Veritas Ratio (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alabaster_erudite) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pluviosa2024-06-13 04:53 pm
alabaster_erudite) wrote in pluviosa2024-06-13 04:53 pm
[OPEN] The Doctor's In
Who: Ratio and WHOEVER (open to all!)
What: Ratio has found the Medical Rooms while settling into his own room nearby, so he’s organizing the contents and familiarizing himself with the equipment there as well as doing a bit of clean up.
Where: R3 "Tomato" Deck, MEDICAL rooms
When: Day 6+
Warnings: medical shenanigans
On the forward suites of Deck R3, one of the doors is cracked open ever so slightly, and—
Early Bird Gets The Worm (early morning of Day 6)
Veritas was returning from his repeated excursion around the ship’s interior to familiarize himself with its surroundings. Admittedly, he had overexerted himself, having been so active on his first couple of days finding himself here in this strange ship. He felt his mind muddle and grow sluggish as his exhaustion caught up to him. He received his key card only a day after arriving, choosing to forgo sleep in favor of exploring the available levels of the ship for a multitude of reasons in all honesty.
But his body is only mere flesh. And he has to recuperate eventually.
So imagine his surprise when he finds a room starkly labeled “MEDICAL” next to his suite. His dull and aching mind races with possibilities, but alas, he has to rest or else he’d be of no use to himself much less anyone else with these new found resources at his disposal.
And with a short, dreamless slumber, he rises just as quickly as he falls into rest. Sleeping for only five hours if he was being generous. Four hours and 48 minutes to be exact if he had the system hours correct. But alas, he couldn’t fall back asleep so easily despite the fact it was too early in the morning to even see daylight yet.
Ah well, there’s no need to force himself to sleep if he can’t. He shrugs off the chill he feels run down his spine when he imagines sleeping long enough to dream. It’s not like he feels entirely comfortable with the thought of sleeping so indolently anyways. Not with his persistent malady of insomnia nor after the events of Penacony.
He gets up, rolling his shoulders in a vain effort to shake off the weariness that still clung to his bones. At least his mind feels sharper than it did before though still burdened by the pulsing pain of a mild headache. Not in perfect condition, but enough to get started on a.. new project to put it simply.
Veritas exits and shuts the door to his suite. Then makes a beeline to the Medical room. He almost wants to laud the ship’s foresight for putting him so close to the clinical facilities.
Without the haste that followed his footsteps into the makeshift clinic, he takes stock of amenities available with practiced ease. He quickly finds that his key card can open up cabinets to prescriptions, properly labeled with instructions attached, and can gain access to a synthesizer like device. From experimental tests, he realizes he can make specific scripts for personal use, like an oral triptan for severe, acute migraine treatment. Something to note for future use. He pops a pill into his mouth and moves to check the other features here. Perfect time as any to test out the efficacy and veracity of the functions here since he woke up with an early onset migraine just now. He’ll mentally note his before and after responses within an hour or two from now.
Proper bedding, check. Lack of curtains to maintain privacy, he’ll have to see if the supplies room on the lower deck could provide some extra blankets and ties for that. A desk and chair for record keeping, check. And as for the cabinets…
— shuffling noises rings out from within the room along with audible humph’s and ha’s as the doctor scrutinizes the contents of each container before reorganizing them into an order he sees fit, deep in thought and focused on the task at hand.
Familiar Respite (any day after Day 6)
Trips between his suite room and the Medical Room are becoming a habit now. Compared to when he first found them, it looks more put together and lived in to a degree. More often than not, Dr. Ratio could be found in the makeshift clinics on the Tomato Deck than in his own personal suite room, cataloguing inventory and making improvements he deemed necessary as he took stock of the facilities.
With time came experience in what was available and what wasn’t, which had a streamlined set of procedures in place looking for alternatives if the original resource was unobtainable. And with experience came familiarity and a semblance of peace as he found himself in his element amongst medicine cabinets and maintained sterility.
Sleep still didn’t come easy to the doctor. Not by a long shot. Though frankly speaking, it’s nowhere near as bad as the first day he came in here and started this passion project and necessity on behalf of the other passengers of the ship having known the risks of exploring uncharted territory where other powers reside.
His body had gotten used to the short sleep cycle his circadian rhythm had been set to, never falling into a sleep quite deep enough to have vivid dreams nor restful sleep. He coped with the occasional power nap in places where people wouldn’t interrupt but noticed they became too frequent to allow room for progress and thus picked up cups of coffee as a booster. He could make do with a timely dose of caffeine and maybe some combination analgesics to stave away the drowsiness and frequent headaches.
And that was more than enough to allow him to focus on the papers in front of him now. The inventory report was drafted up relatively easily, but he still had to make sure the patient charts would be easily maintained and organized for repeated use. High readability was important too. In case he couldn’t be there to help patients understand their own charts. While the ship could record a patient’s medical information and history within its data banks on their personal key card, Veritas is more than skeptical that the ship’s programing included a strict adherence of HIPPA and Principles of Medical Ethics within its code of hospitality towards passengers of a luxury cruise ship.
— it’s while he sits comfortably at the desk in a rolling chair with his legs crossed, pen and clipboard in hand, that the faint, hollow sound of a pen rapidly scratching over paper emanates from within the room. And if anyone strains their ears, they might hear the soft, low drone of the doctor humming a tune to himself.
Wildcard!
(hit me up on Discord if you have any other ideas in mind, I’m all ears)
What: Ratio has found the Medical Rooms while settling into his own room nearby, so he’s organizing the contents and familiarizing himself with the equipment there as well as doing a bit of clean up.
