[Infirmary] Lovely Weather We're Having (Minerva)

[Marcus Dymez]

62nd Day of Summer, 512 A.V. It was rough waking up. Marcus had barely managed a couple hours of sleep the night before, nightmares haunting him as he laid on his bed. The headache from the strain of his earlier heroics, still pleasantly reminded him it was there, and the taste of iron in his mouth still remained as well. He had never pushed himself too far past the limit, but given what the tomes say about serious over-giving, Marcus wasn't sure he wanted to risk it. Still, his curious nature overrode his urge to simply sit in bed all day, and there were questions that required answers. There always were, these days. It took Marcus the better part of an hour to get himself over to the Infirmary, and even then his clothes were anything but presentable. A disheveled plain white shirt and rugged leather pants made him look more like a sick patient than a visitor, but he didn't mind. Appear less than you are, and all that. What did take some time, was getting through the line. Disease had seemed to find a nice home in Zeltiva this summer, and it was not a surprise to see the hospitals so hectic. Marcus waited his turn, finally getting to the front desk. Groggily, he asked the nurse behind the counter. "I'm looking for a woman, red-hair, goes by the name Tock. She pass through here today?" What Marcus had expected to be the beginning of a search turned out to be the final destination. Marcus followed a second nurse back to the main room of the infirmary, half-listening as she counted out how many rows to go down, and how many beds to pass. A gentle smile thanked her as she walked off, obviously having more important things to do. Marcus wasn't worried; finding Tock amidst this group shouldn't be too difficult. And indeed, it wasn't. Marcus found the brash gadgeteer doodling in her bed, not content to be idle even in her condition. The sight elicited a slight chuckle from the young scholar, the metallic taste in his mouth an unwelcome reminder of the past night's deeds. Marcus figured an introduction may not entirely be necessary, and in all honesty, his curiosity was aching. His voice comes out calm, but somewhat hesitant. It took a conscious will for the words to come out, and Marcus cursed the nightmare-induced fatigue that befit him. "Well, look who it is. You feeling alright? I hear you had a busy night."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock woke up in horrible pain. She'd been stabbed before. It was hard to grow up in Sunberth without winding up in a knife fight sooner or later. But facing someone with a sword was another story entirely. Her stomach was in agony. She was lucky it was a shallow wound, and that her guts hadn't been spilled out all over the place. But that was what she got for chasing after Corwin like that... She patted Boxy lovingly, the little silver box tucked against her leg under the sheets. He flicked a hinge at her, moody as usual. But she took it as a sign of affection. He was now safely holding her prize, Corwin's severed eyeball. She had no idea what she would do with it, but it felt good to have it. It was a trophy... a sign of victory over the man who represented everything she hated about her past. She was told she had to be in bed for at least three or four days. She was hoping to find a Marked healer to cut that time down a bit... or an Ethaefal, if there were any around. Thinking about Satevis brought a moment of sadness to her, followed by a surge of anger. She missed him... but at the same time, she hated him for leaving her. She grumbled as she shifted on the bed, pushing off the thoughts. She needed something to keep her mind off the past. She needed something to do. Since she couldn't get out of bed, she convinced one of the nurses to bring her some paper and something to draw with. She needed to work on her designs. The nurse helped her set up a bit in the bed, propping some pillows behind her, and making her as comfortable as possible. Then she began to draw. She started off by drawing her Granddad's face. It had been four years since he died, but she could still picture him. His kind eyes, his patient smile, the lines of gentle age across his face. She sketched every line from memory, looking down at her, filled with pride. She was still working on her sketches when Marcus entered. She looked up at him, exhaustion in her eyes, her skin pale from blood loss. "I look awright?" she asked in a strained voice. "Got sliced up right good, I did..." She looked him over, seeing no injuries, though he did look quite hung over. She eyed him for a moment and asked, "Whazzat yous wit' all the slashy-firey-swords last night?" She was sure she remembered seeing him on the battlefield, but she couldn't be sure he'd summoned the magic blades. It had been so hard to keep track of everything in the chaos. Thought if it HAD been him... she owed him her life.

