A Feeling of Warmth (Orion)

[Basha'ir]

Summer 52, 512 AV

The day was sweltering, and the air felt like a moist , heavy towel on Basha’ir’s skin. Her light, flowing garments stuck to her in an uncomfortable and unflattering way, and it seemed each breath was like sucking a ladle of warm soup into her chest. As she pushed the embroidery needle through the gauzy fabric of a head scarf she was crafting, she thought of Ravok, and its cool, dry summer breezes. There was very little that she missed about that dark city. But there was little to love about her new home either, especially the hot weather. Of course, being locked in a set of rooms that seemed no bigger than a rabbit’s burrow didn’t allow her to gain much of an appreciation for Syliras. What she had seen of the city, though, led her to believe all of it was very much the same, with its twisting, turning, dim corridors and all the people endlessly shuffling through them. Theodoric had told her how amazing a structure it was. Basha’ir thought it would be a great place to live, if in fact she was a rabbit. Otherwise, it was, to her, just another set of locked doors and this time, not even a window to gaze out of…and dream.

It all seemed quite different when she was in his arms. Then the world about them seemed perfect, and his love for his city became her own. But each morning when he left her, the sadness would seep back into her bones. The hours until his return would stretch out seemingly without end, and she would try to find ways to occupy herself, with varying degrees of success. Trying to cook was one of those endeavors, and this was why she now sat, patiently awaiting the arrival of a doctor, trying to use her stitchery to keep her mind off both the uncomfortable warmth and the pain in her foot. Earlier, she had been preparing a dish she remembered from her childhood years, one she had often made for her master in Ahnatep. But she had been clumsy and the hot oil from the pan had splashed down and burnt the top of her foot, at the base of her toes. Theodoric had been upset with her, angry that she would hurt herself, and she had assured him it was fine and that she would be alright. But even by the time he was getting ready to leave for his place of business, there were bright red blisters filling with liquid popped up over a good third of her right foot. In a surly tone he had said he would try to locate a healer and send them to her. He didn’t have time to take her to find one, and he didn’t really wish for her to leave her rooms in any case. It was just too distracting for her, and this city was so crowded with citizens, refugees from the storm and those come to help rebuild that there was little chance that she could negotiate the corridors and streets without brushing against more than a few of them. So, reluctantly, he had given his orders to the woman who acted as general house servant to him, telling her to let the healer in once that person arrived, and to keep an eye on whoever it turned out to be. The elderly woman had looked at him quizzically, and asked what exactly that meant. Theodoric had only growled and said, “Keep an eye on her,” nodding fiercely at Basha’ir.

At the sound of the knock on the outer door to the apartment, Bsah’ir set her embroidery down in her lap and looked up expectantly. She was calm but also a bit uplifted, to think about meeting someone new. She rarely got to speak to anyone outside of these small rooms. Even if it was only a healer, she’d be happy just to hear a new voice, look upon a new face.

She did hear the elderly servant open the door and usher the person in and she heard the words in response that indicated the healer was male. Leaning forward slightly, wishing the room was not as stuffy as it was, she shifted on the upholstered bench, wiggling her shoulders to try to unstick the fine turquoise cloth of her dress from her back.

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 52, 512 AV He didn't know it yet, but this was going to be a day unlike anything Orion had experienced before. It had started off strangely enough when a rather rotund, aging man approached him, requesting his expertise in the living areas of the great keep. The greying man stirred an ill feeling from Orion, but when he informed him that his ward was suffering from a burn, he pushed his worries aside. Orion frowned as the man explained it had happened earlier that morning and the foot was developing blisters. This would be his first house call, but he didn't think the man realized how serious this could be. Eagerly accepting the man's offer, had rushed off to gather his supplies and get there quickly as possible. Arriving at the given location, kit in hand, Orion knocked on the door. Blistering? And the man took his sweet time. People don't know anything. He shook his head, waiting patiently for whoever would answer. He had hoped sorely it wasn't the fat man. Relieved as the elderly servant opened the door, he introduced himself. "I'm Dr. Orion Michaels. I believe my presence was requested." The woman greeted him ushered him into the room. "If you could direct me to the patient, I would like to begin treatment immediately." The servant directed him to where she sat. The doctor made his way over to her, and as his gaze rested on her, he stopped in his tracks. Gritting his teeth, Orion looked down and balled up his fists for a moment. Of course she's attractive. Of course. He would have to be good. It was one of the only promises to himself he'd keep to himself. Never make passes at patients. If he only he could be someone else for a day. Gathering himself, he smiled at the young woman and walked over to her, setting his bag by his feet. In a gently and calm voice, he began. "I've been sent to care for you. I'm Orion. Let's take care of that burn for you, okay?" He extended an offer for a handshake. There's no rules for afterwards, right? I've really got to heal this girl.

