Closed Deep Wounds

[Ambrosia Alar]

Deep Wounds 40th of Winter, 517 AV Stumbling out of the cellar door, out of the Underground, Ambrosia gasped as the icy air of the wintery Alvadas streets bit her lungs. It was the first sensation she truly became aware of since the discovery of her sister. Her throat and lungs tried to close against the bitter cold, and she coughed once. It was probably for the best that she could feel nothing. The ghosts of the Sealed Grounds had a deep seated need to cause pain, some driving hate that wanted them to cause others to suffer as they had suffered, perhaps just before they had died. That hatred had not been kind on Ambrosia. Her conversation with her sister had been cut short. You don’t belong here. Leave. And don’t come back. That memory, an exotic voice dripping in the accents of several desert races, was finally beginning to make sense. Long ago, when Ambrosia was just a child, the woman had warned her to leave the Sealed Grounds. Today as well, she had given the same warning, urging Ambrosia to leave and save herself from the rage that existed, smoldered, and ate away at the ghosts who inhabited the ghostly trap that the cemetery had become. Now, Ambrosia knew why her mind had kept drawing that memory when she had taken the Blinders at the Unnamye. It had been a hint as to where her sister had gone. I’m going to be visiting one of our old haunts. Now, her sister’s hint from the night before she had gone missing made sense. Haunt had been literal. The haunted grounds teeming with ghosts had been a favorite destination for Ambrosia and Tessa. Bethany had been none too thrilled with their fascination with the place, because it presented so many dangers. But that never stopped her from coming, because she was determined to protect her little sisters. The mystery had drawn Ambrosia. The potential for power had drawn Tessa. Undoubtedly, that was what had drawn her back. It was best that she felt nothing, because the many injuries she had sustained would have had her unconscious with their agony. As she walked down the streets begging for Ionu’s Mercy to appear, bystanders skirted widely around her. There was something disturbing in her eyes that made no one want to approach her. It was emptiness. The numbness was all that was keeping her going, and so one foot fell in front of the next over and over again as her mind begged for the Mercy to arrive. Ambrosia was unaware of how bad the injuries truly were. She only knew that she had been hurt badly. The adrenaline of the attack had numbed any pain that the wounds should have brought, but she was certain that soon the effects would wear off, and agony would come screaming in. Her chest felt tight. Every breath fell short. When she had been thrown against a headstone, her ribs had cracked. The memory of them doing so was vague, but it had happened. She was certain her pain would make itself evident sooner rather than later and wanted to be in good hands when it did. It was something she was aware of but couldn’t see. What else she couldn’t see were the wounds on her back. Long, scratching gouges swept across her back. One set, a parallel of four fingernail claw marks, stretched from the left side of the base of her neck, across her back, and down to her lower ribs on her right side. It was difficult for anyone watching her to see the extent of the wound past the blood that was caked into her dress. To anyone who did manage a close look they would see that the wounds went deeper than skin, that they bit down into the muscle that lay underneath. That was the worst of the wounds, but many smaller cuts littered her body. One thing she had to be thankful for was that the ghosts seemed more intent on causing agony than actually killing her. For that reason, whether or not she knew it, she had survived. A careless ghost had struck her and thrown her toward the periphery of the Grounds. The ghost who had warned her to leave had finished the job and pushed her beyond the reach of the others. Someone else did see the wounds across her back and moved across the street to help her. The concerned individual was a motherly sort, at least in the expression of her eyes. She seemed too young to be so, but her concern mirrored that that Bethany and her mother always showed her when she’d done something dangerous. Her hand rested on Ambrosia’s elbow, distracting her momentarily from her search for the Mercy. “Dear, you’re hurt.” Ambrosia looked at the woman, not quite understanding how bad she looked, and gave her a smile. Over the past couple seasons, she had become quite accomplished at smiling when she didn’t feel like doing so. The smile that came across was genuine, and that made it all the more disturbing. “I’m fine, love,” she assured the other woman. The other woman’s expression changed from concern to horror, and she shrank away from Ambrosia. Something about Ambrosia bleeding and smiling all the while was too much for the other woman to handle, and she hurried down the street. Left alone, Ambrosia looked at the closest building, pleading with it to be Ionu’s Mercy but it was not. A simple sign in a window read The Unnamye. “Shit,” Ambrosia muttered. This was not what she had wanted. She had wanted medical attention, but if this was all that Alvadas was going to offer her, she’d take it. She could self-medicate past the pain and worry about the rest later. Taking a step toward the front door, she froze as the building in front of her shifted suddenly, switching from a drug den to the immaculate front of the Mercy, towering white marble walls gleaming in the glaring light of a winter sun. “Thank you.” Ambrosia’s murmured prayer went to Zintila, the Goddess she admired most and who she credited every good thing that happened to her. Stumbling forward, she crashed into and through the front doors, suddenly becoming aware of her broken left arm as she did. Finally, the shock from the attack had worn off, and she now felt the true extent of the pain. It was staggering, and as she stepped into the hospital, she fell to the ground clutching at her back as if she could stop the pain from the raking wounds there. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out. All around her there were other people crying out and moaning from whatever afflictions ailed them. Looking around, Ambrosia caught the eye of the nearest worker and let her pain show in the pleading glance she shot. The woman looked familiar, and it took Ambrosia a moment to place her as one of the women that had been present in the fire rescue the season before.

