OOC: This is the second section to a three part log. To read the first portion please see Friends and Loved Ones. To read the next portion, please read Mothers and Sons.
Healer Hall - Examination Room
The Examination room is small but well-lit. In addition to the skylight, there is a basket of glows on each desk and several around the slate board up front. This is the place where Apprentices are tested regularly on the current subject of study. A smaller slate board lists the test scores and grade averages of each Apprentice. Despite the concientious attention of the cleaning drudges, the room still carries the delicate scent of eagerness, fear, hope and a passion for learning.
As Galina found out, finding Tenebrous' room isn't much of a problem, especially for someone who knows her way around this part of the Hall. It's getting in that could prove dangerous, and judging by the small army of fire-lizards camped outside of the door, possibly deadly. She'll round the corner to see Galina slipping into the exam room's doorway and closing the door behind her, and a moment later, the bronze that was sitting on her shoulders *betweens* back out to the fray, flapping in the air and all but chortling at the three baffled mind-healers that are standing on the other side of the hallway. There's something about Galina's passage through the reptilian gauntlet that has that little bronze exceptionally pleased, and his hisses are almost mocking in tone. One of the trio of healers, a woman, stammers, "Did…anyone else just catch what happened? Am I losing my mind, or did a nameless, fur-clad woman just wade through those things without a fight?" One of the others chuckles nervously. "Look where you are, and ask that question again." In front of Tenebrous' door, the flits are deployed in a sloppy wedge, with fully grown Reconciliation at it's point, wings half-spread and the promise of unpleasantness embodied in her pusture. Truth and Cyanosis, Galina's little blue, are off to one side of her, and Redwort, Galina's brown, is off to the other. Quence simply hovers in front of the door, taunting the silly english kniggets. A second time.
Two more firelizards get added to the mix as well. The brown takes off from Phylicia's shoulder, while the midnight blue pops in from between, trilling a greeting towards Phylicia as she walks closer. The younger gold on her shoulder stays there for a moment longer before also leaving Phylicia's shoulder, taking a careful glide with just enough flaps to keep her going to put her next to Reconciliation with a friendly trill for the older gold. Only a few of the firelizards get a wary glance from her as she keeps going without pausing. If they really don't want her to enter, it won't be the first time she's accumulated a scratch from a firelizard. "Afternoon, Cila." The girl greets the older gold as she's close enough to, clearly aiming herself towards the door. Those three healers? They barely get a glance. She knows where she wants to be right now.
Reconciliation offers a silvery trumpet of welcome to Phylicia's little faire, and the woman herself actually gets a warm chuffing as she passes beyond the wall of flit and through the door of the room. It's the third of of the healers that ultimately proves to be the voice of reason as the other two simply boggle at Phylicia's passing, one of them mumbling, "At…what point in time did we lose control here?" That third healer simply shakes his head, eyes shrewd. "Forget it. Let him have the day on this one. That was Jaice's kid. We're officially downhill on this." His file gets snapped closed as well, and he waves the other two off.
The room inside is dark, save for a few candles in the corner. The desk in the room is covered with paperwork and a few glasses filled with various liquids, but none of them appear to have been touched. The object of the women's search is on the exam bed in the far corner, sitting with his back to the wall, his coat drawn tightly around him. Even when the door closes behind the second of the two women, he says nothing, his breathing slow and even. Maybe a little too slow.
Once inside the room, Galina sheds the scarf and heavy, hooded long coat to drape it on the back of a convenient chair. Underneath it all is an outfit that might have been utterly out of place on the skirts-and-blouses-wearing Healer: an austere white cowl-necked sweater and stark black trousers of some heavy material well-suited to colder climates. A moment of clinical appraisal is given to the sights and sounds in the room — just a moment is all she has, after all, if the input given by her pair is remotely correct — and then she's moving approach the bed, sleeves being rolled up to her elbows. Her voice is low, but markedly less aloof than the tone used previously, with the barest expression of concern soon taking hold of her features. "Tenebrous." It is, perhaps, the first time she's said his name since repeating it after it was given. The line of her mouth hardens in the darkness. "What have they done to you?"
That third Healer who proclaimed her Jaice's kid gets a look from her, the look fairly unreadable. But then the door is shut and her first few moments are spent adjusting to the darkness. Like Galina she takes the moment to slide her coat revealing the one she normally wears around the Weyr, or when she's stuck primarily indoors. By the time her eyes adjust Galina is already by the bed and Phy joins her by the bed. Except Phy doesn't stop at the edge for more than a moment to give Galina some sort of curious and hard to read look before she's crawling on the bed, stopping within inches of his still body. "Ten?" She's listening to his breathing then, and she frowns (further) her hand going to the edge of his shoulder, lightly gripping.
Beneath his hood, Tenebrous' eyes are hardly what one would call 'alert'. Anyone who bothers to take his pulse will see that his heart is beating just a smidge slower than it should be too. Almost sluggisly, his head raises, first looking to Galina when she speaks, and then loling to the side to look at Phylicia. "S…Soy." He swallows once, his throat dry-sounding, and rasps, "S…soybeans…" And that's all he seems able to work out at the moment.
