[It's a bit flat, but clearly Meteion isn't sure if she is one of Estinien's friends at the moment. Likely not. She'd say she was his, but she's also quite aware that she's on the wrong side, and that the Dragoon makes no quarter with such things. Meteion mostly is talking to provide a distraction; there is something to be said that small fingers are deft fingers. Since she does have small fingers, small hands, even when M moves, she's able to follow. So that the pain she is causing is over, and swiftly. The stitches are neat and close together, though they're an angry red from freshness, and still oozing a bit.]
I don't think they'll tear, but I'd rather my servant help you back to your quarters. This way, neither of our work will be undone. With what you've suffered, you're unlikely to simply stroll back to your room.
[His assumption is correct; Meteion would definitely not ask for anything in return. She's only glad that she was there to be able to help him. Her servant has stood there quietly, awaiting whatever orders he might be given. Gurbahl well knows it's not his place to have an opinion, here. Even if that's by his own choice--Meteion would never say such a thing.]
( all makoto can muster at that is an undignified snort. )
Yes, I learned that first-hand. ( he pauses, a small sound of pain catching in the back of his throat; it's not that meteion is doing a bad job, it's just that he never developed much of a tolerance for this sort of thing, even though he's had to do this sort of thing to himself several times. ) I apparently had the misfortune of coming across one of those friends before he interrupted.
( how was he to know that the pale-haired young man he'd greeted after hatching out of his crystal in the shrine of the sovereign would end up being one of the dragoon's closest companions? he's trying not to make any assumptions about all pale-faced, white-haired, elven-eared strangers that end up finding their way here, but perhaps he should loosen that personal forbearance.
what's strange is that he can feel it when the wound is finally stitched up tight. it's certainly not an instantaneous and miraculous recovery, but some of the pressure and shearing pain in his chest alleviates by precious degrees. his breathing sounds less labored and haggard. meteion will see some of this strangeness as well: as soon as it's closed, the wound oozes a few last drops of blood and then staunches. the angry red of the wound improves visibly, fading to a still-inflamed pink, but it already looks days recovered rather than a few short seconds.
still, it will probably take a few days of rest before he's recovered to the point of any strenuous activity. makoto cautiously shifts into a sitting position, reaching out for his discarded coat. even pierced and bloodied as it is, he pulls it across his shoulders once more, slowing his breathing and looking up to meteion.
she wouldn't have been out of place in hell, he thinks. it's not an insult — hell was oddly idyllic, and not at all what he had thought it might be like, and many of the demons that made their home there were elegant-looking creatures. it's the wings and the bird-like feet, really. she would have blended right in. he studies her for a moment, but he comes to realize that he should know better than to search out any shadows of duplicity in her words or her intentions. it's in the way that she speaks. that would have immediately put her at odds back in hell, where maneuvering and manipulation were the name of the game.
but they're not back there. they're here, and he is... grateful. it's a challenging emotion for him. he's always used to it coming with some dreadful caveat; it makes him paranoid, even as he admits to her, ) ...Thank you, Meteion. ( without hers or anyone else's immediate aid, it's very likely he might have bled out here on the floor of the lodestone chamber. he glances up to the waiting retainer. he could call for his, but he'd sent him on an errand so he didn't stand idle while makoto made rounds to the shrines... ) As much as I hate to lean so much on your generosity - I think you're right. It's best I don't make my way back to my room on my own.
( he says it begrudgingly, but he's not going to risk it at this point. but for this moment... he's going to remain seated just a few seconds longer, gathering up the strength it will take to stand, even with the interior of his chest still in a great deal of disarray. )
[Meteion can see it, though it is strange to her, it's not really any different than someone getting the sweet caress of healing magic. She can sense it, too--her empathy tells her that there is soothing not of her own doing. Good. She's done what she came here to do; help M. That's the most important thing. She didn't do it for his thanks, but when it comes, she smiles at him all the same.]
You're welcome. And you aren't. Leaning so much on my generosity, I mean. I'm happy to help! And Gurbahl will do what I ask, even if he wasn't happy about it.
[At that, the large green man looks startled for a moment, and then shakes his head.] This isn't something I'm unhappy about, my lady. Just unexpected, is all. Young sir, how might I help you best? After all her hard work, it'd be rude of me to wreck it by harming you.
[And it should be fairly clear in his demeanor that, giant though he is, Gurbahl is a gentle sort, normally. Though it's also clear that should someone threaten the bird, it was likely he'd take violent umbrage. It's in the way he moves, but he also edges closer to M and goes down on one knee, concern written on his face.]
