(no subject)

[imthepilot]

OOM: For a final twist, it wouldn't be for show, if it should come to this.

{ooc: warnings for self-harm by neglect, contemplations on physical self-harm.}


Bodhi makes his way down to the bar this evening, looking… awful. He’s clean but his beard and hair is scruffy. His eyes are sunken, his skin shallow. And his hands tremble.

He doesn’t want to be out here but rats chased him out of his room to clean.

He huddles in a couch by the fire, needing the warmth. He feels so cold. And he hates feeling cold. He doesn't want to be down here but it's too cold to be outside.


[tiny tag: Bodhi Rook]

Comments

[starrydome]

Some describe the world itself as a song. It is comprised of all there is (and was and might be), as if every living thing is a note.

If that is the way the world indeed is, it would make sense to say that someone unwell would stand out as a false note. Or as a discord. A sound not quite as it should be.

That is one way to describe the world.

An elf lord dressed in the colours of the evening sky, his hair studded with tiny silver pins shaped like stars, makes his way to the fire.

Coincidentally.

[imthepilot]

Bodhi doesn't notice the man at first, staring unfocused at the fire. He sits huddled, his knees folded to his chest.

[starrydome]

Elrond settles down, folding his rob3s around him, discreetly keeping an eye on the Man to see when an introduction will be warranted.

His hair is long and unbound and the star pins twinkle in the firelight.

[imthepilot]

The stars catch Bodhi's eye. He finds himself staring at them, distantly, unfocused.

[starrydome]

Elrond shifts a little in his seat as he called a wait rat over.

He orders herbs for tea, hot water in a pot, and mugs.
Plural.

The rat returns with a tray that looks like it has come straight from the kitchens at Imladris. Carved wood inlaid with mother of pearl and teapot and mugs half dark clay, half incandescent with kiln fired glaze.

He sets about measuring out the herbs for the pot.
They smell like meadows and forest glades. Sunwarm and living.

[cook_the_rude]

The doctor who looks like Galen turns up beside Bodhi soon, looking very worried.

"Bodhi Rook?"

His voice is low and concerned.

[imthepilot]

Bodhi looks up at the voice, hope in his eyes.

But it does when he sees who it isn't. The bitterness leaked into his voice. "Doctor Lecter." He turns back to the fire, eyes unfocused and dull.

[cook_the_rude]

"I am sorry I am still not your Galen," Dr. Lecter says, "but you still do need help."

[imthepilot]

"I'm fine." His voice shakes a little too much for it to sound convincing.

[cook_the_rude]

"I'm a doctor," Dr. Lecter says. "I beg to differ."

Pause.

"You can either accept some tea and food from me, and maybe tell me how you feel, or I would have to sic the official infirmary people on you."

[souffle_girlek]

"Cookie?" Oswin has a plate full of them, along with a 'sorry for the bother but c'mon, help a girl out' expression. "They're not terrible, promise. Or, y'know, cursed, evidently that's a thing here, horrible thing to do to a cookie. Worst I ever do is burn the things, but I didn't. This time, anyway."

[imthepilot]

He doesn't seem to hear her words at first. And when they did filter through, they seem to make no sense.

He stares at the plate, blinking. He unknots his shaking hands from where he has them clasped. Halfway to reaching for one, he stops and shakes his head. "Thank you, but no."

[souffle_girlek]

"Are you sure? Granted, they're only chocolate chip, but..." She sighs, lips pulled into a half-grimace. "Cards on the table? The rats won't let me back into the kitchens until they're gone, and I've made entirely too many to eat them all myself. And somehow the rats always know if I've binned the things. Haven't quite worked that one out."

[imthepilot]

The part of him that's still Jedhean baulk at the idea of food being thrown out.

But still. "You... you shouldn't waste them on me."

[souffle_girlek]

"Believe me when I say this: I have definitively proven there are only so many cookies you can eat before you really don't want another cookie. I think that's more of a waste than giving them to strangers, don't you?" This is not the first time the rats have put temporary bans on Oswin's baking marathons.

Probably won't be the last.

[stilljustandrew]

"Bodhi?"

The voice goes from startled to worried in the course of two syllables.

[imthepilot]

Bodhi looks up slowly at the sound of his name, as if struggling to recognise it.

He looks at Andrew and blinks, coming back to himself a bit. "I'm sorry. I was... thinking. Did you say something?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Just ... I just said hi," says Andrew, trying hard to sound casual. "Um, is it okay if I sit down?"

He nods at the free end of the couch, since he can't gesture with his hands; they're busy holding a tray, with a pot of ginger tea and a plate of buttered English muffins.

[imthepilot]

He nods, gesturing Andrew to sit. "Of course." Not that he's very good company but Andrew was kind, and it would be rude to send him away.

He shuffles a little make room for the tray.

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew scoots in at the far end of the couch, and leans forward to put the tray down on the coffee table.

"How're you doing?"

[street_sparrow]

Gavroche comes in from the House of Arch and heads to get himself a hot chocolate.

Glancing at the man in passing, he returns with not one cup but a tray bearing two, setting it down on the table between them.

"Help yourself, if you want."

[imthepilot]

"I'm fine. Thank you." He refuses quietly, without really focusing on the person offering.

The I'm fine is clearly a lie. Just as the refusal of food doesn't come naturally and sounds just as forced.

[street_sparrow]

"It'll warm you up", he says gently. "Better than the fire will, even."

[imthepilot]

He is so cold. "I..." that's hard to argue with. "It would only be wasted on me. My stomach isn't right. I won't want to waste it."

[street_sparrow]

"Hm." He considers that. "I could have a bit of ginger powder added in. That's good against sickness."