[Marcus Dymez]

Marcus chuckled at her question, getting straight to the matter at hand. It was exactly why he came here, but still he felt hesitant about bringing up that night. The smell of roasting flesh seeping into his nose... Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Marcus plopped down with the injured Tock, passing her a side-long glance with his usual smirk. His voice was slowly returning to it's usual calm and controlled stature, as it got more use, but now it contained a tad of laughter to it. "Ah, a bit showy wasn't it? I was hoping they'd all scurry off after that stuff, but no such luck." Marcus scratched the back of his head as he gazed into Tock's eyes, disregarding her pallor and her position. He wanted answers, and his curiosity would take no substitutes. "On the subject though... What exactly were you doing out there, and who in the name of the Gods were those guys? What the hell happened?" And why did I have to kill four people? Marcus left out the final question, more of a introspection than anything else, as he waited for an explanation. His eyes were as intense as the fire he summoned, but the rest of his expression held nothing of the sort. It remained as calm and weary as it had been when he arrived, the fatigue taking a visible toll on the young scholar. But asking the question did nothing to quell the thoughts in his mind, as his imagination decided it could not wait for an explanation. It rewound the event, replaying with crisp clarity as Marcus pummeled a man to death and set another ablaze. It would've been more bearable if he had felt anything, but the only pang of guilt he felt was to Tock. Here she was, in the hospital, despite his efforts. "I apologize... I wasn't able to keep you out of here after all, it seems." Marcus did his best to hold his smirk in place, as his mind gently tore at itself. It was a rough night to be sure, and only one in his past could compare; one he rarely thought of, and never with pleasant results. He did what he had to do, he told himself, but the migraine subdued his thoughts and left them wandering. And that never ended well.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock sucked on her teeth for a moment, lowering her gaze back down to her drawings. She wasn't inclined to share the full details with Marcus, considering their dark nature. She idly tugged Boxy a bit closer under the sheet, then set quill to paper again. "Were a bunch o' piss-ass fools what thought 'ey could burn down the library," she said, starting to sketch once more. She focused on redrawing Granddad's eyes, trying to get the shape just right. He'd always had a bit of a squint; she must have inherited her bad vision from him. It was hard to capture that squint while maintaining the joyful look of pride he wore, and she went through several attempts, trying to get it just right. "Same ol' story," she muttered as she drew. "Blokes what dun like magic, think fer 'ey can stop us what by takin' our schoolin' away..." she shrugged. She hadn't actually learned those details until after the fight, when one of the survivors confessed to the scheme. But she decided to cover up her attempted murder by spinning it as if she'd known all along. "Done gots attacked last week by some o' 'em. What knew somethin' were fishy... so's as me an' a mate o' mine what went'n tried fer ta find out what 'ey's up ta. Gots 'ere jus' in time fer ta stop 'em..." She squinted at her drawings, wishing she could see better. She tried adding in the little laugh lines around the eyes, the soft wrinkles helping portray that joyful effect she was aiming for. It seemed to make a bit of a difference. The difference between a narrow-eyed sneer and a happy look of love and laughter. She smiled softly, rubbing her finger across the page affectionately. Those were the eyes she missed so much. She didn't even realize her tears until she saw their dampness dotting the page. She wiped at her eyes, not wanting to ruin the drawings, and forgetting, just for a moment, that Marcus was there.

[Marcus Dymez]

