sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Worried/Sick 1: Symptoms Manifest & Reaction

[MINGLE] Worried/Sick 1: Symptoms Manifest & Reaction

WHERE: Anywhere; multiple locations
WHEN: Apx. 13-18 November
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE
WARNINGS: Serious illness and reactions to such

IMPORTANT NOTES: This is the first of two mingles. Please see the timing and general event details here.

Illness Presents and Putting Heads Together will have their own top-levels in this post, but you may make separate top-levels for whatever you like! Anything is welcome, as long as it tangentially relates to the Worried/Sick plot.

Please keep in mind the established plot details, but creative license is welcome and encouraged as long as it doesn't step on toes.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

7 hadn't been in the best of shape when Eddie dropped her off, having no prior experience with getting sick and originally planning on riding it out in her house. Finally resting in a bed, she shifts in and out of sleep, the world seemingly melting between the hospital interior and some broken, scorched rubble of her own world, or an odd mix of the two. Every moment she thought she heard the scrape of metal against metal, saw the glow of a red eye, or the soft shift of a shutter optic.

Rare moments, she actually has some sense of lucidity, and it's in one of those that she gradually wakes up as someone is dabbing a cool, wet cloth on her forehead. She turns to see who, and smiles slightly at Altaïr .

"Water in this amount, I can handle." Her voice rasps against her sore throat, prompting a couple light coughs, but she tries to hold back any more. "You're good?"

"I am well," he assured her. "Has anyone yet given you the healing water, or the peaches that are meant to aid sickness?"

As he spoke, his hand guided the cloth over her forehead again, over her cheeks, at her neck. Now was not a time to worry so much about modesty. Now was a time of illness and such things took precedence over human foibles. Intimacies that were usually kept to family now had to be given to those who needed it; in sickness, all became family.

She doesn't have the same sense of modesty as others, though, since having things to get modest about didn't really exist in her world. She was still wary of those she didn't know well, and if it had been someone other than Altaïr, a stranger, there would have been resistance. For now she sighs and closes her eyes and just feels as the cool water combats the fever.

"I haven't, no." A few measured breaths, and she looks over at Altaïr again. "Should I? Would it help much?"

He exhaled a sigh, knowing honesty was better than false promises - and that was why he said, "It soothes to some degree. It is no cure. But as we speak, those more given to medicine than I work toward finding the true cure for this ailment."

The cloth made a soft sound as he dropped it into the cool water again, a faint splash before he swirled it in the bucket and pulled it out, squeezed it slightly dryer before dabbing it against her temple. "It may give some relief. Not permanent, but some time without the depths of this misery."

"I am pretty miserable." She smiles slightly, trying to play it off, but she is frustrated with being incapacitated like this. It was encouraging to hear that people were working on a cure, though, and she hoped them a speedy success. "I'll take it. Is it something I need to drink? Or, just covered in? A peach is a food thing, right? A, fruit?"

That was a lot of words and she pauses to sag back against the mattress. Everything was too hot and itched, her throat was sore inside and out. Even a little reprieve would be welcome.

"I have been giving the water to sip, and the peaches to eat. They are a fruit, yes - and these are dried. They are a bit tough to chew, but I have tried them myself. Whether I can attribute my not catching this illness to that, I am not sure, but I feel more hale after having tried it." The bucket he'd brought had cool water in it, but not the healing water. Going to retrieve a cup and a small number of the peach slices only took him a moment, though he washed his hands before picking up both.

When he returned to the bedside, he shifted how he'd been sitting, coming to sit alongside her, instead, the water and peaches placed aside for long enough for him to ease her to sit up and against him. It was easier to help this way. "Here. Lean against me. Sitting up will help you swallow."

She struggles to sit up, but once she's there the chance to lean against Altaïr is appreciated. She pulls in a breath and lets it out, coughing slightly. She doesn't have much of an appetite, but everyone keeps stressing how important it is to eat, so she'll try it.

It is a little tough, which he'd warned her about, and with her throat already raw as it is it's not an easy meal. The taste, as well, is skewed by the illness. It's not unpleasant, though, and she works at nibbling through one slice, then another. That seems to be about all she can manage for the moment, though, being a little more eager about the water.

"I'm so hot. I didn't know I could get this hot ..."

As she eats and sips the water, he strokes her hair back from her face, drawing the strands out of the way, soaked with sweat as they are. "Your fever is very high," he agreed. "In some cases, fever is good. It can burn the sickness out of your body. But when it is this high, it is dangerous. The cool water I've been bringing from the fountains can help. If we could soak all of you in it, that could be best - but I know our mutual love for water is low." But there was one possibility.

"When my sons were ill and we had little water at hand, I would have them lay on their stomachs and wipe their backs with what we had. It helped them, it seemed. It could help you as well."

Hair - another human thing she's getting used to. It's comforting to have it pulled out of the way, and in between sips she'll give Altaïr a small smile. Even though she'd tried to tough it out on her own, she's realizing now it didn't hurt to actually let your friends help.

"As long as I'm not expected to swim in it, I'll give anything a try." Is her weak reply. Sipping the water has helped. She hands the cup back over to Altaïr, then goes to the task of tugging her shirt off over her head. The air feels cool against her skin, and she settles back down on the bed, slowly twisting until she's on her stomach, bunching her pillow under her head. Even something as simple as that had felt like a monumental task.

Her back laid bare, a sizable portion is taken up by twisted and tight scarring, like a large swath of skin had been practically torn away.

When he realised what she was doing, he turned his head away, averted his eyes until he was sure she was settled on her stomach. He'd not seen a woman naked since his wife. The place she was from, it must not have mattered. At any other time, it could've sparked a discussion about cultural differences. As it was, he simply gave her the privacy she didn't seem to care about and shifted how he sat so that he could reach the bucket once more. And then, considering, he first dropped a little of the water onto the cloth he'd used before, pressing that to her back first.