While Phylicia seems far more interested in getting close and personal, Galina has markedly more interest in doing just that — reaching for a hand to take his pulse, taking some measure of his breathing cadence, and taking in the whole of it with an impassive, unreadable expression. Her only regret is the inability to properly check the dilation of his pupils, but the emptiness is clear enough to her. "Soybeans," she repeats, the concerned quirk between her brows becoming just a touch more puzzled. While the word and its potential meanings are mulled over, she releases him and turns, then, to examine the contents of the desk — all those glasses and papers and that sort of thing is, suddenly, of keen interest to her. Her search is, initially, for something resembling water. The rest will be perused shortly. "This is utterly unacceptable," she remarks, a strange, too-sharp edge to her voice.
While Galina is checking his pulse, one of Phylicia's hands is digging in her thigh-pouch while the other is carefully prying back Tenebrous' hood just enough so she could see if she had more light. Which in a moment she does as a little ball flares to life in her hands. Between the sluggish breathing and his inability to truely be aware of anything she pauses, considering his words. And an strong oath she has never used in anyone's presence emits from her lips. "They gave you fellis, the insensitive…!" And as Galina starts inspecting the desk, Phylicia looks around for his satchel. She moves carefully when her eyes spy it, holding that fireball with care for the extra light as she one-handedly ruffles through his satchel for that bladder of water, and whatever plants he may have been carrying on him. "Soybeans will help flush the toxins out of his system." She's not sure what the woman's speciality is, or if she knew it, but people operate better with knowledge. "Where's that bladder…?"
The paperwork? Charts. And more charts, for the evaluations that Tenebrous has undergone since his arrival at the hall, several days ago. Charts with doses of things, among them felis to make Tenebrou just a bit more pliable in the eveings, are clearly evident. Nothing is out of the ordinary for a patient under serious observation. And nothing is pleasant. It's not terribly detailed paperwork, but the mind-healers aren't pulling any punches. They're not thrilled with Tenebrous' situation, with his almost convinient loss of memory, and they're definetly not satisfied with the answers he's been giving them to their questions. Once Phylicia has gone on her way and Galina has started her search, he half-slumps, and his body slowly begins a decent along the wall, until he lays softly on the bed. Phylicia's search will reveal exactly what she's looking for: One of his own bladders of water, and a small pouch.
"That is precisely my point," Galina responds, her fingers splayed across the myriad of documents. "It is unacceptable. And then they wonder why his fair is so distraught over the situation." There's a chastising noise, a click of her tongue against the back of her teeth and a pitcher is spotted, only to be given a dubious glance. It's ultimately dismissed as possibly contaminated. "They may have gone through his belongings previously and tainted whatever water he might have," she notes absently with a brief pause and an added: "If they have not, then they are considerably more inept than they appear." Her attention is fixed for the moment on the documentation, riffling rapidly through it and committing it all easily to memory. Displeasure distorts her features until all of it is taken up in her hand and taken to where her jacket and scarf were discarded of temporarily.
Abrubtly the light of Phylicia's fireball goes out, a very soft thanks murmured against her hand before she stows it back in her pouch. The bladder and soybeans are in hand, though now the bladder is eyed dubiously. The soybeans however aren't so fresh where they'd be moist. "The soybeans are safe." She says, drawing her fingers out of the pouch. "They haven't been soaked in anything. And they're what I care about more. The water would be a kindness." Something seems to occur to her then, for the firelizard guard outside the door lessens by three. A brown, a blue and a small gold. "Teach her how to carry things, boys." She murmurs to the trio, forcing the image of her own bladder, drapped across the corner of cot to them. "Its time for her to learn; I need that." There's a vaguely smug turn to her lips at that as the trio disappear. Contaminate /that/. She's crawling back onto the bed at this point in time. "I have the soybeans, Ten. We're working on safe water. Can you sit up?" By candle light, she looks over her should at Galina. "What were they doing to him beyond dosing him with fellis?" She asks of the other woman, sounding about as displeased as Galina looks as her fingers fish in the pouch for the first bit of soy.
Tenebrous, for his part, is…hardly responsive at first. But when Phylicia said his name, he mumbles something, a word in that strange language that he speaks to his flits with. And then something else before he retches once. Nothing comes up, thankfully, and after a moment, warm fingers reach slowly for Phylicia's own, and he begins to stir.
"Their note-taking skills are atrocious." That, strangely, seems to irritate her almost as much as what they've done. "However, fellis appears to be the only drug they were utilizing. They are displeased with the convenience of his memory loss and the responses given to their various queries." One page is plucked unerringly from the stack, considered, and then Galina remarks, "It appears they departed shortly after he offered a self-diagnosis under the influence of fellis." One corner of her mouth twitches into what might be a smile, but it's a cruel sort of thing that's short-lived. "They were not willing to endure the attentions of his three." The page is replaced and she's silent for a moment or two before: "He needs to be removed from this place. They are worse than the Healers at Ogren Hold." Matter-of-fact, that.
