ArchivedLogs:Bed and Bandages

Bed and Bandages
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Nox, Matt
In Absentia	2013-03-11 like a bed and breakfast, but with more blood.
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. It's dark outside and not all that /much/ lighter in here, really. There's light upstairs, warm and flickering -- candles, not lamps -- coming from the master bedroom. Downstairs there is similar -- only two candles, though, perched on the living room table and illuminating the room in an odd dancing play of shadow and light. It illuminates Matt, curled up in his armchair, this time not alone in his nest of blankets; a small brown-haired child is nestled there with him, her head resting against his chest, both siblings dozing. Upstairs a shower is running. Or was running. It's recently stopped. The dark outside is a blessed thing. Nox enters through the garden. Literally, /through/ the garden, a cloak of shadow that drifts over and through and around the stalks and stakes of the coming spring's plantings. It's better this way, to be intangible and as spread out as she can manage. It hurts less. It would be so easy to just allow herself to remain so, to drift in the cool, quiet nothing of being just a shadow. But that would also be unforgivably rude, and perhaps more than a little creepy. She collects herself slowly, at first just an outline of a shape in the squares of light thrown by the windows. Gradually that outline becomes three-dimensional, the woman drawing herself up to approach the back door. She listens for a time, head bowed and grey skin starkly slashed by black in several places--her hands and wrists, her shoulder, her flank. Then, quietly, she raps her knuckles against the glass. Hello, Casa Tessier. You have a visitor. It's Matt who stirs, first, hand curling in reflexive stabilizing against Sera's head as he shifts in the chair. The quiet knock rouses him from sleep but, half-awake, he only peers blearily through the candlelight. Lucien is coming downstairs, hair damp, soft black bathrobe on that he's absently tying shut. He's /trying/ to be quiet, but Matt, already half-roused, wakes further at the motion. "{Did you drop something?}" he asks Lucien, a little confused in quiet French. "{Drop -- no.}" Lucien gives this answer with a shake of his head as he opens the fridge. "{Go back to sleep.}" "{No, I swear I heard --}" Matt is looking around, /more/ confused now. "{Something.}" The figure that is Nox is flickering in and out as she tries to cope with the pain she's in. Black "bleeds" from those deep cuts, only to fade the further it gets from its source. She waits, most often with her head down, but when movement is seen in the kitchen she raises her hand again. Knock, knock, so lightly against the glass as her knuckles refuse to remain solid. More tangible is the palm she presses against the pane, smearing it with darkness, and the eyes that turn to follow Lucien on his course to the fridge. Her eyebrows, when they're visible, are raised and curved apologetically. "{Are you sure you weren't just -- oh.}" Now Lucien hears the knock, too, closing the fridge with a frown. That's -- not where knocks generally come from. He turns to the door in some surprise, glancing out the window uncertainly. His eyes widen. He moves hurriedly to the back door, unlocking it to pull it open. "Nox. Goodness. What are you --" His green eyes are flicking over her in quick appraisal, over the smear on the glass, over the dark slashes. He waves her in. "-- What happened?" "Thank you." Her manners are intact, at least. Nox slides in through the opened portal and immediately plasters herself to the wall, losing that three dimensional quality--but only until she reaches out, arm separating from the plaster to gently urge the door to shut. She studies the night through the glass afterwards before withdrawing, arm and hand folding back into the main shadow. "I am not entirely certain, yet. There was a...there was a child. A girl. In the tunnels. Something had her. I took her back. I took her to the hospital," she whispers, with a significant pause between each sentence. "I apologize. Lucien. For the interruption of your evening. May I rest, for a moment? Here?" "What? Something -- a girl? One of yours?" Lucien is not quite tracking all of this, though he is tracking Nox's movements with a concerned frown. "Something like what? Is she going to be -- who had her? Are you hurt?" All of this comes out -- quietly. But quick and worried. "Lucien, what -- Nox." Matt is only just catching on to the presence of a Nox. The girl in his lap is stirring, and he strokes gently at her hair, quieting back down. "Of course you can rest," Lucien remembers to add, only belatedly. "Is there anything I can get you?" Nox's movements are not clean or easy but they've smoothed out somewhat, now that she's pressed against the wall. The way her outline's head is down comes across as apologetic--or shy. Indicative, perhaps, of attempting to hide from any sort of assessment. "No. The girl was...there was a news report. Missing. Something like me had her. Except it was.../he/ was bloody. Hemokinetic? Perhaps. Hiding in the tunnels. /My/ tunnels." There, there's just a glimpse of the displeasure with which she faced down this whatever it