[Closed] Shattered

The capital city of Anaxas and the seat of the government.
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Evandria Sericks
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Mon Oct 07, 2019 9:36 am

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It was her fault.

Lorcan had advised her to wait for the others arrive before she started pursuit. But Evandria was too stubborn. She was convinced that they would lost the man if they waited any longer. They had been tailing this lead for more than a week ever since a wick had blabbed about a gunsmith roaming the city in exchange for a lesser sentence after being found dealing drugs in the back alleys of the Dives. Guns were a rare, illegal commodity and inexplicably connected to the Resistance.

Evandria had jumped onto the chance to investigate, which got them to follow around the man named Warlow. One thing led to another and the sergeant found herself chasing after him until they reached the rooftop of a rowdy inn. He was cornered and they both knew it.

What happened next was her responsibility.

With a strangled cry, their suspect pulled out a gun and aimed at her. There was no hesitation in his eyes and his finger was already on the trigger. There was no doubt in her mind that she was about to get shot. Never did it cross her mind that Lorcan would run and tackle the man. She didn’t even realize that he had followed her. The gun went off with a deafening noise and Evandria instinctively dove to the ground, even when she couldn’t see where the bullet when. Lorcan’s momentum threw the two men to the edge of the building. There was a scuffle. It was dark and she wasn’t sure what was happening as she started to rise to her feet.

As her eyes focused, the realization hit her too late. Warlow shoved Lorcan off the building with a breathless grunt. It felt like her heart was ripped out of her chest.

All Evandria could do was scream as she watched him fall. Everything happened too fast and too slow all together. There was no time to begin a spell, not nearly enough time to grab him. Evandria scrambled towards the edge of the building and looked down at her friend’s sprawled figure. On the corner of her eyes, she saw the human escape, leaping onto the roof of the building next door.

She didn’t care.

The sergeant began murmuring in monite, her voice the slightest bit shaky as the magic began to loosen gravity’s grip upon her. She threw herself of the side of the building, her body descending safely. A crowd was already gathered around Lorcan, but the colors of his uniform was more than enough to keep him at bay. Once her feet hit the ground, Evandria ran to the constable’s side – not before yelling at the stunned crowd to find some help. She knelt down by his side, too afraid to touch him as she took everything in.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m fine,” he said giving her a tight smile. With a grunt, the stubborn bastard tried to sit himself up, propped on his elbows. Even at a time like this, the man was trying not to worry her. Still, relief flooded through her. If he could still talk… That was a good sign, right?

Warm tears burnt on the back of her eyes, but the young woman was well trained in holding them back. She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t move. You are going to make it worse.” She finally let herself to look at his injury. His left thigh was bent into an unnatural angle, protruding outwards and breaking through his skin. Blood was seeping out of the wound, slowly forming a pool beneath him. The sergeant was no Living conversationalist, but every Seventen had learned the spell to lessen blood loss at some point of their training. As she casted, the bleeding began to slow, but not by much. “You’re an idiot, Lorcan, you know that?”

He laughed weakly, gripping her hand with his bloodied fingers. As if she was the one who needed comforting. “Is that how you talk to the man who saved your life?”

After taking a shaky breath, she returned his smile – with great effort. “Yes, if the man foolishly dies after saving me.” She looked at the crowd surrounding them. Still no one dared to approach. When she turned back to Lorcan, his eyes had started to droop. “Open your eyes, alright? Hold on. Help is coming soon.”


This was not the first time the two of them entered hospital in a less than pleasant situation. Sometimes it was her on the gurney, sometimes it was him, other times it was both of them. Blood and pain were part of the job – she always knew that – but no one told how much harder it would be to be the one watching your friend writhe in pain. She would much rather be the one on the gurney.

Evandria kept holding on to Lorcan’s hand as they were led through the emergency unit and then a more private room. Men and women whizzed past them, checking his pulses, blood pressure, everything. They kept asking him how he fell, whether he passed out or not. They said a lot of things to each other. Things she do not entirely understand, but from the looks on their faces told her enough.

Gods, she could not lose Lorcan. Not now. Not ever. It was difficult to remember the time where he wasn’t by her side. He had always been there, when she needed him the most. Flashes of their past ran through her mind as she met his gaze. His back turned to her as he told off fifth year students who mocked her accent. His arms wrapped around her as she watched His hand helping her up every time she was knocked out on the training ring. His proud smile when she was finally awarded with her fourth snap.

Lorcan saw the fear in her eyes far too easily. “I am not going anywhere. You wouldn’t be able to get away from me so easily. I promised, didn’t I?” His voice faded off slowly as his grip around her hand loosened. Her breathing hitched as his eyes fluttered close. For a moment, the young woman felt her heart drop into the ground. Even though she could see the rise and fall of his chest, it was impossible to keep the fear from creeping into her mind.