[Asterope]

It was a relatively quiet day at the Mercy; most of the people Aster had seen to had simply been suffering from the flu or something similar, likely due to the cold weather plaguing the city. Helping an elderly woman down the marble-floored hall to the front desk to pay for her medication, Aster's attention was caught suddenly by the large oak doors flying open with a bang.

It startled her slightly; a gust of cool, wintry air blew in, sending stray strands of hair flying around her face, a few snowflakes fluttering through the air only to melt the second they landed on the floor. The figure of a woman stood in the open entrance for a moment before staggering inside, her whole body swaying before she tumbled to the ground.

Aster was moving forward before the woman could even glance up at her, her dark eyes pained and pleading. She looked vaguely familiar, but Aster couldn't quite place her. Rushing forward, she knelt beside the blonde woman, her hands haltingly moving towards her; Aster wasn't sure where to touch, as she had no idea what injuries exactly the woman was suffering from. Absently, she became aware of the sudden disappearance of the cool breeze as someone shut the doors.

Settling on gently gripping beneath the woman's arms, Aster helped her to her feet, gripping carefully around her waist to allow the injured woman to rest her weight on the Eth but trying to be cautious of the wounds on her back. "It's alright," she soothed, "You're okay now. You're safe." She had no idea what ordeal the woman had been through but it had clearly been traumatizing on a physical level at the very least.

She continued to speak to the woman as she helped her to the nearest unoccupied room, her pace a snail's crawl. "My name is Asterope. Do you remember your name? Do you know where you are?" She didn't want to bombard her with questions, but if the woman couldn't answer the two basic questions it was a huge red flag for a potential head injury. The ability to answer them didn't necessarily rule that out, but it meant it was less serious if there was a concussion or something similar.

Guiding her into the room, Aster shut the door behind them and lead her to the bed, helping the blonde sit gingerly. Getting a better look at her, Aster wasn't even quite sure where to begin.

The woman clearly in agony, Aster rolled up her sleeves and decided to begin searching the shelves for something to ease the woman's pain before she did anything else. While her fingers carefully sorted through bottles, she couldn't help but ask the question that had settled heavily into her mind when she saw the injured woman, her voice quiet but concerned.

"What happened?"

Word Count: 476; Total: 476

"Common" | "Nari" | "Pavi" | Thoughts
"Other People's Speech"

[Ambrosia Alar]

The arms that lifted Ambrosia to her feet were strong but gentle. Ambrosia could tell that the other woman was taking great care with where she placed her hands, because despite being lifted forcefully back up to her feet, her wounds weren’t jostled or pushed or stretched. If there was one thing Ambrosia didn’t want to do, it was stand. What she really wanted to do was lie down, curl up into a little ball, and die. But she knew how annoyed she got when she tried to help someone move who wasn’t giving her any aid in doing so, so she moved her legs to help the other woman help her stand. “It’s alright.” The woman’s voice was calm. Ambrosia recognized its inflections. They were the same ones she used when she was trying to soothe a drunk’s hurt feelings or keep a panicked person quiet. She found it odd when it was used on her. She didn’t feel angry or belittled or insulted. It was just odd. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” Ambrosia didn’t want to be safe. What she wanted was to be back in the thick of it, back in that underground cemetery with some way to bring her full wrath against the spirits that were trapped there. Let the dead suffer more. If she had the means, she’d make them suffer so much they’d move on just to end it. The two slowly made their way to a room on the periphery of the entry to Ionu’s Mercy, the other young woman continuing the gentle banter as they did. After the woman’s introduction of herself and a few questions, Ambrosia gave the correct answers. “I’m Ambrosia. We’re in Ionu’s Mercy. It came to me, because I needed it.” Once Ambrosia had been sat on a bed, Asterope began looking through the bottles that lined a shelf. “What happened?” What happened? That was an excellent question. Ambrosia wasn’t quite sure she understood where all the details fit in. She tried to wrap her head around the entirety of the story, so she could know where to start. There was her sister’s long absence, the many days of fruitless searching, the slow building of hints, the final clue, the interrupted journey into the Underground, the return to the Underground, the arrival at the cemetery, the numerous threats from the ghosts who inhabited the place, and finally her sister Tessa. “I found her.” The words just slipped out. That was the end of the story, hardly a good place to start, but to Ambrosia, it was the only part of the story that mattered. She realized that would mean nothing to Asterope and that she probably just sounded like a mad woman, so she continued her explanation. “My sister Tessa. I found her. One hundred and fifty days she’s been missing.” Ambrosia shook her head and corrected herself, “One hundred and fifty-one. But I found her.” She couldn’t stop coming back to that. She shook her head again and went on. “I followed a lead to the Underground and ended up in the Sealed Grounds, the cemetery beneath the city. And I found her there, but-” the next bit was hard for her to say “-she was gone. But she wasn’t the only one. Everyone who was in the cemetery was gone, too.” Ambrosia had to say it aloud, so she’d know it was real. But that was harder than she thought. “Dead.” That hurt her a lot more than she’d thought it would. Tessa was gone. But the worst part was she wasn’t. She was dead, but her soul lingered. It took Ambrosia a moment to find her voice again, and when she did, it was weak, choked. That admission had taken what little strength she had left, but it also made her numb to the pain of her body. At least most of it. Every breath brought a fresh twinge of pain, and the more Ambrosia thought about it, the shallower she had to make each breath. Gingerly, Ambrosia hugged her hands around her ribs. “It hurts when I breathe. Is that supposed to happen? Being dead didn’t make those ghosts happy, and they decided to take that out on me.”

