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portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
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This too has become easy, practiced. He retrieving items from the depths of the crate, Derrica marking them down as they go. She has enlisted others for this from time to time. Ellie, often. And before, the others who populated the infirmary. Sister Sarah, Isaac.
And Richard, prickly and recalcitrant, and now absent.
Derrica takes up the parchment, settling on the table beside him. Sweeps a quick look over what has been revealed so far.
"There will be herbs coming in within a week, elfroot, embrium and a few other things. We should put some seeds aside and try to propagate at least the Arbor Blessing in the spring."
This is not really what she wanted to talk to him about.
And Richard, prickly and recalcitrant, and now absent.
Derrica takes up the parchment, settling on the table beside him. Sweeps a quick look over what has been revealed so far.
"There will be herbs coming in within a week, elfroot, embrium and a few other things. We should put some seeds aside and try to propagate at least the Arbor Blessing in the spring."
This is not really what she wanted to talk to him about.
Stephen makes a thoughtful noise. “There was a rooftop garden back home — my predecessor had a green thumb, although I haven’t much of one. It’s a good idea, though.”
Things he’s never had to consider: the passing of the seasons, the warming temperatures, the right time of year to plant a herb. He’s had to learn all these names and how to identify them: Arbor Blessing, spindleweed, witherstalk, rashvine. How to distill a restorative draught, and not just scribble a requisition for one from the hospital pharmacy.
In short: so much more work.
But he doesn’t seem to mind it, still unpacking these boxes, putting their contents in the right place, asking Derrica if he’s not sure where they should go. And if Derrica had another reason to come down here and speak to him— he lets the conversation lapse into a companionable silence, and lets her come to it at her own pace.
Things he’s never had to consider: the passing of the seasons, the warming temperatures, the right time of year to plant a herb. He’s had to learn all these names and how to identify them: Arbor Blessing, spindleweed, witherstalk, rashvine. How to distill a restorative draught, and not just scribble a requisition for one from the hospital pharmacy.
In short: so much more work.
But he doesn’t seem to mind it, still unpacking these boxes, putting their contents in the right place, asking Derrica if he’s not sure where they should go. And if Derrica had another reason to come down here and speak to him— he lets the conversation lapse into a companionable silence, and lets her come to it at her own pace.
"Richard is gone," is what she comes to, words heavy. There is no real way to soften them. The bottles of new-made tincture clink as she sets them one after the other into a wooden case.
When Holden had gone, Richard had been there. Held her, regardless of his own discomfort and perhaps grief.
Derrica has been thinking of that often, since Loxley told her what had happened.
"He was our Head Healer," among other things. Her hands pause over the glass, looking over to Strange to take in his reaction. See what thoughts might be visible on his face.
When Holden had gone, Richard had been there. Held her, regardless of his own discomfort and perhaps grief.
Derrica has been thinking of that often, since Loxley told her what had happened.
"He was our Head Healer," among other things. Her hands pause over the glass, looking over to Strange to take in his reaction. See what thoughts might be visible on his face.
action; backdated to ... sometime in the last few months, look, they're both busy men
overharrowed
2023-07-04 11:20 pm (UTC)(link)
Among the things Julius is looking forward to after returning from the many glimpses of rifters' worlds, "discussing Tranquility" is not high on the list. That said, he's not ungrateful that Strange let it go in the moment. And he'd meant it, when he said he didn't mind discussing it. He doesn't, really, any more than discussing any other complex Circle topic. It's something that rifters who use magic, especially, deserve to be aware of in a fuller way than they're likely to encounter in writing.
He's enough work to keep his hands full when they get back that it takes him some time to find a free moment. But when he does, he has a list of likely places to check, the library and the Research offices chief among them.
He's enough work to keep his hands full when they get back that it takes him some time to find a free moment. But when he does, he has a list of likely places to check, the library and the Research offices chief among them.