Where: R3 "Tomato" Deck, MEDICAL rooms
When: Day 6+
Warnings: medical shenanigans
On the forward suites of Deck R3, one of the doors is cracked open ever so slightly, and—
Early Bird Gets The Worm (early morning of Day 6)
Veritas was returning from his repeated excursion around the ship’s interior to familiarize himself with its surroundings. Admittedly, he had overexerted himself, having been so active on his first couple of days finding himself here in this strange ship. He felt his mind muddle and grow sluggish as his exhaustion caught up to him. He received his key card only a day after arriving, choosing to forgo sleep in favor of exploring the available levels of the ship for a multitude of reasons in all honesty.
But his body is only mere flesh. And he has to recuperate eventually.
So imagine his surprise when he finds a room starkly labeled “MEDICAL” next to his suite. His dull and aching mind races with possibilities, but alas, he has to rest or else he’d be of no use to himself much less anyone else with these new found resources at his disposal.
And with a short, dreamless slumber, he rises just as quickly as he falls into rest. Sleeping for only five hours if he was being generous. Four hours and 48 minutes to be exact if he had the system hours correct. But alas, he couldn’t fall back asleep so easily despite the fact it was too early in the morning to even see daylight yet.
Ah well, there’s no need to force himself to sleep if he can’t. He shrugs off the chill he feels run down his spine when he imagines sleeping long enough to dream. It’s not like he feels entirely comfortable with the thought of sleeping so indolently anyways. Not with his persistent malady of insomnia nor after the events of Penacony.
He gets up, rolling his shoulders in a vain effort to shake off the weariness that still clung to his bones. At least his mind feels sharper than it did before though still burdened by the pulsing pain of a mild headache. Not in perfect condition, but enough to get started on a.. new project to put it simply.
Veritas exits and shuts the door to his suite. Then makes a beeline to the Medical room. He almost wants to laud the ship’s foresight for putting him so close to the clinical facilities.
Without the haste that followed his footsteps into the makeshift clinic, he takes stock of amenities available with practiced ease. He quickly finds that his key card can open up cabinets to prescriptions, properly labeled with instructions attached, and can gain access to a synthesizer like device. From experimental tests, he realizes he can make specific scripts for personal use, like an oral triptan for severe, acute migraine treatment. Something to note for future use. He pops a pill into his mouth and moves to check the other features here. Perfect time as any to test out the efficacy and veracity of the functions here since he woke up with an early onset migraine just now. He’ll mentally note his before and after responses within an hour or two from now.
Proper bedding, check. Lack of curtains to maintain privacy, he’ll have to see if the supplies room on the lower deck could provide some extra blankets and ties for that. A desk and chair for record keeping, check. And as for the cabinets…
— shuffling noises rings out from within the room along with audible humph’s and ha’s as the doctor scrutinizes the contents of each container before reorganizing them into an order he sees fit, deep in thought and focused on the task at hand.
Familiar Respite (any day after Day 6)
Trips between his suite room and the Medical Room are becoming a habit now. Compared to when he first found them, it looks more put together and lived in to a degree. More often than not, Dr. Ratio could be found in the makeshift clinics on the Tomato Deck than in his own personal suite room, cataloguing inventory and making improvements he deemed necessary as he took stock of the facilities.
With time came experience in what was available and what wasn’t, which had a streamlined set of procedures in place looking for alternatives if the original resource was unobtainable. And with experience came familiarity and a semblance of peace as he found himself in his element amongst medicine cabinets and maintained sterility.
Sleep still didn’t come easy to the doctor. Not by a long shot. Though frankly speaking, it’s nowhere near as bad as the first day he came in here and started this passion project and necessity on behalf of the other passengers of the ship having known the risks of exploring uncharted territory where other powers reside.
His body had gotten used to the short sleep cycle his circadian rhythm had been set to, never falling into a sleep quite deep enough to have vivid dreams nor restful sleep. He coped with the occasional power nap in places where people wouldn’t interrupt but noticed they became too frequent to allow room for progress and thus picked up cups of coffee as a booster. He could make do with a timely dose of caffeine and maybe some combination analgesics to stave away the drowsiness and frequent headaches.
And that was more than enough to allow him to focus on the papers in front of him now. The inventory report was drafted up relatively easily, but he still had to make sure the patient charts would be easily maintained and organized for repeated use. High readability was important too. In case he couldn’t be there to help patients understand their own charts. While the ship could record a patient’s medical information and history within its data banks on their personal key card, Veritas is more than skeptical that the ship’s programing included a strict adherence of HIPPA and Principles of Medical Ethics within its code of hospitality towards passengers of a luxury cruise ship.
— it’s while he sits comfortably at the desk in a rolling chair with his legs crossed, pen and clipboard in hand, that the faint, hollow sound of a pen rapidly scratching over paper emanates from within the room. And if anyone strains their ears, they might hear the soft, low drone of the doctor humming a tune to himself.
Wildcard!
(hit me up on Discord if you have any other ideas in mind, I’m all ears)
Well time to get the receipt I suppose
The weight of Mr. Wriothesley is removed from his shoulders and to the cot, and he staggers. Right...he shall deliver a repor--
Curtains are drawn, a chair rolled in. He receives strict orders to sit before reporting. Right. Yes. Of course. "Yes, Doctor," he breathes, half sitting half falling into the offered chair. This...does help.
"I...will report to the best of my ability," he says, a little less winded now that he doesn't have to exert as much energy to remain upright. He watches Mr. Wriothesley's eyes get examined, and nothing particularly abnormal happens, so that...that is good.
