you know I’m here. Glad you’re doing okay. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
And so he was. It was, in fact, hours - excruciatingly boring hours, if you asked Blarney, but stay he did, because he needed to make sure the first person he’d ever saved was, in fact, actually saved. He may have been halfway dozing off on the uncomfortable little couch in the corner when he heard movement coming from the bed, but it was enough to wake him all the way up, jolting him to attention.
“Hey,” Blarney said quietly, “don’t freak out. You’re in the hospital - I brought you here last night after that guy…did something bad to you. How do you feel? Do you want me to get a nurse?”
That said, he didn’t actually get as many strange looks as he thought he would - people got all kinds of dressed up for Starfest, after all, and the flower crown did a lot to make people look once and look away. Nobody wanted to be bothered by a hippie-dippy flower-child, after all, especially not in this weather. It was his first time wearing his costume in daylight, and by the time he got halfway to the hospital, it felt like any other outfit.
Fortunately for him, one of the nurses he’d pawned the passed-out kid off to the night before was still on duty. He puppy-dog-eyed his way into the room number, the exasperated roll of the nurse’s eyes and the under-the-breath muttering making Blarney think that perhaps he was not the only powered person to come through these halls.
It was nice to have friends, or something.
He made his way to the room, though he peeled off the identifying sticker they’d forced him to put on at the front desk. The nurse had warned him the kid - they were calling him John Doe, since he didn’t have any ID on him when he was brought him - probably wouldn’t be awake for a few hours yet. Whatever had been done to him (this, she said, with an expression so thoroughly Done it almost made Blarney want to ask if she knew exactly what had been done to him) wouldn’t wear off for a while, but it wasn’t fatal, and it was a good thing he’d brought him in.
He let himself into the room, quietly shutting the door behind himself as he crossed the room. Hospitals kind of gave him the willies, but it wasn’t so bad here in this quiet, dark room. The guy - Mr. Doe, Blarney called him mentally - was in fact passed out to the world, looking somehow even smaller there in the hospital bed than he had the night before.
“Hey, man,” Blarney said, voice soft, even though he was sure he could dress in drag and do the hula without him waking up. “Just wanted to let you know I’m here. Glad you’re doing okay. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
And so he was. It was, in fact, hours - excruciatingly boring hours, if you asked Blarney, but stay he did, because he needed to make sure the first person he’d ever saved was, in fact, actually saved. He may have been halfway dozing off on the uncomfortable little couch in the corner when he heard movement coming from the bed, but it was enough to wake him all the way up, jolting him to attention.
“Hey,” Blarney said quietly, “don’t freak out. You’re in the hospital - I brought you here last night after that guy…did something bad to you. How do you feel? Do you want me to get a nurse?”
Strickenized
In all those crawling hours, Eles didn't dream. His mind cut no stories wholecloth from the chimes and bells and bustle of the hospital, nor did it draw yarn from the emaciated scrapbook of memories he'd thus far amassed. Mostly, it was silent as the dead void between stars. Empty like an undeserved punishment.
But in the hours past a half-day from the incident, he watched in his slumber the only clue to who he used to be. Perhaps the scale was wrong, the perspective abused by the way memory splintered under duress. It didn't matter. The meaning remained the same. The shattered hole at its epicenter, ringlets of crystal like repurposed starseeds. Inorganic and unyielding. Intolerant in such a manner that language failed to define. But, in that dead slumber, Eles could accept that. He was working from an imperfect copy, anyway. A copy perverted until the mind could understand it.
His first breath came quick, shallow. He knew that he didn't know where this was, but he couldn't recall getting here either. The numbers on his monitor began to rise — 68, 75, 82, 86, 88.
A voice and he rolled over in his bed. It wasn't Malory. Didn't sound like Malory. But he remembered Malory, so he hadn't lost what little he accrued yet. Dubiously good news. As welcome as the understanding that he wasn't dead.
Slowly, Eles hitched himself up on his elbows. Bleary eyes settled on the boy in front of him, studied him. Some vague sense of familiarity rattled about in his head, but not enough to coin a place or name a name. Not enough to contextualize him, or abstract him from the antiseptic-and-formica backdrop of hospital.
Eles squinted in his sluggish cognition when this boy tried to explain their fateful circumstances. Maybe he was trying to be considerate with his vague phrasing, maybe he didn't see what happened, but the first thought Eles had was no, he didn't, and after a lag of seconds, he realized this boy didn't mean that. So he almost laughed and gave himself away.
Deciding he wasn't in enough danger to stay sitting up, Eles slouched back against the bed. He signed perfunctorily and his arms fell onto the bed under their own weight as soon as he was finished. I'm very tired. Why did you stay?]
But in the hours past a half-day from the incident, he watched in his slumber the only clue to who he used to be. Perhaps the scale was wrong, the perspective abused by the way memory splintered under duress. It didn't matter. The meaning remained the same. The shattered hole at its epicenter, ringlets of crystal like repurposed starseeds. Inorganic and unyielding. Intolerant in such a manner that language failed to define. But, in that dead slumber, Eles could accept that. He was working from an imperfect copy, anyway. A copy perverted until the mind could understand it.
His first breath came quick, shallow. He knew that he didn't know where this was, but he couldn't recall getting here either. The numbers on his monitor began to rise — 68, 75, 82, 86, 88.