Phylicia places only a few of the soybeans in Tenebrous' hand at first, waiting patiently to see if he'll be able to do this for himself. Fellis takes some people out more than others. It's longer than a normal fetching trip, but eventually her trio come back with a new bladder of water, chilly from its passage Between. "Oh, you wonderful little dears." There's relief in her voice as the bladder plops onto the bed and they promptly flash back out, likely to guard the door, all three proud of themselves. "He may need to be removed, but are you going to risk the Craftmaster's wrath?" She asks to Galina, while her eyes are intent on Tenebrous. "Where would we go with him, if we weren't stopped the moment we left that door?" Oh. Just be a party pooper, Phy. "No. Those mindhealers need to learn he's a person, not a bloody thing to toy with when the answers don't suit them." There's a thought stirring in the back of her mind. After all, how highly ranked were those three?
Tenebrous' motions are just as delayed as Phylicia hands him the soybeans, each one popped into his mouth, each one worked around slowly before he finally manages to swallow. And once that's done, he's reaching for the bladder, exterting an effort of will to bring it to his lips. The first few swallows are managed without incident, but after that, he retches again, and the bladder falls back to the bed, drooling slowly, and he coughs. That done, he blinks slowly, and rasps, "Leave…"
"I will do as Lyuba did for me," Galina replies, tipping a look to Phylicia while the notes are considered where they are. "She sacrificed her knot." Pause. "I am willing to do the same, if it must be done. Enduring the wrath of the CraftMaster is merely an inconvenience." Nonplussed. But Phylicia's logic seems to register and she merely nods, with no response to give. Instead, she returns to the desk to retrieve a pen with the notes in hand and proceeds to jot a few things of her own down on a blank sheet of paper, as if to fill in notes left unfinished. Tenebrous' utterance is met with a bland, "No." She's working, see. And she's a disturbingly good forger.
Phylicia recaps the dropped bladder quickly. She's handing him another few soybeans, if he'll take them. "Especially not until you can manage yourself." There's actually a hint of humor to her voice this time. "I know I can't carry you, myself." A look is given towards the fraile-looking Galina. "I'm pretty sure we'd be struggling between us. Just.. wait a little bit. For the soybeans to start working. Please?" Galina however gets a second not so quick look after a moment. Was she writing? She was. "What're you doing?" It's merely a curious question. For now, Tenebrous has been helped as much as he can for the here and now, and she's contenting herself with watching him like a hawk. The talk of giving up one's knot isn't remarked upon, but by the serious lines of her face she might be thinking on it, and on the circumstances. Galina's right. This is all totally unacceptable, and the set of her face still says that, quite clearly.
The rest of the soybeans are taken without comment at first, and very slowly, Tenebrous' motor skills begin improving. Between swallows, he manages, "You two…need to …leave…" And then he's trying to push off from the wall, to get down to the floor, and onto feet and legs that cannot possibly be stable. "Two…of you are more important…than one of me." He stops himself then, and turns his head a little, eying Phylicia's bladder of water. Then he's reaching a hand out for it, unstoppering it with a clumsy finger…and deliberately dumping ice cold water on his crotch.
The affect is immediate.
A loud gasp slips past numb lips as he soaks himself, and he shakes his head violently to one side.
It takes some effort to emulate the particular mode of speech used in their notes, the particular writing cadence used. Absently, she remarks, "It would be difficult, yes." A few final things are written, another page taken up … and, yes, more writing ensues … but much, much less than before. "Amending the notations." And that is all she seems inclined to say on the matter. "It should suffice." Galya's eyes briefly shut, her memory briefly being dug through to recall the arrangment of things on the desk. Everything is set to rights in her methodical way, to appear as if they were utterly undisturbed … save for the addition of that extra sheet. She turns, then, arms folded loosely about her midsection as she regards the pair of them. Matter-of-fact: "Such is your perception, but we have had that discussion about perceptions and their inability to be rationally discussed or argued before. Importance is relative only to the person speaking of it; my concern is for your well-being and if sacrifices must be made to ensure that well-being, then so be it." Her mouth pulls just a little at his sudden self-soaking, but she remains as she is; no use rushing over there when someone else is already there, after all.
Phylicia's attention is momentarily on Galina. Information processor indeed. Phy's own expression is somewhere along the line of mild disbelief as she actually listens to the other woman. Yeah, ask Phy to speak like that, and disaster might strike. Or the re-arranging. But the diversion of her attention allows Tenebrous to soak his crotch and the look he gets from her isn't entirely pleased. "You've tried to get me to leave you several times over the past two turns." She reminds him. "What makes you think I'd leave you this time?" There. The two ladies aren't leaving, and Phylicia quickly has a hold of his satchel again, wondering if she felt any clothing in there before. "Dumping water on yourself isn't going to help matters much, besides give you a nasty shock the moment you walk into open air." As she digs through his satchel this time, one eye is warily kept on him. Oh, she'll be there to try and stop him the moment he decides to do something else. "Out of the pants, Ten." It's not exactly a request, that.
Tenebrous shakes his head again, rasping, "They help, believe it or not…" One of his hands lowers to said crotch, and a little shiver runs up his back. "I might…need surgery to retrieve certain things later, but…" In the dimness of the roon, his free hand raises up to pull the hood away from his face, and he regards the two of them. "You two should't…be here, in the middle of this. One knot versus three, and I think mine's a little forgone at this point." Then they get a crooked smile. "Though, for the record…it's good to see you both."
