(no subject)

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan went back, after a few days of rest in the bar, feeling at least a little better. That lasted for a little under a day.

And then he went down to the river, and saw his reflection, and how his tonsure was growing out and a beard was starting to grow in.

And then he went back to the house and found a knife - not a razor, but the closest available, it would have to do. It's gripped loosely in his hand as he comes in now, blood still oozing sluggishly from the skin scraped raw on his scalp, and evidence of recent tears on his face.

Comments

[capture_eternity]

The poor little early medieval monk -- even though he let him use his bath, Dorian never caught the fellow's name.

"Is that penitence?" he asks, looking at the blood and the knives.

The monk generally looks a bit worse for wear.

[athelstanthescribe]

"No", he says dully. "There were no razors meant for the purpose."

Viking men don't go in much for shaving, after all. His monk's robes are gone, and instead he's wearing a bleached linen tunic.

[capture_eternity]

Which might be another indication of penitence, actually...

At least Dorian thinks so. He doesn't know that much about medieval monks and their customs.

"And no whetstone or stropping leather?" he says. "You look a bit awful, Brother. And still a bit stubbly."

[athelstanthescribe]

"Athelstan." He isn't meeting Dorian's eyes. "The knife would never have done for my face. I couldn't even finish cutting my hair."

[capture_eternity]

"Brother Athelstan," Dorian says, almost gently. "What happened? Can I help you with getting that done?"

[athelstanthescribe]

"Lindisfarne burned. I'm - I'm not there now."

[capture_eternity]

"Where are you now?" Dorian asks.

He holds his hand out for the knife. This looks a bit like an act of desparation, clinging to being a monk.

[onceaviking]

{ooc: invoking the magic of Millitime, as Eric isn't actually really here right now}

He smells delicious. He looks a mess though.

"You lived, I see," Eric remarks.

[athelstanthescribe]

"Yes", Athelstan says, toneless, managing to convey that he's not sure if he regrets that or not.

[onceaviking]

"What have you been doing?"

Nodding at the knife.

[athelstanthescribe]

"I tried to shave. There was no razor."

[onceaviking]

"Why? Does your god care about the way you look?"

[athelstanthescribe]

"If I am still a monk", he says quietly, "I should try to be one in all things."

[lt_blade]

Sonya's table has several files stacked on top of it. While she normally doesn't bring work to Milliways, there are times when she finds herself better able to focus then in her office.

Or so it was until Athelstan entered.

She only turned her head from her papers when she caught him from the corner of her eye, opening her mouth to greet him until she caught sight of his head and the knife.

"Athelstan? what the hell happened? Are you okay?"

That he's in something different to his monks' habit only enters her mind later-and frankly compared to him bleeding isn't worth registering.

[athelstanthescribe]

"I tried to put back my tonsure", he says numbly. "I had to stop."

[lt_blade]

"No shit, looks less like shaving and more like you're trying to scalp yourself." She was well aware of her language around him, but seeing as he was bleeding and looked visibly upset, she was less concerned about censoring and getting him some help.

Still, she tries to calm herself down. "Come and sit down, we can get those scrapes looked at before they get any worse."

She moves her things to one side of the table.

[athelstanthescribe]

"I couldn't find a razor." He makes a vague and unthreatening gesture with his knife. "So I used this."

[lt_blade]

"For your tonsure..." She carefully pulls him over and helps him sit down, not making any sudden movements. The sight of his bloody head makes her frown. "You didn't use any soap, did you."

She sighed. "Bar, can I have some gauze and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide?"

They weren't so bad that they needed rubbing alchohol, but she'd rather the patches get cleaned so they don't get bad.

The package of gauze and a familiar plastic brown bottle appear on the table.

[athelstanthescribe]

"No", he admits. "There was none. What is that?"

[equal_of_any_man]

"Athelstan, my brother!" Olivier crosses to his side, reaching out with a hand to take the knife from him.

[athelstanthescribe]

He lets it go more easily than to Dorian, leaning against Olivier.

"I couldn't find a razor", he says dully.

[equal_of_any_man]

"This blade is far blunt, you have hurt yourself. Let me tend your cuts before I sharpen it for you." He tucks it in the back of his belt and offers Athelstan his arm to lean on.

[athelstanthescribe]

"All right." He takes Olivier's arm and lets his friend lead him wherever he likes.

[equal_of_any_man]

He leads Athelstan to their room, sitting him down with care. He treats the cuts and grazes with clean water and balm. When he's done, he presses a beaker of wine on Athelstan before turning his attention to his wet stone and the blade.

"Would you like me to finish it? Your tonsure?"

[athelstanthescribe]

"Please." His eyes fill with tears again. "I saw my face in the river and I didn't know myself."