The sight of the scar made him wince. "Such a wound, shabbah... I am sorry such a thing happened to you," he murmured as he carefully swept the cloth over it. He'd seen such things before, mostly among the slaves some of the Saracens kept.

She hadn't had a chance to see her back herself, but she'd felt the difference since day one. Having Altaïr comment on it makes her think back; a failed engagement with the Beast, 5 stitching in a patch where her canvas had been lost, sparking a burn of determination to take it out where others sequestered themselves like cowards.

"It was a learning experience." How to dodge the Beast; not that way. But she did as she always did; she got back up and she kept fighting. It would be the main difference between her and 1's attitudes towards how to survive the world around them. She sighs and closes her eyes, feeling relief bit by bit with each dab of the cloth. "I can't regret it."

"Mmm." The familiarity ached. "The only scars I regret are those worn by others." He could think of one in particular. But he pushed that thought and its accompanying heartbreak aside in favour of stroking the cloth over her back, dabbing it back into the cool water, and doing it again. Bit by bit, he worked the cloth over her, and then began to do it again. The larger expanse of skin meant the air could touch more, evaporate more, take more heat - or so he hoped. It had worked with Sef and Darim. He hoped it would work for her.

She takes in another breath and lets it out in a sigh. She's starting to learn how to regulate her breathing so she doesn't always cough on an exhale, but her throat still feels tight and raw. Her back, however, is feeling much better, and by extent she's feeling at least a fraction more comfortable.

Turning her head slightly, she gives him a bit of a crooked smile at that thought. It was a good thought, but like she said; she had no regrets. It was all part of who she was - scars and all. "That's a lot of regret, my friend."

"We all have regrets," he answered softly. "Some more than others. In my youth, I was a fool, and many were either hurt or killed for my own arrogance. It was a lesson that I had to learn in blood, and I will remember that until my death." His second death, that was. His first had only been a matter of weeks ago, so far as he knew.

But never did his hand stop moving. The water, even as it warmed to the temperature of the room, was still cooler than her skin. "I hope we can find an answer to this in time. This many losses..." Especially when some had truly begun to matter to him. But then, wasn't that his life?

The steady contact and cooling effect is calming, and she lets her eyes drift shut. She reaches a hand over to grip his forearm.

"Why is there always so much fighting?" She brings her arm back and tucks it under her chin. "It's always one side against the other. There's just nine of us left, even we can't seem to agree." She thinks about confronting 1 in the library, how close she'd been to taking him out. Should she regret that?

"I ... almost killed someone." She's glad she's not facing him, she didn't know if she could talk about if she were. But, he's broken through her walls with his kindness and his own vulnerability.

He laid the cloth over her back, letting the larger area be cooled by the water before he began to fan it. And then he asked, "What had this person done that was nearly worth their death?" in a voice that was nothing if not patient, lightly curious - as if this was a conversation he'd had before.

He thought he had. More than once, in fact. Usually with apprentices who were afraid of the instincts they were developing, the reflexes that, at one point, endangered their friends and their family. The ones who had not yet grown immune to startle.

She's quiet for a couple moments, just breathing and feeling the cool cloth and thinking back on that moment. She felt a flutter of panic, but she's just too exhausted for it to manifest much further. And Altaïr was trusted. She pulls in a slightly larger breath, supressing a cough, and lets it out.

"He sent my friend out to die, because he was too curious about the world, and 'asked too many questions'. He put us all in danger because he was a coward that just wanted to hide." She grips the pillow, feeling the anger well up again. She'd been out on her own because of 1. "Not long after I was fighting for his life. His, and the others."

He was quiet for a long moment. But then he was stroking her hair, pulling it back as he had seen Maria do time and again. Once she was able, he thought, he'd braid it for her. Maria had taught him, and he knew well how to make the crown of braid that she'd worn so often. Somehow, he was sure 7 would appreciate it.

For now, though, he gave it a gentle twist and coiled it at the back of her head, using its own weight and a careful bit of tucking to hold it in place before he stroked the cloth over the back of her neck. "Curiosity and bravery are not flaws to be punished by death. They should be tempered by wisdom and caution, but they are still virtues to be carefully tended. I am sorry that this person you knew did not see it in the right way."

The sensation is soothing, the way he's stroking her hair, and she almost drifts of to sleep. He's right about the braiding; having hair in the first place is a new concept for her and being able to manage it would be an appreciated lesson.

"I miss 2. I miss all of them, except 1. I wouldn't be upset if I never saw him again. "

Edited 2018-11-23 16:29 (UTC)

"I miss my son," he answered softly. "But as things are, there are worse places I could be than here, where I can help."

She seemed so tired, but the cool water, the attention - both seemed to be helping, and that was more than enough reason to continue. He was gentle with what he did, as ever - swabbing her poor, scarred back. Wiping away the sweat of her neck. So many here pulled at his heart and he knew that he would always want to keep check on her. To make sure she would be well.

"It's taken a lot of getting used to, but you're right; it's not so bad." The people, even aren't so bad. They're certainly not what she'd expected, but of course these were very different circumstances.

She starts to drift off again, pulling in a breath and letting it out in a contented sigh. There's still so very much that feels wrong about her body right now, but at least Alaïr was able to alleviate some of it.

"Thank you."

Lightly, he squeezed her arm. "Of course, Bnti. Now rest if you can. I will be here until you are well asleep." And he would draw a light sheet over her when he left, something that would let her skin breathe and yet would... hide things if and when she sat up.

Ah, and he would wash her shirt, he decided, and have it dry. Then she would have something clean to wear when she awakened.

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[MINGLE] Worried/Sick 1: Symptoms Manifest & Reaction

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