"What should or should not be is irrelevent and you know that." Galina pushes away from where she stands, this time finally deigning to do /something/, even if it might not be wholly expected — which is to lean across the bed to start to work his boots off. She is, if nothing else, a thing of brisk efficiency. "What is, /is/. Be satisfied that we are concerned enough to remain here." Her attention shifts, then, to Phylicia with: "I will presume you are Phylicia. Unfasten his pants, since he is uncooperative; I can pull them off from this vantage. It would be unfortunate if they discovered him in this state and felt he were more mentally disadvantaged than they had initially perceived." There's a slight tension in her jaw, then a flat, "There will be no surgery, either."(re)
Phylicia doesn't even mention the whole deal about Fraille taking her off of active duty, and the denial of search at Xanadu. Instead, she's merely following Galina's suggestion. There's more mirth to her eyes than there has a right to be in such a situation. "And you're Galina." Again, more of statement than a question. "I'd like to say 'well met,' but the conditions could be better." What a way for two ladies to get introduced, over removing a man's pants. "Really. By now I would've thought you would know - especially when it comes to you - I don't care about should and should not." There's a soft sigh from her, one of vague amusement as she finishes fighting with an ice cold, wet buckle and zipper. "What are we to do with you?" It's not a serious question at all, more chiding.
Tenebrous blinks once. Twice. And just sort of…sits there while his pants are removed, a look of complete disbelief on his face. "Ok…let's…recap here, just really fast, because I'm running a little slow right now." He rubs one side of his face. "I'm…being evaluated for mental stability, and a little drugged right now, and…they're probably going to take my knot away because I won't give up certain details about my life, including a certain gold rider. You two are…taking my pants off. And while, in some part of my mind, that's really interesting…" Thank goodness he's wearing underwear today. "Is there any plan you two have that doesn't involve the further removal of my clothing, or everyone losing their rank over this?"
"Of course," is for Phylicia's correct guess, although the slightly younger Healer lapses into a bit of silence while the pants are unfastened. Galina extracts them easily, only to shake them out and then drape them over the edge of the bed for now. Seconds later has her responding to the rest of Phylicia's comments with, "I rarely find people are truly well met. Regardless, despite the circumstances, I am satisfied to meet you." Pause. "Was there a spare set of trousers in there? I can send Cyanosis and Redwort to retrieve another pair, if required." At least, with that settled, she's able to focus on the topic at hand. One corner of her mouth pulls just a little, a smile attempting to be born, only to be rapidly crushed. Instead: "They will discover, upon reviewing the notes, that the attending master has deemed fellis to be a poor drug to use in the extraction of information from the mentally infirm and that the information is dubious, at best. He has, in those notes, admitted to feeling a sudden incompetence to his ability to continue in his tasks and feels he should resign from his position." There's a short pause, then: "When it is discovered that he did not recall writing those notes and is summarily brought in for his own questioning, I am fairly certain that your mental troubles will be considered far less important." That, at least, is /her/ part of the plan. No mention of further clothing removal is made … which is, perhaps, for the better.
Phylicia gives her head a slow shake as she again, merely listens to Galina. "No… no spare pants in his satchel." The slightly older healer woman sounds a little dazed at the guts it took to do something like altering the notes. Phylicia on the other hand, simply doesn't answer the question at all for once. She merely kisses his forehead lightly before she's standing from the bed, his satchel in hand to make carrying a pair of pants a little less… obvious. More like she's running for a book or something. "I know where his room is." She says to the other apprentice. "I'll be right back with a new pair." She doesn't wait for either of them to catch her attention again, but instead is slipping out of the room, trotting footsteps easily heard echoing down the hall for a few moments.
Tenebrous watches Phylicia leave with strange, half-aware eyes, but no sooner than he's raising a hand a bit unsteadily and slurring a word in that strange language of his. Perhaps curiously…no flit appears. Perhaps he's sent it on another errand? Then he's slumping back against the bed and the wall, and letting his eyes drift closed. "I'm so tired," he breaths. "I don't…think I've slept right for…two days? Maybe more?" His eyes slowly open again, and he eyes Galina blearily. "You can't…stand in the way ofg this," he murmurs groggily. "This is…my own fault." Then his eyes slide shut again and he exhales. "Stones…you don't know, do you… Once I realized it, I contacted the hall, and … I haven't…been able to tell you…."
The other young woman is nodded to when she speaks and then makes good her departure, leaving Galina to fill the void left by Phylicia's presence. Perching herself at the edge of the bed next to Tenebrous, a hand extending to take one of his and to curl cool fingers around it, the girl turns enough to regard him fully. The other hand is uncurled, fingers intent on touching his cheek, if only briefly. "You have said nothing to me," is merely matter-of-fact, with no hint of irritation or accusation there. "If you feel you must speak, then do so — but I cannot promise that it will change our respective stances in this situation. We can stand in the way of it; the question is whether or not we will be able to endure it, whatever it is."
