03.03.3013: Don't be silly
Summary: Klaudea finally has a chance to visit Cyrielle during her PT and take her for a walk in the garden.
Date:
Related: Loosely related to the logs concerning Cyrielle's leg replacement
Cyrielle Klaudea 


Willowtree Hospital
The Physical Therapy wing, then gardens outside.
3 March, 3013

Having stopped by Cyrielle’s room, or the number she’d been told was Cyrielle’s room, the squire was told the noblewoman was in the Physical Therapy wing. Leaving the flowers she brought on a windowsill, Klaudea took the lift down, and is now wandering the hall, glancing at the different stations, or keeping an ear out as she passes curtained off areas for flowery language in a familiar Hollolas accent.

The flowers will join two other vases of such and a ship in a bottle. The room is beginning to look like it’s being lived in and in a sense, it is. There’s a stack of holovids on a table, clothes — workout wear mostly — on a chair, some books about (one on Hermeticism, one guess who from), and various cameras and a higher-end computing device than just a tablet.

It doesn’t take long for that flowery language to become apparent because through one open doorway can be heard the light echo of a string of swears. Within the room, a young therapist is working with the Hollolas woman who is clutching to two parallel bars braced at an adjusted height above the ground. Cyrielle is about a third of the way along the path it etches out, wearing a thin top and shorts. The shorts show off the cybernetic well; from the knee down, it gleams.

“Just… let me try again tomorrow.” The brunette’s arms strain and she’s relying more on them than her legs.

“No, you’ll try today. Then you’ll try again tomorrow.”

Biting her lip at the colorful language, Klaudea turns her feet towards the sound, and pauses in the doorway as she watches Cyrielle struggle along the parallel bars. She watches, unsure if she should step in or not. Finally, after she watches the woman try another couple steps, she makes her decision, going forward.

“You’re almost there, my lady,” she encourages, giving a smile as well and tucking her hair back. “You can do it.”

“Almost where? The end of the Crone-forsaken mat? He’ll,” a jerk of the chin towards the therapist, who just shakes his head. Apparently he’s used to dealing with such individuals, “just make me turn around and do it again.”

And so Cyrielle does try. She manages to stand upright, keeping her balance on both legs for a moment. Sliding her hand on the bars, she takes a step with the new leg, then moves forward with the other.. putting all her weight on the cybernetic. Her upper leg shakes slightly and there’s a pause before she takes another step.

There’s a few, but it’s a strain. And slow going. Finally she has to drape herself against the bars again, panting.

“What brings you here, Klaudea?”

“The food,” Klaudea replies with a grin, after having watched Cyrielle complete a few more steps. She steps over and plants her feet directly under the bar, wrapping her fingers around the bar, she leans back.

“Of course he’ll make you do it again,” she tells the older woman cheerfully. “He’s a physical therapist. Their vocabulary is pretty limited. I’ve found that if you get one that knows more than the word ‘again’, you’re lucky.” She gives a grin to the therapist in question, then pulls, curling her elbows so that she’s closer to Cyrielle’s head. “At least he’s cute,” she stage whispers.

The therapist offers a roll of his eyes at Klaudea’s words. When you can handle the ire of those like Cyrielle, you can handle the jokes as well. The brunette rolls her eyes as well, getting herself straightened. Her arms shake slightly. Closer in, her brow shows a light sheen of sweat.

“Good,” she grunts, bracing herself on her left leg, “you can distract him while I get the hell out of here.”

The roll of eyes doesn’t phase Klaudea as she leans her stomach on the bar so she can kick her feet back and push off with her arms, landing with a little jump a couple feet away. “I’m sure he’d be happy if you got the hell out of here,” she replies. “If you did it on your own two feet. That is pretty shiny,” she adds, looking down at the cybernetic leg. “I should have brought you a can of chrome polish for a get well present instead of flowers.”

“Very funny,” Cyrielle grumbles. “I can have synth-skin laid over it once we’re no longer doing so many adjustments.” She looks over towards the therapist, who just makes a pointed look towards the end of the mat she’s aiming for. The woman huffs and mutters a few more choice curses beneath her breath.