[Basha'ir]

Oh dear. And there it was. The young man’s hand was extended towards her, a normal, everyday, polite way of greeting that was not anything to worry over, for most people. But it didn’t matter, Basha’ir thought to herself, as she looked at those long, well shaped fingers, considering for just the briefest moment. It wasn’t as if he could treat her foot without examining it first. And he could hardly examine it if he didn’t touch it right? And once that happened…

With a small sigh, Basha’ir nodded and gave him a polite smile, taking the proffered hand in hers. As soon as her skin touched his, she felt so clearly within herself the two things that fought for supremacy in this young man’s heart, and mind, and body. They warred with each other, and Basha’ir might have found it amusing, if she had been more of an outsider, looking in. But no, she felt it as keenly as he did, the physical attraction, and potential desire, juxtaposed against the innate compulsion to heal. He wanted to help her. She felt his compassion and his professional drive to treat her, as a patient. Yet behind that was the more animalistic drive, that which compelled all beings to seek out the opposite sex and create life, though it was masked and layered with any number of complex social pressures and mores and constraints. And almost instantaneously with her touch upon his skin, with the knowing of what he wanted, looking at her, she too wished for the same things.

Beyond her own natural desire to have her foot treated and the pain relieved, she felt a stronger urge that he be the one to succor her, to play hero to her injury and to devise some soothing and healing. She wanted to facilitate that, and grant him that ability to be the caretaker, the tender, to make him feel knowledgeable and competent. At the same time, she looked at him, wondering what he was like, in a moment of pure passion, wanting to know him, in an intimate, physical way. Wanting…him.

By Nikali’s tits, what a pain in the ass this all was.

Having to focus on the matter at hand, Basha’ir gave a mental shove to her psyche, and tried to contain the warmth that his hand in hers was quickly igniting in various parts of her body. Having a visitor, at least one that brought such contact with him, was a very, very mixed blessing.

“My name is Basha’ir,” she said in a quiet, melodious voice. “I’m pleased to meet you, Orion.” Her tone was only polite, whatever was going on inside of her. She released his hand and felt some relief, though it was not an instantaneous one. Sticking her burnt foot forward a few inches, she asked, “Is this OK, on the floor? Or would you like for me to rest it on the bench?” With a gracious movement of her hand she indicted the spot beside her. “Or would you like to sit, here?” There was a low foot stool beside it and she nodded to it. “Or there? Just, please, tell me what to do to make this easiest for you.”

She bestowed another warm smile on him, waiting to see what his preference would be, thinking that, if she had kept a hold of his hand, she'd already know.

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 52, 512 AV "Basha'ir. Basha'ir." He repeated it a few times, digesting it, getting a feel for the foreign name and it's pronunciation. He never quite said it the same any time. "Basha'ir. Let's take a look at your foot." Now was the time he must push his thoughts aside and work. It could be quite distracting, he realized, and in this situation, her injury was a minor blessing. A burn was a sobering thing. "I'm impressed with how well you hold yourself. Something like this would have me crying like a baby, I'm sure." He gave her a reassuring smile. It was true, too. Let's see. Blisters, but they're clear. A little deeper than superficial, but she should be okay. Thank goodness. "First things first, Basha'ir, I'll go ahead and have you stay on the bench." He pulled a small box out of his medical bag and wrapped it with some plain cloth for padding. "I appreciate your concern for me, but I'm not the injured one. If you don't mind." He flashed her a grin as he lifted her leg gently to place the box underneath it. 'A serious injury and yet, she's so sweet. A temptress, I'm sure of it. The war in his head continued, but he remained professional on the outside, with the exception of an occasional glance. "This will help keep pressure off of the injury, which should start to ease the pain. Why don't you explain to me what happened?" Orion continued digging in his bag, pulling out a small glass container which appeared to contain a thick opaque salve of some sort. After he set that aside, the young man pulled a water skin and poured some of the liquid on a clean cloth before offering the container to her. "Drink. Doctor's orders. You need to replenish fluids, it will help the healing. I wish the fat ma....errmmm..I mean, the man who sent for me would have acted sooner. You'll be fine, but when it comes to burns, the sooner a doctor like me can act, the better." He blushed slightly at nearly insulting the man who was surely a father figure to her. I would take care of you, Basha'ir. He took a deep breath before continuing to address her. "Now this is probably going to hurt. I need to reduce the heat, I can still feel it radiating off your burn. If it hurts too much, let me know, squeeze my hand, whatever you need. I'm here for you, okay?" He placed his hand on her shin to hold her steady and placed the cool cloth on her foot, likely sending pain rippling throughout her body. I'm sorry..Please stay strong He knew it would help her in the long run, but there was very little he could do to deal with the pain until he had treated her as fully as he could. As he held the cloth there, he looked up at her face, trying to smile.