The warmth of Tenebrous' warm-running body is easily felt on his skin and his face, and when Galina touches it, he sighs softly, a brief bit of relief flickering onto his features. "I never thought…I'd be so glad to have cool hands on my body," he mumbles. That hand is leaned into just a little before he turns to face her a little more completely. "Phylicia…took me along ot the Xanadu clutching. One of … " Then he shakes his head. "The…journal. You read it, when we first met, the …journal. Thea's name…" He shakes his head again, trying to clear it. "I wasn't always like this," he breaths. "I was… much worse. Shy…cagey, afraid." For a moment, his eyes unfocus and his train of thought lapses. "Something…about the eggs at the clutching, but…it shook things loose, Galina. I remember almost…everything now."
So is the contact maintained, fingers lingering just lightly on his cheek. Galina offers a thin smile that withers quickly, settling comfortably into a neutral line. "Of course," she remembers and, so, she nods, otherwise silent while he begins to speak. Slight nods of acknowledgment and encouragement are given perioidically, but her gaze is intense and focused. Eventually, when he seems finished enough for her to speak again, she murmurs, "It is not unheard of. Why they are treating it as they are is … incomprehensible." The line of her mouth pulls to a side, displeased, and then: "You remember. Is that not enough? Or is there more?"
Phylicia's return is not immediate, even at the pace she took off at. And indeed, the returning footsteps are slower as they echo down the hall. By the time she opens the door, sliding back into the room past the vanguard of firelizards, her cheeks have the remnants of a rosy flush to them, from having done the trip both quickly and without the proper sort of clothing on to keep the chill away. She pulls out a pair of pants - and underwear to go with them - as she crosses the room. "A change of clothing for you.." She offers, her eyes taking in their positions as she walks that short distance.
"There's…a great deal about what I used to be that you don't know," Tenebrous mumbles to Galina, starting to weave just a little as he sits upright. "I wasn't…a bad person, just …very different…" Then he exhales a little and slumps against the wall. "There's just…too much," he breaths. "Too much story. But you can't stop this…you and Phy are…better than I am. You'll be masters…" Then he swallows. "You should either…pour more cold water on me or.." Then Phylicia enters, and his eyes open blearily to regard her. "You'll catch cold," he mumbles. And then his eyes start to roll a little and he begins to slowly slide across the wall, and down, his body nerveless.
"Then I will trust that the rest is irrelevent until you deem otherwise." No poking and no prying from this one, which may come as some sort of relief. "Better is relative; you know that." Just as he would likely be able to deduce her thoughts on the matter, if he were slightly more coherent. Galina's lips press flat at the first signs of his bleariness and, as he begins to slump, she begins to pull — her goal is simple enough: straighten him out and lay him out flat as best as she can without moving from her spot. "There is no need for water," she intones for Phylicia's benefit, regardless of whether it needs to be said or not. It's habit for her. Water splashed on a fainting person? Bad idea. "Elevate his legs." Pause. "If you have peppermint oil, that would be beneficial." Automatically spoken, barely a thought given to the process of attempting to revive someone who has just now dropped to the level of 'patient'. That cool hand is set to pat gently at his cheek in an effort to rouse him. Firmly uttered: "Awaken, Tenebrous."
"No, there isn't. Unless he wanted a drink." Phylicia agrees as for a moment she watches Galina straighten him out as he slumps down the wall to the bed. It's amazing given her earlier reactions she isn't already across the room to help. She's rustling through his satchel again, knowing full well the small assortment of things he tends to carry with him at all times and produces a little vial of peppermint oil. And Phy hands that vial to Galina, the other being closer to his face as she lifts his legs with a bit of care, standing at the foot of the bed. It seems like the words have gone out of Phylicia for the moment being, her eyes simply dark and worried as she watches Tenebrous.
Tenebrous jerks a little when Galina's hand touches his face, and he mumbles something in that strange language of his again. Then he repeats it before his eyes flutter and he whispers, "Let me sleep…I don't care anymore, just…let me sleep, please…" For a moment, his eyes focus on Galina's face before he lets them close again. His skin isn't overly warm, and his pulse is slow, but strong. Certainly, he's not going to die. Pass out? That's…very possible.
The stopper for the vial is steadily worked out with the thumb of a hand, though it's not yet released when he seems to be stirred into consciousness. It remains in hand, however, with Galina fully prepared to waft the pungent smell under his nose if he appears to faint again. The fingers at his cheek move to press lightly to feel for a pulse at the side of his neck; it's deemed satisfactory a few moments later … but, at his words, her smooth forehead furrows deeply, mouth distorted into unreadability. Her features smooth out again as she tilts a look to Phylicia with a mute query: to leave him be or not, that is the question.
"Changing his pants would be a little easier with some cooperation." Phylicia says after a moment as she lowers his legs back down. There's no real need for the eleveation. "Ten, we need to get you into clothing that's not wet." She reminds him, her voice gentle but firm at the same time. "You can sleep after that." Her brown eyes move back to Galina for a moment, her shoulders shrugging. "Fellis is meant to knock people out. Even with the soybeans to detox a bit, he's still going to pass out eventually." However, with the request for him to change his clothing, she's barely waiting for consent as the new underwear and pants are laid within easy reach, and she's now leaning over the bed, ready to finish undressing him whether he wants it or not. Wet clothing is simply not good.