“I’m aware,” he says, as neutrally as he can, a little arch. Although he didn’t know Richard, the man’s mere existence here had been a mild relief when the sorcerer first arrived: a reason to not try to throw his weight around the position, as someone else had already carved out the territory. Another man about his own age, enough to leave well enough alone. Stephen had noted Loxley’s announcement, filed it away in the back of his mind.
(And there’s an alien memory from Arlathan lodged there too, like something caught in his teeth, which he’ll probably never get to ask the man about. A voice, echoing in his ears: Fucking blood magic, Dickerson, really?)
Between that and Sidony’s departure, the faces around the infirmary have become fewer and fewer.
And it’s that idle thought, connecting the dots like a pinball bouncing off Derrica’s words, which makes Stephen’s hands go still on a pile of bandages and his head cocks, swivels to look at her more closely. As he realises where this train of thought might be taking them. He could be coy, fish around and make her explain the gist, but he presses right on it instead like pressure on a wound:
“Are you thinking about job vacancies?”
(And there’s an alien memory from Arlathan lodged there too, like something caught in his teeth, which he’ll probably never get to ask the man about. A voice, echoing in his ears: Fucking blood magic, Dickerson, really?)
Between that and Sidony’s departure, the faces around the infirmary have become fewer and fewer.
And it’s that idle thought, connecting the dots like a pinball bouncing off Derrica’s words, which makes Stephen’s hands go still on a pile of bandages and his head cocks, swivels to look at her more closely. As he realises where this train of thought might be taking them. He could be coy, fish around and make her explain the gist, but he presses right on it instead like pressure on a wound:
“Are you thinking about job vacancies?”
"Yes."
The available healers are dwindling, yes, but that may not always be so. Rifts deliver them newcomers with a variety of experiences. People travel miles to arrive on Riftwatch's door. There is no way to predict how many or few they may be in a month's time.
But that's not her point.
"I was hoping you would be interested in taking over."
The available healers are dwindling, yes, but that may not always be so. Rifts deliver them newcomers with a variety of experiences. People travel miles to arrive on Riftwatch's door. There is no way to predict how many or few they may be in a month's time.
But that's not her point.
"I was hoping you would be interested in taking over."
A medley of emotions flicker across his face, then: genuine surprise, flattery, pressed-thin hesitation. Thoughts running askew, some horrified mixture of I’m a rifter and might just vanish like he did, and I’ve put that hat aside, I’m a full-time sorcerer now,
(I’m too impaired, you had to hold the goddamned pencil for me for god’s sake)
but, also, doesn’t he still insist on being called doctor? Hasn’t he lectured enough Thedosians on proper disinfecting procedure?
“Oh, whereas I thought you might be interested,” Stephen says, automatically. Despite her age, Derrica has a quiet competence to her leadership, and clearly a history here. Then again, she’s already head of Haven. There were limits to how much one person could do.
So. Doctor Strange (emphasis on the M.D this time) looks around him, at the walls of this infirmary and its tidily-stocked shelves, the cataloging system he’s memorised. His mouth purses, thinking. Already jumping past I'm honoured you thought of me (he had once ruled the neurosurgery wing, after all, so him as Head Healer was not unthinkable), and he goes straight to logistics. Practical considerations.
“It’s not the career I envisioned for myself any longer,” he admits, “but I could do it. There are— limitations, however, as you know. There’s a lot of procedures I can’t do myself. I’m not— I mean, frankly, I’m not the surgeon I once was. A lot of it’s just in my head now.”
He settles his hands flat against the table, presses them down to try to quell their faint tremble. It’s not a sign of fear; it’s just almost always there.
(I’m too impaired, you had to hold the goddamned pencil for me for god’s sake)
but, also, doesn’t he still insist on being called doctor? Hasn’t he lectured enough Thedosians on proper disinfecting procedure?
