milliways_bar | (no subject)

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"Shiva wept!" Autor yelps, crumpling to the floor of his room in a heap.

He expected every break, sprain, and bruise to stick around after he changed back, so he wasn't surprised at his unsteadiness when his Lego-fused braces dissolved.

But what was viciously unpleasant was that the medication he'd been popping to keep from feeling every break, sprain, and bruise dissipated when his bloodstream changed.

And that he had to feel everything snap again--all at once--in his new bones.

The boy laugh-sobs, quietly sick, and props himself up in the doorframe to catch a wait rat by the tail. When it returns, he takes some tea and some ice and some serious pain pills, and waits for it all to kick in so he can drag himself down to the infirmary.

And so, just because he's in a genuinely good mood and he can't exactly move, heirDrosselmeyer is signed on.

[OOC: Millitimed to around midnight.]

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"Yes," he says, relieved that she released the black-capped contact poison. It would have been terribly uncomfortable to have to shove a bezoar down her throat with a broken wrist. "I am the most organized packrat you'll ever meet."

Then he nods, confirming her statement. He'd wave a hand, but he can't, really. "Go ahead. Smell it, and see if you can guess what it is," he says, and smiles, almost shy.

Oh, good, he thinks. She didn't find the grenade after all.

The other items, she returns to his pocket. Keeping a human body aloft and comfortable takes enough concentration that she doesn't want to spare any on the things from his pocket for longer than she has to.

After they are safely back where they belong, she opens the yellow-capped bottle and smells it. "It's... faintly herby-smelling, and it's thick. Not hand-sanitizer at all. Some sort of lotion or ointment?"

"Ointment," he whispers, inordinately pleased, "is exactly the right word."

"Um.... so," she says, sniffing again before putting a tiny bit of the ointment on her fingers and rubbing them together. It has kind of an oily consistency. "What is it?"

"Hm," Autor says, surprised she didn't grasp it on her first try--and then he realizes she's not thinking in terms of heroes and legends. Oh. Right.

"It's an ointment, as you said. A girl made it using an old, old recipe," he says, "in order to slay dragons."

"What?" she interjects nearly before he finishes his hint. To her everlasting credit, she doesn't drop him in shock. There's barely a falter in her levitation.

"This is Kenet?!" Rae says, disbelieving, as she sniffs the ointment again. "Kenet, from the story of Aerin Firehair? How in the world did you get..." her voice trails off as she stares at the stuff on her fingers.

"Milliways, of course. Fucking Milliways." And that's when she starts laughing.

Autor reigns in his momentary terror at her yelling to smile at her.

"I am shocked," he says, as primly as he can while levitating, "how often that people forget that they have a magical bar at their disposal."

"Yeah, but who - apart from your smart-ass self - thinks to ask for a dragonfire-proof ointment lost for many centuries before being rediscovered by a figure of folktale and myth and then re-lost forever?"

Rae may be covering one of her hands in the stuff. >_>

"Would that everyone were as much of a smart-ass as I, then," he says, still weak from his aches and pains, but regaining a portion of the haughtiness he had when she first ever laid eyes on him. "Then clever and obscure orders from Lady Bar would be de rigueur.

"I assume you'll create your own fire?" he asks. "I have a lighter in my pocket otherwise."

"A lighter wouldn't be hot enough," she shakes her head as she pockets her wristwatch. She wants to test this.

The fire she creates is a barely visible blue-white flame, causing the air above and around it to shiver and waver in the heat. With only minor hesitation, Sunshine holds her Kenet-slathered hand above the flames - even if she trusts Autor, which she probably shouldn't, she's not about to stick her hand directly into a flame that hot without easing into it - and slowly begins to lower it towards the source of the heat and light.

And Autor watches with interest, until he fails to suppress a yawn. His sleep during Cubefall wasn't exactly the best. He'd already done some tests involving ovens and a torch for crème brûlée, but her fires are probably much hotter.

So he watches, and waits.

And yawns again.

Rae lowers her hand into the flame and wiggles her fingers, grinning.

"I can feel it, but it's... just pleasantly warm," she laughs. "Autor, if I weren't afraid of breaking you, I'd hug you."

Because this is delightful. Even in Milliways, it isn't every day you find something from your favorite story is real and true and capable of protecting you from intense heat.

"Ooh," he whispers, watching the heat quaver around her fingertips. "I hope you can find a way to use it. And you can always get more from the bar again."

Her declaration of affection wakes him up, so he squeaks. "I've noticed a correlation between gifts given and hugs," he says, tilting his chin and grinning cheekily. "Maybe I'll stop funneling you truffles and other things."

Sunshine grins, letting the flame disappear as they reach the bottom of the stairs. "It won't work. You probably also think you could get me to stop trying to feed you, or ruffling your hair."

~~Sol Invictus, y'all. ^_^~~

"The kenet might be useful - vampires do tend to go up rather suddenly when exposed to sunlight." Or its handheld equivalent.

The boy nods, resigned and drowsy again. "The feeding thing is still annoying," he says. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much."

He can't remember when he last ate, of course. It had to be sometime during Cubefall, but he was running around quite a bit then. Sleep tends to help with memory.

"Ah," he says, blinking. "Are you often burned that way?"

"Not often, thank all the listening gods," she murmurs, scooting chairs out of the way so Autor won't bump into them as they pass towards the Infirmary.

"When did you last eat, anyway?"

If you're manifesting telepathic powers, Rae, that would prove to be very annoying.

Autor wrinkles his nose. "You're going to a lot of trouble for me already," he says. "I don't think the Kenet will be enough."

"Like I said earlier," she smiles at him, just slightly, over her shoulder. "If you want to pay me back, pay it forward. Be kind to someone else who might need it."

Or don't, you know, play puppetmaster with other peoples' lives.

"Fair enough," he says. "I'll keep that in mind."

Then he purses his lips. "To what extent do you think you'll manage to patch me up? I know there is a machine which can help with bone regrowth, and a potion which does the same thing, but I don't know how to operate them. Or if you need to be licensed."

"...Me?" Rae says, surprised. "I... I have no medical experience whatsoever, Autor. I was planning on calling a doctor - there's a button in there that'll alert whichever infirmary staff person happens to be around."

Autor blinks. "Oh," he says. "Er. Right. That's good to know."

He offers her a very careful, one shouldered shrug. "I knew there was a button in there, but I've never used it?"

"I have, once or twice," she replies, with a likewise one-shouldered shrug. The movement pulls at wide, shiny knife-scar on her upper-chest.

"The doctors here - the ones I've interacted with - they're good." Even if one of them is a vampire.

"I hope you're talking about their abilities and professional capabilities," he says, turning a wavering grin on her. "Good is fairly subjective."

"They know their stuff, how about that?" she says, wryly. "I can't speak to their moral goodness."

It takes a little while, but Sunshine moves an unoccupied table and chairs out of their way so Autor can float past.

Autor nods at her--in a sense. He's close to nodding off, really.

"People who are evil by technicality," he says, smiling in a rather goofy manner indeed, "shouldn't be commenting on the moral goodness of others anyway."

He doesn't notice the boy sitting at the bar...

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