It would be awkward if it wasn't just a little bit sad. Phylicia's words seem to have some small measure of affect on him, but what effect is unknown at first. Listless, unfocused eyes open for a moment, and one of his hands gropes weakly at the bed. "Two …. hands," he whispers. And then, maybe because he knows he only has a little time left, he lifts his hips enough to allow the two women a chance to roll his underwear down, and a fresh pair back up. There's no blush, no attempt to figleaf. He has no energy for that. Indeed, even before his new trousers are buckled, he sags back against the bed, his breath escaping his lungs in a quiet little gasp, and then he's quiet and still. This, of course, does not set well with his bonded, and a moment later, Truth and Reconciliation appear from between, hovering over him and trilling with soft concern.
Awkward doesn't actually exist in Galina's lexicon, even if it's often applied to her social graces by others. There's only a shallow nod for Phylicia's words, with Galya lapsing into silence for the duration. With that task complete, she reaches out for his hand — but only to check his pulse again. Another slight nod is given, satisfied, and she leans in just enough to ensure his breathing is steady and to murmur something that might well be lost into the dreamless sleep of fellis. It's strange and sing-song, though too soft to be properly heard. She soon rises, regarding the firelizards for a lingering moment with a mild, "He sleeps." for their sake before too-pale eyes slant to Phylicia. If there is anything left to be said, she doesn't seem to know to say it.
Phylicia certainly isn't going to make this any more awkward that it needs to be, which in this case is not at all. For a moment she watches him with worry etched into her brow as he just stills after the effort to change his pants. "Just the leftovers of the fellis…" She assures herself quietly, even as Galina is whispering something into his ear. Now the word awkward might come into play as the two women look at each other. It's not really a staring match, but neither do they know each other at all, and that's when Phylicia is at her most reserved. "All we can do is wait until the fellis works itself out." It's at least an attempt.
Awkward? Still not registering for her. Her expression is impassive as she considers Phylicia, back to the comfortable neutral-to-indifferent that seems most fitting for her features. "Of course," is blandly intoned acquiescence and Galya reclaims her previous perch on the bed, hands folded in her lap and posture impossibly straight; unmoving once more. No further need for conversation is determined and, so, no further words are offered. She is silent and alert while whatever thoughts are clicking along in that head of hers are impossible to discern.
With the good spot next to his torso taken, Phylicia gives the back of Galina's head a slightly more measuring look before she's moving herself, taking a perch on the edge of the bed down by his feet. Her own posture is a little more relaxed than the other woman's though not much. There's a long stretch of silence that doesn't need filling until thought occurs to Phy. "One of us should go get some fresh water for later." The thought is just put out there, though she makes no move to do it herself.
Ultimately, no one has to go and get more of anything before the silence is broken by Cila's sudden, angry hiss, and then both her and Truth vanish. The reason becomes apparant a few moments later, after a few rather high-pitched warbles…and then nothing. All sounds from the fire lizards outside suddenly cease, and a polite knock echoes on the door. Whoever it is doesn't intend on waiting, however, and a moment later, the knob begins turning. A stern, but not unkind male voice reaches into the room through a small crack in the door, calling, "Phylicia? I know you're in there. I got the note. Are there any surprises waiting for me if I open this?"
A shallow rise-fall of shoulders is eventually given some moments after Phylicia's observation, Galina's mouth opening to issue some response before there's that knock at the door. If she were inclined to speak, the word 'interesting' might be the only one intoned; as it is, there's nothing, with her mouth shutting once the other person speaks. But, as the question is directed to the other, she says nothing, simply staying as she is, wordless and still, to leave matters in the other Senior Apprentice's capable hands. She'll just take the moment to check in with her duet of 'lizards, evidenced only by a passing haze over her vision.
With the silence so heavy, Phylicia nearly jumps at the knock. "Don't hate me for this." She murmurs under her breath as she looks at Tenebrous before her voice pitches just a little louder. Enough to reach the door. "He's sleeping off a dose, daddy. No surprises." After all. None of them are in any state of disrobe, though that wet pair of pants are still sitting wherever they were deposited. A look is given to Galina as the other continues to stay silent. For a moment Phy looks like she's going to stand up, but instead she sinks back onto the edge of the bed, really not wanting to stand at all. "Come in, and shut the door please?"
There's a quiet commotion by the door before the man's voice is heard again, this time just a little bit more stern. "You wanted me to do this, Craftmaster, you're going to have to live with it. We've lived with wondering about your little experiment for nearly ten turns now. I think it's only fair that you let the people who should have seen to him in the first place do just that." Then the door is opening wider, and a man of middle age slips through. HIs appearance is unassuming, a creature of average existence, dark brown hair, shot through with gray and a face with more worry lines on it than any parent wants to have. He wears the dark robes of a hall master, and the knot identifying him as a mind-healer. The door is closed with a quiet latch before the man turns to survey the situation. The two women are taken in at first, each in their own right, shrewd eyes adding things up quietly. Then the man that lays sleeping on the bed. Then the wet clothing. He paces into the room without a word at first, simply moving over to the desk and parousing the contents there, and it's only after reading the master's notes that he finally closes the chart's folder and turns to face the two of them. "Do either of you two want to tell me what's going on here?"