"Approximately 52 minutes ago, I encountered Mr. Wriothesley in the cafeteria. He was--watching for something out the window-" there's a small pained noise as Executor attempts to right his posture for his report, and fails. Nothing for it. He allows himself to slouch to accommodate for his injuries and compromised balance. "I do not know if he saw something in the waters that triggered the following actions." He pauses. "Based on this, I recommend keeping him from viewing the waters until more information is gathered."
But the Doctor did not ask for his thoughts on the matter. He ordered an explanation, a report. Executor takes a breath, pressing fingers against his temple for a moment to quell the buzzing from his halo and...everything. Too many inputs. He must manage them.
"Conversation seemed normal at first. However, Mr. Wriothesley grew increasingly agitated as we spoke. He insisted I'd...'sold him out to the cops'--I do not know the term "cop" but I am assuming it is a higher authority of some sort-- and I could not convince him otherwise. I still do not know of what occurrence he spoke of. I have no means of contacting any persons outside this vessel." His gaze lingers on Mr. Wriothesley's prone form as he speaks, brows furrowing with the leftover confusion, even...distress? He brushes that aside. "He demanded that I command the...cops to stand down. I had no means or information to facilitate that. From there, he...seemed to believe he had no other option but to use violence. I had to neutralize him, then I brought him here for medical attention."
While his posture is awful, Executor seems to settle into 'report mode' with ease. He looks to Dr. Ratio. "You have seen my Arts I use as bullets. I fired upon Mr. Wriothesley two times," he says, holding a hand over the other's shoulder. "Once to disable his hand to hand attacks, and another," he moves his hand to the leg, "to stop him from running and causing more damage to himself or others. I used the brunt of my gun to impact with his temple, causing him to go unconscious." Executor pauses. "He...has not regained consciousness since. Perhaps...it is a symptom of what addled his mind in the first place. Some strange form of Arts...?"
Executor catches himself wondering again, and he shakes himself, sitting up a little straighter. The room keeps tilting...and he's started to shiver a little. Does the Doctor keep a low temperature in here...? "I took two hits from Mr. Wriothesley's gauntlet. Here," he holds a hand to the likely forming bruise along his jaw, "and here," he gestures to his right shoulder area. "I impacted with the window, breaking off a part of my wing. I have retrieved the pieces. All other injuries to my person are...minor cuts and bruises." His hands drop back to his lap, and he looks back to the man on the cot. "Mr. Wriothesley's injuries are likely more...severe. Especially if he has been influenced mentally somehow..."
All information he thought pertinent delivered, his wings droop a little. "I...did attempt to settle this non-violently, Doctor. I apologize."
no returns available, looks like you're stuck in the clinic
Veritas follows Executor’s report with his own physical examination, listening closely as he inspects the damages appropriately. He’s more than ruled out many typical cases of hidden injuries leading to fatal consequences like an acute abdomen with a quick and timely physical exam. While he believes that modesty has no place in an emergency, he does his best to minimize what he has to do for a visual of the said injuries and its mechanism of action to preserve some integrity to Wriothesley’s presumably few personal effects including the very clothes on his back which he manages to do with Federico’s thorough and concise history.
It also looks like he doesn’t have to worry about Executor Federico’s cognitive functions either given the details and clarity of the report and self reporting of his own injuries. Clarifying the sankta’s inquiries about what Wriothesley might mean by cops is frankly shoved into the back of his head.
He confirms a closed shoulder fracture or dislocation; he hates that he can’t be entirely sure without imaging equipment, but he’s fairly sure that it’s not a dislocation since there aren’t any deformities on his shoulder to note which is a blessing in disguise after hearing Federico mention that he fell on that exact arm. Only old scars from previous injuries sustained under the large bruise characteristic of Federico’s kinetic Arts marred the skin of his shoulder which matches the report of the Executor forgoing bullets in favor of nonlethal force. There’s nothing he can do except to keep his arm immobilized the way Federico had already secured and how Veritas had laid the patient off that arm when the examination was concluded.
While Wriothesley is not experiencing any brain bleeds, he is on his way to a concussion which he can only monitor under strict rest and recovery. As for the leg injury… to be honest, that was his main concern. No matter how "nonlethal" a percussive force is compared to the smoldering tearing a loaded bullet would have done, he can only see how Wriothesley’s patella and mobility will be affected afterwards. He’s put the patient on an anti-inflammatory already for a majority of his injuries as well as setting cold compresses on said areas.
He’s very grateful for the feline eared passenger, Mint, that was teaching people card games in the lounge. If not for her mastery of that mysterious ice energy, he would be short of ice in a cooler on standby within the clinic to stop swelling joints or sprains should they occur.
Speaking of mysterious energy...
All in all, Veritas is far too aware of his limitations at the moment with no equipment, only able to leave the patient to a restrictive bed rest policy in hopes the should fracture heals up properly with no way of seeing if the bones heal correctly and lacking mobility aids to offer for his kneecap injury. He has to seek out assistance. He’s done all he could, and he knows there are others that can help better than he can. His severe expression must have upset Federico for the executor had apologized for not settling the situation nonviolently.
Assured that Wriothesley was in a stable condition now, he turns his attention to Federico to see the frost melting on his clothes but persistently cling to his wings and halo. Federico shivers in place, and Veritas moves to grab both a blanket from the next bed over.
"I suggest you shed off the wet layers before you freeze to death," he advises, lightly sweeping the frost off of the sankta’s wings and halo to the best of his abilities with a soft hand and his blue cape.