was. It lasts only a moment and then Nox hears Matt's voice, and shrinks down again. "Oh, I am so sorry," she murmurs, a finger lifted to her lips. "Shh, Matt. Hello. Everything is all right, you should sleep again." Her head turns back towards Lucien. "A...dark room? A robe. Do you have...bandages?" "Hemo -- He was taking her blood? In your tunnels?" Lucien's concern, it must be said, is not /fading/ at these explanations. "That does not sound much like you. I cannot quite imagine you attacking a child. Come. I have -- have all those things." He gestures Nox to follow, heading away to start up the stairs. Behind them, Matt needs little encouragement to return to napping. He has blankets. He has a Sera. Warmth is tempting. "Is she going to be okay?" It is the last question that Nox answers first and even in her soft voice, there is deep regret and near palpable worry. "I don't know. I had to leave her, there were people. They saw me. They saw me and it frightened them." She's skirting along the wall behind Lucien, a glance trailing behind her for Matt and his little bundle of warmth beneath the blankets. The sight is enough to make her hesitate before she quickens her pace to keep from falling behind. "He was like me," she maintains quietly, "because he had given up trying to appear human. I couldn't hold him. He was just...blood. And mouths. And cutting things. But I got her away. Maybe she will live." "What hospital?" Lucien asks, heading up the stairs. His bedroom is lit, too, by candles, a number of them across tables and he circles the room to blow them out, one by one, leaving just one by the far window. He slips into his walk-in closet to retrieve a robe, matching his own, which he drapes over the bed. "/Made/ out of blood? That hardly sounds --" His lips press together. "Enough to be more blood than just hers?" He's slipping back out. Towards the bathroom. Bandages. "Mount Sinai." Candles Nox can appreciate--they leave so much unlit with their little dancing flames. Even better when their number is reduced to only one and she can slide away from the wall to stand as normal people do. Still hazy at the edges, but present. She doesn't go for the robe yet. God only knows what sort of marks shadow-blood leaves on such finely woven material. "So much blood...everywhere. He had her held to the wall. Like a spider with a web. Dried...it wasn't hers. Someone else's? Probably. The other boy, the one they found." She's murmuring to herself now while Lucien is away, gingerly touching the cuts to her side. The water runs in the bathroom. Lucien returns in short order, with a first aid kit that he sets on the nightstand to open, a shallow bowl of water, a small stack of towels. "Mount Sinai. I can, perhaps, find out for you her status. I have a -- contact there. Sit. Let me help. It was, at least, thankful that you found her. For all the horror, she is a lucky child." Nox is reluctant to sit, for reasons that are not immediately clear. She hesitates. But she requested the bandages and eventually she drifts over to sit on the edge of the mattress to help in applying them. As she settles, becoming solid enough that her weight rumples the blankets, the cuts take on new dimensions. Their edges grow less blurry, the streaks of black become more tangible and linger instead of fading away. Also, she hisses. It hurts now. But she presents her hands first, palms and wrists her foremost concern; the deepest cuts are there, some that look as if they were gone over more than once. "I would be in your debt. Thank you, Lucien. It was...it was a bad situation. And he is still out there. I couldn't follow him. Not with her to tend." "Will you heal?" Lucien says, with some worry as he dips a towel into the water. "Some of these would do better with stitches." He wrings it out to dab, gently, at Nox's hand, his fingertips rested lightly beneath it to stabilize it as he dabs. "It sounds a terrible one. And that is not the first child he has taken. He will do it again." It's not a question, just a thoughtful comment. His frown deepens. "Your people. Are you well protected?" "Stitches do poorly when you have difficulty remaining solid." Nox keeps as still as she can while the cuts are tended to. She closes her eyes against the hurt. "I used to be better at it." She's quiet for a time, utterly silent. Thinking, it turns out, because when she speaks again it's to say, "No one can get to our children. Even made of blood, he can burn. When..." She pauses. "We can hunt him." "Safely?" It's all Lucien asks, most of his attention on cleaning the cuts, gentle and careful. Somewhere in the dabbing, his frown deepens; a moment later the hurt simply vanishes, replaced instead by a soft gentle wash of something cool and soothing. He continues his work. Cleaning, first. Then getting ointment, gauze, to actually dress and bandage. "What is safe?" She might have intended to sound amused. Instead, she sounds tired--and then surprised. Her eyes open again, turned first to the cleaning and then to Lucien's face. She blinks, just once. "Thank you." After a brief internal struggle, she adds, "That feels like...it feels as I do when I am...not like this. When I'm myself. How did you know?" It's easier to shift now, turning and lifting her limbs as needed to provide targets for the