She doesn’t fight it, though, and gets herself balanced and upright enough to take a few more slow, struggling steps.

"Well, everyone else has brought you flowers, it would have been something different," Klaudea shrugs easily as she walks alongside Cyrielle on the outside of the bars.

"I brought something else for you, but it's a secret. I hid it in your room." Glancing over to the sadist otherwise known as the physical therapist she gives the Hollolas girl a wink. "It will make all the pain of your torture here melt away.”

It would be easy to walk alongside Cyrielle, if not maddeningly dull. The woman’s movements are slow. When she does finally make it to the opposite end, she sinks against the bars once again with a heavy exhalation. There’s a pleading look to the therapist and he gives a begrudging nod. The Hollolas looks about ready to cry with relief.

There’s a wheelchair nearby and she jerks her chin towards it. “Mind bringing that over? I… can’t walk without full support yet.”

“Sure thing,” Klaudea agrees, vaulting over the poles lightly, and probably very annoyingly, to go the chair and wheel it over. She looks to the sides and finds the breaks so that it won’t move while Cyrielle settles herself. She didn’t seem at all bored as she paced alongside the lady doing her halting Igor impression. Her expression is still that slightly curious, easy-going friendly expression.

“You want the fast ride, or the scenic route back?” There’s a little quirk of a smile at the question as she stands behind the chair, ready to go.

There’s a slight twitch of brow at the show-off nature of Klaudea’s retrieval of the chair, but Cyrielle is far too weary to comment on it. Instead, she focuses on getting into the chair itself… which is more of a falling motion. The woman sinks into the seat and leans back, letting out a long sigh.

She’ll be looking forward to her massage later. One of the only perks, really. Shame it doesn’t work on the cybernetic.

“Scenic. Especially if it involves some windows. I miss the outdoors.”

“How about some gardens?” Klaudea suggests. “Since you don’t seem to be in a hurry to see the inside of your guest suite any time soon.” With a grin, she starts wheeling the lady towards the doors, reaching out to touch the button for them to open so she can push the chair through.

“Do you feel different, other than the obvious fact that you have a different leg?” The question is curious, and there’s another glance at it before she concentrates on navigating around other patients and personnel towards the front entrance.

“Gardens would be fantastic,” Cyrielle says with a long sigh. “I know flowers are cliche, but some days… they’re all that keep me going.” The flowers she’s been given, since day one, all still survive. Just a touch of that druidic ability to keep some sense of brightness in her room. “It doesn’t feel like a guest suite. The food service is…” whatever the doctors deem, to balance out the medications and the strain her body is under as it adapts.

The Hollolas ponders the question as they go through the halls, letting it distract her from her infirm state. She’s not used to needing others so. “In a way. It was… really strange the first week or two, as my nerves adapted to the cybernetic. To slowly regain feeling and movement…”

The chair turns towards the gardens and Klaudea takes a few turns to avoid the traffic jams of other people with the same idea wanting to get out of the hospital for some fresh air as well. She finally finds a little alcove spot with a bench for them to pause.
“Are you warm enough? I should have seen about a blanket or something before we left.” Klaudea asks, looking down to Cyrielle. “So, can you feel pain? I mean, I know your muscles ache and stuff, but can you feel like… if you bang your shin into a chair leg, does it still hurt?”

“I’m not infirm,” Cyrielle grumbles at the fussing. If she is cold, she’s not showing it. Yet. Landing, at least, is still a somewhat temperate area. “Well, yes…” There’s a glance to the cybernetic and she shifts the leg slightly. It does take effort. “Steadily more I can. That’s… part of the process. Getting the nerves to synchronize with the synthetic stuff. Some people apparently don’t take wholly to them, some do.”

She leans forward and brushes absently at where flesh and synth meet. “It’s… weird. Because it comes slowly, in bits and pieces. At first, I couldn’t feel much of anything at all. They said even after I’m fully attuned, I might still… get phantom limb stuff going on. I didn’t really pay attention.”

“Well, that kind of sucks,” Klaudea says cheerfully. “You’d think you could opt out of that feeling. Barked shins are the worst.” This coming from a squire with a whole side put together with super glue.

