RP:Waking Skylei
Summary: After six months in a coma, Skylei finally wakes up. Josleen and her parents Kyl'oriel and Jessa are present. Skylei has been staying in Josleen's parents' guest room since the end of the war, during which enemy drow captured and tortured Skylei.
Path Through the Hills (Xalious, Josleen's parents' house)
Josleen, prior to yesterday, had been commuting between her home and her parent’s home (like a 10 minute walk, cuz Xalious) to visit and care for Skylei. She has help, too. Her parents have grown very fond of the ranger and care for the half-elf with the level of personal investment Josleen deems appropriate (others may deem excessive). Kyl’oriel, a typical elf in his love-at-a-distance approach to family, shows his fondness by researching medical texts to find a cure and borrowing resources from The Mage’s Guild to deploy to Skylei’s benefit. Crystals, potions, exotic plants, strange statues carved of mystery stones crowd around Skylei’s bed. Each addition Kyl’oriel declares as ‘the one that will do the trick!’ Jessa, Josleen’s mother, shares her daughter’s nurturing, warm bedside manner. The guest room has been filled with Skylei’s things, brought down from Frostmaw by Eyrie. In the spaces between her father’s health charms, Josleen has decorated the room to the ranger’s tastes, albeit significantly neater. As of yesterday, Josleen’s commute has shortened from ten minutes to ten paces. Kyl’oriel and partner/maid (depends who is asking) are overwhelmed as they care for two daughters, blood and water. Josleen rarely rises from her bed, but when she does, she sits in Skylei’s room and read a romance novel plucked from Jessa’s extensive collection. This story is about a ranger and a ninja in the exotic East, further than Rynvale! The bard doesn’t commit to inflections and voice-acting for the characters today. She’s too exhausted. She stops frequently. It hurts to speak at length.
Skylei knows nothing of the care that has been laid on for her by Josleen and her family. Indeed, she knows nothing of the last few months. Every day has been the same; rolled into one long endless night. Today she lies, perhaps listening to Josleen, if she can even hear her. The story goes on and on and on; it takes longer than usual to reach any climatic moment thanks to Josleen’s inability to read for more than a few minutes. It is after one of the frequent pauses that something changes. Her eyelids flutter; not in the poetic or romantic awakening of someone who has been softly awoken from slumber but violently opening and closing adjusting to forgotten sensations of light. Her mouth opens and closes, stretching and desperately seeking words that it has almost forgotten how to speak. Her face twitches, each movement jerking and involuntary but definite in their meaning. This is not a comatose fit. These are the movements of awakening.
Josleen drops the book when Skylei’s twitchings gain strength and grasp for the waking life. She leans onto the edge of Skylei’s bed and clutches her hand. “I’m here,” she says before turning her head too quickly towards the door. She grimaces in pain, eyes shut tight as her hand flies to the gauze wound round her neck. ‘Moooom!’ the bard tries to shout, but her voice fails her. The word comes out a hoarse squeal. She grabs a grapefuit-sized purple crystal on Skylei’s bedside table and bangs it against the wood. Gods the blood loss has made her weak. What is meant to be a loud series of bangs is more akin to soft knocks. Unable to alert her parents, frustrated by her own state, and emotionally overwhelmed by Skylei’s awakening, the bard’s eyes quickly fill with tears. Her red expression twists, chin dotted from the strain. It’s not a pretty look. Who could be pretty when witnessing what feels no less like the resurrection of a loved one? Over the course of the past six months, her routine with Skylei shifted from hopeful care to stubborn refusal to accept a death. Internally, Josleen had given up all hope, and her care-giving slipped away from the practical to the self-preserving. “Sky…?” She talks as if to a ghost.
