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June 15, 2004 |
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Trump call...
The image of Despil says "Hello, Yo."
To the image of Despil, Yosannah's trump connection with Despil is frail, as if she might be distracted. She appears to be sitting, back propped up against... something hazy. She intones, meekly, "...Despil."
The image of Despil says "How are you?"
To the image of Despil, Yosannah feigns a smile, "Had better days."
The image of Despil says "Want company?"
To the image of Despil, Yosannah extends a hand...
Despil grasps your hand and you pull him through.
Webbers Wayside Inn, Apartment...
You find yourself in the bathroom just off a bedchamber. There is no light save for a candle that rests on the sink. It reflects in the mirror and casts off sufficient light. Yosannah sits on the floor, back resting against an antique tub with four legs. Her legs are outstretched and she holds a towel over ripped pants. The towel is stained crimson.
Despil comes in and asks, "How bad is it?"
Yosannah purses her lips in a less then reassuring smile. She lifts the makeshift bandage to reveal torn pants and aa large gash that runs down the length of her right quadricep. At first glance the wound might seem like a deep cut, but upon closer inspection her clothing and skin appear to be singed. "It hurts more then anything." She rolls her head along the tub and rests it there, eyes closed.
Despil sits down and brings up the Logrus. "I'll take care of you."
Despil asks, "What happened?"
She doesn't protest. In fact, an agreeable moan escapes her lips, "Mmm." Her jaw clenches and her hand clutches at the towel, perhaps anticipating pain.
"Long story."
Despil brings in a basin, and medical supplies. "How bad does it hurt? What do you want in the way of painkillers?"
Yosannah bites at her lip, "Whatever you think is best. I trust you."
Despil says "How's a local injectable grab you? Something nice and high-tech?"
Despil says "I might have to carry you to bed, but I hate screaming in my ear."
Yosannah's eyes open, wide "... high tech. No." She swallows, "It might not work anyway. Something else."
Despil looks over and says, "A bottle of scotch and a bullet?"
She lets her eyes close once again and a crooked smile forms on her lips, "I hate scotch..."
Despil says "Morphine?"
Despil in the meantime brings in other supplies.
Yosannah nods, satisfied.
Despil says "Oral, injectable? I have both here."
Yosannah mouths, 'injectable'.
Yosannah suggests, "Talk to me. Tell me something to distract me, Despil."
Despil brings things in and nods. "Okay." He looks at the autoinjector he has. "This won't hurt long." He looks over to you and says, "I got my house in Amber completed, finally. Looks good. You'll have to see it." He applies the autoinjector as he talks.
Yosannah's body flinches and her jaw goes tight again, teeth clenched, "Uhnn." Slowly, gradually, she relaxes.
Despil gets a small knife and starts cutting the pantleg away. He says, "It was hell getting the staircase done. I have it cantilevered so the stairs appear to float if you look at them the right way, just to be unnerving."
She swallows and wets her lips, "Unnerving. That's so very like you some... how..."
Despil says "I want to be respectful to the Amberites, but I have a reputation as a scary demon to uphold."
"Respectful... why."
Despil says "The bullshit answer is that I'm His Majesty's representative and I don't want to make a bad impression."
Despil starts cleaning the wound, looking to see how bad it really is.
Yosannah inquires, "What's the real answer."
Her wound cuts deep into her muscle, not quite to the bone but it runs from just below her pelvis to four inches above her knee.
Despil makes a mental note that he's going to have to stitch this up. He cleans things well, though, with antiseptic. "I like proving I'm better than them."
Yosannah inhales deeply, "Tell me more..." She exhales slowly, "what do you mean."
Despil says, threading a needle, "Half the place there expects things out of the ordinay, and acting like an enemy and so on. I get pleasure in disappointing people who are waiting for it."
Yosannah wonders, "Chaos is not an enemy of Amber?"
Despil says "Depends on who you ask."
Despil starts using Logrus to stitch you, and his fingers and other tendrils to hold things closed. "It also depends on what you mean by an enemy."
Her voice is a whisper amidst the candle light, "i mean it in the traditional sense. And I'm only asking your perspective." If she can feel the stitching at this point she makes no indication as such.
Despil says "My opinion? No. We don't want it conquered. We don't want to own it. We don't want it destroyed. That would probably destroy Chaos too."
Despil says "We could have a nice debate over whether it should have been created in the first place, but now that it's here, we have to make the best of it. I have relatives like that."
Yosannah repeats, "Relatives." And then, "Why is it that you and your relatives aren't ruling Chaos."
Despil says "You mean why we aren't on the throne now?"
You say "Mmm.""
Despil says, "There was a small subtle battle with Sawall and Jesby. Jesby lost, so they have to do it right now. We'll do it later."
Yosannah mumbles, "I don't understand...lost."
Despil says "It was quarterstaves at ten paces. Loser has to be king."
Yosannah suggests, "You're teasing."
Despil says "I'm exaggerating for effect."
You say "A shame..."
Despil says "The throne is a scut job. No matter what you do, people hate you."
Despil says "It eats people. People say there's a curse on it."
Were her head upright instead of perched along the length of the tub, he might note a subtle smirk. "Not much different... then the state of things now I imagine."
Despil says "And that's the point."
"People will always hate you. Throne or not."
Despil says "Touche."
Despil continues sewing you up. "I'm going to use a little bit of magic on you, as well. Where do I need to move you to?"
Yosannah lifts her chin, subtle, to indicate the adjacent chamber, "... bed is in there."
Despil says "Do you have someone to come look after you? You're going to be spending a few days there."
Yosannah nods again and replies without really answering the question, "I'll be okay."
Despil says "I'll look in on you. I can also send a servant to take care of you."
You say "How long.""
Despil says "As long as you need. Human, even."
Her breathing becomes slow and steady, "... no. How long is a few days."
Despil says "Depends on how quickly you heal. My guess is like a week. That's a pretty nasty gash you got there. But with crutches, maybe only two or three."
Yosannah sighs, "Damn." And then, "I'm tired."
Despil says "Do you normally wear bedclothes? Do you have a favorite robe?"
Yosannah shakes her head to indicate no. "Sweatshirt on the chair in there," she explains.
Despil picks you up with Logrus and floats you into the bedroom. You are held on a madds of tendrils as he gets you out of those clothes and into something more comfortable.
She appears indifferent to the fact that she is no longer situated on the bathroom floor. In fact, she makes no indication at all that she even notes that he has manipulated her into a new set of clothes more suitable to resting.
Despil says "The woman I'm sending you is named Rosemary. She's capable, and from America."
Yosannah tests the name in an effort to make certain she recalls it, "Rosemary..." Her head settles onto a pillow. Her sweatshirt is obviously too large for her frame and hangs off her frame. And then, as if an afterthought, "I owe you an explanation. Maybe if you come back."
Despil smiles. "You do. And I'll check in with you in hours or a day or so."
"Despil..."
Despil sits on the edge of the bed. "Yes, Yo?"
Despil leans over and kisses your cheek.
Yosannah intones as he is near, a hushed tenor of a whisper, "... thank you, Despil..."
Despil hugs her lightly and murmurs, "My pleasure, Yo. We'll take care of you."