[Basha'ir]

She sensed the continuing conflict within the young physician, as he examined the burns and began to explain what he intended to do. That was considerate, she thought, to let the victim know before the pain was inflicted. Then he was touching her again, lifting her foot to set it gently on the now padded box, and his desire coursed through her all over again. She watched him with her deep green eyes, softened by the warmth she felt rising in her blood, knowing that he was denying himself, for the sake of his more pressing wish to treat her foot. He was trying anyway, though she felt the pulse of his interest as surely as she felt the beating of her own heart. But when he asked for an explanation of how she sustained her injury, she complied, once again shoving aside all that was tumbling about internally.

She laughed softly, a delightful, tinkling sound like a little bell chiming. “Oh, I was clumsy. I was cooking my… guardian some breakfast.” Basha’ir stumbled over the word, being unused to referring to Theodoric as anything other than master. “It was aubergine, fried in olive oil, with capers and little peppers.” She shrugged in a self-deprecating manner. “I wasn’t paying attention, and the pan tipped and, well…” Looking down at the young physician, she smiled sweetly. “Some of the oil went on my foot. I wasn’t wearing any shoes. It’s so hot you know, even early in the morning.”

Orion had released her foot by this point and once more the pressing need inside her ebbed. She watched him curiously, and listened, grinning to herself when she heard him catch himself, as he almost called Theordoric fat. He was fat, and grey, and not handsome. But what did it really matter? A slave could not choose her owner, and she had been with one or two better looking ones and they seemed more cruel than the rest. At least Theodoric was nicer more often than he was unkind.

She took the water and drank obediently, enjoying the faint rise of color in his cheeks. This one was good looking, and strong, inside. He was doing a good job of staying focused on his professional task, and that was admirable. Of course, she too was trying hard to restrain herself. It was easier when his skin wasn’t on hers. If she had really been trying, the allure of Ranuri, her skill at hypnotism, his own lust, she could have him turning himself inside out and upside down with want. But obviously, she would never do that, not to one who was being both kind and caring.

His hand on her shin sent a new surge of feelings coursing through her veins. Oh, this was hard. But more than anything, in that moment, he wanted her to saty strong and bear the sting of the cloth and the water. Biting down on her lower lip, she nodded, trying to smile past the discomfort.

Her hand did flutter to his shoulder, the cloth of his clothing buffering the sensations that she could still feel clearly through his fingers. And in that moment, she felt another undercurrent, running deeper than his wish to help her heal, for her to be strong, his desire for her body. Her eyes opened wider and she looked at him, surprised, but not that surprised. For who in their life had not experienced loss, and who did not desire, deeply desire, a cessation of the pain that loss left behind in its wake?

And suddenly, she desired nothing more than to be the balm for his aching soul.

Her eyes dropped from his face, and she murmured, “You are very kind, very gentle. There must be many who have felt and appreciated your touch… and your skill, of course.”

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 52, 512 AV "An oil burn." He frowned, motioning for the elderly servant to come over. "Please, fetch me a basin of water. I think it best to submerge the foot. This cloth will do little at this point." How could she possibly laugh now, he wondered. The pain was surely excruciating. She was probably putting on a strong face because he was there. Or was there more...? He bit his lower lip at the thought before shaking his head and stumbling through another sentence. "I-I fancy myself a bit of an amateur cook, so I've had my burns. But nothing like this." She fascinated him. Her demenor, her allure. Something was so surreal about this woman. Her eyes, her skin, her lips. He briefly wondered when he'd become this way. A man once so in control of each of his thoughts, now nothing more than a slave to the desires and wants of his body. He wasn't unhappy with that fact, but Orion still knew it was different from who he once was. His piercing blue eyes screamed with internal struggle. If he gained a reputation as a physician who went after patients, well, he'd be better off to offer other services at the bathhouse. He wasn't to that point. But why do I struggle so? “You are very kind, very gentle. There must be many who have felt and appreciated your touch… and your skill, of course.” He froze for an instant as she asked her question, his heart aching. Lyla. Thoughts of lost love flooded his thoughts for a moment. He blushed slightly, turning his gaze away. "Uh, thank you, Basha'ir. Your kind words humble me." Evading any underlying meaning in her words, he spoke. "I'm a doctor, after all. I've helped with so many cuts and other injuries, I couldn't begin to give a number." Lyla? Why does she make me think of her? He sighed. Oh to want what you can't have, right Orion? Was that of Lyla, or the beauty before him, he wondered. It was a feeling of his own, and yet even he didn't know. His mind a jumbled mess, Orion was doing what he could to push thoughts of Lyla out of his head, to replace her with anything. All of his plans and desires for the now and for the evening. Bashia'ir. Cooking. That annoying itch on his face. Basha'ir. The heavy drinking he was sure to do that night. Bashia'ir. His weakness. Basha'ir. "Please excuse me. I'm going to check on that basin of water." Orion stood, finally removing his hand from her shin, and turned away from the woman before him. "Please, relax," he said. "Everything is going to be okay." He knew he wasn't speaking to her.