Before Skylei can even see properly her hand is being held in someone else’s as it stiffens and then loosens. Her eyes eventually calm from flurried twitching to milky glazed to focus as they adjust to the new light and present to her the image of an unattractively distressed Josleen. She is still, unmistakenably, Skylei’s best friend. Her breathing is louder than any noise that Josleen makes as she struggles and attempts to alert; loud rasping gasps catching in her dry throat as Skylei’s body moves from unconscious being to conscious living and recognition strikes her. Words are hard to wrench from her throat but she manages one weakened syllable at barely a whisper, “How?” That effort alone forces her eyes to close again and several moments of laboured breathing. Her hand clutches haphazardly to grip Josleen’s as tightly as her weakened, spasming muscles will allow. She is lost and scared and knows nothing. But Josleen is here and that means she must be safe.Skylei will not let go of her friend, not unless she is wrenched from her grip.
Josleen full on happy-blubbers when Skylei recognizes her. The Frostmaw shaman weren’t sure what Skylei’s cognitive state would be like when she came back. One hand squeezes Skylei’s, the other combs through her always-funky-no-matter-how-many-baths-they-give-her hair. She doesn’t answer the question right away. There’s so much ground to cover, but first they need to get Skylei physically stable, well, ready to digest things as she learns of them piecemeal. “It’s okay. You’re alright,” the bard coos. “You’re in Xalious now, at my parent’s house.” Knowing Skylei, the ranger needs more than just that. Best to start general, and give details as Skylei asks questions. “You were taken, then rescued and cared for. Are you thirsty? Can you sit up?”
Xalious is good; Xalious is safe. Skylei would nod in response to whether she would like water. Water is good. Her throat is raspy, itchy and painful and even her constant attempts to swallow cannot wet it. She has no concept of the amount of time that she has been left lying in bed until she lets go of Josleen’s hands and goes to push herself upright. No amount of loving care could prevent some element of muscle atrophy. A body once honed for adventure now works hard to push itself into the seated position. It’s inelegant, painful to watch, but she does it. Then instantaneously reaches back for Josleen’s hand. Her mind may not be running at full capacity – not even close – but Skyei knows, somehow, that this convalesce has not been a short one. Her breathing laboured from movement, Skylei manages another word, “When?”
Josleen frowns as she watches Skylei struggle to sit up. Her instinct is to help, but the fiercely independent ranger manages and the bard is conscious of how difficult this must be for Skylei. The scholar needs help, but fussing won’t do. Instead, Josleen pours for Skylei a glass of water from a pitcher on the bedside table. Her arm trembles as she pours the water. The pitcher is too full, too heavy. She doesn’t fully hand over the glass, but keeps her hand hovering over it as Skylei holds it and drinks, just in case of spills. “...You were taken close to six months ago. Rescued about three months ago.” Hopefully Skylei’s head for math is too slow at present to figure out how long she was in captivity. “How are you feeling? Are you hungry? Is the bed comfortable?”
Skylei is grateful for the help that Josleen offers when that glass is lifted to her lips. Instinctively, Skylei lifts her own hands to the glass and places them against Josleen’s. In reality she is doing nothing to support the glass as it is gently tilted to allow water to wet her parched throat, but it is as though her muscles still aren’t aware of their own limitations and seek to imitate the motions that they know. Then Josleen speaks. Six months, three months. The word ‘months’ alone should send Skylei into a panicked frenzy, but Josleen judges correctly; her head is too hazy, her mind too numb to process the true and terrifying reality that her six month absence from the world is. Hunger and comfort are pushed aside with the wave of her hand as Skylei asks one more question, “Sage?” So fiercely she had fought to keep Josleen unaware of her involvement in the wretched war but it is far too late for that now. Then she blinks twice and adds another request, this one much more practical, “Another pillow?”
Josleen smiles broadly at the first question. Finally, she can be the bearer of good news. “Frostmaw joined the war and helped the elves recapture sage. The elves are resettling it. They say the drow city burned for three days.” Josleen has no idea the forest is slowly beginning to die. She rises slowly to fetch Skylei another pillow from the linen closet in the hall where she meets with Jessa and Kyl’oriel who join Skylei to welcome her back to the realm of the conscious. They ask how she feels, if she needs anything, etc., but Kyl’oriel is itching to point out the magical blue oxen tripe hung above Skylei’s bed like a mobile. “I told you this would do the trick!” It smells rancid; the odor is partly obscured by a lavender perfume liberally sprayed to that purpose. Josleen tucks the new pillow behind Skylei’s back to help her sit up. The ranger doesn’t smell much better than the tripe. There’s only so much cleanliness sponge baths can provide.