“Oh, whereas I thought you might be interested,” Stephen says, automatically. Despite her age, Derrica has a quiet competence to her leadership, and clearly a history here. Then again, she’s already head of Haven. There were limits to how much one person could do.
So. Doctor Strange (emphasis on the M.D this time) looks around him, at the walls of this infirmary and its tidily-stocked shelves, the cataloging system he’s memorised. His mouth purses, thinking. Already jumping past I'm honoured you thought of me (he had once ruled the neurosurgery wing, after all, so him as Head Healer was not unthinkable), and he goes straight to logistics. Practical considerations.
“It’s not the career I envisioned for myself any longer,” he admits, “but I could do it. There are— limitations, however, as you know. There’s a lot of procedures I can’t do myself. I’m not— I mean, frankly, I’m not the surgeon I once was. A lot of it’s just in my head now.”
He settles his hands flat against the table, presses them down to try to quell their faint tremble. It’s not a sign of fear; it’s just almost always there.
Something quiet and brittle comes and goes. Little to do with the infirmary itself, but present, a spectre of a thought that weighs on her and is summarily dismissed as she follows his appraisal of the space.
"I can do them."
Reassurance, without hesitation.
"Whatever comes, we can meet it together. I wouldn't abandon you to something you couldn't manage."
They are, at this point, something of a partnership anyway. Who else is there?
"But if one of us doesn't put ourselves forward for it, or seek out someone else we'd rather have directing the happenings here, we could regret it."
Derrica has seen that happen before as well. She has not forgotten Brother Gideon.
"I can do them."
Reassurance, without hesitation.
"Whatever comes, we can meet it together. I wouldn't abandon you to something you couldn't manage."
They are, at this point, something of a partnership anyway. Who else is there?
"But if one of us doesn't put ourselves forward for it, or seek out someone else we'd rather have directing the happenings here, we could regret it."
Derrica has seen that happen before as well. She has not forgotten Brother Gideon.
There’s a flex of tension in his knuckles, something twisting in his chest at that immediate offer. Does he hate the fact that he needs the physical assistance, or feel a surge of appreciation for Derrica’s unhesitating solidarity? Either. Both.
“Fair enough,” Strange says and then adds, only half-joking and with the cadence of a quote: “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”
He’s been trying to learn how to relinquish his vise-like control of things like this, but when backed into a corner, maybe there’s no other option. Who else is there?
A slow exhale. “Some part of me truly had thought I’d put medicine behind me, because medicine was done with me,” he admits — it’s an uncustomary flicker of self-doubt, since normally he’s so brusque and sure of himself. “But. I do still have the qualifications. Might as well not let all those years of student loans go to waste.”
Ha, ha, rifter humour.
“Fair enough,” Strange says and then adds, only half-joking and with the cadence of a quote: “If you want something done right, do it yourself.”
He’s been trying to learn how to relinquish his vise-like control of things like this, but when backed into a corner, maybe there’s no other option. Who else is there?
A slow exhale. “Some part of me truly had thought I’d put medicine behind me, because medicine was done with me,” he admits — it’s an uncustomary flicker of self-doubt, since normally he’s so brusque and sure of himself. “But. I do still have the qualifications. Might as well not let all those years of student loans go to waste.”
Ha, ha, rifter humour.
There’s always work, and no rest for the wicked. So Strange is fairly reliably found in either the infirmary, library, or Research offices, and today it happens to be the latter. During the decommissioning of Project Felandaris, the sorcerer has (perhaps unsurprisingly) decided to jump ship to Sashamiri, and so he’s been reorganising his papers, archiving the previous notes, putting in requests for anything of relevance in order to catch up on other man’s project.
Which is how Julius finds him: camped out at the back of the workroom, his assigned desk a riot of books. He glances up as Julius enters, moving down through the rows, and he waves an absentminded hand to catch his attention.
“Oh good, you’re here,” he says, and, “Did you happen to drum up those notes on the taint?”
Pathology and infectious disease isn’t his specialty, but when needs must. A corrosive soul-rotting magical blight? He wants to read all about it.