The sergeant had entirely forgotten that they were surrounded by others and she nearly leapt out of her skin when an old nurse with a firm scowl laid a hand on her. “The constable will be getting the very best care we have to offer. A doctor would see him soon and it is better if you wait out–”

“I am staying right here,” Evandria said simply, daring the nurse to challenge her. She yanked her arm away from her. “I won’t get in the way but I’m not going anywhere.”
Last edited by Evandria Sericks on Tue Oct 08, 2019 4:14 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 1190

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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Mon Oct 07, 2019 4:06 pm

Evening, 26th Yaris, 2719
Grand Mercy Hospital, Vienda
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The hospital outside was a bustle of noise, but very little of it filtered through Doctor Sy’rien Palevi’s door into the office beyond; two lamps on the wall filled the space with warm yellow light, the curtains drawn so that no more than a flicker of Vienda outside was visible.

“The most important thing is that you not get in the way,” Sy’rien said, smiling. His white coat hung from the coat stand behind him; the pinstriped navy suit beneath was as neatly pressed as if he’d just put it on. The edges of his beard were crisp against his tawny skin, as if he’d just shaved. “I had a godsdamned hard time convincing the board to let you in at all, Nicco.”

Niccolette sat opposite him, her seagreen skirt draped over the edge of her chair, her legs crossed at the ankle off against the floor. “Of course,” she agreed, her hands tucked into her lap. The one inside curled, nails digging into her palm for a long moment, then relaxed. “I appreciate what it is you have done for me.” She smiled at him. He did not know the half of it, the Bastian thought, feeling something stir deep within her, heat racing through; her field held in the air, crisp and indectal, unstirring.

Sy’rien grinned. “Good. A few ground rules then – for now, you’ll just follow me around for a bit. Don’t cast on anyone without my orders. If you do, use whatever spell you’re instructed – or if you’re asked, make sure you check first.”

“Instructed by you only?” Niccolette asked curiously. “What if you are not there?” She met Sy’rien’s gaze, evenly.

“I’ll be there,” Sy’rien said, smiling as well. For a moment, there was something in the air – something Niccolette did not quite wish to name – “Or, if I’m not, defer to the nearest doctor.”

“Of course,” Niccolette agreed, her gaze lowering to his desk. She could nearly make out the scribbled writing of notes in the open journal he had been writing in when she entered, and, idly, she wondered.

“A gray visitor’s coat should do the trick,” Sy’rien said. “I’m sure you’ll look –”

There was a knock on the door, then, and Sy’rien grimaced, faintly. “Yes?” He called.

“Dr. Palevi,” The Hessean’s assistant stepped inside, his perceptive field doetoeing around the edges of Niccolette’s and the doctor’s. “Uh, Dr. Kipperling, to see you.”

“Send him in,” Sy’rien said. He smiled at Niccolette, and turned his attention to the door.

“Palevi,” Kipperling was an Anaxi, short and running to fat, streaks of gray through his thinning blonde hair. “A new patient for you. Seventen, trauma from a fall from height. Primary feet impact, oblique tibia fracture, calcaneal fracture, and a communited open fracture of the femoral shaft.”

“All on the same leg?” Sy’rien was already rising; he whisked his white coat from his stand, and slid it on over his suit, buttoning it as he went. He glanced at Niccolette, and grinned, a spark of something in his eyes. “Come on, might as well start now.”

Niccolette rose, and followed behind Sy’rien without question, listening curiously.

“Same leg,” Kipperling bowed politely to Niccolette, without stopping. He handed a board with notes on it to Sy’rien, and the two men scanned it as they walked, discussing the details of the case in low, intent voices.

Niccolette returned the bow, and trailed behind, following them down the hall; Sy’rien’s assistant hurried behind them both, half-running.

Just outside the room, Sy’rien stopped, and turned to Kipperling. “Thank you for bringing this to me, Kipperling. A fascinating case,” he smiled, and the two men shook hands, and the Anaxi left, already hurrying down the hall. “Carleton,” Sy’rien turned back to the Anaxi.

“S-sir!” The assistant jumped.

“Go and inform the nursing station to prep operating room six,” Sy’rien said. “I’ll need Doctor Demarcy as well, for anesthesia.”

“Yes sir,” Carleton bowed and took off down the hall, not quite running, but moving quickly enough as to make nearly no difference.

Sy’rien straightened himself, inhaled, and pushed open the door into the Seventen’s room. Niccolette followed behind him without the faintest hesitation.

“Constable Lorcan?” Sy’rien moved closer to the bed, his eyes sweeping over the unconscious Seventen. Every inch of his tall frame was filled with confidence; he carried himself easily and well. He bowed to the seated sergeant. “And you must be Sergeant Sericks. My name is Doctor Palevi,” he said. “Don’t worry,” he smiled, his eyes soft, “your collegue will have the best treatment we can provide.” He stepped to the bed, examining the Seventen’s left leg; whatever he thought, nothing showed on his face but calm, professional seriousness.

“We’ll be taking him to a special room for surgery,” Sy’rien explained, looking back at the sergeant sitting on the bed. He smiled again. “Mrs. Ibutatu,” he gestured Niccolette forward.