Fortunately, Skylei’s senses are still dulled to the point where she can smell neither tripe nor herself. It is a small blessing, but a blessing none the same. The influx of people into her room leave the ranger feeling mostly overwhelmed. Never particularly keen on large amounts of company at once, Skylei simply nods along with whatever is being said; is she hungry, tired, comfortable, thirsty? Skylei has no idea, but she nods in response to everything that’s said. In that moment of confusion and emotion, Skylei suddenly bursts into violent, loud and unapologetic tears, just as Kyl’oriel goes to explain the trifold nature of the blue ox tripe’s magical properties. It’s an ugly cry too – her face screws up, her eyes puff and her nose becomes a fountain of mucus. It’s a delight.
Josleen shoos her parents away from the bed as Skylei’s chin begins to dimple under a frown. She successfully gets them to stand across the room from where stare at Skylei as she ugly cries. Jessa seems to understand and wears compassion like a second skin. Kyl’oriel blinks in alarm from woman to woman. He hopes one of the trio will explain to him what just happened, but no one is focusing on Kyl’oriel right now (a new experience for him!). “Oh Sky…” Josleen sits on the edge of the bed and hugs her friend to her chest. She can cry as long as she needs to. Point of note: Josleen is also mouth-breathing. Her sense of smell works perfectly fine. Jessa ushers Kyl’oriel and herself out of the room. “We’ll be in the den if you need us.” Once the elf is gone she specifies, “or just me.” Josleen doesn’t rush Skylei. The right thing to do isn’t clear cut. The second best thing to do is just listen, be there, and so Josleen does and is.
Skylei pays no mind to whatever the family whose hospitality she has been encroaching on does. Instead she simply continues to bawl, her cries lifting from a plaintive sniffle to a full on wail as Josleen attempts to comfort her. Truth of the matter is, Skylei has absolutely no idea what she is doing or why she’s so suddenly overcome with this emotion. She cannot control it and instead cries non-stop for a good twenty minutes. Eventually the wails fade to sobs and the sobs to sniffles. The half-elf looks to Josleen through bloodshot eyes and just whispers, “I don’t understand.” All Skylei wants to do is roll over and go to sleep.
Josleen doesn’t find Skylei’s behavior odd at all. Uncontrollable wailing oft comes in the wake of major trauma, and as the crying increases in pitch and intensity the bard’s own eyes brim with tears. She shares her sister’s pain, though her own hurt is but an echo of Skylei’s. A few tears roll down Josleen’s cheeks. It’s difficult to watch Skylei go through this. There is nothing either of them can do to make the recovery go faster, or to make sense of such violence. How and why do these things happen? It’s completely unfair and inexplicable. She rubs the ranger’s back in large, soothing circles. “I know. I know. There’s nothing to understand. It’s all so senseless.” If Skylei signals she wants to sleep, then sleep she will. There’s no rush. Skylei needs to acclimatize to existing again.
Skylei is pacified by Josleen’s cooing, at least temporarily. It is, at least, enough to stop the ranger from bursting into another fit of heavy handed sobs. But she’s still scared and confused. She doesn’t know what her life is or what the world outside is like now. She has no understanding of her own physical, mental capacity or the way in which they may have changed in the months that she has been absent from the world. She has no idea what she is supposed to do next or how she is supposed to do it. Does she stay at Josleen’s parents’ house? How long can she stay there? Right now the idea of anything outside of this room and the two non-blood sisters that occupy it is utterly terrifying and so she just clings to Josleen’s hand and attempts to pull the bedcovers up and over herself. She will deal with these problems tomorrow. Or the day after.