A voice and he rolled over in his bed. It wasn't Malory. Didn't sound like Malory. But he remembered Malory, so he hadn't lost what little he accrued yet. Dubiously good news. As welcome as the understanding that he wasn't dead.
Slowly, Eles hitched himself up on his elbows. Bleary eyes settled on the boy in front of him, studied him. Some vague sense of familiarity rattled about in his head, but not enough to coin a place or name a name. Not enough to contextualize him, or abstract him from the antiseptic-and-formica backdrop of hospital.
Eles squinted in his sluggish cognition when this boy tried to explain their fateful circumstances. Maybe he was trying to be considerate with his vague phrasing, maybe he didn't see what happened, but the first thought Eles had was no, he didn't, and after a lag of seconds, he realized this boy didn't mean that. So he almost laughed and gave himself away.
Deciding he wasn't in enough danger to stay sitting up, Eles slouched back against the bed. He signed perfunctorily and his arms fell onto the bed under their own weight as soon as he was finished. I'm very tired. Why did you stay?]
Juliette06
Blarney blinked as Mr. Doe’s fingers began to flap meaningfully - that is, he could tell there was meaning attached to the gestures. Sign. The problem was that neither Mason nor Blarney knew sign language. He had gotten as far as being able to spell out his name - his real name, not his powered name, maybe he could google it? - and then given up. He talked too fast for his fingers to be able to keep up, anyway, and he hadn’t thought he would ever need it.
Well, crap.
“I don’t…” was ‘speak’ the right word? If it wasn’t speech? Blarney felt himself beginning to flail in a decidedly un-Blarney like way, and he forced himself to take a breath. “Let me get a nurse, I’m sure they have a translator somewhere.”
Blarney hustled out of the room and spoke quickly to the nurse at the nearest station, first informing her that John Doe was awake, and second that he didn’t seem to be Deaf (as he’d clearly heard Blarney’s voice, unless he was lip-reading?) but he did seem to be communicating in Sign, could a translator please be called?
The nurse nodded and made a quick phone call, then hurried into the hospital room. Blarney followed her, but loitered respectfully near the entrance of the room as the nurse went through the perfunctory checks and tests that one had to perform when a kid who’d been asleep for the better part of an entire day finally woke up.
‘The translator will be here in a moment,’ the nurse said, looking at the boy, though Blarney got the distinct impression she was actually speaking to him. Then she hurried up and left, and Blarney scooted back into the room proper.
“I’m Blarney,” Blarney said, once she’d left and shut the door behind her. He hesitated a moment, then pulled his phone out of his subspace pocket and quickly googled ‘American Sign Language alphabet’, studied it for a moment, then looked back at the boy. He pointed at himself, then painstakingly spelled out B-L-A-R-N-E-Y. “Sorry,” he said, immediately as he finished, feeling a blush come to his cheeks. He felt like he was failing at this part - the bedside manner, checking-up-on part, because there were a lot of people who didn’t speak English or were Deaf or mute or blind or had any number of other things going on - and Blarney had just never…really thought about any of it. He felt very small in a very big world, but that was a feeling to be dissected later.
“Can you read my lips?” Blarney asked, glancing back down dubiously at the alphabet he’d summoned up. “...Wait, I’m an idiot,” he said, then pulled up the Notes app and handed the phone over to the boy. “There. We can talk, if you want. I just wanted to make sure you were…y’know, actually okay. What’s your name?”
Well, crap.
“I don’t…” was ‘speak’ the right word? If it wasn’t speech? Blarney felt himself beginning to flail in a decidedly un-Blarney like way, and he forced himself to take a breath. “Let me get a nurse, I’m sure they have a translator somewhere.”
Blarney hustled out of the room and spoke quickly to the nurse at the nearest station, first informing her that John Doe was awake, and second that he didn’t seem to be Deaf (as he’d clearly heard Blarney’s voice, unless he was lip-reading?) but he did seem to be communicating in Sign, could a translator please be called?
The nurse nodded and made a quick phone call, then hurried into the hospital room. Blarney followed her, but loitered respectfully near the entrance of the room as the nurse went through the perfunctory checks and tests that one had to perform when a kid who’d been asleep for the better part of an entire day finally woke up.
‘The translator will be here in a moment,’ the nurse said, looking at the boy, though Blarney got the distinct impression she was actually speaking to him. Then she hurried up and left, and Blarney scooted back into the room proper.
“I’m Blarney,” Blarney said, once she’d left and shut the door behind her. He hesitated a moment, then pulled his phone out of his subspace pocket and quickly googled ‘American Sign Language alphabet’, studied it for a moment, then looked back at the boy. He pointed at himself, then painstakingly spelled out B-L-A-R-N-E-Y. “Sorry,” he said, immediately as he finished, feeling a blush come to his cheeks. He felt like he was failing at this part - the bedside manner, checking-up-on part, because there were a lot of people who didn’t speak English or were Deaf or mute or blind or had any number of other things going on - and Blarney had just never…really thought about any of it. He felt very small in a very big world, but that was a feeling to be dissected later.
“Can you read my lips?” Blarney asked, glancing back down dubiously at the alphabet he’d summoned up. “...Wait, I’m an idiot,” he said, then pulled up the Notes app and handed the phone over to the boy. “There. We can talk, if you want. I just wanted to make sure you were…y’know, actually okay. What’s your name?”