Which is how Julius finds him: camped out at the back of the workroom, his assigned desk a riot of books. He glances up as Julius enters, moving down through the rows, and he waves an absentminded hand to catch his attention.
“Oh good, you’re here,” he says, and, “Did you happen to drum up those notes on the taint?”
Pathology and infectious disease isn’t his specialty, but when needs must. A corrosive soul-rotting magical blight? He wants to read all about it.
Derrica, who has blessedly never heard of student loans, allows the unknown reference to pass in favor of focusing on the whole.
"I saw you at Starkhaven," is weightier than simple observation. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you were capable, and that you understand the importance of what we do."
They are both healers. His hands don't discount him from the work. He had moved so quickly to it, when he was needed.
"With Tevinter camped so close to us, I think it will matter more how this infirmary and these resources are managed."
Case in point: the seeds she is collecting in a little box, ready to plant what they might need to have it readily at hand.
"I saw you at Starkhaven," is weightier than simple observation. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you were capable, and that you understand the importance of what we do."
They are both healers. His hands don't discount him from the work. He had moved so quickly to it, when he was needed.
"With Tevinter camped so close to us, I think it will matter more how this infirmary and these resources are managed."
Case in point: the seeds she is collecting in a little box, ready to plant what they might need to have it readily at hand.
"I have them, though not on me." Belatedly, it occurs to him that he could have brought them along, but he'd been focused on something else. "They're just in my office, I can get them in a moment if you like. But I thought I might offer ... when we were in Nepal, I told you we could talk about Tranquility another time, if you wanted. I thought, if you were still interested." Now, or soon; either way, he's not avoiding it indefinitely in the hope that Strange forgets to ask.
The movement draws his eye, and so he watches Derrica transferring the seeds to a box. And the gears are already starting to turn in the back of his head, positing and answering the question: if you had sovereignty over this space, what would you do with it?
He makes a decision.
“That garden, and maybe getting a lead on a beekeeper to have access to honey, it’s good against infection,” is the first thing which Strange blurts out. “Maybe polling Riftwatch to see what sort of first aid skills people have, since we’ve had some new arrivals lately. I’ll talk to the Seneschal — is it Orlov at the moment? I’ll talk to Orlov — and put my name forward.”
It’s like something clicking and settling into place. He had been lord of his domain once — sometimes aggravatingly so, at the hospital, throwing his weight around with impunity — and perhaps there’s still something good to be scavenged from those traits. And whatever distastefulness there might be in swooping in after his predecessor, the necessity of the thing offsets it. Politeness won’t fill an empty office.
“Did you know him well?” he asks after a moment, though. “Dickerson.”
He makes a decision.
“That garden, and maybe getting a lead on a beekeeper to have access to honey, it’s good against infection,” is the first thing which Strange blurts out. “Maybe polling Riftwatch to see what sort of first aid skills people have, since we’ve had some new arrivals lately. I’ll talk to the Seneschal — is it Orlov at the moment? I’ll talk to Orlov — and put my name forward.”
It’s like something clicking and settling into place. He had been lord of his domain once — sometimes aggravatingly so, at the hospital, throwing his weight around with impunity — and perhaps there’s still something good to be scavenged from those traits. And whatever distastefulness there might be in swooping in after his predecessor, the necessity of the thing offsets it. Politeness won’t fill an empty office.
“Did you know him well?” he asks after a moment, though. “Dickerson.”
There’s a brief beat, the slightest course-correction. Strange stops his perennial multi-tasking, looks away from his books and papers and meets Julius’ steady gaze instead. Oh, he thinks.
“There really isn’t an elegant way of seguing into that, is there,” he says, as if half-musing to himself, but then redirects to give Julius his full attention. Moves as if to offer up some tea, realises the water in the kettle in front of him has long-since gone cold, frowns at it. He misses electricity so much— Just clearing space, then, so Julius can get comfortable in a chair if he likes. It’s a nice day, the workroom is empty apart from them, they’ve got time.