It's about at this juncture that being a literalist — such as Galina is — will be problematic. The question isn't the one he wants the answer to, but she's also not inclined to point that detail out … and, instead, answers, with a flat, "No." It's an easy answer to give: no, she doesn't want to. Simple as that. Some mental cog is clearly being wrenched out of place as other details are tumbling into place and being fitted and refitted to suit a plethora of patterns, but such a disruption is evident only if one's bothering to look at her hands; those are gradually clenching tighter together, white-knuckled … and if they dig much further, her clipped nails might well pierce skin. Her features are otherwise unmarred with such troubling things as, say, pain, curiosity, or impending apology.
Phylicia's spine stiffens as she listens to her father address the Craftmaster, but the girl still has control of her tongue and says nothing on that topic, though her father might notice the unpleased set to her mouth. Now Phylicia does stand from the bottom of the bed, addressing her father as an apprentice should address a master, though there's a pleading in her face. That one belief that a girl's father should be able to fix most problems. "We came with Fr-the Craftmaster's permission to visit Tenebrous." Galina may not want to tell him, but she called him here and will. "We found him tucked against the wall, having been dosed with fellis." And without going into great detail, she tells Jaice of exactly what they did (and what Ten did to himself) - minus Galina's tampering of the file - sounding much like a fairly proper report. After all, moaning and pissing about the idiotic treatment Ten received would win nothing with her father.
The man called Jaice simply nods to everything that Phylicia says, soaking the information up with the kind of blank face that could only come from a psychologist. "I see…" He glances down at Tenebrous for a moment before making a curt 'move' gesture to Phylicia and assuming her position at the foot of the bed. "Neither of you two are even apprenticed to this particular branch of the healing craft, so I do not expect you to fully understand why we conduct ourselves the way we do." His lips stiffen a little. "It is…personally not my habit to drug a patient into complacency, but it is an acceptable practice, and with good reason." He slides up the side of the bed, one hand absently taking Tenebrous' for just a moment before he lets it drop limply, and then he comes face to face with Galina. "Your name, and your rank, young lady?"
All of which is seen, heard, processed and filed away in the strange, dark recesses of Galina's mind. The two are regarded with her nigh unblinking mien, pale eyes just barely moving enough to track the older man's progress. No noise escapes her, no contradiction or affirmation forthcoming; her silence should suffice to confirm Phylicia's words. If there's any protest for the master's words, it's kept to herself with a well-placed bite to her inner cheek. It's only when she's addressed that she rises, hands relaxed enough to appear folded, and it's only then that she speaks, her voice deadpan: "Galina, Senior Apprentice under Senior Journeyman Grigoriy."
Phylicia moves aside obediantly and silently. Jaice's statement about not understaning a mindhealer's conduct brings about a slight, twisted smile. Yes, that particular branch does attract weird people to it. But she can't stand around still for long, so instead she goes about collecting Tenebrous' wet things, looking for a slightly better place to put them as she somehow keeps herself out of the way and not hovering. She finally sets them at one side of the room, where she then starts to lean against the wall, as her eyes track her father, occasionally flickering from him to Tenebrous.
When Galina stands, Jaice slips forward yet more, taking a moment to lean down over the man's face. He makes a curious noise at the scarring seen on Tenebrous' throat before he straightens again. "Apprentices, you should understand that you've not done this man any favors with your actions here today, a fact that is all the more regrettable because I'm not sure if you truly realize what it is that you are protecting. Certainly, he is deserving of your kindnesses, as all things should be…" Then he turns to Galina. "My daughter knows better than to go rooting through case files without a very, very good reason, to say nothing of her practicality towards the matter at hand." He holds Tenebrous' case file up slowly. "If you read this, then you know what he's been through in his life? The incident at Shai'Morul, and then later, at Xanadu's infirmary, with his throat?" He glances sideways at Phylicia. "Has he spoken to either of you two in great detail about his past?"
There's just a slow, liquid blink for the master's words, though Galina doesn't immediately respond. In fact, it's a good three heartbeats or so — time enough for her to parse the question and attempt to bend it into something that makes sense to her — before: "What is the question you are seeking the answer to? To ask whether he has spoken in great detail about his past is ambiguous; how deep into his past are you asking in regards to? Define 'great detail'." Pause. "I know only what he has told me, in sufficient detail to satisfy my curiosity about his origins — as far as he was able to recall. The rest has been gleaned via other sources. Anything further is irrelevent to me; it is satisfactory that he recalls that which he did not before."
To her father's questions Phylicia shakes her head, which instead of watching her father work now, is more intent on looking at her feet. Twice today she's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. At least she's not being repremanded for a second time. Yet. "I never pressed him about his past." She admits, though not sounding the least bit guilty or sorry about it. The look her father gets through her eyelashes is stubborn to say the least. "I never saw the need to." And that tidbit might give Jaice a bit of a heart attack when he has the option to be more father than mindhealer. Galina is given a look after her answer follows the other woman's. Right. Asking Galina a question would be about ten time worse than asking Tenebrous anything.