Strickenized
Oh, the gawping stare was such a letdown after his fortunate streak of finding boys who could understand sign language. Utterly wounding. Or it would be if he had the energy to try and be dramatic about it. He'd wanted to try, anyway. Something about vapid sympathy had Malory coming back for it again and again. Wouldn't it have been nice to know what that was?
But this boy was such a scramble of greenstick limbs and yearling words that he practically ejected out of his seat. In such a rush, he was, that when Eles reached out to grab his arm and cancel that overzealous plan of his, the boy was already halfway out of the room. Then he was out of the room entirely, disappeared down a hallway of distant voices and shuffling feet. Of doctors and nurses moving in herds on rounds that no patient could understand. Eles sighed.
He laid back against the pillows. Stared at the ceiling. Then stared at the shifting lines on the monitor, measuring his breaths and his beats and how his soul felt like it was rotting in this sterile cell-turned-hotel.
Then the boy was back and a nurse was with him. He stared blearily at both. Felt like it wasn't his job to be particularly cooperative when she checked him over and cinched off his IV line. When Eles rubbed his eyes, his arm burned with discomfort at the crook.
The nurse was back in the hall, messing with some slats outside the door. Then she was gone-gone, and it was him and the kid again.
The kid who was… Making an attempt at ASL. Called himself Blarney. Fingerspelled like he was drunk. The offer of a phone was rebuked with a look of disdain.
Eles reached out at the end table, hand feeling about clumsily until it smacked into a notepad with a cheap hospital-branded pen on top. He took both, hitched his legs up enough to form a makeshift easel, and began to write.
I CAN HEAR, the first note said. He showed it to Blarney (and wondered why the ******** anyone would name their kid that).
I THINK I'M OKAY, he wrote next. VERY TIRED. HOW LONG WAS I ASLEEP? DID ANYONE ELSE COME?
But this boy was such a scramble of greenstick limbs and yearling words that he practically ejected out of his seat. In such a rush, he was, that when Eles reached out to grab his arm and cancel that overzealous plan of his, the boy was already halfway out of the room. Then he was out of the room entirely, disappeared down a hallway of distant voices and shuffling feet. Of doctors and nurses moving in herds on rounds that no patient could understand. Eles sighed.
He laid back against the pillows. Stared at the ceiling. Then stared at the shifting lines on the monitor, measuring his breaths and his beats and how his soul felt like it was rotting in this sterile cell-turned-hotel.
Then the boy was back and a nurse was with him. He stared blearily at both. Felt like it wasn't his job to be particularly cooperative when she checked him over and cinched off his IV line. When Eles rubbed his eyes, his arm burned with discomfort at the crook.
The nurse was back in the hall, messing with some slats outside the door. Then she was gone-gone, and it was him and the kid again.
The kid who was… Making an attempt at ASL. Called himself Blarney. Fingerspelled like he was drunk. The offer of a phone was rebuked with a look of disdain.
Eles reached out at the end table, hand feeling about clumsily until it smacked into a notepad with a cheap hospital-branded pen on top. He took both, hitched his legs up enough to form a makeshift easel, and began to write.
I CAN HEAR, the first note said. He showed it to Blarney (and wondered why the ******** anyone would name their kid that).
I THINK I'M OKAY, he wrote next. VERY TIRED. HOW LONG WAS I ASLEEP? DID ANYONE ELSE COME?
Juliette06
“Sure, or that,” Blarney said, a little mystified over the rebuke of technology, but hey, some people were more old-fashioned or whatever.
“Not since I got here this morning,” he answered. “It's…” he glanced at the clock on the wall, “coming up on 15, 15-and-a-half hours or so? It's about 3 in the afternoon. Less than a day. You didn't lose a whole week or anything,” Blarney said with a faint chuckle. “What's your name? The nurses are just calling you John Doe ‘cause you didn't have any ID on you when I brought you in.”
Blarney hesitated a moment, having realized that hearing but not being able to speak aloud would give someone a reluctance over the concept of phones. “Is there anyone you'd like me to call for you? Let your family know you're okay?”
“Not since I got here this morning,” he answered. “It's…” he glanced at the clock on the wall, “coming up on 15, 15-and-a-half hours or so? It's about 3 in the afternoon. Less than a day. You didn't lose a whole week or anything,” Blarney said with a faint chuckle. “What's your name? The nurses are just calling you John Doe ‘cause you didn't have any ID on you when I brought you in.”
Blarney hesitated a moment, having realized that hearing but not being able to speak aloud would give someone a reluctance over the concept of phones. “Is there anyone you'd like me to call for you? Let your family know you're okay?”
Strickenized
Disappointed, he clicked his tongue. Fifteen hours and he hadn't stopped in at all. The person sitting across from him was a stranger whose name he learned minutes ago.
That meant no one came to claim him as their son. No one came to call him brother, or friend, or lover. No one looked at his face and knew what to call him. He was just tagged and categorized as a body needing a bag hooked up to his arm and an undisclosed amount of shut-eye. It proved an unexpected — private — sort of wound. A gunshot that felt like a shove until that tickle of wet spread down his skin. A wound that shut his throat to all the sounds he wouldn't make.
So he turned the page. Across the whole of it, he wrote MALORY MEDRAUT IS A PIECE OF s**t. Then, feeling a little better for it, he flipped the page back.