[Basha'ir]

There she was. Basha’ir felt her, just as if the girl was there, right before her, within him, Orion. His need almost knocked her off her seat, and that was one she knew she herself could never fill. That knowledge was like a knife in her heart, the most painful disappointment, the inability to fulfill his deepest and keenest desire. His words were a subterfuge, a diversion. Even his more shallow lust for her, for Basha’ir, was more of the same, she realized this. A way to soothe the edges of that raw hurt, but never a real, true cure for what ailed him. She felt his confusion and his tumbled desires blending and separating and then coming together again. She thought this was far from the first time when this anguished man had tried to medicate his wound with the touch of those who could never be the one he truly needed. So sad. Basha’ir was the receptacle for many such unattainable summits. It was her curse, to know and to need and to be powerless to help, no matter how badly she herself wished it.

And the rest of it, washing over her in waves. Booze. Yes she could use a drink herself. Together they could drown their sorrows, for a few hours. The itch on his skin. She could have reached out and scratched his face, right in that exact spot, the left side just under the cheekbone. Herself, her body, the pleasure that he thought he would find in her arms, and that she knew he would surely find in her arms. Until Theodoric came home and killed them both. She could sense his increased heart rate, his more rapid, shallower breathing, and then, he was gone. His hand left her leg, he rose, he vacillated and made a thin excuse, turned away. This was so hard for him. He wanted to… to….

She said nothing, letting him carry out the pretense he had proposed, turning her head to look sadly at the floor. It was taking every ounce of her inner strength not to bend forward, and wrap her arms about him and let both their passions consume them. It wouldn’t help, in the end. His pain would still be there. And then, so would hers.

“Of course,” she said so softly it was barely audible. “Please, you are in charge here. I put myself in your care, Orion. I trust you.”

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Summer 52, 512 AV He stood there for a painfully long moment, waiting for the servant to return. He couldn't look at her. Not now. It was a moment of vulnerability. They came less and less frequently, but when they came, they would tear this grown man down. Basha'ir did remind him of Lyla in some ways, but they weren't the same. Both were beautiful and sweet. Lyla, however, would be asking him many questions about the awkward way he was acting. Basha'ir's reactions almost seemed to indicate she already knew why. Orion knew that was insane, and yet.... Thank goodness. The elderly woman returned with the basin. Orion took it from her and slowly set it before the young beauty. "Um, Basha'ir, if you don't mind. Please place your foot in this. Don't let it touch the sides or bottom. It's better to keep the pressure off it, you know?" He forced a smile. At least when he was explaining something, Orion could focus. He had told himself he went back to the profession as a way to help people. Rather, he lied to himself. It was all for him. He could forget while he worked, if only for a moment, and that moment gave him the respite he so needed to regain himself. "I only hope I can prove worthy of your trust. I am a doctor your guardian basically picked up off the street." He looked at her, his eyes revealing the slightest twinkle of humor "After we treat this with a cold soak for awhile, I'll apply this salve. It's a mix of an aloe plant and a natural antiseptic. It will aid in cooling, healing the skin to prevent scarring, and preventing infections, which is really my biggest concern." A scar could be covered. Infections could be life threatening. "And besides," he continued, not thinking about what he was saying, "nothing could affect your beauty." He opened the salve and begin prepping it, but came to a stop as a look of realization spread across his face. He hadn't meant to let that one slip out loud. As a reflex, he touched her arm apologetically. "Basha'ir, I'm terribly sorry." He wasn't. "That was unprofessional. I beg your forgiveness." He bowed his head slightly, his blush reddening deeper and darker. What the petch is wrong with me! I've done this so many times. Why do I fall apart now?