[Asterope]

"I found her."

The words seemed to slip from the woman of their own accord. Aster furrowed her brow as she plucked a strong opium tincture from the shelf. Between the woman's wounds and her distress, she felt that it was appropriate. It took a short moment but the woman, Ambrosia, spoke again to clarify her original words.

Her sister. A mixture of dread and sympathy welled in Aster; if Ambrosia had stumbled into the Mercy alone, looking as she did, then this story certainly didn't have a happy ending. Aster remained quiet as she approached the blonde, measuring out a spoon of the tincture.

"She was gone," Ambrosia continued to explain even as Aster stood in front of her, and the Eth let her continue to talk , her palm cupped under the spoon held steadily in her right hand.

"Gone?" Aster asked, softly, though she had a feeling she knew what was meant by the word. Silence reigned in the room before the word was spoken, and Aster could tell the amount of strength it took for Ambrosia to say it.

"Dead."

The woman curled her arms around her sides, her gaze on the floor; when she spoke again, it was to comment on her pain, but her voice was weak and strained.

"I'm sorry." Aster knew the words were useless, but she said them sincerely, her voice gentle and mournful. "Here, this will help with the pain." She finally offered the spoon to Ambrosia, allowing her to take it herself if she so wished, waiting for her to swallow it before setting the spoon aside.

"Pain breathing means you likely have broken ribs. There's not much I can do about that, but I'll do what I can. Let's focus on what I can help with first, alright?"

Aster didn't usually walk her patients through her steps like that, but she had a feeling the woman shouldn't be left to her thoughts, and explaining what she was doing was something concrete and detached that she could focus on.

"Here, let me see the wounds on your back. Stand up and raise your arms, we'll have to take your dress off." She stepped back to let Ambrosia do so at her own pace and comfort level before carefully helping to remove the bloodied shirt. Idly, as she did so, Aster realized that ghosts and the consequences of their actions seemed to be making their way into her life quite frequently since she'd come to Alvadas.

She took note of how shallowly the woman seemed to breathing, and while she knew it was due to the pain of her broken ribs, she wondered if maybe she should apply an ointment to her chest to try and help make it easier; but she could focus on that later.

Should she require it, Aster would help the injured woman lift the dress over her head, but otherwise she let her do it herself. Her eyes examined the bare skin that was revealed, but her golden gaze was nothing but clinical as she did so, searching for any wounds that the clothing had potentially hidden.

Aster hissed out a small breath of sympathy upon seeing Ambrosia's torso; her side was indeed beginning to show splotches of sickly blue and purple bruises, confirming Aster's suspicion of broken ribs. Helping her sit down again, Aster moved around the bed instead of having Ambrosia twist to show her back.

To say the wounds were unpleasant was an understatement. Long gouges streaked across Ambrosia's back, curving down onto her side slightly; the marks were clearly caused by nails or claws of some sort, and upon closer inspection, Aster realized the wounds were much deeper than she thought. They were going to need stitches.

"What exactly caused the scratches?" She asked, her brow furrowing. She was going to have to clean the scratches, and it was not going to be a pleasant experience for the injured woman. Getting up to wash her hands, Aster cast a glance around the room to pinpoint what she would need first.

Fetching a few clean rags and a towel, Aster pulled out a bowl and poured the strong, clear spirits they used to clean wounds into it. "I need you to lay down on your stomach." She helped Ambrosia into the position, setting the towel on the bed first and being mindful of her ribs, before sitting on the edge of the bed next to her. She set the bowl set down on the bedside table, dipping one of the cloths into it and allowing it to soak for a few moments.

"This is going to hurt," Asterope warned, her voice gentle. "Do you want something to bite or squeeze? Screaming is always an option, too." The faint hint of humour was perhaps unexpected and slightly out of place for the Eth, but she was at a loss as to what to do. The poor woman was not only horrifically hurt physically, but was injured emotionally as well.

Some people just used the pillow to bite down on, but Aster patiently awaited a response so she could fetch something if needed, not wanting to start cleaning the wounds until she had an answer.