ELES, he wrote on the pad, with an arrow pointing up, then held the message to his chest.
I DON'T HAVE ANY ID. OR FAMILY. OR PEOPLE TO CALL.
I DON'T FIT INTO THIS NARRATIVE. BETTER IF THEY LET ME BACK OUTSIDE.
That meant no one came to claim him as their son. No one came to call him brother, or friend, or lover. No one looked at his face and knew what to call him. He was just tagged and categorized as a body needing a bag hooked up to his arm and an undisclosed amount of shut-eye. It proved an unexpected — private — sort of wound. A gunshot that felt like a shove until that tickle of wet spread down his skin. A wound that shut his throat to all the sounds he wouldn't make.
So he turned the page. Across the whole of it, he wrote MALORY MEDRAUT IS A PIECE OF s**t. Then, feeling a little better for it, he flipped the page back.
ELES, he wrote on the pad, with an arrow pointing up, then held the message to his chest.
I DON'T HAVE ANY ID. OR FAMILY. OR PEOPLE TO CALL.
I DON'T FIT INTO THIS NARRATIVE. BETTER IF THEY LET ME BACK OUTSIDE.
Juliette06
“Eles,” Blarney repeated, tilting his head slightly at the rest of his message. “You don't…fit in the narrative? What narrative?” Blarney asked, suddenly realizing that perhaps there was a possibility that there might be something more seriously wrong with the random human he brought to the hospital in the middle of the night than just being forcibly made to pass out in an alley. He was not prepared for this at all, he realized suddenly, but this was happening anyway, so much in keeping with the rest of his magical journey, he had no choice but to push forward anyway.
“Well, you have me,” Blarney said with a smile, though it faded slightly as he continued. “Do you know who attacked you?” Blarney asked, trying to ask it gently. “He had pink hair. A whole…tailored look?” Blarney added, gesturing vaguely to himself, his decidedly un-tailored look. “I think he did some sort of karate Vulcan mind-pinch on you. Did you, um, have a family and stuff before last night, or is the amnesia…new?”
“Well, you have me,” Blarney said with a smile, though it faded slightly as he continued. “Do you know who attacked you?” Blarney asked, trying to ask it gently. “He had pink hair. A whole…tailored look?” Blarney added, gesturing vaguely to himself, his decidedly un-tailored look. “I think he did some sort of karate Vulcan mind-pinch on you. Did you, um, have a family and stuff before last night, or is the amnesia…new?”
Strickenized
THE NARRATIVE WHERE EVERYONE WHO ENDS UP IN THE HOSPITAL HAS SOMEONE TO CALL, Eles jotted down simply. He paused, then added, SORRY. I CAN'T REMEMBER ANYTHING. WHEN SOMEONE TALKS TO ME, IT FEELS LIKE THEY'RE PUTTING ME INTO ROLES THAT FIT SOME NARRATIVE. LIKE I CAN ONLY BE A CERTAIN WAY.
It didn't make much sense, even when he read it back to himself, but he'd already written it down. No helping that.
Eles nodded to the question, however. He supposed he should be prepared to answer something like that; it sounded like a question for a police report. TOLD ME TO CALL HIM VILLI. IT WAS SHORT FOR SOMETHING THAT SOUNDED LIKE VILLA-MIGHT. NEVER MET HIM BEFORE.
Having filled it, he tore the page off and laid it aside. Then he saw the message underneath, so quickly forgotten, and his expression cracked into a cretinous smile. He tore away that page and stuffed it into the end table drawer.
IT'S NOT NEW. I THINK I KNOW WHAT HE DID BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT. IT'S LIKE IF YOUR BODY'S RESILIENCE WAS WOVEN FROM THREAD AND SOMEONE STARTED UNSPOOLING IT THROUGH YOUR SKIN. HE HAD TO TOUCH ME FOR IT.
It didn't make much sense, even when he read it back to himself, but he'd already written it down. No helping that.
Eles nodded to the question, however. He supposed he should be prepared to answer something like that; it sounded like a question for a police report. TOLD ME TO CALL HIM VILLI. IT WAS SHORT FOR SOMETHING THAT SOUNDED LIKE VILLA-MIGHT. NEVER MET HIM BEFORE.
Having filled it, he tore the page off and laid it aside. Then he saw the message underneath, so quickly forgotten, and his expression cracked into a cretinous smile. He tore away that page and stuffed it into the end table drawer.
IT'S NOT NEW. I THINK I KNOW WHAT HE DID BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT. IT'S LIKE IF YOUR BODY'S RESILIENCE WAS WOVEN FROM THREAD AND SOMEONE STARTED UNSPOOLING IT THROUGH YOUR SKIN. HE HAD TO TOUCH ME FOR IT.
Juliette06
Blarney raised his eyebrows slightly as he read and re-read the message the boy–Eles Doe, apparently–had written out. “Poetic,” he said, a slightly bemused smile on his face. “And…terrifying,” he added, shuddering slightly at the thought. “That sounds terrifying. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
Something else was churning in his mind; I think I know what he did but I don’t know what to call it. The memory loss wasn’t new, he’d said–not caused by Villi of the Pink Hair, but by something else. He had a sinking feeling he knew what had caused it, but–he didn’t have enough information. If he had swapped sides…what side had he swapped to or from? Was he a good guy now or a bad guy? Judging by the fact that a bad guy had gone all energy-vampire on him, that would seem to indicate good guy. But he was a civilian, and it was easy to be anything you wanted when you were in your civilian guise. But if he was powered, why hadn’t he powered up to defend himself last night?