"There are room for improvements." He responds to the executor’s apology. "While not ideal, given the circumstances, you did well to bring him and yourself here afterwards, Federico. You certainly saved me the grief of finding your bodies elsewhere, so by all means, applaud yourself for exercising this scrap of wisdom." He coolly assesses without decorum.
He notes the way some pieces of his wings look more fractured than their usual abstract presentation, so he is careful to not jostle them as he cross references Federico’s self report with the injuries present. Likewise with Wriothesley’s history, Federico did not neglect any bit of relevant information, including the "ice arts" he was afflicted by.
Veritas hands him the blanket before exiting the curtained area towards the coffee machine to switch it on and grabbing an oral pain reliever for Federico. “If you need more blankets, they’re stored in the cabinets.” He waits for the machine to finish boiling water then pours out the steaming hot water into a mug. Holding the rim, he hands the warm mug over to Federico between a silver through the curtains, brandishing the handle while placing the pain reliever into his other hand.
"Wait for it to cool down before drinking and don’t grasp the sides. Direct heat is not as helpful as you’d think, so no friction to warm up either. It should help with the chills and pain in the meantime while I go look for further assistance."
Then he swiftly turns on his heels and leaves the clinic, shutting the door behind him as he attempts to locate the person he had in mind to help. A conjurer, if he remembered correctly, Fridtjof. Let’s hope he’s not too far to find.
Fine, keep him, he seems to like it there
Still, he watches quietly, not wanting to interrupt the Doctor's work. The tightness in his chest eases as he watches the man inspect the injuries and respond appropriately, deploying ice packs where appropriate and mitigating the damage the Executor wrought with his own weapon. It is...hard to read people, and the doctor's expression is severe and inscrutable, a solid mask of professionalism and focused care.
Executor...leans back in the chair, moving his wings to not snag them on anything. His shivering does not abate, but he does allow some of the alertness from before to drain away. Signore Wriothesley is in skilled, capable hands.
Surprisingly, he might have relaxed too much. Executor did not quite notice Dr. Ratio moving behind him, sweeping warmth over his frosted wings and halo. He stiffens, the pins and needles feeling returning with an ache, but...at least he can feel them again. He nods, appreciative of the doctor's actions and advice. "I see. I will...continue to bring the injured here when I find them." He certainly couldn't leave Signore Wriothesley there after most of the damage was at his own hands...
A blanket is handed to him, with advice to shed wet layers and a departure to likely give privacy. Of course. Executor had not served in many frigid climates like Kjerag, but he knows the risks of frostbite and hypothermia. It is actually a good sign he's shivering. He stands, steadying himself on the back of the chair, turning from Signore Wriothesley (unconscious, but this is still more proper) to remove his own damp clothing layers; the cape, scarves, and top of his robes all soaked through with melted ice. The rest is maybe slightly damp but safe enough.
It's here that he can get a look at the fresh bruise at his shoulder. His equipment absorbs the worst of shock, but...Signore Wriothesley's attacks were very powerful. He huffs, hanging the layers on the railing, draping his bare shoulders in the given blanket. After some thought, he pulls two more from the cupboard mentioned. Between those and the steam from the given hot water, his shivering eases considerably.
He takes the pill in hand before noticing what it is. "Doctor, I assure you the pain is manageable. You do not need to use precious resources on-" He's unable to finish his protest, as there's the sound of receding steps and the final click of the door closing. Ah...he's gone.
...And the room is tilting again. Federico sits down. He'd wrapped the blankets around his wings and shoulders, holding it closed in front and cocooning body heat to the chilled appendages. He holds the handle of the mug, using the blanket to insulate the heat the doctor warned him against making direct contact with. He takes the medication when the temperature is safe. It would be a waste if he refused it now...the steam wafts over his face, his shivering easing away almost completely.
"I will...keep watch." Federico mutters, watching Signore Wriothesley's measured breathing. Safe. Alive. The doctor said he'd done well. No casualties...all good.
Several minutes pass. His posture slackens, head drooping forward. It's like this, the mug balanced on his lap, surrounded in warm blankets that his eyes drift closed on their own accord. He does not intend this at all, but Federico slips into something of a light doze at Wriothesley's bedside.
did someone need a healer? 'cause you got one anyway.
He comes in wearing his white mage robes, holding his staff and using it to lightly knock on the curtain before opening it. ... Ah. There's someone else sleeping - that must be the 'Executor' he heard of, which means the other one is Wriothsley. He pushes past the sleeping man gently to examine the unconscious one.
... There's nothing obviously wrong with his aether, so he checks the shoulder and the knee. Satisfied that they're in place correctly he lifts his staff and lets a soft pink glow emanate from it. That should get the natural healing started properly. Now to get more serious healing started... yes, Tetragrammaton will do. It's a bit of an intense spell, but it should close up the wounds nicely. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.
He adds a regenerative spell on top of what he's done - to both of the men. It's small, but it should add to the healing. Smiling slightly he adjusts the blanket around the unconscious man to tuck him in a little bit and turns to the sleeping man. His blankets get adjusted, too. Hopefully he doesn't wake him - he tries to not touch the wings.
*startled Sankta noises*
The cloth around him is shifted by something...someone? He makes a low noise of confusion as consciousness settles back in, slowly. Normally he's more alert than this...
Federico takes a deep breath, sitting up and peering around blearily, tugging the blankets around himself. Someone's watching him. Signore Wriothesley is still unconscious so...
It still takes him a moment to process the person. A cautus? Here...? The medication must have some drowsiness side effects....
((The sight might be a little funny to Fridtjof. The sheets left an imprint on Executor's non-injured cheek, and his halo is the slightest bit askew.))