Word Count: 871; Total: 1,347

"Common" | "Nari" | "Pavi" | Thoughts
"Other People's Speech"

[Ambrosia Alar]

“This will help with the pain.” Absently, Ambrosia opened her mouth, her gaze fixed on some point beyond the wall. Hollow was her best way to deal with the world right now. If she showed any emotion, she’d be a mess. There was a time for that, but that was later. When she was home. When she was safe. When she was alone with Bethany and the two of them could grieve together. As soon as the medicine hit her tongue though, she was back in the moment. Her face screwed up, her lips puckering in some motion reminiscent of her first taste of liquor, and she was glad when Asterope pulled the spoon out of her mouth. “By the Goddess, that’s disgusting.” She flashed a short, apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’m sure it’s what I need, but it really could taste better.” Kind and gentle, it was obvious why this woman was in the profession she was in as she guided Ambrosia through what they needed to do. Every word was calming. “Pain breathing means you likely have broken ribs.” Ambrosia had no doubt about that. When she had been fleeing the Sealed Grounds, trying to weave her way between head stones without tripping over them, as unseen force had struck her from the side, lifting her off her feet and driving her sideways across the top of one of the grave markers. Her ribs had cracked, and the air had been knocked from her lungs. She would have been dead had it not been for the ghost who had possessed her. All of Ambrosia’s fight and will to survive had left her with her breath, but that one benevolent ghost didn’t feel her pain and drove her body to great lengths to escape the cemetery. Even if Ambrosia had the will to battle through that, she was sure that the raking gashes that the other ghosts inflicted as she fled would have stopped her in her tracks. But her savior ghost had let Ambrosia worry about the pain while driving her toward the fringes of the Sealed Grounds. It was those wounds Asterope addressed next as she asked Ambrosia to take off her dress. With all the blood-caked material around the wounds, Ambrosia knew the dress was in the way, but she wasn’t looking forward to getting it off. Standing and crossing her arms at her hips to grasp the soft fabric in each hand, Ambrosia began to pull her clothes upward, but she didn’t make it far before screaming pain shot through her left arm. It was fortunate that she was still next to the bed, because she forgot to keep standing. As she collapsed back to sit on the bed, her first instinct was to clutch her arm to her, but the pressure of her good arm against the bad one only made the pain worse. With a gasp of pain, Ambrosia let the arm drop limp at her side and gripped the bed’s edge with her good hand as the pain subsided. It took a few long moments before she could speak again. Ambrosia gestured to her left arm. “My arm’s in bad shape. I don’t think I can move it much.” She stood back up again. “Asterope, love, I think I’m gonna need your help getting this dress off. If you need to cut it, I don’t mind. It’s already ruined anyhow.” Ambrosia slowly lifted her good arm to facilitate getting her clothes off. Even the gentle stretch of that motion pulled at her sore ribs. As some of the dried blood pulled at her wounds, Ambrosia winced and inhaled sharply, only to wince again as the breath expanded her chest pulling her ribs farther apart. She took a moment to catch and steady her shallow breath, then nodded to Asterope to continue. With the help of a nearby pair of scissors, the dress was off in less than a chime. The soft hiss behind Ambrosia told her her wounds looked bad. “What exactly caused the scratches?” “Ghosts.” Ambrosia spoke to the ground now. Addressing anyone face to face gave her attachment to the world, and that was the last thing she wanted right now. “They may only be spirits, but they’re much more physical than everyone thinks. Suffering seems to be a part of their existence, so they make sure others suffer the same. Trust me, they feel real enough when their mist is cutting through your skin.” While Ambrosia talked, Asterope wandered the room, searching the shelves and gathering supplies she’d need to treat her patient. As the healer filled a bowl with some liquid that burned the nose worse than degtine did, she instructed Ambrosia to lie on the bed, laying a towel over it before she did. Gingerly, Ambrosia did as she was told, gently laying facedown and taking her time to stretch her body out. As her ribcage settled on the bed, her breathing became even shallower. With Asterope’s skilled hands guiding her, Ambrosia was sure the position was as comfortable as it could possibly be. She felt safe in the other woman’s care. Somehow, it felt as if everything would be alright. “This is going to hurt,” the healer warned. Ambrosia was aware enough of that already. Every moment that passed made her more aware of her body, and every little thing she became aware of was another injury or greater awareness of the pain of ones she already knew about. Her back was on fire, and she could feel little muscles twitching whenever a wound through their fibers was stretched. With every breath, the skin on either side of her wounds spread apart, giving her unneeded reminders that they were there. “Do you want something to bite or squeeze? Screaming is always an option, too.” Ambrosia smirked, and a short, empty laugh managed to start before the pain in her ribs forced her to stop. Steadying her breath, she shook her head. “I’ll be good without. Let’s get this over with.” Her hands snaked around the edges of the bed and gripped the wooden frame tightly in anticipation of what was to come. Ambrosia thought she was ready. After all, she knew the burn of degtine when it found the invisible cuts on her fingers that she hadn’t been aware of. She thought she was ready, but she wasn’t. The moment the alcohol-soaked rag touched her wound, her hands clamped down on the bed, her nails driving themselves into the wood. Muscles she didn’t even know she had spasmed and flexed as if in doing so they could protect her from this pain. There was an overall effort to pull herself away from Asterope’s ministering, to shove her body deeper into the bed, but it was fruitless. She wasn’t aware of it, but she did scream. Her face was buried in the pillow when she did, so the sound was muffled. Her screams stopped short as her breath caught in her lungs. Tears welled up in her eyes as her diaphragm struggled to remember how to work. A vague panic grew beneath the pain as her body became desperate for air and built as she became more and more lightheaded. Finally, her breath came with a gasp, but by that time, she’d forgotten to scream and just remained still, wishing and praying to the Goddess that her pain would go away. When Asterope finally finished, Ambrosia allowed everything to release. Her flexed muscles relaxed, though they continued to tremble, and her breath slowed and deepened. Her fingers took the longest to uncurl; they had cramped into near fists. When her fingernails broke free from the purchase they had made, her fingertips ran over the shallow grooves, and the texture of the smooth wood against her skin seemed to be her first comfort of the day. Pushing herself up on to her elbows, Ambrosia wiped away the tears that hadn’t already been absorbed by the pillow. “Please say that’s the worst of it.” She was hoping the medicine would kick in soon.