Jaice mmms quietly to both of their answers, opening the case file again and absently scrolling through the last several pages. "Your little barricade of this room is over, as of right now, young ladies. You will both dismiss your respective fire-lizards from their point guard, and in a few minutes, several of the apprentices from my craft will arrive with a gurney to transport this young man to his living quarters in the Healers' wing of the hall. As of right now, both of your privelages as healers have been suspended pending an investigation of your behavior. Suitable consequences will be decided at a later date by the Craftmaster. You will continue to attend classes here, and if you have mentors, you may study with them as long as they are on the premises." Then he closes the file, raising his eyes to Galina's. "The master who charted your sleeping friend was apparantly overtaken by a kind of … unfortunate lack of confidence before he was forced from the room. How very curious." The folder is tapped against his fingers lightly. "In the confidence of this room, do either of you two have anything you would like to tell me before I make my report to the Craftmaster?"
At the request, there's merely a shallow tilt of her head and a mouthed 'disperse'; outside, Cyanosis and Redwort vanish with nary a sound to parts unknown (unless one happens to be a greenrider outside, who will find herself burdened with the pair). For the rest, however, the master will be met with the selfsame look Galya had given the CraftMaster not all that long ago: an empty mask, with naught to betray any semblence of emotion. There's a single, slow, necessary blink to keep them moist, but she doesn't flinch or pull away when his eyes meet hers. It's always the wrong question, isn't it? Always, always the wrong question — and that's the question she answers. "If that is the question you want the answer to, then, no, there is nothing further that I would like to tell you." The implication might be clear … or it might not; ask the right questions and the right answers are easily had. Perhaps she ought to know better, but it's no doubt become increasingly more apparent that there is something horribly awry with her mental processes as they are.
There are holes being bored into the back of Galina's head by Phylicia as if the girl is willing her to take back those last pages while her father is feeling more charitable, apparently. There's a twitch to Phy's cheek as the other apprentices either dances around the question, or is really just that peculiar when it comes to the phrasing of questions. But Phy was never a tattler of that sort to begin with, so with a nearly inaudible grunt she's straightening from the wall. Ciaran, her blue pops in a little ways distant from both Estevan and Hinae, her brown and gold. The blue takes up an idle perch at the head of the bed, not in the way to impede with anything while the other two take up their shoulder perches. "I'll need my things from Xanadu…" Is what she tells her father, her tone almost as impartial as Galina's, before she continues on, to herself this time in a sigh. "This was supposed to have been a quick trip." She's not gone from the room yet, but she's thinking about moving that way, definitely.
Jaice nods slowly. "The Hall will assign someone to either bring your things to you, or an escort to assist you with retrieval." He gestures to Galina. "Senior Apprentice, you're dismissed, though the Craftmaster may want an additional word or two with you before you're released to your quarters for the evening." Then he's turning harder eyes on Phylicia. "It would appear that you and I need to have a conversation, young lady. Your mother and I had no idea that you would involve yourself in such things when we consented to your apprenticeship five turns ago…"
"Of course." Galina does not immediately move to retrieve her things, however, her attention shifting to watch both master/father and apprentice/daughter with a look of seeming ambivalence. There's a lengthy silence afterward and then: "Phylicia has done nothing to warrant punishment here, unless seeing to the well-being of a patient has become a grievous offense. If punishment is to be meted out, then I shall take hers as well as mine." This is flatly offered, nothing more or less than what it is. Selflessness doesn't factor into it at all; it's mere statement of fact.
Oh the downfall to having parents! Especially parents who are your obvious senior in the craft you've chosen to practice. Phylicia freezes for a moment, wondering how far she would make it before her father caught up to her some how. There's bound to be obstacles in the hallway after all. "Would it help if I said I had no idea either, when you first agreed to it?" And her effort to difuse the bomb that is her father - one of those sweet, minorly impish smiles - is sidetracked at Galina's offer. Instead of a smile, Phy's eyebrows simply climb up further onto her forehead, one minorly higher than the other in the unspoken question of 'what are you doing' or 'are you insane'.
Jaice turns slowly towards Galina, one eyebrow raising in mild incredulity. "Apprentice," he offers calmly. "You have indeed done things worthy of punishment, and I suspect that some of them have little to do with what has transpired here today. But for now, attempting to interject yourself into the business of a father and his child is far, far over any line you have any business crossing. You are dismissed, and may rest assured that when the time for your disciplining arrives, your willingness to accept blame will not be forgotten." Phylicia's statement goes unanswered for now. Jaice has no intentions of continuing with her until Galina has left the room.
Insane? Perhaps not insane, but subtly unhinged is a very real possibility. One of Galina's brows quirks subtly, however, with only a mildly clarifying intonation of, "If my offer to take her professionally-incurred punishment was misconstrued as a personal transgression, then I offer my apologies." It's as close to an 'I'm sorry' as she's inclined to get, the last words uttered by the typically taciturn young woman. There may be a whole host of things left to say, but they are, ultimately, discarded. Her things are retrieved and she departs without a backward look, her stride silent and her passage made complete with a soft 'click' of the door behind her.
OOC: To finish reading this log, please continue on to Mothers and Sons.