Blarney sighed and looked back at Eles. “Do you know why I’m dressed like this?” Blarney asked. If he could feel him out a little, see what he knew if anything, maybe he could determine how much was safe to tell this kid. Give him back a little of the narrative he did belong in.
Something else was churning in his mind; I think I know what he did but I don’t know what to call it. The memory loss wasn’t new, he’d said–not caused by Villi of the Pink Hair, but by something else. He had a sinking feeling he knew what had caused it, but–he didn’t have enough information. If he had swapped sides…what side had he swapped to or from? Was he a good guy now or a bad guy? Judging by the fact that a bad guy had gone all energy-vampire on him, that would seem to indicate good guy. But he was a civilian, and it was easy to be anything you wanted when you were in your civilian guise. But if he was powered, why hadn’t he powered up to defend himself last night?
Blarney sighed and looked back at Eles. “Do you know why I’m dressed like this?” Blarney asked. If he could feel him out a little, see what he knew if anything, maybe he could determine how much was safe to tell this kid. Give him back a little of the narrative he did belong in.
Strickenized
The question caught him off-guard; Eles's brows furrowed while he pondered what the boy's outfit had to do with anything. It was strange to see out in public, but maybe it wasn't all that uncommon to have a lazy goth benefactor who had half a closet's worth of period-accurate clothing that he lent out. Were that the case, Eles was sympathetic; the summer heat about roasted him whenever he had to dress in such a manner.
But the question had to be more than a non-sequitur. Couldn't guess it, but Blarney would likely tell him.
So the pen in his hand scribbled away, and after a moment, he turned the notepad back toward the boy. YOU JUST GOT OFF SHIFT AT THE RENAISSANCE FAIRE?
But the question had to be more than a non-sequitur. Couldn't guess it, but Blarney would likely tell him.
So the pen in his hand scribbled away, and after a moment, he turned the notepad back toward the boy. YOU JUST GOT OFF SHIFT AT THE RENAISSANCE FAIRE?
Juliette06
Blarney chuckled and shook his head. “I wish,” Blarney said, though if he was being honest, now that he had real magic, playing pretend in the fake 1400s or whatever sounded…dull, at best, and stifling at worst.
But hey. Maybe he could get some part-time hours there, if he brought his own costume.
“So…the guy who did this to you, and me, we’re on different sides of–” he was interrupted by a knock on the door, and Blarney stood. It was the translator, but this was definitely not something anyone else needed to hear (and anyway, he doubted there were ASL signs for ‘sailor scout’ or any of the other wild words that had become part of Blarney’s every-day vocabulary), so he just gave her a sheepish smile.
“Actually, we figured it out,” he said, “and my friend just kind of wants to be left alone, actually. Thanks for coming by, though, and we’ll call if we need you, I promise.” Blarney gave her a charming grin, and thankfully, she bought it; she gave him her card and Blarney shut the door after her, returning to Eles a moment later.
“Here,” he said, offering the card to Eles. “If you get tired of writing notes or whatever,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. I should’ve probably actually asked if you wanted someone to come and help with that sort of thing, rather than just deciding it for you.” Blarney sat back down and leaned back, letting out a slow breath.
“So that guy and me. We’re on different sides of…a conflict,” Blarney said. “And I think…maybe you might be, or have been…part of that conflict. I think maybe your memory loss is from–from that conflict. I’m sorry. I don’t know more–even if I, or anyone, knew you before, nobody could recognize you, because…this whole conflict thing? It’s–” Blarney hesitated, then winced apologetically.
“It’s gonna sound insane, but. This conflict thing is magic. I’m dressed like this because I’m something called a Page–a Page of Earth. The colors, the get-up–that’s what that means. I didn’t pick them out. I just–one night, went from boring old regular human who had basically no idea about any of this, to…” Blarney gestured at himself, “jumping on roofs and interrupting bad guys when they try to hurt innocent civilians.” At this, he gestured to Eles. “From my…admittedly kinda limited understanding, I’m still kinda new to this, but…when the magic makes someone lose their…their memory, their identity, there’s…not really a way to get it back. I’m so sorry, Eles.”
But hey. Maybe he could get some part-time hours there, if he brought his own costume.
“So…the guy who did this to you, and me, we’re on different sides of–” he was interrupted by a knock on the door, and Blarney stood. It was the translator, but this was definitely not something anyone else needed to hear (and anyway, he doubted there were ASL signs for ‘sailor scout’ or any of the other wild words that had become part of Blarney’s every-day vocabulary), so he just gave her a sheepish smile.
“Actually, we figured it out,” he said, “and my friend just kind of wants to be left alone, actually. Thanks for coming by, though, and we’ll call if we need you, I promise.” Blarney gave her a charming grin, and thankfully, she bought it; she gave him her card and Blarney shut the door after her, returning to Eles a moment later.
“Here,” he said, offering the card to Eles. “If you get tired of writing notes or whatever,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. I should’ve probably actually asked if you wanted someone to come and help with that sort of thing, rather than just deciding it for you.” Blarney sat back down and leaned back, letting out a slow breath.