He jolts when he realizes he does not recognize this person, grabbing for his gun which is--leaned against the wall, not here--
His wings are still broken, unbalanced, which sends him tipping to the side against the back of the chair, hands gripping the mug he'd been given tightly. His eyes are wide, trying to take in information to a drowsy mind. His looks to the staff, the ears, the clothing looking almost like robes--ah.
"You are...apologies. I did not intend to..." He fell asleep?? On a watch? Unacceptable. Executor straightens his posture the best he can, fighting the persistent dizziness. He looks to the cautus before him. "I am Executor Federico. You are the aid Doctor Ratio went to find, yes?" He brushes a hand over the blankets where his injury would be. "You were using healing arts earlier, weren't you? Thank you." He then looks back to the figure on the bed, still unconscious. "What is Signore Wriothesley's status?"
officer please don't shoot i'm a paladin
"It's all right. You look like you're still not feeling your best, so please take your ease." He lets out a long breath and tries to process. 'Executor' sounds like a title, so maybe best to use that until he knows what the man prefers to be called. "I used healing magicks, yes. It seems aether is compatible even with people who don't know what it is." As for the unconscious man...
"His knee was clearly injured, but it should be well on its way to healing now. The shoulder as well - both might be stiff at first, but they're at least there so there's not a risk of losing them. The knee was a near thing, though - you're the one who shot him, yes? We'll need to have a talk about options for disabling an opponent without nearly taking their leg off." He crosses his arms and frowns... but he can't be too angry. When all you have is a gun, everything probably looks like a target. "In any case, the main concern now should be the concussion. His wounds weren't horrific and while they were deep they were at least clean. I'm no chirurgeon - someone who deals less with magical healing and more with sutures and poultices - but I know what to touch and what not to."
He moves over and grabs an extra pillow, bringing it over to the sankta. "In short - he'll live. But he might not have - and we can work on techniques so that isn't an issue. As for the less important question - yes. My name is Fridtjof Djt-bidit, but you don't need to use my surname. It's... it doesn't indicate a family name, it's complicated." He is not explaining Rava social structures to a clearly exhausted patient. "As for you, what you need to do is rest. There's another bed you can use - use it. I can keep watch for a while if that's your concern."
Standing down, my bad
Supposedly. His lack of balance says otherwise, however. Regrettable.
"I...will be alright," Executor responds, but he does allow himself to lean back against the chair again. At ease. The dizziness abates slightly. The water in the mug is no longer hot, so he sets it on the side table. Aether...? It's...easy enough to guess what that means. "So you are a healer from a different world. I see."
Executor listens attentively to Fridtjof's report. His face does not change, but his ragged wings drop a couple inches. "I shot him twice, yes. Signore Wriothesley would not listen to reason, and his style of combat is greatly effective in melee range. I could not get within range to incapacitate him, so I used my arts-- no physical bullets, just arts." He closes his eyes, looking not at all happy for having done so.
"Your feedback is appreciated, and any advice for if this should happen again will be greatly valuable. ...Thank you." A tight knot in his chest unwinds hearing from another source that Signore Wriothesley is not injured beyond repair. He finds himself slumping down further, exhaustion creeping up on him in the absence of it.
He opens his eyes, staring uncomprehendingly at the...pillow? Being brandished at him. "Thank you...Fridtjof. No need, I understand." And he does! After working in a place where people have many names and codenames and titles, it's a waste of time trying to parse them all. His brows do furrow at the orders to rest, however. He is....technically...resting here. His eyes flick absently to see Doctor Ratio go past the gap in the curtains, moving furniture. Covering the windows? Good...
He looks to Signore Wriothesley then, breathing but unmoving. The unease returns, less intense than before but...Executor takes the pillow, holding it aloft as if unsure what to do with it. "I...request to remain here until Signore Wriothesley awakens. I am...unsure how much he will remember, and I should...make sure." That he's alright? That he will wake up? That his mental faculties are intact? Unknown. But the thought of leaving him out of sight at the moment is...troubling.
good morning~
He cracks his eyes open, squinting in light that's slightly brighter than he expects it to be. He can see two figures, one unremarkable, the other... "Sige...winne...?" The silhouette of the ears looks right, but... "Did you get... taller?"
Surely he didn't get shorter, right? Did his leg have to get cut off and that's why it hurts so bad? He must have really taken a bad loss.
wakey wakey eggs and some sort of bakey
The slight shifting of the unconscious man gets his attention and he turns, looking at the dark-haired man. "I'm afraid you're mistaking me for someone else, but I'll take that as a compliment." Hopefully it is, at least. As for Executor -
"You don't have to look so confused at it. Put it behind your head and at least relax a little bit. He's all right, see?" Maybe not without pain, but... "As for you, Wriothsley - I want you to not move for a bit. You're on the mend, but you're not going to be going anywhere fast on that leg and it would be foolish to try."
This chair looks different in my head every post I swear
Then Signore Wriothesley starts to move. He speaks. Executor lurches forward, nearly tipping over as he perches at the edge of his seat in full attention. Now that he's not thinking about it, he's clutching the pillow around the middle.
"Signore Wriothesley? Status-- how are-- are you alright?" he asks hurriedly. He does not know what a Sigewinne is. Did he hit the man's head too hard...?
He does ease back a little at Fridtjoff's admonishment, looking the slightest bit chastised. "Yes...sir." he responds quietly, placing the pillow as directed and leaning back. He looks stiff and a bit disoriented still but it would. Be an improvement.