“I appreciate you talking about it. I don’t know any mages all that well outside you and Derrica, so there aren’t that many to indulge my curiosity.”
“There really isn’t an elegant way of seguing into that, is there,” he says, as if half-musing to himself, but then redirects to give Julius his full attention. Moves as if to offer up some tea, realises the water in the kettle in front of him has long-since gone cold, frowns at it. He misses electricity so much— Just clearing space, then, so Julius can get comfortable in a chair if he likes. It’s a nice day, the workroom is empty apart from them, they’ve got time.
“I appreciate you talking about it. I don’t know any mages all that well outside you and Derrica, so there aren’t that many to indulge my curiosity.”
"I can understand why most mages aren't eager to discuss it, but I think it's ... it's important for you to understand. All rifters, probably, but certainly those of you who can do magic. It'd be hard to understand mage politics without it, and I think it likely isn't news to you that rifters' long-term situation is likely tied to the outcome of said politics."
He knows a lot of rifters don't want to think about the likelihood that certain factions will push for them to be locked in Circles after the war ends, but the way everything played out with the phylactery cache certainly convinced Julius that the possibility is real enough.
He settles in the chair where Strange has made space for him. "Did you have any specific questions, to begin?"
He knows a lot of rifters don't want to think about the likelihood that certain factions will push for them to be locked in Circles after the war ends, but the way everything played out with the phylactery cache certainly convinced Julius that the possibility is real enough.
He settles in the chair where Strange has made space for him. "Did you have any specific questions, to begin?"
Something’s happened. Julius is on the crystal saying there was an attack, and it was bad.
Are you near the infirmary?
Are you near the infirmary?
Edited (oop ) 2023-07-22 21:25 (UTC)
( A general message on the crystals doesn’t alert him. Something sent to him personally, though, does the equivalent of breaking through his phone notifications. Makes him look up from his work, push hair off his forehead with the sweaty summer heat, makes him pick up the crystal. )
I am, yes —
( It was bad, she says. So Strange presses through to Julius’ message. Listens to it. Feels his extremities run cold, like he’s been doused in ice water, before he switches immediately back to Derrica: )
Do you have any further details? I’m assuming— medical supplies, it sounds like they need medical supplies.
I am, yes —
( It was bad, she says. So Strange presses through to Julius’ message. Listens to it. Feels his extremities run cold, like he’s been doused in ice water, before he switches immediately back to Derrica: )
Do you have any further details? I’m assuming— medical supplies, it sounds like they need medical supplies.
Casualties, that’s not—
( He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. He knows what casualties means. Rather than risk a treacherous tremble himself, Strange’s own voice simply cuts off, the sentence aborted. There’s the sound of movement, drawers slamming, grabbing supplies. )
I’ll get everything ready. Bring some bags and packs here, if you can.
Do you have any more information— that’s not out there already, I mean.
( He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. He knows what casualties means. Rather than risk a treacherous tremble himself, Strange’s own voice simply cuts off, the sentence aborted. There’s the sound of movement, drawers slamming, grabbing supplies. )
I’ll get everything ready. Bring some bags and packs here, if you can.
Do you have any more information— that’s not out there already, I mean.
That’s. Bad.
( Echoing her earlier words. Strange has been doing too much at once, trying to pack up medical supplies while talking to her while also flipping over to listen in on the other crystal conversations, and he’s dropped a bottle of distilled elfroot. He forces himself to breathe out, hands splayed on the table, slowing down.
He’s been here before. He has experienced catastrophic loss, worse than this, billions, trillions. This is not new.
(It’s somehow worse, though, being alive for this part.) )
No names yet, though?
( Echoing her earlier words. Strange has been doing too much at once, trying to pack up medical supplies while talking to her while also flipping over to listen in on the other crystal conversations, and he’s dropped a bottle of distilled elfroot. He forces himself to breathe out, hands splayed on the table, slowing down.