[Asterope]

"Ghosts."

The word sent a shiver through Aster, and she paused for a brief moment. She supposed given what Ambrosia had already said it wasn't a surprise, but to see the damage that they could do was chilling. She knew ghosts could be violent, but this...she shook the thoughts off.

When she dismissed the offer for something to grip, Aster hovered over the injured woman's back, rag in hand. A few drops of clear spirits dripped down onto Ambrosia's lower back, cold despite the warmth of the room. "Alright. Deep breath in." With that command, Aster gently pressed the rag to the wounds.

Ambrosia's response was instantaneous. Her whole body flexed automatically and involuntarily, muscles in her back spasming. Aster winced in sympathy, but didn't stop. With firm but gentle movements, she wiped the rag down the length of the gouges in Ambrosia's back, wiping away caked, dried blood and dirt. She screamed, but Aster tuned it out, focusing on doing her job. She hated the sound and her heart twinged, but her hands remained steady.

Aster didn't rush the process; infection could spell disaster. So despite the pain the other woman was clearly in, she moved the cloth methodically until she was satisfied with the results. Setting it aside, she hesitated before gently smoothing a hand over Ambrosia's head, her touch light so as not to aggravate any pain. Some patients despised to be touched at all, let alone babied as Aster could sometimes do, but she risked it anyway.

She could feel the woman beside her slowly relaxing as the stinging subsided. "Good," Aster murmured, finally lifting her hand away. "Yes, that should be the worst of it." She didn't know how true that was, really, but she felt as if the reassurance was needed. "Breathe as deeply as you can for me, but don't strain your ribs."

She stood to pour Ambrosia a glass of water from the pitcher on the side table, giving her a few moments to recover. She offered the glass wordlessly, and should the woman accept it, helped her prop herself up to be able to sip at it.

She allowed her gaze to scan over Ambrosia's back as she did this, lips pursed. The wounds were too deep for her to do much about; she was likely best off simply sticking to stitches. She doubted Ambrosia was going anywhere that night, or perhaps even the next few days, and she would likely need to come back. With that in mind, Aster settled on fine silk thread as she prepped the needle.

"Alright, the pain reliever should be kicking in by now, so this should be more uncomfortable than painful. If it does hurt let me know and I'll give you some more, alright?" With that, Aster began the stitches on the wound nearest her. It was a process she was familiar with at that point. The edges of the wounds weren't exactly clean, so it took her a few moments to find the necessary rhythm, but eventually she began to settle into it.

Pierce, pierce, loop, tuck, pull, loop, tuck, pull; the square knots weren't as straight as she would have liked due to the ragged edges of the wounds, but they were the best she could do. Aster went slowly, waiting to see if Ambrosia would need more pain medication; if she requested it, the Eth would not hesitate to pause her stitching to fetch some. She had to shift her position every so often to try and match the edges of the wounds as neatly as she could.

"How are you holding up?" Aster asked, quietly, her eyes not moving from where they were focused on the needle and thread in her hands. She meant physically, but if Ambrosia wanted to talk about how she was feeling Aster would dutifully listen. It was slow work, but she eventually finished up the stitches on the first scratch, tying off the last knot securely.

She sat back, stretching her back and rolling her neck, her spine protesting slightly from having been bent over in one tense position for so long. A few moments rest would be good for the both of them.

