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portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
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action; sometime a little before he leaves for sarrux's pass
youwonscience
2024-10-10 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)
Even if Stephen has technically moved out of the Gallows proper, he's not hard to find. The late afternoon sun is streaming in the windows as she makes her way downstairs to the head healer's office. (She's willing to venture out to the infirmary if she needs to, but this time of day, her odds are better that he's just a floor removed.)
When she knocks on the door frame, it's not so unusual. She stops down to consult with him reasonably frequently. But usually she's got a book or some papers under one arm; today her hands are free, though there is a small pouch attached to her belt.
"Hey, you got a minute? Or maybe several, if you don't have a boat curfew."
When she knocks on the door frame, it's not so unusual. She stops down to consult with him reasonably frequently. But usually she's got a book or some papers under one arm; today her hands are free, though there is a small pouch attached to her belt.
"Hey, you got a minute? Or maybe several, if you don't have a boat curfew."
[Stephen's pigeonhole contains a scroll, which, when opened, reveals itself to be several pages of piano sheet music for an assortment of raunchy tavern songs. The lyrics are, of course, included.
At the center is a small note reading:
Happy Satinalia!
Your Secret Satina,
Barrow
At the center is a small note reading:
Happy Satinalia!
Your Secret Satina,
Barrow
"Doctor," She's waiting at the door of his office the next time he visits. An elven woman, middle-aged and diminutive, save the broad turn out of shoulders and step. "Sennara. I am newly with Research."
Brisk introduction, a Northern accent. Was he busy? He isn't now.
"We must speak of germ theory."
She's had notes — not from Riftwatch. A University exposition draws more than University eyes.
Brisk introduction, a Northern accent. Was he busy? He isn't now.
"We must speak of germ theory."
She's had notes — not from Riftwatch. A University exposition draws more than University eyes.
Edited 2024-11-05 00:37 (UTC)
Gwenaëlle wakes before Stephen.
This is not unusual, exactly, although she isn’t especially a morning person by nature. A restless one, maybe; one prone to sleeplessness, and solving that problem by sitting up, waiting for him to wake with her. She’s been sleeping poorly and little since Sarrux, huge eyed in the night’s shadows, but this morning a certain contentment lingers and she wakes with an ease she hasn’t felt in some time—
more than enough to remember that it’s Satinalia, and she has gifts, and she’s been really looking forward to giving them to him. There’s a hidden panel underneath the alcove bed that she’s not told him about, yet, which she will probably have to tell him about at some point before it becomes weird — but in the meantime, it was a really good place to hide those gifts, and convenient to get to without having to creep all the way across the room somewhere before he wakes on his own. The coat wraps neatly around everything else, and a dark red ribbon around that, and it isn’t difficult to lean down (only a little precariously) to fish it all out. Stephen, soft with sleep, is not difficult to ambush: she knees across his lap with an armful of fabric and, by way of gentle waking, drops the whole of it on his chest.
(Beneath the nightgown she’s newly in the habit of actually wearing to bed, her wings flutter against the fabric as her head tilts, impatient for him.)
This is not unusual, exactly, although she isn’t especially a morning person by nature. A restless one, maybe; one prone to sleeplessness, and solving that problem by sitting up, waiting for him to wake with her. She’s been sleeping poorly and little since Sarrux, huge eyed in the night’s shadows, but this morning a certain contentment lingers and she wakes with an ease she hasn’t felt in some time—
more than enough to remember that it’s Satinalia, and she has gifts, and she’s been really looking forward to giving them to him. There’s a hidden panel underneath the alcove bed that she’s not told him about, yet, which she will probably have to tell him about at some point before it becomes weird — but in the meantime, it was a really good place to hide those gifts, and convenient to get to without having to creep all the way across the room somewhere before he wakes on his own. The coat wraps neatly around everything else, and a dark red ribbon around that, and it isn’t difficult to lean down (only a little precariously) to fish it all out. Stephen, soft with sleep, is not difficult to ambush: she knees across his lap with an armful of fabric and, by way of gentle waking, drops the whole of it on his chest.
(Beneath the nightgown she’s newly in the habit of actually wearing to bed, her wings flutter against the fabric as her head tilts, impatient for him.)
[ it's not quite midnight when she calls, but it's close to. closer to than she's reached out to him ever before this, and if he's not already awake her voice is quiet enough to be ignored—that's why she's told herself this is okay, it's not too terrible an imposition, if he's already asleep he just won't hear her and she can ask later— ]
Doctor Strange? Are you awake?
Doctor Strange? Are you awake?