From his altered position, Executor watches Signore Wriothesley for signs of extreme pain or...aggression.
just a fine example of normal boat furnishings
There's the scrape of a chair and the other figure gets clearer. For a moment, Wriothesley doesn't recognize him either at first, but he manages to scrape a name off the wet oatmeal his mind seems to be right now. "Executor... Federico?" Right. That's Federico, which means he's on the strange ship, that's why he's not in the infirmary at the Fortress with Sigewinne. Even that amount of connection-making feels like too much right now, but he manages a weak smile. "I'm fine, don't worry."
He braces himself and pushes himself up on his right arm, jaw tightening slightly but otherwise showing no sign of the pain he can feel as he moves - head throbbing, shoulder and knee aching, everything else just... joining in the symphony. "I must have gotten my bell rung pretty good. What happened? Was there an accident?"
"enjoy our line of non-euclidian chairs"
He gives Executor Federico a somewhat dully frustrated look - he's not supposed to be moving too much either. "Both of you need to rest, which I know is rich coming from someone like me who doesn't. But my medical advice has to be for the patient's benefit, and rest would benefit you both. As for what happened... I believe he can tell you better than I, but it seems you suddenly turned aggressive and he had to subdue you."
Fridtjof backs off a bit and leans against the wall, keeping an eye on both of them - as well as the light-haired man's weapon. "And we'll have none of that here on my watch. Am I understood?" As an extra precaution he pulls out a small crystal, his clothes shifting to armor, a sword and shield holstered on his hip and back. "Because I will break it up, and you do not want me to."
I'm not sure what that means, sir, but thank you?
And he no longer has that hard edge to his voice he'd had earlier. That is...good. Very good.
He listens to Fridtjof summarize, making sure to lean back and rest as instructed. It's easier to do now that Signore Wriothesley is awake and speaking.
He does watch the...conjurer change gear right in front of his eyes by some means of arts. Magick...? Executor blinks, curious but too drained to really question it. Fridtjof's message is loud and clear. "Understood, sir...I will share a summary of my report." He also is not keen on fighting more right now. He never was, always one to fire a warning shot long before actually bringing anyone to harm.
Executor shifts in his seat, tugging the blankets more securely around himself. "Signore Wriothesley, if you recall, we'd encountered each other in the cafeteria. There are...many windows there. You seemed fixated on something outside..." he starts to explain, looking up at the man, brow slightly furrowed in faint confusion. "You were...convinced we were to be under some sort of attack. Something I myself called for, but I have no memory, means, nor reason to report to any outside party. You'd made many demands that I call the...cops off. Does any of this sound familiar to you?" He asks. He decides to wait for a response before explaining the rest...it is usually better to try and help someone concussed to remember things themselves.
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He doesn't lie back down, but he doesn't try standing up either, sitting on the bed as he listens to Executor's report, trying to focus on the words. The windows, yes, he's been looking at them since the ship went below the "water"... and then what Executor says starts ringing some bells - not really of their conversation, but what he'd discussed with Neuvillette that's coming back to him now. "Law enforcement. I thought you'd called law enforcement? And betrayed the crew?" It's horribly familiar, but he thought - if Neuvillette's Hydrotherapy hadn't helped, surely Casper's ghost punching would have handled it permanently. Unfortunately, it seems like that's not the case.
Although his head is throbbing he forces himself to look at Executor. "I have to apologize. It was... unacceptable of me to attack you, no matter what I thought was happening. I'm sorry." He swallows, looking over to Fridtjof. "You should keep me here. I won't try to leave if I'm thinking straight, so if I do, please stop me." Don't let me hurt anyone else.
The effort of thinking about this makes him dizzy and he sighs and gives in to the urge to lie down, since it's probably his best option. The vulnerability of it makes him itchy, but he just... won't go to sleep. Then it'll be fine.
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"You were not yourself. I don't expect that you would have done that normally. If you were the type, you would have tried again already." And been quickly subdued, but still. "If you'd like to be kept here, I won't stop you. But you can rest assured that you won't be hurting someone else on my watch." He turns back to the sankta and points to him.
"As for you, now that your report is complete you are to rest. You both got hurt - and we're not playing the blame game right now - and you both need some sleep. So stop being stubborn, both of you."
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He tilts his head a little at the apology. "Signore Fridtjof is correct. Your mind was influenced by something out of your control. It is something I have some experience handling," even if it took him a bit too long to realize it was happening. Just because it's like Arturia's work does not mean it's obviously the same- "I am...grateful it was towards me, and not a passenger untrained in combat."
Fridtjof's statements are very assuring. Even if those words turn into orders. Executor blinks, slow and tired. "You are correct," he mutters, the relief leaving pure, heavy exhaustion in its wake. Wriothesley is not exactly light, and he did just carry the man's unconscious weight a long distance...on injuries. Rest lends to faster recovery...he nods, stumbling to his feet with the support of the chair back.
He takes some unsteady steps, his broken wings and exhaustion making balance very difficult, but he pauses, eyes flicking to the concussed man on the cot. "I am glad...that you are returned to yourself, Signore Wriothesley," he states. With that, he stumbles over to the empty bed and promptly flops onto it facedown, too tired to concern himself with decorum at the moment.
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He has vague memories of throwing a punch at someone else and running down a hallway, but it didn't wind up with either of them in the clinic, so it was hopefully not that serious. He also doesn't remember who it was, not with the way his mind is spinning. "Please keep an eye on me for now."
Being unable to trust himself means he has to rely on others, which is acutely uncomfortable. He's not going to be stupid, though, and insist he has this handled. It's beyond obvious that he does not.