“So that guy and me. We’re on different sides of…a conflict,” Blarney said. “And I think…maybe you might be, or have been…part of that conflict. I think maybe your memory loss is from–from that conflict. I’m sorry. I don’t know more–even if I, or anyone, knew you before, nobody could recognize you, because…this whole conflict thing? It’s–” Blarney hesitated, then winced apologetically.
“It’s gonna sound insane, but. This conflict thing is magic. I’m dressed like this because I’m something called a Page–a Page of Earth. The colors, the get-up–that’s what that means. I didn’t pick them out. I just–one night, went from boring old regular human who had basically no idea about any of this, to…” Blarney gestured at himself, “jumping on roofs and interrupting bad guys when they try to hurt innocent civilians.” At this, he gestured to Eles. “From my…admittedly kinda limited understanding, I’m still kinda new to this, but…when the magic makes someone lose their…their memory, their identity, there’s…not really a way to get it back. I’m so sorry, Eles.”
Strickenized
While it was kind of the interpreter to stop by, and kind for the nurse to have sent for one, Eles was far more grateful that she agreed to leave without making a fuss about it. After he agreed that they didn't need her services, she was back out the door again and fumbled with something on the wall right outside his door. Maybe there were signs out there that an interpreter was needed.
Once she was gone, his attention returned to Blarney and the fantastical tale he had to tell. Or it would have been fantastical, Eles thought, if the boy livened it up with some details. He got the gist — some kind of not-quite war, at least two sides, magic is real. Now that was ******** something, magic being real. People wearing period-accurate Middle Ages ensembles and appropriating knightly designations like that. Maybe he named himself, then? But to pick Blarney of all things…
And to call himself a Page of Earth. Was that Earth the Element or Earth the Planet? Given he said 'conflict' and not 'war', Eles guessed the element. Well, that was cute. High schooler gets all dressed up in fancy clothes and beats bad guys with his stick. Who knew, maybe he'd get earth magic if he beat up enough of them. If nothing else, it was a fun little fantasy. Like those coming-of-age stories that sunk their claws into everything.
The boy seemed almost embarrassed to be explaining it, too. Like he wasn't expecting to do that or he didn't think he'd be believed.
I BELIEVE YOU, Eles wrote next. EVEN IF IT SOUNDS INSANE.
As for the memory problem… Eles just shrugged. It wasn't heartbreaking news, but it did pique his curiosity. IS THERE A WAY TO TELL IF MY AMNESIA WAS INDUCED BY MAGIC? Maybe these things left some residual signature behind so other people who were magical could tell. This was turning out to be quite the story to take home from the hospital.
Once she was gone, his attention returned to Blarney and the fantastical tale he had to tell. Or it would have been fantastical, Eles thought, if the boy livened it up with some details. He got the gist — some kind of not-quite war, at least two sides, magic is real. Now that was ******** something, magic being real. People wearing period-accurate Middle Ages ensembles and appropriating knightly designations like that. Maybe he named himself, then? But to pick Blarney of all things…
And to call himself a Page of Earth. Was that Earth the Element or Earth the Planet? Given he said 'conflict' and not 'war', Eles guessed the element. Well, that was cute. High schooler gets all dressed up in fancy clothes and beats bad guys with his stick. Who knew, maybe he'd get earth magic if he beat up enough of them. If nothing else, it was a fun little fantasy. Like those coming-of-age stories that sunk their claws into everything.
The boy seemed almost embarrassed to be explaining it, too. Like he wasn't expecting to do that or he didn't think he'd be believed.
I BELIEVE YOU, Eles wrote next. EVEN IF IT SOUNDS INSANE.
As for the memory problem… Eles just shrugged. It wasn't heartbreaking news, but it did pique his curiosity. IS THERE A WAY TO TELL IF MY AMNESIA WAS INDUCED BY MAGIC? Maybe these things left some residual signature behind so other people who were magical could tell. This was turning out to be quite the story to take home from the hospital.
Juliette06
Blarney waited - he was kind of waiting for a freak-out, or a million questions, both of which he had experienced when Aruna had saved him from the youma, way back on that first fateful night. Instead, Eles just kinda rolled with it. It was impressive, actually, and a tiny bit unnerving, more more than anything, it led him to believe that he’d been right - on some level, this wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation to him the way it had been to Blarney. He knew some of this already, even if he didn’t know he knew.
“Y’know, I don’t know,” he admitted, making a thoughtful little ‘huh’ noise as he considered the question. “But…I know someone who might,” he added. “Hang on a sec.”
No longer concerned about spooking the poor boy, Blarney reached into his subspace pocket and pulled out his notebook and purple sparkly pen. Quickly he wrote:
To Murikabushi:
Hey man! Sorry to bug you. Random question for no particular reason at all: is there a way to tell the difference between regular amnesia (lol) and the magic amnesia you were telling me about the other day? Like a test you can do or something?
Hope all’s good on your end!
Blarney
Page of Earth
Then, he stamped the note with his signet ring, and they both watched as it disappeared into thin air, hopefully delivered quickly to Muri, who would hopefully answer something like ‘yeah you just have to crack a quartz crystal over their head at sundown’ or something like that.
“While we’re waiting for that,” Blarney said, putting the notebook and pen back away into subspace, “do you have someplace safe to go once they kick you outta here?”