Let him breathe, Gurbahl! You don't need to be in his face! [Not that he was truly in M's face--that would be too much of a challenge, especially for servant to Aion. Even if that Aion wasn't his. Still, he shuffles backwards awkwardly to give Makoto the space that Meteion demands of him. He's patient. He'll wait until the man is ready to move on his own, and just give support when needed. And it seems that Meteion is willing to wait for his strength to return, such as it is, as well.]
Do you want anything to eat after this? Even if it's something simple? I'm not sure how you feel about actual food, but I know that sort of thing is necessary to recover...
[Briefly, Meteion feels rather silly about it, but she shakes her head and offers the demon a smile. Even after everything, she has to be herself, and her concern is so clearly not feigned.]
( he's never had a wound so grievous before. or, well, no, that's not the case — he's never felt a wound feel so grievous. he's had his head removed nearly a half-dozen times at this point (at least one or two of those had been of his own accord), and he'd also been savagely bitten by the shade of J's mentor, but at the time he'd been a demon both bound and bolstered by the laws of hell. violence wouldn't be able to kill him. the pain could make one wish for death, certainly, but all he'd had to do was sew himself back together and all would be fine soon enough.
that doesn't feel like the case here. after he'd been stabbed, in the haze of shock and pain, he had felt his life ebbing away with the blood as it rushed to escape his body. he very well could have bled out. it's a bizarre thing to consider — in hell, he had been denied the ability to die, even if the pain of existing on was unbearable. and now... well, even if he did, his shard would remain, wouldn't it? he may not be shackled by the laws of hell, but he's traded them for that of being an Aion.
he shakes his head. ) No, no - it's fine. Sir, I appreciate your offer of aid. ( how much assistance does he need, indeed... he has to consider it for a moment before continuing. ) Please, if you would, just - lend me your arm so I can stand and walk. That should be enough.
( he already knows it's going to kill, but he feels like he could weather the physical pain in his chest better than the psychic pain of being bodily carried back to his chambers. he reaches out to take gurbahl's arm when extended, and he's easy enough to support; he barely seems to weigh anything at all. one standing, he takes a moment to adjust to his own two legs again, and then he indicates they can start walking toward the personal chambers. it's slow going, but they're on their way.
food... logically he knows he should eat something at some point, but the idea of doing so right now, with what feels like a riot of razor blades festering beneath and within his ribs, is perfectly abhorrent. ) Yes, but... not right now. ( he's not even sure what sort of internal damage he suffered. if there was any injury made to his gut, he feels he should give it some time to mend itself before eating anything. ) I'll send my retainer for something later. For now - I might just ask you stay nearby just in case I take an unexpected turn for the worse.
( he seems begrudging in that, but it seems like a necessity. he doesn't think it will happen, but...?? he's never really been this mortally fucked-up before. )
[Meteion is quick to shore up M's other side--she doesn't look like much, but the entelechy is enough to ensure walking straight, and hopefully, not making what wounds M has inside any worse. He might even have his arm leaned on her head, but if that's the case, she clearly doesn't mind.]
Okay. That is fair. I...don't really know how insides work, so...
[That admission has Meteion blushing, and Gurbahl, who had just nodded at M's gratitude--the big man seems to have realized making as little as possible of it was the right idea--well, he's laughing outright at his small lady. She just gives him a grin--clearly, they are friends as well as mistress and servant, which...isn't that just like the bird?]
I can stay close until you feel better. Gurbahl can go about his business--I figure the smaller your audience, the better you'll feel. Maybe you can sleep a little. I mean you no harm--in no way will I hurt you after I've done my best to fix you! I'll do my best to not annoy you, too.
[Meteion's aware that some people find her friendliness and general happiness...taxing, and when M is trying to rest and heal, her being quiet is probably the best thing she can do.]
Are there many doors left to your room? This is the proper hallway, isn't it?
( meteion might not look like much, but fortunately makoto isn't much either, a slight slip of a demon that could scarcely weigh much more than a hundred pounds even soaking wet. she is gentle and careful enough that she doesn't cause him any undue discomfort, and this... is something he certainly notices. he's been in varying states of disarray ever since losing his head and becoming a demon, but he can't say he's ever been treated with delicacy. upon first removing his head, J had tucked it under his arm in the same breath that he had congratulated himself on a job well done. it has always been the demon's prerogative to impress upon makoto that he was essentially a possession of his, so the markedly different way that meteion helps him...
it's... strange. and not necessarily in a way that he interprets as good, though he probably should. instead he can't help but be a little mistrustful of it, like a dog which has been struck too many times to expect anything good from the movement of a person's hand.
still, he bares a grimace at her comment, deriving humor from some kind of inside joke. ) It's too bad - under different circumstances, I could have recommended you some books to help with that, if you were interested.