He’s been here before. He has experienced catastrophic loss, worse than this, billions, trillions. This is not new.
(It’s somehow worse, though, being alive for this part.) )
No names yet, though?
None yet.
[ a quiet, miserable confirmation. ]
I’ve heard one of the rifters, and Yseult.
[ Knowing it’s faster to identify survivors than await a list of the dead. ]
I’ll be there in a few moments. I’ve a few crates for us to use, as well as what’s there.
[ a quiet, miserable confirmation. ]
I’ve heard one of the rifters, and Yseult.
[ Knowing it’s faster to identify survivors than await a list of the dead. ]
I’ll be there in a few moments. I’ve a few crates for us to use, as well as what’s there.
Alright. See you soon.
( Crisp; cutting off the connection.
They have work to do. )
( Crisp; cutting off the connection.
They have work to do. )
“Just a description of the process, as you see it from your perspective and what you honestly think of it, uncensored,” Strange says evenly. “As I mentioned, the accounts I’ve read were biased and typically published by the Chantry. From where I’m sitting, it sounds like…”
He has the words loaded up in the barrel and ready to fire, a cutting and damning verdict of the practice — but he has, at least, learned enough patience that he stops himself outright rather than spew all his Rifter Opinions™ at Julius.
This is growth, probably.
“Well. I’d like to hear your take, first.”
He has the words loaded up in the barrel and ready to fire, a cutting and damning verdict of the practice — but he has, at least, learned enough patience that he stops himself outright rather than spew all his Rifter Opinions™ at Julius.
This is growth, probably.
“Well. I’d like to hear your take, first.”
Julius nods, taking a pause as if to sort through his thoughts before beginning. Ultimately, the first half of Strange's request is the more straightforward, so he starts there.
"As I've sure you've gathered by this point, Thedosian mages can work magic because of the way we connect to the Fade. At its most basic, the rite of Tranquility severs a mage's connection. It means they can't do magic anymore, and it also means they lose the ability to dream and their ability to access most or all of their emotions. It was once thought it made them immune to demon possession, but research has since suggested they are merely unattractive targets."
He exhales, slowly. "There was once a time, in theory, where Tranquility was for one purpose only; mages who chose not to undergo a Harrowing process. It was supposed to be a last resort to prevent mages from hurting themselves or others. In our Circle, in my time there, it generally wasn't used lightly. That wasn't true of all Circles. It was abused for political purposes, personal vendettas... In theory, a Circle's First Enchanter had to agree before the rite was performed, and theoretically it was against Chantry law to force any mage who passed their harrowing to become Tranquil. But there was hardly a mechanism for mages to appeal corrupt or unfair decisions."
He feels a bit like he's lecturing, but he needs to get through the basics first. He does pause, however, if Strange has any questions.
"As I've sure you've gathered by this point, Thedosian mages can work magic because of the way we connect to the Fade. At its most basic, the rite of Tranquility severs a mage's connection. It means they can't do magic anymore, and it also means they lose the ability to dream and their ability to access most or all of their emotions. It was once thought it made them immune to demon possession, but research has since suggested they are merely unattractive targets."
He exhales, slowly. "There was once a time, in theory, where Tranquility was for one purpose only; mages who chose not to undergo a Harrowing process. It was supposed to be a last resort to prevent mages from hurting themselves or others. In our Circle, in my time there, it generally wasn't used lightly. That wasn't true of all Circles. It was abused for political purposes, personal vendettas... In theory, a Circle's First Enchanter had to agree before the rite was performed, and theoretically it was against Chantry law to force any mage who passed their harrowing to become Tranquil. But there was hardly a mechanism for mages to appeal corrupt or unfair decisions."
He feels a bit like he's lecturing, but he needs to get through the basics first. He does pause, however, if Strange has any questions.
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