Niccolette stepped forward, her long seagreen skirt shifting around her legs. Her left hand rested against her leg, the small golden ring on her fourth finger glinting in the light; her right hand lifted to cross her body, gently wrapping around her waist, covering the detailing on the dress, the lowest of the golden buttons that marched in two rows down her front.

“This is Mrs. Niccolette Ibutatu, a living conversationalist,” Sy’rien said, easily. “Mrs. Ibutatu, why don’t you stay with the sergeant while we take the constable for his surgery?”

“Of course,” Niccolette lowered her hand and bowed, looking at the Hoxian sitting on the bed. Her eyes crossed back to Lorcan’s unconscious form, and she studied him, curiously, without the faintest distaste or hesitation, her gaze lingering for just a moment on the sharp jutting bone that stood out from his skin.

There was a banging at the door, and it pushed open, two humans entering, navigating between the four galdori towards the wheeled bed, grasping it to take it and push it back down the hallway, waiting for Evandria to let them past.

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Evandria Sericks
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Wed Oct 09, 2019 9:30 am

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It felt like an eternity. Evandria found herself perched on the bed, clutching Lorcan’s hand and she watched him breathe. She could almost believe that he was simply asleep if it wasn’t for the nurses constantly checking his vitals.

When more people arrived, the young woman reluctantly turned her attention towards them. Lorcan would need a surgery, the man said. His expression unfortunately gave her no hints of what he thought about the possible outcomes. There was only cool intelligence.

With a weak nod, the sergeant leapt off the bed. She looked at Doctor Palevi, trying to gauge whether or not he was truly the best to handle Lorcan’s injuries. Of course, there was no way to tell by sight and the best she could was have faith. Reluctantly, she let go of her second-in-command’s hand. There were a hundred questions in her head, but asking them would simply delay Lorcan form getting the treatment he needed. So, she watched them wheel him out in silence.

For the first time since entering the hospital, the young woman took in the details of her surroundings. Evandria wasn’t entirely sure where she should go or wait at. Half of her squad would still be out in the city to try to catch up their suspect, but she knew that they would come up with nothing. Someone would have already reached the HQ in order to report what happened – most likely Ensign Therrin. Evandria would no doubt be called in soon to give the full account. But right now, there was no way that she was leaving this building. At least until Lorcan was finished with his surgery.

She realized that it was just her and the hazel-eyed Living sorcerer in the room now.

The two women were starkly different to each other. Niccolette Ibutatu was well put together in her green dress, elegant and almost serene. Meanwhile, Evandria was still clad in her uniform, splattered with blood and dirt. Her dark hair was already shaken loose from its ties and she couldn’t even put them up again for her bloodied hands. They slowly clenched into fists as she looked at the Bastian.

Despite her thundering heart, her voice came out steady. “What will happen to him? Will he be able to walk again?” As the question left her lips, Evandria was already bracing herself for some sort of bad news. She knew that the mona could achieve wondrous, marvelous things, but she wasn’t entirely well-versed in Living magic. She had no idea what they were capable of. Whether or not they could fix this.
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Wed Oct 09, 2019 8:13 pm

Evening, 26th Yaris, 2719
Grand Mercy Hospital, Vienda
Once Evandria had moved out of the way, the humans stepped forward; one grasped the top of the metal bed and the other the bottom, and they wheeled Lorcan out of the room, the bed’s metal wheels clattering softly against the floor. Sy’rien followed close at hand after; his ramscott was crisp and indectal, the faintest edge of sigiling already building in it.

“He should,” Niccolette said, without hesitation. She shrugged. “The leg is bad, but Dr. Palevi has much experience with such things. Come,” she gestured, stepping back and holding the door open for Evandria to follow her out. The heavy curl of a Bastian accent rested beneath her words.

It was, in fact, quite a bad leg. Niccolette was a little disappointed not to see how Sy’rien would handle the reshaping of it – what spells he might use, for this was surely the sort of injury which called for spells. Many broken bones did not. There were many ways a bone could break, quite a bit of variety. In some cases, the bone broke but held together, and then – perhaps one might use quantitative conversation to check the progress of the healing. Broken ribs, for example; The mona could be used to knit them back together, but unless there was some other pressing need for it, most would let them heal on their own. A limb would, naturally, need to be immobilized, even with the simplest break.

But Constable Lorcan’s leg was shattered; from Kipperling’s report, the thigh bone was broken in several places, not just the obvious one, and he had broken other bones throughout. Niccolette had not seen the notes herself, but she had gathered from the conversation that the fracture of the tibia might heal itself with a cast and immobilization, as the rest of the leg healed. The femur was the main concern; it needed to be set, and quickly. Sy’rien would, Niccolette imagined, use the mona to draw the bone back through the skin, to bring the pieces together, and start the healing process just enough to hold them in place. Perhaps he was capable of casting a spell strong enough to heal the leg back to full strength, but no competent surgeon would waste himself so.

Whatever else he was, Niccolette thought, she did not doubt that Sy’rien was a competent surgeon.