[Basha'ir]

He wanted to hide. From her, from himself. Basha’ir glanced up again and saw that he was looking away. Orion wanted to be strong, to not cave in to his sad thoughts, his longing for this lost love, to his base desire for this pretty woman who he was here to treat, as a physician, not to roll into bed with as some in and out Lothario. What could she do to help him, to see his wishes fulfilled?

All Basah’ir could think to do for the moment was to sit still and be the good patient that he needed her to be, so that he could be the good doctor that he wanted to be. The arrival of the elderly servant with the requested water was a welcome distraction for the both of them, and Orion got right back to his job. Patiently he explained what needed to be done and obediently she complied, enjoying the tiny sparkle in his eye when he made that jibe at himself. Then, as he was speaking of the salve, there was another slip. Theodoric was fat, and Basha’ir was beautiful.

The way he stumbled and hastened to apologize was quite charming really. And as he touched her arm lightly, she could feel his anguish, his desire to take his words back and regain his professional composure. Basha’ir felt sorry for this young man, at so many differing levels. In truth, much of what was happening here was not his doing at all. She thought a bit grimly of the mischief Nikal wrought with her gift, and she made up her mind to be forthcoming with Orion. He certainly deserved to know the truth about why, at least in part, he felt this strong attraction to her, and the concomitant distraction from his task.

Basha’ir placed one soft hand over his where it lay on her arm. “Don’t worry, Orion. It’s not your fault, and I take no offense. Your words are sweet, and no woman ever tires to hear compliments about herself.” She gave him a warm smile, but then her eyes fell to her foot now soaking in the basin. Her voice was even more quiet as she said, “It’s not your fault at all, the way you feel. You can’t know but…” She paused. Most men would be overjoyed to hear this, about her. But most men had their hands on her for an entirely different purpose than this polite young doctor.

“I am marked by Nikali. I am Ranuri.” Her hand fell from his and she laid both of hers in her lap, fingers entertwining, not from nervousness but from resignation. Her shoulders slumped a bit. A small laugh fell from her pretty lips, but it held no happiness. “In a way, you can’t help yourself. It’s part of the magic.”

Her eyes lifted again to his. Sad, green eyes that showed plainly that she had been through this before, how many hundreds of times? “Please, if you can just ignore it, it will make your job easier. I’m…I’m sorry, Orion.”

[Orion Michaels]

Orion, Day of Spring 52, 512 AV He listened to her speak, a smile slowly growing on his face as she graciously accepted his accidental compliment, a bit of relief washing over him. She wasn't offended. He wouldn't be ruined. The young doctor would be able to continue his work, it seemed, but unfortunately, the smile vanished as quickly as it appeared the longer she spoke. Not his fault, the way he feels? What did that mean? "Nikali?" he repeated. He had heard the name before. A god? Or a goddess. He wasn't sure, it wasn't something he knew much of. His crude interpretation, it was the god of lust, or something like that. Could it be possible the feelings overcoming him weren't of his own accord. That would be a relief. He could go on with his life, day to day, drink to drink, woman to woman, finding a happiness which was only fleeting. Orion was used to that life after all. He didn't buy it. "Magic?" he scoffed. If she had expected relief from him, joy that his internal strife was manufactured, she would be disappointed. She tried to take her hand from him, but he grasped at it. "Basha'ir," he said standing up enough to be at head level with her. His blue eyes affixed on hers, he continued. "If you're so in touch with my feelings, and my desires, then you know I'm a mess." Orion spoke with frustration, offense, and sadness. Abandoning his fears, the doctor expressed his thoughts. "But if you honestly think the way my heart works is that easily influenced by this magic," he flashed a sincere grin, pausing for a moment. The words he spoke were true to his very soul, even at the realistic possibility reality was saying otherwise. "...well, you don't know me at all." Simple. Truth. Fact. Her admission of her secret had created a whole new desire in Orion. He brushed her cheek gently with his free hand. "I can't ignore it, but thank you for sharing your secret." Her revelation did nothing to curb his wants and desires. He lust burned bright, but brighter still was this consuming need to truly know this woman. What was previously a jumbled mess was now focused. Surely her life held many stories, many secrets. He wanted nothing more than to know. Not now, he knew it wasn't possible. There was a burn to treat. "And after all, what good does it do for one to ignore a truth?" His own words only served to cut himself deep.