“Y’know, I don’t know,” he admitted, making a thoughtful little ‘huh’ noise as he considered the question. “But…I know someone who might,” he added. “Hang on a sec.”
No longer concerned about spooking the poor boy, Blarney reached into his subspace pocket and pulled out his notebook and purple sparkly pen. Quickly he wrote:
To Murikabushi:
Hey man! Sorry to bug you. Random question for no particular reason at all: is there a way to tell the difference between regular amnesia (lol) and the magic amnesia you were telling me about the other day? Like a test you can do or something?
Hope all’s good on your end!
Blarney
Page of Earth
Then, he stamped the note with his signet ring, and they both watched as it disappeared into thin air, hopefully delivered quickly to Muri, who would hopefully answer something like ‘yeah you just have to crack a quartz crystal over their head at sundown’ or something like that.
“While we’re waiting for that,” Blarney said, putting the notebook and pen back away into subspace, “do you have someplace safe to go once they kick you outta here?”
Strickenized
Eles watched the display of magic in motion, silent for it, as if interruption would dispel it away like so many cobwebs. First there was nothing, then there was a notebook and pen, then there came the mundanity of scratching out a message, then Blarney pressed a ring to it and the page was simply gone. Finally, the notebook and pen were gone with the same lack of pomp and circumstance. Eles wondered if he'd seen something like that before. If he'd done something like that before.
But if he had, those memories were gone for good. Eles frowned.
Then he looked up at the boy again, as if the break in silence purged such dolorous thoughts and he donned something of a half-smile for the welcome interruption. The question was, as ever, a show of unearned concern from the boy. He wondered how he'd been raised to foster such a vested interest in strangers. Eles had thought it all tedious, the idea of scouring the city for strangers in need of saving and enduring that thankless drudgery. Then to follow up with them the following day, ensure they're alive, and for what? Eles wasn't sending him a thank-you card. And Blarney looked a little young for his other gratitudes.
But Eles nodded nonetheless. He rather hoped it wasn't completely safe, but his acquaintance for Malory wasn't very promising for a life-or-death struggle over a knife in the middle of the night. And he was fairly certain he could overpower Malory anyway.
I WAS HOPING SOMEONE WOULD SHOW UP FOR ME, BUT I CAN GET THERE ON MY OWN. Eles scribbled out the note and showed it to the boy. Then, by way of explanation, he dug the paper back out of the drawer and handed that to Blarney, too.
But if he had, those memories were gone for good. Eles frowned.
Then he looked up at the boy again, as if the break in silence purged such dolorous thoughts and he donned something of a half-smile for the welcome interruption. The question was, as ever, a show of unearned concern from the boy. He wondered how he'd been raised to foster such a vested interest in strangers. Eles had thought it all tedious, the idea of scouring the city for strangers in need of saving and enduring that thankless drudgery. Then to follow up with them the following day, ensure they're alive, and for what? Eles wasn't sending him a thank-you card. And Blarney looked a little young for his other gratitudes.
But Eles nodded nonetheless. He rather hoped it wasn't completely safe, but his acquaintance for Malory wasn't very promising for a life-or-death struggle over a knife in the middle of the night. And he was fairly certain he could overpower Malory anyway.
I WAS HOPING SOMEONE WOULD SHOW UP FOR ME, BUT I CAN GET THERE ON MY OWN. Eles scribbled out the note and showed it to the boy. Then, by way of explanation, he dug the paper back out of the drawer and handed that to Blarney, too.
Juliette06
Blarney took the note, read it over and let out a surprised half-chuckle, more an amused exhalation than anything, and shook his head. “Malory Medraut, huh?” he said, handing the note back over. “Do they know about…” he gestured to himself, “this sorta thing? If so, I could send them a note too and let them know where to find you. I mean I guess I could send them a note even if they don’t know about this stuff but that…might cause more problems than it would solve.” Blarney chuckled and shook his head.
“Can I help with anything else? I wish there was more I could do for you, man. If I find out anything more about your amnesia…is it okay if I contact you about it? Or would you like to just…y’know, move on, forget this ever happened, no pun intended, god that was horrible I’m so sorry,” he said, wincing as he spoke. Nothing like a good amnesia joke to really come off like a jerk. “But–really. Is there anything else I can do for you, man? Magically speaking or otherwise?”
“Can I help with anything else? I wish there was more I could do for you, man. If I find out anything more about your amnesia…is it okay if I contact you about it? Or would you like to just…y’know, move on, forget this ever happened, no pun intended, god that was horrible I’m so sorry,” he said, wincing as he spoke. Nothing like a good amnesia joke to really come off like a jerk. “But–really. Is there anything else I can do for you, man? Magically speaking or otherwise?”
Strickenized
Blarney posed a question worth considering. Did Malory know about this strange little magical underground, filled with Renaissance boys who could vanish notes into the air? Did he encounter boys who looked oh so happy to see him, who would walk with him and talk with him, until he felt too tired to stand anymore? Eles couldn't recall seeing anyone of that sort around the house, but then again, Malory never entertained company.
After a moment, Eles shook his head. He was quite certain Malory didn't know anything about such affairs. If he did, he would've brought it up by now. Something to watch out for in Destiny City's underbelly.
HOLD OFF ON THE NOTE, Eles next wrote. HE DESERVES A BIT OF A SCARE.