Word Count: 700; Total: 2,047

"Speech" | Thoughts
"Other People's Speech"

[Ambrosia Alar]

Asterope’s gentle touch on the back of Ambrosia’s head as she recovered was a welcome gesture. It was feather light, and the thought that someone might care for her, no matter how anonymous she was, comforted her. As Ambrosia’s muscles relaxed and subsided like the ebbing tide, Asterope’s hand moved away. “That should be the worst of it. Breathe as deeply as you can for me, but don’t strain your ribs.” Doing as she was told, Ambrosia let sweet air tinged with the scent of alcohol flood through her nose and down into her lungs until she felt the now familiar twinge of her cracked and broken ribs being stressed. She stopped there but held her breath, forcing herself to become familiar with the pain, intimate with it. Once she felt she had begun to lose sense of the pain, she drew in a little more breath, only to let it out quickly as the sting of her ribs worsened. Breath after breath, again and again, she continued in this fashion, every time managing to get a little more air with each breath. Despite her progress, she still didn’t manage a normal breath by the time Asterope handed her a glass of water. Sitting up, Ambrosia took the glass gratefully and gulped it greedily down. She hadn’t realized how thirsty the Underground had made her. The world beneath the city was on fire. Everything was burning. The ground itself was melting. The air was hot and dry, so dry it seemed to suck the moisture out of anything it could, living flesh included. Holding the glass out with the unasked question for more, Ambrosia hoped Asterope would understand and get her another glassful. If she did, Ambrosia would gulp it down again. When she was finished, Ambrosia watched Asterope go about setting up her needle. She selected a thin, dark thread and placed it through the eye of the needle and prepared Ambrosia for what was going to happen. “The pain reliever should be kicking in by now, so this should be more uncomfortable than painful.” Ambrosia nodded. She hadn’t been aware of it, but her greed for water had masked the growing sensation, or lack thereof. A general euphoria rose throughout her, and while she still felt some pain, she realized now she didn’t care. It was the best place for her to be, and she was glad for whatever drugs Asterope had given her. Asterope readied herself to suture Ambrosia’s wounds closed. “If it does hurt, let me know, and I’ll give you some more, alright?” Ambrosia lay face down again and shook her head as she closed her eyes. “That won’t be necessary. I’m feeling it now, and it’s fantastic. You didn’t get it from the Unnamye by chance? This rivals some of their best.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s the shock talking.” Sharp and exact, Ambrosia felt the needle pierce through the skin on one side of the wound, then again on the other side of the wound. Sharp and exact. But Ambrosia didn’t care. She felt every prick of the needle, but like the sting of her ribs, it became familiar, and Ambrosia wasn’t sure she would happy without it. The rhythmic pierce, pierce, pull lulled her slowly and methodically to a nearly-sleeping state. Ambrosia was aware of everything, but it all felt so distant. She was so entranced in this pattern that when Asterope stopped and talked, Ambrosia started a little and laughed at the sudden racing of her heart. “How are you holding up?” Ambrosia laughed again, a mixture of the stress and the drugs, and sighed before she responded. “Perfectly. You have the magical touch, love.” The drugs had clouded her mind, and she had temporarily forgotten the other woman’s name. “I don’t think I’ve met a gentler pair of hands. Alvadas is lucky to have you.” As the pattern continued, Ambrosia almost lost herself in it once more, almost fell asleep again, but then, she remembered her healer’s name. “Asterope.” It sounded ridiculous to just say the other woman’s name, though it was a major victory for her fragile mind, so Ambrosia decided to discover more about the woman. No trauma, no near-scrape with death, could stifle Ambrosia’s insatiable curiosity. “When did you fall?” She hoped it wasn’t an insensitive question to ask, but she had heard the horned denizens of Mizahar were servants of Leth and Syna who had fallen from the Ukalas. It seemed an important thing to know, much like a birthday, though even birthdays only seemed important if one knew the person. This seemed more important than that, as there had to be some awareness of it. Where babies could care less about the day of their birth, the Ethaefal must have known what they had been, the importance of their existence, and their proximity to the gods and goddesses. Ambrosia hoped it wasn’t insensitive to ask, because it was sure to be a heartbreaking memory. She sighed again, then listened to whatever Asterope was willing to tell her as the continued pattern continued to lull her toward sleep.

[Asterope]

Aster raised a brow as Ambrosia asked after the pain reliever; the Unnamye? Aster hadn't yet heard of the place during her stay in Alvadas, but judging by Ambrosia's words, it likely sold drugs of some time type or another.

"I don't know where Irene gets her supplies from," She said, honestly. Even if she did, she would hardly give that information out to patients, but she didn't say that. "I suppose it's possible."

The blonde laughed beneath her hands when Aster paused to check up on her, and a mixture of amusement and pity swam around Asterope's chest; the drugs seemed to be doing their job and then some, by the sounds of it.

The woman's praise startled her, and Aster smiled slightly, a surprised chuckle slipping out of her mouth. "You're just saying that because of the drugs," She told Ambrosia, her voice light with amusement. "But thank you."

Silence fell over the pair once more, until suddenly Ambrosia stirred, and said her name without urgency, but with conviction. Asterope paused, waiting for the woman to continue. It took a few moments, but finally she spoke again. The question came out of the blue. Aster hadn't been expecting it, and it nearly knocked the wind out of her.