They walked down the narrow hall, over crisp clean wooden floors, pale lantern light flickering from the walls. There was a bustling, even at this hour, doctors and nurses and attendants alike moving from place to place. Niccolette brought Evandria along behind Lorcan’s bed, just keeping them insight, until they reached a wide corridor with three rooms leading off it on each side. They were set apart from one another, staggered, with benches here and there against the walls. Even from outside, there was a heavy sense of mona in the air, the memory of operation after operation – a faint tingling of clairvoyant mona, Niccolette thought curiously, her eyes lingering on the surgery room doors. Each had a large metal number set against the front of it, one through six.

“Here,” The Bastian sat on the long wooden benches against the wall opposite the third door, the one that they had taken Lorcan through. She shrugged. “Dr. Palevi did not tell me where to take you, so,” she glanced slightly sideways at Evandria, and offered her the faintest of grins. “Here, you shall not have to wait for the news.” She reached out, and, without the slightest hesitation at the blood on the Seventen’s hands, squeezed Evandria’s hand lightly. It was the other woman's face, Niccolette thought, and the pulse of something like sympathy in her chest ached.

Then the Bastian turned her attention back to the surgery room doors, watching curiously. Sy’rien and the two humans had gone inside; another nurse followed them in, and a second doctor, with a pinched, tired look on her face, masses of curly red hair pulled back in a bun. Dr. Demarcy, Niccolette supposed. The Bastian leaned forward slightly, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side at the feel of the woman’s field against her own.

Then, lips faintly pursed, Niccolette sat back against the bench, and waited, shifting to find a little more comfort against the hard wood. Her hands folded in her lap one more, and she ran her right thumb slowly over the ring on her left hand, easing it gently back and forth. The Living Conversationalist's ramscott was indectal, free of any weighty emotions, free of anything but the calm organization of her powerful field, the sharp bright feeling of the living mona that held in the air around her.

“You are Patrol Division?” Niccolette asked curiously, glancing at the Seventen once more. She caprised the other woman, gently, politely, like one might greeting any new galdor.

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Evandria Sericks
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Thu Oct 10, 2019 10:05 am

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Lorcan’s fall replayed over and over again in her head. If only time could turn back… There were a million things that she could change to avoid this outcome. Waiting for reinforcements to arrive before chasing after the man. Preparing a spell before encountering a man who was more than likely to carry a gun with him. Realized what was happening earlier. Casting a spell faster to cushion his fall. Her mind kept whirling as she followed Niccolette’s lead

“Thank you,” the sergeant said gratefully, giving the woman a small smile as she sat on the bench.

As more people pass them by to enter the room, the apprehension was building up in her system. She was dying to know what was going on inside. She needed to know that they were truly doing their best to help him. A major part of her wanted to stand up and burst through those doors and insist to stay on Lorcan’s side. But of course, that was a most terrible idea so she focused at the Bastian and her field’s greeting.

Niccolette’s calm aura was a reminder that she should get herself together. It was a rare sight to see the sergeant so upset. After all, the Hoxian had made quite the effort to make people believe that nothing can faze her. Even Ensign Therrin – who had been in her squad the longest after Lorcan – had been slightly taken aback when she had argued heatedly with the medics about which hospital they were heading to.

With a deep breath, Evandria settled back into her usual persona. Her field was robust, rippling slightly from the residue of the physical spells she had used just a while ago. There were perhaps the faintest hints of her turmoil, but she hoped that they would be indiscernible by the casual observer.

She nodded at the Bastian’s question, leaning back against the cool wall. “Squad Sergeant Evandria Sericks, at your service.” Sometimes, Evandria wondered if she had made the right decision to stay in Anaxas and become a Seventen. She had been so sure, at first. She fought tooth and nail to climb through the ranks, yet even now she was no closer to doing what she wanted. “Not the most glamorous of jobs, but I do get a fancy ride out of it.”

“And you?” Evandria asked in return, watching how the woman played with her ring. She looked down at her own hands... Maybe she should find some place to clean up. “I am assuming you are a doctor here? Shouldn’t you be inside, instead being stuck here with me?”
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Thu Oct 10, 2019 2:34 pm

Evening, 26th Yaris, 2719
Grand Mercy Hospital, Vienda
Niccolette gave a delicate little shudder. “Those chroves!” She said, grinning a little more. “They are quite frightening, I think,” she meant it lightly, although it was not entirely untrue.

“No,” Niccolette shook her head in response to Evandria’s question. “I am not a doctor,” she shifted again against the hard bench. “Just volunteering while spending some time in Vienda. I am to assist, in whatever way is… offered me.” Niccolette shrugged a little, glancing at the door to the surgery room opposite them. She let go of the ring on her hand.

“I think – ” Niccolette began, and then froze, eyes widening slightly.

There was a rippling of clairvoyant mona in the air around them, a cool, eerie feeling that whisked through both galdori’s fields, and then a rush of energy towards the operating room across from them, and a sharp cry drifted from the door.

Niccolette rose without hesitation and crossed the hall, opening the door.

