travelerscurse (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
travelerscurse) wrote2022-07-26 11:14 am
travelerscurse) wrote2022-07-26 11:14 am
Everything I tell you has been spoken...
He's been avoiding it.
He's had other things to think about, what with the actually for real almost dying this time, aether so incredibly low and body so injured that even though he'd been able to be conscious and occasionally mobile early in the process, the actual logistics of whether or not he was going to live were fairly prolonged. It's not that his rest hasn't been justified or that the order that people weren't to bother him wasn't as welcome as it was frustrating. But in his heart, he knows he's avoiding it, that he's actually lingered in his sick bed several days past when he normally would have. Tataru in particular has been proud of him, for actually giving himself time to heal, for not being belligerent and staggering out to breakfast and damn the consequences.
But he knows the truth.
It's only going to get worse the longer he lets it go, though, so after a few days of fidgeting, accepting the praise with growing guilt, he swings his feet out of bed and makes to get dressed. Nothing complicated-- he both doesn't want anyone to think he's actually trying to do anything and he's also not sure he's got the motor coordination yet for all of his normal straps and buttons and buckles. A simple shirt and pants then, tucked into simple boots. He'd like to take his staff with him, spends a moment with his fingers laid against the bark, taking comfort from a familiar object, but ultimately he doesn't want to antagonize either Emet-Selch or Tataru with the thought he might actually use it for magic.
His gait is missing some of it's usual spring (or swagger, depending on who you asked) but he's at least able to walk normally now and it's a surprisingly simple matter to make a few inquiries and find Emet-Selch, wherever he's chosen to be in Sharlayan. He doesn't make a secret of his approach in the slightest, even clears his throat a little, before he opens his mouth to say something and realizes he has no idea what to say.
"Ah. I... thought you might want to know that I was... out of bed finally." He starts with, lamely. It's not why he's here and they both know it.
He's had other things to think about, what with the actually for real almost dying this time, aether so incredibly low and body so injured that even though he'd been able to be conscious and occasionally mobile early in the process, the actual logistics of whether or not he was going to live were fairly prolonged. It's not that his rest hasn't been justified or that the order that people weren't to bother him wasn't as welcome as it was frustrating. But in his heart, he knows he's avoiding it, that he's actually lingered in his sick bed several days past when he normally would have. Tataru in particular has been proud of him, for actually giving himself time to heal, for not being belligerent and staggering out to breakfast and damn the consequences.
But he knows the truth.
It's only going to get worse the longer he lets it go, though, so after a few days of fidgeting, accepting the praise with growing guilt, he swings his feet out of bed and makes to get dressed. Nothing complicated-- he both doesn't want anyone to think he's actually trying to do anything and he's also not sure he's got the motor coordination yet for all of his normal straps and buttons and buckles. A simple shirt and pants then, tucked into simple boots. He'd like to take his staff with him, spends a moment with his fingers laid against the bark, taking comfort from a familiar object, but ultimately he doesn't want to antagonize either Emet-Selch or Tataru with the thought he might actually use it for magic.
His gait is missing some of it's usual spring (or swagger, depending on who you asked) but he's at least able to walk normally now and it's a surprisingly simple matter to make a few inquiries and find Emet-Selch, wherever he's chosen to be in Sharlayan. He doesn't make a secret of his approach in the slightest, even clears his throat a little, before he opens his mouth to say something and realizes he has no idea what to say.
"Ah. I... thought you might want to know that I was... out of bed finally." He starts with, lamely. It's not why he's here and they both know it.
no subject
"Oh, of course! Of course, but it will only take a few minutes, I promise you!" they enthuse. "After all, it isn't every day you get to question someone who has lived through all of known history!"
The former Ascian ponders taking action, but after a sideways glance at Gustavain, he decides that it would be much more fun to watch them take care of the matter. In whatever way they deem appropriate. So he pretends not to stir and waits for the Warrior's response.