Something was not adding up in Marcus's mind. But, as usual, Marcus had other aspects to focus on, specifically her 'friend.' He recalled a second figure with Tock, a vicious fighter in his own right, but a bit brash. For all Marcus knew of the man though, he could've been laying in the bed next to them and Marcus wouldn't be any wiser. His voice regained some of its usual good-cheer, but still remained rigidly serious. If these guys were a roving gang of brigands, as Tock had suggested, then there was nothing left to do; the city guard would snake them out of their hell-hole and take care of it. Marcus had already played Hero once this week, and he had no intention to try that again. "I see..." were the only words that made it out past his lips, until he looked up, and saw Tock gazing down at the piece of paper in her hands. Tears streaking down her face. Marcus slowly got to his feet and made his way to the head of the bed, moving to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He stole a glance of the picture; an aged man, meticulously drawn, and knew better than to ask. He smiled gently down to the injured woman, hand placed lightly on her shoulder as he spoke. Suddenly puzzle pieces were shone in different lighting, and things felt more coherent. His voice now took on the role of care-taker, sincere and somber, but with a hopeful inflection. His words however better matched an investigator's, near the end. "I see. Come now, don't cry, Tock... You know these men, don't you? Personally, I mean." A deep breath, and his voice came out firm, reassuring, and ultimately assumptive. "You were there with a purpose, and I'm sure he would've been proud to know it..." Marcus immediately regretted his last words, hating such presumptions with a passion, but in all honesty he was at a lack for words. And he still had just as many questions.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock shoved his hand away, turning her face to the side to hide her shame. She hated it when people saw her cry. She wasn't supposed to cry! She was supposed to be stronger than that. She wiped the tears on her sleeve and snapped, "I's fine." She barely glanced up at Marcus, but it was an irritated scowl that she gave him. Deep down she knew he was just trying to be nice, but she hated being coddled. She didn't need anyone comforting her. And she REALLY didn't need anyone telling her what her Granddad would be proud of... She looked down at the sketches of her Granddad. Would he have been proud of her? No... no he wouldn't. He was always proud of her when she built something. When she was creating, developing her skills. That proud look in his eyes always came when she brought him something she had made, holding it up high for him to see, so happy with her little creation. He had never looked proud when she came home bruised up from fighting in the streets. He had never looked proud when she'd had to shiv someone in an alley to keep them from violating her. Those times, he had only looked worried. Scared for her. And she knew... knew he had wanted to get her out of that city. And she had gotten out... but Sunberth kept coming back to haunt her. "Jus' some blokes," she lied, keeping her eyes on the drawings. "Four o' 'em tried fer ta drag me in an alley an'..." she glanced up at him with a dark look in her eyes. "An' I wanted ta make sure fer 'ey weren't does 'at ta no other girls, aye?" She stared him down long and hard, wanting to make sure he got the idea. It's none of your damn business... She looked back down at her drawings, setting the pages aside and starting something new. She didn't feel like she could draw her Granddad's face while she was lying to Marcus. She started a sketch of a trident, drawing the cold lines of steel and the pointed blades at the tip of the weapon. She was in a pissy mood now, and just hoped that Marcus had the sense in his fool head to know when to back off...

[Marcus Dymez]

Unfortunately for all involved, sense was not a regular patron in Marcus' mind, as much as he'd like to believe otherwise. Marcus didn't mind being swatted away, he had gotten enough of that in his life, but what still pushed him was these bandits. Did they attack the library because they found out Tock was a student, so they could take revenge against her? Or were they simply unsuccessful in their vile attempts at rapists, and turned to trying to be arsonists instead? So many possibilities, but none made their way into the air. Marcus simply met Tock's fatal glare with his own calm smirk, avoiding the subject for the moment. "So be it. I'm sure the city guard will handle them just fine, now that they know what they're dealing with." Marcus let out a soft chuckle, watching her precise hand manifest a trident on the page. He considered himself dexterous enough, but not anywhere near this woman's level of ability. Attempting to lighten the mood, Marcus decided to bring the conversation to a more curious aspect of the night. "So, who was that friend of yours? He was quite the fighter, albeit a bit head-strong; is he around here anywhere?" Marcus didn't even bother looking, barely making much out on that dark night. Technically that was his doing, but it had been impossible to make out anyone's face, and for that Marcus was eternally grateful. It was much easier to pommel-strike a shadow to death than a person, although the smell of singed flesh was very much the same. Quickly, Marcus urged such thoughts from his mind, hoping there was heart-warming story about a man who couldn't convince Tock to stay idly by, and instead went out to shield her from danger. Easily this could play against his attempts, but at the very least that would be one less question on his mind. The mood be damned, those deaths had to have a reason. And by the Gods, Marcus was going to find out what it was. "Tock... That wasn't a simple gang, was it..? What really happened last night..?"

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

She figured Marcus was going to be wise enough to drop it. She continued working on her sketch, realizing she would need to get her hands on a real trident at some point. She wasn't sure exactly what the shape of the pointed tips should be. Though for now she worked on trying to get the shading right, to give the impression of sharp edges. Showing angles and depth on a flat page was hard. She knew how to MAKE the beveled edge of a blade, in a forge with a hammer. But showing the appearance of one on paper was hard, and she went through several rough sketches trying to get it right. "'S'Bones," she muttered, when Marcus asked about the fighter. "Think 'e's down the hall, next room over." She gestured vaguely in that direction. She hadn't actually seen Bones since the fight, but he had been injured pretty badly as well. She figured that meant he was bed-bound as well. He was tough, though; she was confident he was doing just fine. If Marcus was hoping for a heart-warming story, he was in for a let down. Tock wasn't a talkative type, especially when she had her mind on her work. Sure, there was a deep and moving tale about how Bones had saved her from the thugs, and carried her off to safety. How she'd allowed herself a moment of vulnerability, cradled in the safety of his arms. But that was a private moment, and one she wasn't inclined to share. Tock was rarely one to share anything about herself. She hadn't told Marcus her real name, nor that she was from Sunberth, nor anything about her Father or her Granddad. As far as she was concerned, her past was nobody's business. Which Marcus apparently didn't get, when he continued to pester her about it. She looked back up from her drawings again, starting to get pissed. Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone? And where was her dagger? Her backpack was on the floor somewhere out of reach. It was probably in there. "'And me 'at?" she asked, locking her eyes on his and gesturing down towards the backpack.