Inside, wards etched into the floor and wall were glowing faintly blue – Dr. Demarcy was kneeling in the middle of a circle that glowed so bright the energy was visible from the hallway, groaning, vomit splattered on the floor in front of it. She was gasping for breath, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

There were two nurses inside, both staring at her, and Dr. Palevi was grimacing, his face twisted with fury, standing in the midst of a glowing blue circle of his own, just next to Lorcan’s left leg. His gaze snapped up at the sight of Niccolette in the doorway, and the anger vanished, disappearing beneath a calm façade.

“Demarcy, are you all right?” Sy’rien asked. He didn’t move from his circle, holding there. Niccolette could feel his field, but not Demarcy’s, and it was obvious that the Anaxi had backlashed, and rather badly.

Demarcy just groaned, still shaking in the middle of the blue energy.

Niccolette had, of course, read about the surgery wards at Grand Mercy; she had done her research, after all, and the triumphant collaboration of clairvoyant, quantitative and living doctors to set up plots that would contain backlash to the caster had been well-documented. It was one thing to read of them and another thing entirely to see them, and Niccolette’s eyes were slightly wide.

“Prosper, get her outside,” Sy’rien said. One of the nurses rushed forward, helping Dr. Demarcy to stand; she leaned heavily on him, dragging as they stumbled from the room. Prosper settled the vomit-stained doctor onto the wooden bench, shot a quick and startled glance at Evandria, and made to go back into the surgery room, standing in the doorway with the door open.

“Who should I get, Doctor?” Prosper asked, hovering.

“Dr. Oppertene,” Sy’rien said, decisively. “If you would be so kind – ”

“Doctor, I'm sorry - He’s not in today,” The other nurse offered. He glanced wide-eyed at the Seventen lying still unconscious on the table, breathing weakly, blood still flowing steadily from his leg.

"Clocking - " Sy'rien grimaced, visibly thinking.

“I can do it,” Niccolette offered. She had stepped into the room to let Demarcy and Prosper out, and she held there now, her hands folded against her seagreen dress. “For this, I think Enoula’s fourth, yes?”

Sy’rien turned to her, his jaw clenching tightly. “… all right,” he said, slowly. “All right. How long can you upkeep it?”

Niccolette shrugged. “Several minutes, at least.”

“… minutes?” Prosper whispered from the doorway, wide-eyed.

Sy’rien shot an annoyed glance at the nurse, then took a deep breath and nodded. “All right. Target the leg only. Whenever you’re ready, Nicco,” there was a sharp impatience in his voice, though his field was still sigiled and indectal.

Niccolette glanced around, lifted her skirt in her hands to step around the pile of vomit, and took her place in another of the blue circles. The energy was fading with Demarcy removed from the room, but it still washed ghostly over her pale ankles, trickling up her skirt as she lowered it once more.

The Bastian began to cast, unhesitatingly, the long-since memorized spell filling the air. Her ramscott waxed etheric, hazy energy rising into the air around her, and streaming into Constable Lorcan’s leg. Enoula’s fourth was a complex anesthesia spell, cutting off all sensation in the targeted area; it was easier to upkeep than a full body anesthesia spell or one which required unconsciousness, and less dangerous for the target; with Lorcan already unconscious, Niccolette had thought the targeted spell best.

She curled it neatly and held, standing silent.

Sy’rien began to cast without hesitation; Niccolette felt his spell wrapping through hers. She held the upkeep of her spell without trouble, watching as Sy’rien called on the mona – watching as the sliver of thighbone slid back inside Lorcan’s leg, as the misshapen wreck of it his thigh became a leg again before her eyes. She could hear Sy’rien tempering the spell, carefully, guiding the process of healing along just enough to hold the femur in place.

Sy’rien curled, then, and turned to Niccolette. “Still?” He asked.

The Bastian inclined her head, gently. Her field still held etheric, that haziness still seeping steadily from her field to coat Lorcan’s leg.

The Hessean turned back to Lorcan and began to cast again, a spell targeting the broken heel this time, coaxing the bones of it to knit back together – holding them, too, in place with the faintest beginning of healing, just the very beginning of a growth spell. He curled that too, and exhaled, grinning broadly. “Still?” He asked her.

Niccolette nodded again, and shrugged her shoulders, very slightly. The effort of the spell was starting to weigh on her, but it was only the faintest of aches; she knew she could hold it still longer, if need be.

Sy’rien stepped forward from the circle, sharp polished shoes clicking against the floor, and set to work stitching up the leg, quick, neat and precise, closing the bloody wound on Lorcan’s thigh with tools already laid out on a small metal table next to the bed. Only once he had tied the last knot did Niccolette released her spell.

“Well,” Sy’rien said, after a moment, stepping back from the still-unconscious Seventen. “I suppose you might be of some use,” he grinned at Niccolette.

Niccolette shrugged, exhaling, and grinned as well.

Sy’rien turned to the nurses, and gave them instructions, crisp and clear. Once he was done, he went to leave the operating room. Niccolette stepped out of her own circle, lifting her skirt again, and followed Sy’rien back outside.