He smiles slightly and apologetically at Executor. "I'm grateful for that too, but I'm still sorry that I hurt you. Like I said, this has been happening for a day or two now. I should have realized what was going on." Surely there was something that he could have done to prevent himself from hurting Federico. "And please, I definitely don't require an apology from you. You did what you had to, I understand that." He won't offer another apology as he's pretty sure their minder will get annoyed about the 'blame game', but he's thinking about that.
He's not sure what arts bullets are compared to regular bullets, but he knows how easily a gun can blow someone apart. He doesn't remember the fight, but he's sure Federico went to some pains to put him down without using lethal force and he probably put himself in more danger than he had to to do it. Wriothesley knows he fights to win, whatever it takes.
From where he's lying, he can see Federico unsteadily leave his field of vision and the sounds of a heavy collapse on another bed follow shortly. "...is he seriously injured? What did I do to him?" His vision had been a little too blurry, he'd thought he'd seen a bruise, maybe... but Federico had been wrapped in that blanket. It was hard to see anything with that.
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"There was some ice involved, and it took him a bit to warm up. It sounds like he hit the window and he also got hit in the jaw and shoulder. And you're not the lightest person to carry, I imagine. But believe me, it'll be all right." He leans forward towards the injured man and tilts his head. "... I can put you to sleep if the pain is still bad enough. It'll only last a bit, but it might be enough for your body to take over. Or if you'd prefer to be awake for a bit we can talk. It... doesn't have to be about what happened." He's been in enough battles to know that sometimes you just... need a distraction.
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Veritas only listened with one ear to the conversation happening behind the curtains while covering the windows. While Fridtjof was providing aid, he figured that he could at least follow up on what Federico said about Wriothesley’s odd behavior being caused by visual of the setting outside. He takes extra blankets from the cabinets, noting that he’ll have to replace them with clean ones in the storage rooms later while throwing these one to the laundry room after this… strangeness passes them, and does his best to hang them over the windows as best he can.
It will have to do. He still has patients to attend to. "Pardon me," he softly telegraphs his movements with a call in. The curtains quickly draw open and close behind him as he reenters the space.
“Much thanks, Fridtjof.” A smile flits across his face, leaving just as quickly as it came, as he swiftly assesses the situation before him. Wriothesley for one has regained consciousness while Federico had the smarts — or rather someone helpfully convinced him — to rest in a bed albeit face first into the mattress. "I loathe to imagine what I’d do without your assistance. A fascinating demonstration of your prowess." So that’s how aether looked like at work… "I look forward our continued cooperation for the dull minds out there that need it." He sardonically states with some mirth.
"As for the damages…" Veritas crosses his arms, looking between Wriothesley and the faceplanted Federico. "Dr. Ratio, at your service, Mister Wriothesley. You came in with a non-displaced, closed fractured shoulder, a damaged knee, and a concussion. It is thanks to this individual that you aren’t going to be bed ridden for the next few system months and are on your way to a steady recovery process." Veritas states.
He examines Wriothesley’s shoulder and knee once more as he passes by to take vitals which appear to be normal considering everything before moving to Federico’s bedside.
Oh good, he had enough sense to turn his head before falling face first on to the next bed over. "Executor Federico, in the process of subduing you as… non-lethally as his equipment could allow, sustained some bruises and cuts, an impact to his back and wings after crashing into a window; his wings in particular which," he leans in closer to check Federicos’ jet black jagged wings, "was reported to have splintered off in certain areas, as well as hypothermia from your 'Cryo Vision', explaining the ice and frost on his clothes I'm assuming."
"Luckily, both you and Executor Federico will heal up fine with enough rest and recovery, Mr. Wriothesley. So do spare me the trouble of wasting your energy on deliberating over who’s the guilty party when you could be on the mend instead." He seconds Fridtjof’s statement as he concludes his findings. "If you have any questions, comments, or concern, do think about whether or not they're necessary before asking them to save us all some precious time. Otherwise, by all means, ask away."
Veritas speaks directly to the executor now in a quieter tone of voice for discretion though in sharing this small enclosed space it's not hard to hear if they strained their ears a little, brushing the bangs out of Federico’s forehead before gently pressing the back of his knuckles to his head. "No fever, seems the chills have settled down in exchange for exhaustion."
"You can stay resting, just take a few deep breaths for me, Federico." He kneels down, tipping his ear towards the sankta for a lung examination. He’s mainly looking for any rattles or crackles in his breathing that could suggest a respiratory problem from either the impact or from the sudden onset hypothermia. When he’s satisfied with the results, he moves on to the next thing. "I recall you also mentioned 'picking up the pieces' of what I assume were shards of your wings, yes? Admittedly, I’m not verse in how to treat your wings, so I will have to follow your lead. Just point where they are."
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Federico is distantly aware of what's being discussed. He hears Dr. Ratio re-enter the area. The windows must be secure...that is good. He listens to both Signore Fridtjof and the doctor explain the details of the damages...it is good for Signore Wriothesley to know what's happened in full. He still feels...? Like something falls through his stomach. It's an odd sensation.
"The results were...less than optimal..." Federico mutters, too tired to project and unlikely to be heard by anyone not closeby. It's just as well; he remembers that both Signore Fridtjof and Dr. Ratio expressed disapproval at 'playing the blame game', and the comment may count for such...
He feels a hand brushing his bangs aside, and he manages to open his eyes when the back of that hand comes to rest on his forehead for a moment. Ah. The doctor is checking for further complications. His mention of there being no fever is a reassurance. Between the events of today and his poor sleep quality lately it...makes sense that his energy is just...depleted.
