RP:Healers Homecoming

From HollowWiki

This is a Healer's Guild RP.



Homecoming: After a lengthy exodus the Master Healer is welcomed home and given the short version of things that had gone on in her absence. Little does she know she is in the presence of the newest recruit, Bastion, that has excused himself prematurely.


Sabrina pushed open the door in that long-last fashion before briskly making her way to the stairs in a room that had suddenly stopped. New members look to seasoned veterans in wonder as to what the commotion is about. Eventually all eyes follow the hollow footsteps of muddied boots and a travel-tired woman with a heavy ruck and only slightly disheveled features. Mei is the least stunned, hurriedly reaching for a stack of papers that must have been months old at least. They stop at the base of the stairs to exchange a few words and slowly the workplace pretends to get on with its day. The ruck is shed and placed heavily in Mei's hands and a curious hand traces a length of the girl's hair. She had grown so much, but then Sabrina had been gone some time. It was clear the paperwork would be saved for a later time, and Mei carries the items back to her station with a smile on her face. Finally, the rumors could settle. The Healer was in fact not-dead.

Ranok had feelers out for all sorts of rumors. Anything from the price of wheat, to rare artifacts discovered or on sale, or even on the movements on specific people. His reasons were tactical, mostly. The market had swells and ebbs, and any discerning businessman would keep a finger to its pulse. Artifacts held value beyond the intrinsic. And the people...well, some were enemies. Some were assets. Some others just needed tabs kept. All business. So he'd say. So it might have been odd that he was there waiting in Sabrina's house before she'd even gotten there. How he'd gotten there so damnably fast, or kept to himself until she'd come through the door, were both good questions. Like as not he'd bullied his way in, or perhaps he'd had some excuse. If Sabrina bothered to check the check in logs, she'd see he put his medical need as 'missing limb'. Maybe she'd find it as funny as he'd hoped. This was real life, of course, so there was no epic swell of music or a quieting of the room when the realization sinks in. A place of healing, a hospital, and the tides of life coming and going weren't to be denied. Whether she'd even notice him yet as she returned triumphant from...well, wherever it was she'd gone, maybe she'd see him, almost lounged in that damnably casual way he had. That he owned the space he occupied and it was hell if he'd care one whit that he was at all odds with everything the place stood for. A man of war in a place of healing.

The Elfess had turned to the stairs, one hand gently placed on the base of the banister complete with dirty fingernails and failing in all aspects of her normal pillar of cleanliness. It was an awkward pause before the brace is released and she turns purposefully towards the seating area. A bit of air is sucked through her front teeth. At least those were still clean. Upon turning, even in this distance her eyes were dark, oddly enough it was an improvement on her last look of cloudiness and imperfect sight. Wherever she had gone, and whatever she had done had not only resolved her issue with vision but rendered her unable to adopt the brilliance of a vivid mossy scowl. He’d recognize the expression regardless, as it was usually reserved for him alone. She abandons the stairs and moves to the logs, no need to flip the pages as his too-hard penmanship is etched on the front page of the leger. “Missing limb?” She scoffs in perfect elvish. The log is tucked under her arm as she makes her way to the casual slump of a male. “You are a few years too late with this complaint.” Again, in elvish, as if it had been some time since she spoke anything else. It was the formal stuff too, old… classy…rude.

Bastion had only just arrived at this place hours beforehand. He'd been inducted into the guild in a rather informal manner by Emilia following his efforts (ongoing, of course) in Larket in the wake of Kahran's massacre. It seemed that upon arriving at the house of healing, he'd almost immediately begun cleaning. The place wasn't especially ill maintained or any such thing, but Bastion was a peasant monk, prone to taking labors upon himself, often unasked. He was merrily making his way through the room Sabrina and Ranok now occupied with a mop and bucket, whistling a merry tune to himself, blindfolded but seemingly finding his step and doing his work fine in spite of it. He looked to be but a child, though sporting black ram horns and black and pink monk robes. A black lamb followed him around, bleating in tune with his whistling, also sporting ram horns... in spite of being a she-lamb, for those who could tell. Though she seemed quite real, those with the sharp enough senses would find she did not emit the normal odors of a lamb. She slipped and sprawled out on the wet floor, and Bastion nudged her in a circle with his foot while she bleated, spinning her around, and laughing. He didn't seem to notice the others in the room with him, just yet.

Ranok held an odd expression himself. To most it was the same mask of general dislike of the world, etched into the slab of wood that someone might generously call his face. To her, well. She knew him a little better. Uncoiling himself from the uncomfortable waiting room chair was a small feat, what with ensuring nothing sharp was pointed anywhere important, but he's standing eventually. A sort of half glance at the logbook, and fleshbound fingers trace over the metal. Despite the hardiness of its construction, scratches were etched upon it, "...figured I'd check in to see if your skill improved enough to trump even my skill." His own words were in elvish, hacked out in brutal efficiency. His head tilts, slightly, "You've changed." Of course he meant beyond the obvious. There was something different about her stance. She'd upgraded her social judo, so to speak. But, the smith was nothing if not foolhardy. He'd attempt the gulf. A finger, to extend, to lay upon a cheek, if she'd let him. A gentle tilt to observe the repairs done to her eyes. A remark, whether he was slapped away (literally or figuratively), "And you've healed. I am..." A silence, for a moment. He wasn't sure what to say, truly. How odd.