The atmosphere turned tense as thoughts that Aster usually kept at bay, especially when she was working, threatened to surface. The Eth swallowed, inhaling deeply, closing her eyes for a brief moment as she tried to focus herself, reminding herself that she had a patient that needed tending to. She was sure Ambrosia hadn't meant badly, but the question had shaken her, and a deep-seated part of her that she didn't want to acknowledge churned with something akin to anger.

Aster was silent for a long moment as she threaded the needle again, preparing to begin on the other gouge in the woman's back. She was surprised at the exactness of the question as well, when she thought about it. Most weren't aware of what she was, in her experience; let alone how she'd come to walk among mortals and the mundane.

Just when it seemed like perhaps she would ignore the question, Asterope spoke again. Her voice was quieter than before, and it held a deep, almost ancient sadness to it, despite how young Aster was. "It was summer, two years ago. Midsummer. The fifty-first, to be exact."

That was all she planned on saying; it was more information than she even would have liked to give out, really. But Aster found that she was unable to stop; perhaps it was the environment, of having something to focus on while she spoke, so she didn't have to concentrate on the memories. Or perhaps it was Ambrosia's company, drugged and sleepy as it was, that made her comfortable enough to speak of her past. Either way, she continued to talk as she stitched the woman's wound, hands still steady as they moved back and forth.

"I fell near Riverfall. Making it to land was...difficult. I was found by some children the next day; they belonged to a Drykas pavilion. They were kind enough to take me in. I stayed with them for quite awhile, travelling and living with them, which is where I learned almost everything I know." A bittersweet fondness took hold of her voice as she spoke of the pavilion she'd been with; she missed them. Despite how comfortable she'd grown in Alvadas, it was still the closest thing to a home and a family she'd experienced.

Asterope paused then, as if realizing how much she'd said, and cleared her throat, suddenly feeling awkward. "I'm sorry, you probably don't want to hear my whole life story, though I suppose it isn't very long, all things considered."

She redoubled her focus on the wound beneath her, nearly done with the stitches; it took only a few more moments of silence for her to finish, carefully sliding the needle through the edge of the wound at the bottom and pulling it tight before tying it off and snipping the thread.

Aster sat back, looking over her handiwork with a sharp gaze, checking to make sure the stitches were even and tight, and that the edges of the wound pulled outward properly. "Alright, let's take a look at that arm now," She said, gently. She stood to put the stitching supplies away, letting Ambrosia sit up at her own pace, keeping an eye on the woman in case she needed help.

Word Count: 750; Total: 2,797

[Ambrosia Alar]

There was a deep breath after Ambrosia asked the question about Asterope’s fall, and the silence that came after was like the world had drawn a breath with the Ethaefal and waited to see what she would do to the insensitive person who had asked about such a thing. Immediately, Ambrosia kicked herself. The more she thought about it, the more insensitive it began to sound. It must have been like asking a ghost what day they had died on and how or asking a parent what the anniversary was of the day they had lost a child. There were some things people just didn’t do, and Ambrosia had just done one of them. With this knowledge, Ambrosia waited for her healer to just up and leave her. But Asterope did no such thing. There was something deep seated in Ehaefal, a need to meet others’ needs before her own or something so similar to that Ambrosia wouldn’t know the difference if it was explained to her. When Asterope spoke, it was with the voice and the weight of someone who had lived several lifetimes of sorrow. It was impossible to tell how old she was. Her appearance said one thing; her sorrow, another. And yet, some other aspect that Ambrosia couldn’t quite place her finger on said that neither of these was right. “It was summer, two years ago. Midsummer.” Asterope went on with a story of how she had fallen to the Suvan, dragged herself to shore, and been taken in by the Drykas. Ambrosia had never understood the race’s love for horses. The big animals always seemed to be plotting something terrible whenever Ambrosia was around them. But what Ambrosia did understand and admired about the Drykas was how important family was to them. As Asterope continued the story, her voice changed. There was still sorrow, still pain. But this was much more specific than the sorrow her voice had held while speaking of her fall. This was a sorrow with that unique, and vicious, hint of sweetness. Asterope missed them, maybe more so than she missed the deities and the Ukalas. That was something Ambrosia understood. She had only just parted ways with her sister after nearly two seasons of being apart, and already, Ambrosia missed Tessa. For a moment, Ambrosia felt a kinship with the woman tending her wounds. Tears threatened again, and Ambrosia didn’t blink them back. She let them fall. With her lying face down, no one would see them anyhow. Asterope cleared her throat and apologized. “I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to hear my whole life story, though I suppose it isn’t very long, all things considered.” Ambrosia dismissed the apology with a laugh. “Life stories are the bread and butter of my profession.” It was true. The more she knew about someone, the more at home and comfortable she could make them at the Rear. “Even if they ain’t interesting, stories tend to give you plenty of details about a person. I actually’d love to hear more.” But Asterope went silent as she put all her focus into her work. With a few more stitches, the wound was closed, and Asterope stood to clean up her supplies. “Alright, let’s take a look at that arm now.” As Asterope continued to put the medical supplies where they needed to go, some to be cleaned and some in their usual places, Ambrosia made to sit up, using her one good arm to push herself up. About half way up though, something happened. Darkness swept in from the corners of her vision, and the world started to spin around her. Before she could pass out, she quickly lied back down and waited for the darkness to recede, then without knowing why began to laugh again. “Being upright is difficult. That can’t be a good sign.” Slowly this time, she pushed herself up bit by bit to make sure her body and equilibrium were moving as one. Happily, she found they did, though the process took much longer than the first time. She was finding it difficult to stop little giggles from escaping. This feeling was too good. If she didn’t have a conscience, she would have tried to steal some of this medicine for later, recreational use. As it was, she was still considering putting Jomi up to thieving some for her. She almost asked what it was but decided against it. Once she was sitting up, she looked to Asterope who was somewhere back behind her left shoulder. “So your pavilion? What were they like? I know kids can be clingy, especially once they feel responsible for something. I bet they adored you.” Ambrosia hoped this would get Asterope talking plenty, because she needed the distraction. It was a fair question, she thought, somewhat removed from the tragedy of her fall but still enough to get details about the woman with. The more Ambrosia was left to herself to think, the more she noticed the pain in her arm. It was dull and distant, but thinking about it made it worse.