But he should sit up to be of help. Federico moves to do just that, only to lay still again at Dr. Ratio affirming he can stay resting. That is...acceptable. The doctor kneels to be at his level instead...as long as his position does not obstruct the man's work, he will rest. Those are the current orders received, after all. He breathes as instructed for whatever the doctor is checking for next. The results seem good.
He...can feel himself tipping back and forth on the edge of sleep. His...eyes had fallen closed without his choice when taking deep breaths for examination. He opens them again upon being asked about his wings, said damaged appendages twitching where they lay against his back. Federico blinks slowly. "I...yes. I did. They are...within that pouch, third one from the belt buckle," he says quietly, raising his arm to point at the clothing he'd hung on the railing of this bed, for lack of a better convenient place to dry them. His bare arm is quickly retracted back under the blankets once Dr. Ratio receives the direction.
Federico hums thoughtfully, bringing up the pillow Fridtjof had had him take and propping his head up on it, gaining himself a little more awareness. "Sankta wings differ in qualities...depending on who you are assessing." He squints for a moment, trying to remember through the overtired haze how Dr. Medli described it once. "I...believe mine have been compared to bones or...tree branches. They will heal with time but...the broken pieces can be grafted back on, for a more complete repair. They can be tied in place until they heal."
He sighs, closing his eyes again. "There used to be a natural...pressure that would hold the pieces in place for healing with no further assistance...but that ability has weakened over my time away from Laterano..." His face scrunches a little, a thought occurring to him. "It weakened considerably since...my last mission. Did...firing at her really break a law....?" he wonders, voice sounding...a bit lost in a way it never would if he were more awake. He blinks again, eyes half lidded but open, looking blearily to Dr. Ratio.
"Is that...information sufficient? Can I...did I miss something?"
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"They are." Veritas confirms the assessment to what he observes in front of him. "To not have to treat injuries of this severity would be the best case scenario if not wishful thinking on my part." His knowledge can only go so far as a research focused doctor of medicine rather than a practicing physician, seeing how Fridtjof's help was highly appreciated.
He nods, being quick to retrieve said pieces. He can only hope there's enough to allow a simple autografting procedure to heal the appendages naturally. The comparison is not lost to him. The shards he's handling certainly feels like bone, calcified ebony rigid to the touch but lightweight in his hands. He can only hope Federico’s wings are closer to branches than they are to bone for the sake of a rapid and comfortable recovery process without any autoimmune response. The lack of blood vessels running through the pieces he was inspecting, lining them up to the fractured puzzle he sees, made him believe the latter was more likely.
Veritas makes a few audible noises here and there in response to Federico's helpful explanation of sankta biology as he looks for bandages stocked in the nightstand drawers next to the beds in this suite room repurposed into a clinic. The thought of affixing the pieces to the wings with pool noodles — it would maintain the pressure needed to aid in the recovery process while also potentially cushioning the broken appendage from any untoward impact — crosses his mind. The thoughts are dashed from his mind just as quickly as it came regardless of how amusing the image of horned beasts in conservation research facilities he's had the pleasure of visiting with foam encased antlers to prevent them from harming one another in disputes coinciding with the those of the stone faced sankta made comically harmless through pool noodles.
He takes the bandage rolls after carefully laying out the pieces in order and unfurls them, getting to work on wrapping the wings and its pieces together as best he can. Luckily for them, it seems that the pieces lined up well enough without too much discrepancies. Leave it to Federico to be diligent even in peril, he sighs bemused. Veritas only catches a bit of Federico's mutterings. His brows furrow in worry as he stares back down at the sankta's half lidded expression.
"I'll be sure to secure the wrappings then if that is the case. Let me know if it's too uncomfortable." His hand brushes the bangs out of Federico's face absentmindedly upon seeing the complicated look in his eyes before returning to his work. Fussing over the state of things being a habit of his he finds hard pressed to curb. This being no exception. "As for the matter you mentioned," he doesn't believe outsider opinion will change anything the executor might have been through to cause such an expression on his face, but if he was going to muse openly, then Dr. Ratio might as well provide his thoughts, "like now, I believe it must have been a situation where it called for such drastic action. You made the best decision with the knowledge you had at the time. Hindsight is not a fallacy you should entertain in the present. Laws are just as fallible as the individuals that make them." Which is why interpreters like Executor were important in his field of work, so to speak.
"The information was suffice, Federico. As is treatment for now. It is time for you to rest."
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He might have been about to ask a question but Ratio shuts that down pretty fast and he just nods. "Uh, thank you, Doctor." Hopefully that's an inoffensive enough comment that Ratio will let it pass, since he has more important things - like Federico's health - to consider.
He turns back to the rabbit-eared healer, instinctively pulling away slightly at the offer. "Uh. No thank you - I mean, don't put me to sleep. Please." There's an anxiety in his voice that wasn't there before. The idea of being put to sleep in a small area with other people in it, one he's not free to leave, makes his pulse pound and head throb worse. "I don't - talking's good. Uh, what's that crystal? Does it store your clothes?" Any subject is better than being put to sleep and he was already curious about that one.
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"This is the soul crystal of a White Mage. It's a more powerful conjurer than one would normally be able to be. Conjurers are one of the more combat-focused medics that exist in my world. But to be a white mage is... different. You need the blessings of the Elementals of the Black Shroud - a large forested area on one of the continents in my world. I was able to gain their favor." This is more information than he would normally give, but the guy needs someone to talk to. "To be fair, I grew up respecting the forest I lived in - though it was more of a jungle. So it wasn't that large of a leap." Even if he disagrees with the policies of the people who live in there, he knows how to be respectful. "I didn't spend nearly fifty summers learning how to be a protector of the Wood to not be good at knowing how to help a forested area."