Sy’rien paused in the hallway at the sight of Evandria, jerking slightly, then bowed to her. He gave Niccolette a sharp glance, but there was too much relief on his face, and he grinned again. “It went well, Sergeant,” Sy’rien said. “Constable Lorcan will have a long recovery, but there’s no reason it shouldn’t be a full one.”

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Rolls
Severity of Demarcy's backlash: SidekickBOTToday at 10:51 AM
@moralhazard: 1d6 = (1) = 1
Anesthesia spell: SidekickBOTToday at 10:51 AM
@moralhazard: 1d6 = (5) = 5
Anesthesia spell upkeep: SidekickBOTToday at 11:22 AM
@moralhazard: 1d6 = (6) = 6
word count: 1258
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Evandria Sericks
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Sat Oct 12, 2019 6:56 am

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The mona rushing towards Lorcan’s operating room… Evandria felt it too. But unlike Niccolette, she had no idea what it meant. Most likely nothing good. The Bastian’s face and reaction confirmed her suspicions. Through the open door, she could see her constable laid out on the table with a woman shaking and lying on the ground. Evandria had seen and experienced enough backlash to recognize one.

She leapt from her seat just as the nurses began hauling the female doctor out. “What is happening?” she demanded, but the nurse merely spared her a glance before returning to the doorway to speak to the people inside. Frustration flared in her chest, but Evandria made herself walk calmly to the door. She tried to look past the nurse. “What went wro–”

Lorcan was still unmoving, his even paler than before he had begun the surgery. Blood. So much blood was still spilling out of him. The look on Dr. Palevi’s face made her heart stop and she could only watch their exchange in silence. The sergeant surged through the door… but stopped herself just as one of her boots stepped inside the operating theatre. She was no doctor. There was nothing she could do that would even help. Before she knew it, a nurse stood between her and the room, pushing her out gently but also firmly.

Evandria gritted her teeth, but let herself be backed up. Her dark eyes glistened, her field flexing and pulsing viciously. “I will once you tell me what clocking happened inside there.” She didn’t even bother raising her voice, not when her restless field should be enough to convey exactly what she wanted.

The nurse faltered for brief moment before speaking in calm words, “I can assure the situation is under control now, sergeant. Your associate is in good hands. You may wait here if you’d like, but please do not interrupt the surgery. It is a delicate operation, after all.” Not giving her any time to protest, the nurse turned attention to the passed-out galdor, trying to rouse her.

“Clock it,” Evandria cursed under her breath as she began pacing anxiously. It could have been a minute or an eternity, she could not tell. They said they could fix him, but if it was the surgery itself that went wrong… Perhaps she should force her way in to make sure everything was truly under control know. She would not get in the way. She just needed to make sure he was–

“Sericks!” As the sergeant turned her head, she was greeted by the sight of Emric Leverenz jogging towards her. He was still clothed in his uniform, carrying a small bag on his back. If he was already here, no doubt that the entire HQ had already heard what happened. “You look like crap. Are you–” As soon as he studied her face, the lightheartedness in his mannerism vanished. “What happened?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her bottom lip began quivering and so she pressed them together to hide it from the inspector. “I really don’t know.”

The inspector suddenly grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. It was not often that she saw him so serious, so sincere. “Lorcan will be fine. He is a tough bastard, we both know that.” All she could offer him was a nod in reply.

Emric studied her as she continued to pace. She could feel the weight of his gaze as he sat down in silence. Thankfully, he refrained himself from asking any questions. Evandria wasn’t sure that she had the energy to explain everything that had happened. The HQ must have sent him here to investigate the incident. Gods, could they not at least wait until Lorcan had come out of surgery before sending over?

It felt like hours had passed by before the door finally swung open again. The two galdori exited and almost seem startled to see her there. She walked up to them, Emric close behind her. Evandria didn’t even realize she had been holding her breath until the doctor began to speak.

“Constable Lorcan will have a long recovery, but there’s no reason it shouldn’t be a full one.”

Her knees nearly buckled under her as she heard the doctor’s words. Probably would have stumbled if it wasn’t for Emric’s steadying hand on her back. Lorcan would live. He would be alright. It took a few seconds before she mustered up her voice. “I… Thank you, Dr. Palevi.” She turned to the woman in the green dress beside him. Had she not been there to assist with the surgery… She did not even want to imagine it. “And you too, Mrs. Ibutatu.”

“How long will it take for him to recover?” Emric’s voice suddenly came from behind her. His blue eyes flicked towards Niccolette in recognition before settling back on Dr. Palevi.
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Sun Oct 13, 2019 8:12 am

Evening, 26th Yaris, 2719
Grand Mercy Hospital, Vienda
Niccolette was still thinking about the spell, and the Sergeant’s gratitude was something of a surprise. Niccolette raised her eyebrows lightly, meeting Evandria’s eyes, and then inclined her head instead of shrugging, as it had been her first inclination to do.

There was much to think about. It was always hard to let someone else layer their cast on top of yours, but Niccolette was well-experienced in such matters. Naturally, one practiced at school; one practiced in their practicum also, as a living conversationalist, and so of course she had had experience with such matters from the Brunnhold Hospital.