But the boy's endless font of consideration was received with an honest smile. Again, Eles shook his head. Blarney had already done so much by getting him here in the first place, ensuring that he didn't drop dead at the hands of some devilish boy roaming the streets. They'd boot Eles from the hospital soon enough and he'd find his way back to Malory's, no worse for wear. Might have to loiter by the gate for a while until the boy saw fit to let him in, but all things considered, he came out of this scrape quite undamaged.
I DON'T HAVE A PHONE, BUT IF YOU LEARN SOMETHING, YOU CAN WRITE ME A LETTER. Then, on a fresh page, he jotted down an address. The incidental joke roused a bit of a chuckle out of him, a series of soft snorts as he continued writing. IF YOU'RE GOING TO FEEL GUILTY ABOUT LEAVING ME HERE, YOU CAN WALK ME HOME. BUT I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE.
After a moment, Eles shook his head. He was quite certain Malory didn't know anything about such affairs. If he did, he would've brought it up by now. Something to watch out for in Destiny City's underbelly.
HOLD OFF ON THE NOTE, Eles next wrote. HE DESERVES A BIT OF A SCARE.
But the boy's endless font of consideration was received with an honest smile. Again, Eles shook his head. Blarney had already done so much by getting him here in the first place, ensuring that he didn't drop dead at the hands of some devilish boy roaming the streets. They'd boot Eles from the hospital soon enough and he'd find his way back to Malory's, no worse for wear. Might have to loiter by the gate for a while until the boy saw fit to let him in, but all things considered, he came out of this scrape quite undamaged.
I DON'T HAVE A PHONE, BUT IF YOU LEARN SOMETHING, YOU CAN WRITE ME A LETTER. Then, on a fresh page, he jotted down an address. The incidental joke roused a bit of a chuckle out of him, a series of soft snorts as he continued writing. IF YOU'RE GOING TO FEEL GUILTY ABOUT LEAVING ME HERE, YOU CAN WALK ME HOME. BUT I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE.
Juliette06
“A letter,” Blarney said, a genuine smile on his face as he took the address and tucked the paper safely into one of his pouches. It was sort of charming - he’d never written a letter before, beyond the little notes sent by way of the magical super-highway, and he found the idea a little thrilling. Like something out of a storybook. “I’ll do that,” he promised with a nod. He was going to say more, but then a nurse bustled back in and Blarney stood automatically, shuffling out of the way for her to do her work.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” Blarney decided, because he didn’t really know this guy, after all - it wasn’t like they were friends. (Were they friends?) He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. He gave him a little wave and was halfway to the door when he remembered - the real thing that had brought him back to the hospital, beyond his ensuring that he was still safe, which Blarney felt was the only right and proper thing to do. The real reason was - guilt, or something like it.
“Oh,” Blarney said, turning as he shoved his hand back in his pouch. “I think you dropped this,” he said, “last night. I’m pretty sure this is yours.” Blarney darted back to the bed and set the crimson StarCharm on the nightstand that he’d recovered the night before. “Maybe now it’ll have a better memory attached–and this time, the pun absolutely was intended,” he added, actually shooting the other boy a wink as he grinned impishly down at him. He could pick up another one on his way back home - as Mason, not Blarney; this one was meant for Eles, who didn’t deserve to lose anything else that by rights belonged to him. It wasn’t a memory, it wasn’t information - but it was something, and that was better than nothing.
The nurse moved back around to his side of the bed and Blarney scooted away once more, giving him one last little wave and smile before he slipped out of the room, into the nearest bathroom, where he transformed out of Blarney and back into Mason. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror - he had never considered how lucky he was to know himself as himself, as all of himself. He slipped out of the hospital and back through the city, picking up a crimson StarCharm on the way. It might be his own, but he knew he’d never be able to look at it without thinking of the strange, amnesiac boy, and the very first life he’d ever saved.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” Blarney decided, because he didn’t really know this guy, after all - it wasn’t like they were friends. (Were they friends?) He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. He gave him a little wave and was halfway to the door when he remembered - the real thing that had brought him back to the hospital, beyond his ensuring that he was still safe, which Blarney felt was the only right and proper thing to do. The real reason was - guilt, or something like it.
“Oh,” Blarney said, turning as he shoved his hand back in his pouch. “I think you dropped this,” he said, “last night. I’m pretty sure this is yours.” Blarney darted back to the bed and set the crimson StarCharm on the nightstand that he’d recovered the night before. “Maybe now it’ll have a better memory attached–and this time, the pun absolutely was intended,” he added, actually shooting the other boy a wink as he grinned impishly down at him. He could pick up another one on his way back home - as Mason, not Blarney; this one was meant for Eles, who didn’t deserve to lose anything else that by rights belonged to him. It wasn’t a memory, it wasn’t information - but it was something, and that was better than nothing.
The nurse moved back around to his side of the bed and Blarney scooted away once more, giving him one last little wave and smile before he slipped out of the room, into the nearest bathroom, where he transformed out of Blarney and back into Mason. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror - he had never considered how lucky he was to know himself as himself, as all of himself. He slipped out of the hospital and back through the city, picking up a crimson StarCharm on the way. It might be his own, but he knew he’d never be able to look at it without thinking of the strange, amnesiac boy, and the very first life he’d ever saved.