( his taste in literature while still human had been... macabre, to say the least.
as she continues, he has to stifle a laugh (and mostly because it hurts to laugh in a state like this). he shakes his head. ) You likely saved my life... I owe you at least some modicum of trust. ( and temperance, though he couldn't say he finds her annoying or anything? it's hard to be that petty about someone who just helped you avoid bleeding out on the floor.
they continue along, and he pauses in his steps a half-moment before nodding and indicating a door on the left a short distance ahead, ) Up there. Four doors down, on the left.
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[It's a bit flat, but clearly Meteion isn't sure if she is one of Estinien's friends at the moment. Likely not. She'd say she was his, but she's also quite aware that she's on the wrong side, and that the Dragoon makes no quarter with such things. Meteion mostly is talking to provide a distraction; there is something to be said that small fingers are deft fingers. Since she does have small fingers, small hands, even when M moves, she's able to follow. So that the pain she is causing is over, and swiftly. The stitches are neat and close together, though they're an angry red from freshness, and still oozing a bit.]
I don't think they'll tear, but I'd rather my servant help you back to your quarters. This way, neither of our work will be undone. With what you've suffered, you're unlikely to simply stroll back to your room.
[His assumption is correct; Meteion would definitely not ask for anything in return. She's only glad that she was there to be able to help him. Her servant has stood there quietly, awaiting whatever orders he might be given. Gurbahl well knows it's not his place to have an opinion, here. Even if that's by his own choice--Meteion would never say such a thing.]
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Yes, I learned that first-hand. ( he pauses, a small sound of pain catching in the back of his throat; it's not that meteion is doing a bad job, it's just that he never developed much of a tolerance for this sort of thing, even though he's had to do this sort of thing to himself several times. ) I apparently had the misfortune of coming across one of those friends before he interrupted.
( how was he to know that the pale-haired young man he'd greeted after hatching out of his crystal in the shrine of the sovereign would end up being one of the dragoon's closest companions? he's trying not to make any assumptions about all pale-faced, white-haired, elven-eared strangers that end up finding their way here, but perhaps he should loosen that personal forbearance.
what's strange is that he can feel it when the wound is finally stitched up tight. it's certainly not an instantaneous and miraculous recovery, but some of the pressure and shearing pain in his chest alleviates by precious degrees. his breathing sounds less labored and haggard. meteion will see some of this strangeness as well: as soon as it's closed, the wound oozes a few last drops of blood and then staunches. the angry red of the wound improves visibly, fading to a still-inflamed pink, but it already looks days recovered rather than a few short seconds.
still, it will probably take a few days of rest before he's recovered to the point of any strenuous activity. makoto cautiously shifts into a sitting position, reaching out for his discarded coat. even pierced and bloodied as it is, he pulls it across his shoulders once more, slowing his breathing and looking up to meteion.
she wouldn't have been out of place in hell, he thinks. it's not an insult — hell was oddly idyllic, and not at all what he had thought it might be like, and many of the demons that made their home there were elegant-looking creatures. it's the wings and the bird-like feet, really. she would have blended right in. he studies her for a moment, but he comes to realize that he should know better than to search out any shadows of duplicity in her words or her intentions. it's in the way that she speaks. that would have immediately put her at odds back in hell, where maneuvering and manipulation were the name of the game.
but they're not back there. they're here, and he is... grateful. it's a challenging emotion for him. he's always used to it coming with some dreadful caveat; it makes him paranoid, even as he admits to her, ) ...Thank you, Meteion. ( without hers or anyone else's immediate aid, it's very likely he might have bled out here on the floor of the lodestone chamber. he glances up to the waiting retainer. he could call for his, but he'd sent him on an errand so he didn't stand idle while makoto made rounds to the shrines... ) As much as I hate to lean so much on your generosity - I think you're right. It's best I don't make my way back to my room on my own.
( he says it begrudgingly, but he's not going to risk it at this point. but for this moment... he's going to remain seated just a few seconds longer, gathering up the strength it will take to stand, even with the interior of his chest still in a great deal of disarray. )
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You're welcome. And you aren't. Leaning so much on my generosity, I mean. I'm happy to help! And Gurbahl will do what I ask, even if he wasn't happy about it.