And yet those were a long time ago, and despite the strength of Niccolette’s memory, strong by inclination, trained by her schooling and well-honed ever since, they had - faded somewhat.

No, it was Uzoji she thought of, when she thought of casting with another. Her spells, tangling with him - sending him adrenaline, lighting up his eyes to see in the dark, lending him speed or strength or whatever else he needed to fly - and feeling his field spark around hers, the heady rush of static mona at his command, or the sudden weight of a static spell.

It was not so difficult to let another galdor cast without releasing one’s spell, but there was a trick to it also, especially for a sustained, strong cast. If you held too tight, it would make it harder for the other to get purchase, to be heard by the mona; too loose, and you risked the sweeping away of your upkeep altogether. There was a delicate current to follow, and she and her husband had learned to find it together.

And now, casting alongside Sy’rien?

Niccolette had not let herself think about it before. Would the idea have repulsed her more than the act? No, she thought; no. For all the parallels, for how easy they were to slip into, she knew the difference. This was casting, nothing more, and nothing less - never anything less. Perhaps the less mattered more than the more; she could not take the tangled mess of emotions in her chest to the mona in cast.

It had been surprisingly easy, and she still felt strong. The upkeep had not weighed on her so much as it might have; at the end, she felt as if she could have had the bright pulse of the spell even longer. She knew now that she could cast again, if need be; she was not spent. And Sy’rien’s spell had woven deftly within hers, with all the delicate precision of the surgeon he was. They had made something together, and Niccolette could dislike the man while still reveling in the glory of it.

Gratitude, though - she had forgotten about it. It weighed on her more than it had in Brunnhold; she felt an odd, uneasy sense of obligation, and she did not care for it in the slightest. It was only, Niccolette decided, that she had so recently reconnected with Rhys; it was nothing to do with Lorcan in his uneasy sleep in the surgery room, nor with the aching pain she had seen writ across Evandria’s face.

“Sir,” Sy’rien was bowing to Emric - Emric Leverenz!, Niccolette thought, with a sharp, private flare of amusement. “I’ll know more after a post-surgery diagnosis tomorrow,” Sy’rien explained. “I expect he’ll need to keep his weight off the leg at least six weeks, and after that he’ll be able to begin the process of building strength in it once more.”

Two humans slid behind the galdori into the room, and emerged with Lorcan on the rolling bed. The galdor was shifting uneasily in his sleep, but his leg was whole again - was shaped, once more, like a leg. The blood was gone from the skin of it, with only a row of neat stitches to show where bone had once jutted out into the air.

Niccolette watched him go past them, curiously. She could see the pulse fluttering in his neck - steady and even, stronger than it had been before they began. She must have missed a stabilizing spell, Niccolette decided, with a faint feeling of disappointment; it would have been interesting to see. But then, she thought, she doubted Sy’rien would keep her out of the surgery room for too much longer.

“It’s best to let him rest alone now,” Sy’rien said, and bowed again. “If you have any other questions, inspector, might I offer you and Sergeant Sericks both a cup of tea in our cafeteria?” He smiled at Evandria, no more visibly tired than he had been before the surgery. The air was full of bright living mona, vibrant, the indectal ramscotts still charged from their spellwork - Niccolette’s, to the other galdori, noticeably stronger than Sy’rien’s.

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Evandria Sericks
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Mon Oct 14, 2019 7:38 am

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At the doctor’s suggestion, Evandria nodded and offered him a grateful smile. The worst part was over, but Lorcan’s journey to recovery would be a long – and she wanted to prepare for it the best that we could. After all, they only had each other. “Yes, that sounds like a lovely idea.”

Her eyes trailed after Lorcan as two men wheeled him away. He looked pale, but he wasn’t bleeding anymore and his leg looked significantly better. Still, the worry nagged at her. She turned to look at Emric, then back at the two healers in front of them. “Actually, perhaps you can excuse me for a moment.” She raised her blood-crusted fingers for them to see. “I will find some place to clean up. It will only a moment. I am sure I can find the cafeteria on my own.”

Not really waiting for any sort of response, the Hoxian turned on her heels and began walking away – only to be called back by Emric’s deep voice. She turned only to see his bag flying towards her. Her hands reflexively grabbed it as she raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. “Clothes. You’ll give the visitors a heart attack walking around with a bloodied uniform.”

Evandria had half the mind to give him a smart but restrained herself, settling for an eyeroll. It should do her good – a bit of a wash and a change. Her uniform already felt uncomfortably damp, but she had managed to ignore it until now.

Not to mention, perhaps she could afford a bit of a detour before heading to the cafeteria.


Tonight had been full of surprises.

The moment Emric Leverenz had heard the news of Lorcan’s fall, he had thought of Eva. Even back during their training years, the two had been inseparable. He knew that she would take it hard and he was right. Still, it was a surprise to find the young woman so frazzled, so unlike herself. Emric had never thought of Evandria Sericks as fragile but at that moment he did. The second surprise was to find a pair of hazel eyes that were oh-so familiar. Niccolette Villamarzana. He would have never imagined encountering one of his past flames in a manner like this.