Sabrina twitches a little at a noise she is not accustomed to hearing, especially in this sanctuary. It wasn’t the goaty noise, exactly, nor was it the whistling that had merited the twitch. It was the essence of that creature that felt… unnatural. A livestock smell was just a smell, but magic in the air was rancid and off putting. Of course, the natural healer knew that arcane healers were being incorporated, but she didn’t expect them to be wafting their incantations unto the main hall. She was unphased by Ranok’s expression, it’s not like she ever really mastered emotional interpretation anyway. “Aye.” She answered him, based on the observations he must have taken in. As usual, she was stuck in the obvious he so often overlooked. He was permitted to touch her, unflinching. The only inclination he had touched her at all was a fraction of a second longer in a single blink. “You are?” A dark brow is lofted, though no focus could be determined in the pitch black of her gaze.

Bastion pet the thick wool of his lamb, then kissed it on the forehead. It wasn't a magical creature, but a spiritual manifestation, and it vanished as though it had never even existed as he stood. He finished his mopping and hooked a thumb under his blindfold, peeking at the two conversing in the room, before replacing it, picking up his bucket and mop, and leaving discretely. They seemed to be busy with their conversation, and he could clean the room later. It would be rude to interrupt them, after all.

Ranok drops the hand. What tender moment that may or may not have existed snaps. "I am...glad to see you." Chin raises ever so slightly, as if daring her to deny the statement. But whether it was forthcoming or not, he's moving. The janitor and the bleating sheep are both completely ignored as neither distinguished themselves beyond simply existing. He didn't tune into anything of the spiritual, and there was no danger so none of his defensive measures stirred. "I was wondering where you'd gone. But." Another glance, "I can surmise you took a visit home? Your stiffness, your elvish." Which he was still speaking as well, remembering a somewhat old promise to help the other improve their language skills. It seems she'd forgotten that he wish her to use common around him to improve her skills. Eyes were cast about the House of Ira, though, perhaps inevitably, they return to the elven woman near him, "Larket has not replaced you, but it has continued on without you. A good legacy, if it were. Of course, none could replace you." Fingers rub his shoulder, his left, the insensate hunk of metal it was, "Maybe your bedside manner, though." He was testing her. Probing the waters, so to speak. Perhaps to see what the ground had become in the...well, small chunk of time that had passed, to those such as them. But still a gulf. Sabrina turned her vision to Bastion for only a moment. That might have felt odd to have a demonic glare settle on ones self for any amount of time, especially if it was the first. It was a gaze she shared with her bonded companion, and now, her only method left to seeing at all. Spiritual, magical… in her world it all felt the same. A creature such as she was not meant for unnatural things. An odd concept given the obviously unnatural state of her eyes in this moment. Again, she rests tired attentions on Ranok, if not still wondering what that tiny feminine male wanted. Her curiosity is swallowed by Finn and his more discrete approach, when he hands the elfess a stack of garments, among other things. She’d have uttered an elvish thank you but Ranok’s words cuahgt her off guard. Glad to see her? The sideward expression was that of one looking at a crazy person, trying to not look at the crazy person. And it all sunk back into business. “Home, yes.” But she did not speak on it. Her mannerisms no doubt implied her retreat into subtle bitch-mode. Propriety was always her issue though, wasn’t it. “Even in Cairbara there was news of some sort of attack.” But wait, he was doing that thing with the language barrier. Her shoulders slump and she sighs exasperated. Elvish contorts to a poor, poor execution of common. Which she hadn’t used in months. “My manners in bed have improved, greatly.” And a wink. Nailed it.

Ranok held curiousity about a great many things, but knew the woman well enough not to simply dump a heap of questions upon her. And he couldn't help but feel like he was being a burden. This was not at all something he was used to, and it would have made him cranky, but he managed to control it. Her askance glance was smoothed over. He'd said it, it was there and done. Not that he'd take it back. Fingers play with the hilt of his sword, the only outward sign of any restlessness, "I have not..." An uncomfortable look around the hospital. No doubt there were some of the victims still laid up on bed, lives changed forever, "I have not kept up with Larket's trials as I should have. Details are slim. Something about riots and witches. And the king and queen in trouble." He frowns, perhaps realizing he was showing a shortcoming. Not that he could change it much. "Maybe I should pay a little more attention." Fingers click further as they lay out a drumbeat, metal upon metal. When she switches to Common, his face splits into amusement, for a scant few moments. Head shakes slightly, and he's raised a hand, "First off, that I doubt." Then, a realization sinks in, "...that was not what you meant." He coughs slightly, "Bedside manner. Yes." Very smooth. "I won't force you into Common so soon after you return. But maybe you want to get yourself cleaned up?" A gesture to her stack of clothes. Ranok was still a little unfamiliar with her actually changing her garb. It was almost as if he'd show up in something respectable for once. Just odd.

Sabrina paid close attention to Larket’s happenings in her absence, it always seemed to be something. “I suppose an audience with the King is in order.” More than happy to switch back into full elvish. She looks down at the stack in her hands. “Right then.” She turns and starts marching off to the baths still in conversation, after all, she had been with her kind for months, public bathing was still a normal thing. “I suppose the clinic does seem a little crowded for a typical weekday. Not one foot in the door and already back to work.” She missed it, the work. Probably not surprising if she uttered those thoughts aloud. She stopped a few paces away, turning to him in full expectation that he would follow. “Should Finn fetch you some garb as well?”