Docteur Strange, might I ask a moment of your time? Monsieur Isaac ( these mages refuse surnames to spite her, perhaps, ) has brought a matter to my attention I believe will be of relevance to yourself, also.
[ do any of them ever bother strange about anything else? ]
Hey, uh. 'S Cedric.
[ obviously ]
Messere Mobius said you were handling all this. Asked around, and it don't look like Riftwatch is getting cut off lyrium no time soon. Y'got folks that're worried, can let 'em know.
Hey, uh. 'S Cedric.
[ obviously ]
Messere Mobius said you were handling all this. Asked around, and it don't look like Riftwatch is getting cut off lyrium no time soon. Y'got folks that're worried, can let 'em know.
It's not unusual for Ness to seek Stephen out in the course of a working day—they're still training her magic, after all, and also she just enjoys being around him, and likes to do her work in his presence while he does his in hers. She's usually looking less determinedly serious than now, though, stepping into his office stiffly, back straight, like she's going to war. It's also usually earlier in the day than right before dinner, when most people have already left their work for the day. An armful of notes is a more common sight than her furrowed brow, but even those she doesn't usually hold to her chest like a shield.
"Stephen," she says, and that's the most unusual part of this—she's never used his given name before. "I'd like to make my case for amputating my anchor shard within the month."
Whoomp, there it is.
"Stephen," she says, and that's the most unusual part of this—she's never used his given name before. "I'd like to make my case for amputating my anchor shard within the month."
Whoomp, there it is.
It’s two nights that she’s away from the boat, in the end.
Her cousins oblige her — relieved, the first evening, when she arrives with company and doesn’t expect much of theirs. Guilfoyle doesn’t join her; has never cared for the Hightown residence, prefers not to be under a de Coucy roof if he can avoid it, assesses her mood when leaving and thinks himself unnecessary. The second evening she’s gone from the house falls on the Gallows’ usual pizza night, and he finds himself in the galley, having collected one out of habit, neither Florent nor Gwenaëlle in residence to appreciate it.
He leaves a slice covered on a plate in Stephen’s office, and withdraws to his own rooms with the rest. The next morning, when Gwenaëlle lets herself into the galley to make tea, it still smells faintly of Stark’s own recipe.
It’s early, when she does. Absurdly so — still more dark than not, the first fingers of morning only beginning to reach across the harbour, early enough that it’s the scent of her tea that Stephen wakes to, Gwenaëlle herself half-undone in yesterday’s clothes, sat at her desk, drinking it.
Small Yngvi has slinked off of him, gone to wind around her ankles, interested in the possibility that she might herald an early breakfast.
Her cousins oblige her — relieved, the first evening, when she arrives with company and doesn’t expect much of theirs. Guilfoyle doesn’t join her; has never cared for the Hightown residence, prefers not to be under a de Coucy roof if he can avoid it, assesses her mood when leaving and thinks himself unnecessary. The second evening she’s gone from the house falls on the Gallows’ usual pizza night, and he finds himself in the galley, having collected one out of habit, neither Florent nor Gwenaëlle in residence to appreciate it.
He leaves a slice covered on a plate in Stephen’s office, and withdraws to his own rooms with the rest. The next morning, when Gwenaëlle lets herself into the galley to make tea, it still smells faintly of Stark’s own recipe.
It’s early, when she does. Absurdly so — still more dark than not, the first fingers of morning only beginning to reach across the harbour, early enough that it’s the scent of her tea that Stephen wakes to, Gwenaëlle herself half-undone in yesterday’s clothes, sat at her desk, drinking it.
Small Yngvi has slinked off of him, gone to wind around her ankles, interested in the possibility that she might herald an early breakfast.
action; lightly backdated to a reasonable amount of time after Ness' medical crisis
youwonscience
2025-05-10 04:11 pm (UTC)(link)
It's more or less an official meeting, in that it's actually scheduled, for once. That said, it's not so formal that when he turns up in her office, she can't say: "Hey. You want some tea, some alcohol, or both?"
Her office is, finally, more or less back to where it was before the Gallows attack; mostly organized, but certainly a working one, papers and reference materials roughly stacked together by project. She moves a couple of books to one side of her desk to make room for whichever beverages he decides on.
She didn't tell Stephen what the meeting was about, but under the circumstances, he can probably guess at least one agenda item.
Her office is, finally, more or less back to where it was before the Gallows attack; mostly organized, but certainly a working one, papers and reference materials roughly stacked together by project. She moves a couple of books to one side of her desk to make room for whichever beverages he decides on.
She didn't tell Stephen what the meeting was about, but under the circumstances, he can probably guess at least one agenda item.
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