[At that, the large green man looks startled for a moment, and then shakes his head.] This isn't something I'm unhappy about, my lady. Just unexpected, is all. Young sir, how might I help you best? After all her hard work, it'd be rude of me to wreck it by harming you.
[And it should be fairly clear in his demeanor that, giant though he is, Gurbahl is a gentle sort, normally. Though it's also clear that should someone threaten the bird, it was likely he'd take violent umbrage. It's in the way he moves, but he also edges closer to M and goes down on one knee, concern written on his face.]
Let him breathe, Gurbahl! You don't need to be in his face! [Not that he was truly in M's face--that would be too much of a challenge, especially for servant to Aion. Even if that Aion wasn't his. Still, he shuffles backwards awkwardly to give Makoto the space that Meteion demands of him. He's patient. He'll wait until the man is ready to move on his own, and just give support when needed. And it seems that Meteion is willing to wait for his strength to return, such as it is, as well.]
Do you want anything to eat after this? Even if it's something simple? I'm not sure how you feel about actual food, but I know that sort of thing is necessary to recover...
[Briefly, Meteion feels rather silly about it, but she shakes her head and offers the demon a smile. Even after everything, she has to be herself, and her concern is so clearly not feigned.]
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that doesn't feel like the case here. after he'd been stabbed, in the haze of shock and pain, he had felt his life ebbing away with the blood as it rushed to escape his body. he very well could have bled out. it's a bizarre thing to consider — in hell, he had been denied the ability to die, even if the pain of existing on was unbearable. and now... well, even if he did, his shard would remain, wouldn't it? he may not be shackled by the laws of hell, but he's traded them for that of being an Aion.
he shakes his head. ) No, no - it's fine. Sir, I appreciate your offer of aid. ( how much assistance does he need, indeed... he has to consider it for a moment before continuing. ) Please, if you would, just - lend me your arm so I can stand and walk. That should be enough.
( he already knows it's going to kill, but he feels like he could weather the physical pain in his chest better than the psychic pain of being bodily carried back to his chambers. he reaches out to take gurbahl's arm when extended, and he's easy enough to support; he barely seems to weigh anything at all. one standing, he takes a moment to adjust to his own two legs again, and then he indicates they can start walking toward the personal chambers. it's slow going, but they're on their way.
food... logically he knows he should eat something at some point, but the idea of doing so right now, with what feels like a riot of razor blades festering beneath and within his ribs, is perfectly abhorrent. ) Yes, but... not right now. ( he's not even sure what sort of internal damage he suffered. if there was any injury made to his gut, he feels he should give it some time to mend itself before eating anything. ) I'll send my retainer for something later. For now - I might just ask you stay nearby just in case I take an unexpected turn for the worse.
( he seems begrudging in that, but it seems like a necessity. he doesn't think it will happen, but...?? he's never really been this mortally fucked-up before. )
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Okay. That is fair. I...don't really know how insides work, so...
[That admission has Meteion blushing, and Gurbahl, who had just nodded at M's gratitude--the big man seems to have realized making as little as possible of it was the right idea--well, he's laughing outright at his small lady. She just gives him a grin--clearly, they are friends as well as mistress and servant, which...isn't that just like the bird?]
I can stay close until you feel better. Gurbahl can go about his business--I figure the smaller your audience, the better you'll feel. Maybe you can sleep a little. I mean you no harm--in no way will I hurt you after I've done my best to fix you! I'll do my best to not annoy you, too.
[Meteion's aware that some people find her friendliness and general happiness...taxing, and when M is trying to rest and heal, her being quiet is probably the best thing she can do.]
Are there many doors left to your room? This is the proper hallway, isn't it?
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it's... strange. and not necessarily in a way that he interprets as good, though he probably should. instead he can't help but be a little mistrustful of it, like a dog which has been struck too many times to expect anything good from the movement of a person's hand.
still, he bares a grimace at her comment, deriving humor from some kind of inside joke. ) It's too bad - under different circumstances, I could have recommended you some books to help with that, if you were interested.
( his taste in literature while still human had been... macabre, to say the least.
as she continues, he has to stifle a laugh (and mostly because it hurts to laugh in a state like this). he shakes his head. ) You likely saved my life... I owe you at least some modicum of trust. ( and temperance, though he couldn't say he finds her annoying or anything? it's hard to be that petty about someone who just helped you avoid bleeding out on the floor.
they continue along, and he pauses in his steps a half-moment before nodding and indicating a door on the left a short distance ahead, ) Up there. Four doors down, on the left.