dabbing. "Safe. I -- don't know," Lucien answers, quietly continuing his ministrations. And maybe this is about safety, but when he continues, at a slight delay, it is to add, "-- What it feels like for you. When you shift. But I know what you are feeling now. I feel it, too. It seemed preferable to the pain." Nox studies him for a moment longer before lowering her gaze. She makes a soft sound, a nearly inaudible, "Mmm," before slipping comfortably into silence for a time. In those moments, she is troubled, though it shows only mildly in the crease of her forehead. "Cool. Quiet. It is preferable. Thank you," she finally repeats. And then, attempting reassurance, "It is safer for us to look for him, than anyone else. We know the tunnels. We are...usually difficult to harm." "Does it bother you?" Lucien is wrapping gauze neat and careful. "I could wear gloves." There's a slight tightness in his jaw as he looks down at the bandaging. "Difficult. But not impossible. Still," he is quite /reluctant/ to admit, "someone has to. I hardly think the police are up to the task." "Bother...? Oh, no." Nox is /more/ deeply troubled when she realizes what he means. "No, please. It is only...if I had known you would feel the hurt too, I might have gone elsewhere," she admits. She reinforces this statement by gently touching the back of his hand before lifting hers back up and out of the way, curled with its twin close to her chest. "Most of us are very tough. A few days of rest and I'll be whole again. Sooner, perhaps, because it does not hurt." See? He's helped. "Only when I touch you," Lucien says, tucking an end of gauze gently into itself and dropping his hands to his knees. "I do not mind it. I am glad I can help. Glad you came here. It is safe here, at least." His lips twitch, as he glances towards the stairs. "Matt is not very formidable in a fist-fight these days but against those who rely on their mutations to hurt, he is as safe as it gets." His eyes drop, and he starts picking up debris; wrappers of gauze squares, the bloody towel. "You can rest here, if you wish. However long you need. We have bedrooms -- unused." There might be a slight twinge of regret in his voice with this last word, but it's brief. The very thought of Matt /having/ to intervene against It, the thing she saw, picturing it here in this house, the little girl beneath the blanket downstairs...nausea doesn't begin to describe what Nox feels at those mental images. Nausea and a fierce protective anger. It's only then that she considers that--but no. It couldn't have followed her here without notice, right? She's quiet for a moment, tamping those feelings down. It's easy with practice; soon enough she's able to smile at him. "A bed. Almost worth getting myself hurt...I make a very poor knight." "You saved a damsel in distress from a hideous monster. That seems worthy of the title, to me. It is the epitome of what knights are meant to do." Lucien drops the papers into a trashcan. The towels into a hamper. He picks up the robe, holding it open in offering. "A bed. You seem like you could well use the rest, after such an adventure." "A proper Knight would have felled the monster and saved the damsel both." There's weight to the title this time, the reference intended for a person or persons. Nox hesitates before turning and sliding her arms into the robe, eyes fixed firmly downwards. She is awkward in this now. Being tended. She smooths the robe, trying to make it seem less fidgeting and more a natural gesture. "I am only the chatelaine. I shouldn't stay. But a bed...a bed for the night would be a fine thing. Thank you, Lucien." "Only. You say that as though looking after the home is not a valuable part of /having/ one." Lucien nods, and the hand that he rests, lightly, at Nox's back is supporting or guiding or perhaps both as he starts out of the room. The other rooms on this floor are dark, but he does not bother to un-darken them, given his company; he heads towards a bedroom, the walls covered with a host of movie posters, the bedspread striped green and black, a lone matchbox car on the desk but the room otherwise impeccably tidy. "It will hopefully suit. Can I -- is there -- anything else I can do for you?" "I know what is done by them to /keep/ the home so that I may look after it," Nox counters, a smile in her tone. She goes easily and takes a moment to study the room she's led to, seeing it perfectly fine without the need for lights. She might have said something, recognizing it to be something /other/ than the unused room he'd promised but when she glances up at the man, that thought is set aside. She reaches instead to lightly touch her fingertips to his cheek before drawing her bandaged hand away. "Thank you," she says, "this is enough." The touch comes with another slight flush of feeling. This time it is soft, warm, as Lucien's head turns just slightly into the light press of fingertips. His head bows, and he steps back towards the door. "My room is just down the hall. If you need anything. Goodnight, Nox." Nox's hands curl together and rest against the front of her robe. She watches him go, making no move towards the bed yet. "Goodnight, Lucien," she offers softly. Lucien pulls the door closed behind him. There's a long pause before his footsteps quietly move away.