[Marcus Dymez]

Marcus thought back, trying to remember any detail about the stranger that still lingered in his foggy memory. He remembered a strong-seeming man, blade in hand, coming into the fray alongside a loud-mannered Tock. He remembered the reckless way the man charged into the remaining group, after Marcus had scared off a decent crowd of petty criminals. He remembered how effortless he swung his sword into the men around him; murderer or vigilant, it all depended on which lens you saw the whole affair through. And of course, he remembered the dead. Marcus was shaken from his unwelcome revelry by Tock's request, returning her brutal gaze in turn with his almost-whimsical smirk. It was quite simple to pull off, given the irony of the situation. After all, Marcus knew those eyes; the eyes of an emotion strong enough to take a life, or save one. It all depended on which lens you looked through. There was a blade hidden in Tock's glare, as she asked Marcus to grab her backpack. He had seen such a gaze only a few times before, one such time being not a day past. An unknown face flickered in the young scholar's mind, white of color and with life-less eyes. The scruffy face and unshaven beard could've made him any one of the regular sailors that Zeltiva harbors, but Marcus instantly knew who this was. It took only a moment for the thought to vanish, but the tinge of somber shadow hovered in his mind still. Shoot your glares, Marcus thought to himself, I've gone through much worse as of late. The face belonged to one the bandits, lifeless as the corpse he now was. Bending at the knees, Marcus leaned down to grab the small pack, laying it softly on Tock's lap with his other hand subconsciously tense. Marcus knew it was just as likely she'd pull out a picture or a gear or some such nonsense, as pulling out a knife to stab him with. But in all honesty, Marcus had not known this woman for as long as he'd like to think, and for all he knew she had gone out there looking for a fight. Her red hair made the image of a Berserker-Tock quite easy to draw up in his mind, but it was just as ridiculous as one would think. To Marcus, Tock was a loud-mouthed mechanic, but not an aggressive woman. How fickle the truth could be.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock set the pack to her other side, opposite from where Marcus was and hopefully out if his reach. She opened it, and Handy crawled out, the little wooden hand missing his Mommy. He crawled up onto her shoulder and began stroking her hair. Meanwhile, she dug into the pack and pulled out the rest of her artist's kit, taking a moment to make sure the dagger was where she thought. She liked Marcus well enough, and didn't really want to shank him. Especially considering he HAD saved her life last night. But when someone pushed her, the urge towards violence was always strong, if brief. She wouldn't stab a man just for asking questions. Even if, just for a moment, she was picturing his blood staining the white sheets, and thinking about the excuse she'd make to the infirmary staff to cover it up. Attempted rape, probably. That was sure to fly. She pulled out some sharpened pieces of charcoal with very fine tips, since they'd help her with shading better than a quill and ink. She started a new trident sketch on a clean sheet of paper, carefully etching the shape of the pointed tips and trying to shade in the beveled edges that would make the blade appear sharp. The momentary homicidal thoughts passed, as they always did, and she said, "Ya wanna know more 'bout whatever happened, some o' 'em blokes is 'ere, 'ealin' up 'fore 'ey ships 'em off ta prison. All I knows is, what when the guards asked the bloke 'bout it, 'e said Corwin what wanted ta git back what at all the mages what fer thinkin' we's ta blame fer all 'eir trouble. Typical Sunberth thinkin', 'at. Ain't fer ta ta no 'sponsibility fer 'emselves, what so's as 'ey lash out fer whoever what can take the blame. Riled some blokes up, gots 'em mad 'bout the Djed storm'n'stuff, an the dumb wankers thought what as burnin' the library down would does sommat 'bout it..." She shrugged, not seeing anything more to say about it. Not mentioning how she, personally, was the Mad Magus that Corwin and his friends had wanted revenge on.