[Asterope]

Aster allowed Ambrosia to sit up on her own, turning her back as she tidied up, giving herself some time as well to collect her thoughts. Her head raised when she heard the sudden breathless laughter, fixing Ambrosia with a slightly concerned look.

"Easy, there. It's not a good sign, but it's not exactly a surprise. Your body's been through a lot." Aster approached the bed as Ambrosia pushed herself up more slowly, and a wry, bemused smile flickered over her mouth despite herself as she heard the quiet giggles from the blonde.

Content that Ambrosia wasn't going to fall over or pass out, Aster began to fetch the materials she would need to set the broken arm. More questions came then, but she was more prepared for them; and while still bittersweet, it was an easier line of conversation.

"They were...kind." It was the first word that came to mind. "There was a woman, Nara. She taught me about medicine and herbalism." Asterope made her way back over to the bed, and smiled without realizing it as Ambrosia asked about the children.

"I didn't have many useful skills, especially at first. I spent a lot of time with the children, babysitting and the like. Clingy is one way of describing it." A quiet laugh left Aster as she thought back to the children always clamoring for her attention.

"The youngest liked to grab my horns, and the language barrier was easier with them. If you didn't understand, they would just drag you around and show you what they meant." Asterope spoke idly now as she worked, mindfully taking hold of Ambrosia's arm to examine it.

The break was relatively clean from what she could tell, but a small bit of bone poked out of Ambrosia's arm near the crease of her elbow, gleaming a dull off-white in the light. That would need to be pushed back in before anything else.

"Ambrosia, I want you to count to three and then take a deep breath in," Asterope instructed, maneuvering herself to the side of the woman, before continuing to speak, hoping to distract her somewhat. It wasn't going to be pleasant to reposition the bone.

"The eldest one, Etton, used to watch Nara teach me about herbalism. He always wanted to use the mortar and pestle, and he'd pout if we didn't let him." Aster spoke calmly, waiting for Ambrosia to follow her instructions, positioning the heel of her hand above the bone, mentally counting along. On three, she jammed her hand down, putting all of her weight into her arm to shove the bone back into place.

"Easy," Aster turned to steady Ambrosia automatically, trying to judge how well she'd taken the pain. "Are you still alright? That was the worst of it, splinting it will be easy." She offered Ambrosia more water should she need it before bustling around, cleaning the small cut where they bone had protruded.

Despite being deep, it was small, so instead of putting the poor woman through more stitches, Aster placed her palm over the cut, concentrating. Warmth tingled through her hand and fingers which glowed for a brief moment as she concentrated. It took longer than normal due to the depth of the wound, but after a few ticks the light faded.

Aster removed her hand and inspected the wound, poking at it gently. It would need to stay bandaged for awhile, and it hadn't quite scabbed, but it had closed enough to stop the oozing of blood and to not need stitches. Satisfied, Aster grabbed the splint, straightening Ambrosia's arm and lining it up carefully. She wrapped it tightly and bandaged the exit point of the bone before stepping back, admiring her handiwork.

Poor Ambrosia looked a mess; but slightly less of a mess than when she'd first stumbled into the Mercy. "I think that's it. How do you feel? Does anything else hurt?" Aster asked, checking her over with her eyes for any wounds she may have missed.

"I know you probably don't want to, but I think you should stay here. Ideally for a few days, but if not, at least overnight. You're not exactly in good shape." Aster was expecting protest; the blonde didn't seem like she would want to stay in the hospital. Anticipating a fight, Aster cleared her throat as she gathered up the excess supplies to be put away. "If you stay, I'll tell you more about myself," She coaxed, hoping it would be enough to get the blonde to agree to at least the night; she had seemed rather curious, after all.

Word Count: 768; Total: 3,565