After watching the sergeant go, Emric turned his attention to Niccolette, her field practically pulsing with energy. He had not missed the fact that Eva had called her Mrs. Ibutatu. The inspector had no idea that she had married – but then again the last long conversation he had with her had involved far too much yelling. The name was unfamiliar too, so perhaps her husband was not anyone they knew from Brunnhold. He gave her a grin. “It is good to see you, Nic. It had been some time, hasn’t it?”

The sight of the Bastian certainly brought a rush of memories, things he hadn’t thought about in a long time. While admittedly, he did perhaps have far too many partners during his time in Brunnhold, but there was no doubt Niccolette was one of the few that he would never forget. It was rather amusing that he thought about it. As far as he could tell, no other girl broke up with him by throwing textbooks and paperweights at his head, after all.

“Shall we then?” he asked politely, gesturing at the two healers to lead the way.

Eva would certainly be pissed if they discussed the details of Lorcan’s treatment plan without her, so Emric decided to keep it basic as they walked. The HQ was already concerned about what it would mean for the Hoxian’s squad. An injured constable meant a replacement was needed. Though, somehow he knew that bringing it up might acquire him a particularly piercing glare from a certain raven-haired Seventen. “I am assuming that building the strength of his leg would be no easy task. Will it take more than a season for him to be fit for duty again?”[/googlefont]
Last edited by Evandria Sericks on Tue Oct 15, 2019 1:28 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 682
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Niccolette Ibutatu
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Tue Oct 15, 2019 1:14 am

Evening, 26th Yaris, 2719
Grand Mercy Hospital, Vienda
Down the hall, the next surgery was starting; an older-looking galdor was being wheeled into one of the surgery rooms, irascibly berating the two humans for their incompetence, while three white-coated galdori hurried behind, the hum of their low-voiced discussion inaudible over the rest of the commotion.

“Of course,” Sy’rien bowed to Evandria. “If you have any trouble finding us, please ask for instructions to the Surgeon’s cafeteria.”

Niccolette glanced curiously at the open door nearby, feeling the tug of the mona in her field as one of the white coated doctors chanted just inside the open door, activating the wards; as she watched, circles around all three doctors began to glow, pale blue.

It was, Niccolette thought, fascinating. In an airship, such a system would –

Emric turned to her. Niccolette lifted her gaze to the Inspector and raised her eyebrows. “Quite some time,” she agreed, with a little smile that came easily enough. She rather thought the last time she had seen him was when he had shouted down the hallway that she was a crazy bitch as she had strode away from breaking up with him, but - perhaps they had met once or twice since then? Certainly it was the last time they had truly spoken.

“This way,” Sy’rien said, and led the other two down the long hallway; the Hessean walked quickly and purposefully even heading to the cafeteria, and Niccolette had to hurry slightly to keep up, sweeping up the long skirt of her dress in her hand.

Even Emric’s question did not slow him down, not appreciably. “Likely,” Sy’rien said. “It’s all rather preliminary at this stage. Usual prognosis for a leg this severe might be three seasons before we’d be comfortable authorizing him to be fit for street patrol, but the Constable’s in excellent shape – it could be closer to two. Pain management is a key facet of the recovery process; we’ve found the body to be much better at healing itself when not distracted by the discomfort.”

Sy’rien stopped in front of a large, wooden paneled door, and opened it. Inside was a large, comfortable looking room, with several clusters of armchairs and end tables in one half of the room, and several large round tables on the other end. There was a small cluster of white-coated doctors at one, eating what looked like dinner and discussing something low-voiced.

“Sit, here,” Sy’rien said, with a smile, gesturing to the chairs. “I’ll not get too ahead of myself before Sergeant Sericks has rejoined us.”

Niccolette sat in one of the armchairs, crossing her legs at the ankle, her hands settling in her lap.

A human woman came out to the three of them, curtsying. Sy’rien ordered tea, low-voiced, and glanced at Niccolette and Emric. “Anything to eat?” He asked.

“Yes,” Niccolette said, surprising herself; she had not thought she was hungry. "Something small, I think."

Sy’rien would finish the order once he had heard from Emric, and the human curtsied again, and made her way back to the door at the other end of the room and the small kitchen beyond.

“How do you two know each other?” Sy’rien asked Niccolette.

“Emric was in our year at Brunnhold,” Niccolette said. “You have not met before?” She glanced between the two of them.

“I don’t believe so,” Sy’rien said.

“I shall make the introductions then,” Niccolette said, easily. “Inspector, is it?” She asked Emric. “Inspector Emric Leverenz, please meet Dr. Sy’rien Palevi,” she gestured lightly between them.

“A pleasure,” Sy’rien said, easily, and managed a neat seated bow. He glanced back at Niccolette, the edge of a glance, looked back at Emric. “Did you know Uzoji as well?” He asked, casually, his fingers drumming lightly against the arm of his chair. He smiled.

Niccolette held still, very still, and she smiled as well.

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