She gives a shrug at the grousing. “You can have my jacket if you want. You /have/ been sweating, and I know how uncomfortable it can be when your sweat suddenly cools.” Flopping down on the bench, she leans forward, stacking her palms so they can rest at the edge between her knees and she leans forward.

“I probably could have opted out,” Cyrielle murmurs, shoulders rounding in on themselves. Her palm goes flat, curving over that fake knee. “But I’m already giving up enough of my humanity…”

And the brunette is nothing if not stubborn. Her nose wrinkles. “Keep your jacket,” she offers, instead folding her arms in a way to keep herself warm. In case a chill does set in. “I’m just glad to be outside.” There’s a glance up, towards the sky. “It feels like it’s been years.”

Klaudea nods, a tiny dimple appearing at the corner of her lips as she tries not to smile at Cyrielle’s stubbornness. She kicks her legs out in front of her and then slowly lowers them. “Is that why you waited so long to get a cybernetic leg?” she asks curiously, tilting her head a little as she looks up again.

There’s a slow, drawn breath from the Hollolas. “Yes and no,” she says, glancing down to the leg. She shifts slightly, trying to find a comfortable place in the chair. “At first, well… I was fourteen. Old enough to think I knew everything, but young enough that I didn’t realize I knew nothing. I thought with enough hard work and dedication, my leg would heal itself.”

Cyrielle looks out over the garden, then, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. “Instead, it became worse. I could’ve had just a cybernetic ankle and foot. Instead, the damage worked its way up through the leg further. And after a while, it was just… a part of me. A part that… once gone is gone. I will never be a whole person again.”

Eyes falling down to her hands as Cyrielle talks so that she doesn’t keep the woman under scrutiny, Klaudea purses her lips to one side. “I think anyone who is seriously injured would thing the same thing. No matter how old they are. ‘If I just work hard enough, I can get it better’.” Her fingers lift and fall a few times, flapping against the end of the bench. “But… it’s not your arms and legs that make you a person. It’s your heart. I’m sure Brother Shadow still thinks you’re one hot Storm lady.” She glances up with a little sideways grin, her eyes sparkling a little.

“You can improve in all other things if you put yourself to it. It’s… not fair.” A bit of a teenage self shining through, perhaps. Cyrielle is thrown off a bit by Klaudea’s last comment and her cheeks color a bit. She shifts slightly in her chair. “I hope so. I saw… I saw the rumors on some of the tabloids on the Infosphere. Gets under your skin after a while…”

She cants her head to the side slightly, looking towards Klaudea. “You don’t think he only liked me because of my flaw, right?”

There’s a little grin at Cyrielle when she pouts, indulgent as well as amused. She swings her feet a little under the bench, her head falling slightly forward again to let her hair spill down over her shoulder.

Although she’s not one to keep up with tabloids, she instantly turns her attention to the brown eyes gazing at her. “Of course, not,” she exclaims before the Lady even has ‘right’ out of her mouth. “I don’t know what the tabloids are saying, but it’s you that he’s in love with. Why would he like you for something like a limp? He’s… he actually /thinks/ with his brain. Maybe too much, but, yeah… he’s not some guy with an imperfection fetish who barks up every tree that has a flaw.” So it’s a mix and mashing of metaphors, she’s not taking time to sort them out in the earnest urgency with which she reassures the woman.

“It sounds silly when you put it like that,” Cyrielle mumbles, cheeks becoming a bit darker as the blush spreads to her ears. “I just…” A glance down to the leg again. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be used to it. And I find myself lately… terrified of losing him.” She lifts a hand, pushing at her hair, tucking errant bits back behind an ear.

There is a smirk, however, at the explanation of the Khourni lordling. “Thinking too much is something that gets him into trouble sometimes.”

“That’s because it is silly,” Klaudea grins irrepressibly as she notes the flush in the other woman’s cheeks. Her gaze is also drawn to the new limb and she nods slowly. “Maybe not,” she agrees quietly. “But, you never know. Once it’s covered in skin… and hey, look on the bright side. You only have to shave one leg from now on.” She sits up completely as she chuckles at her own humor, shifting her hands around so that she’s resting back slightly on her palms to either side.

Chewing on her lip, the squire nods once. “I know what you mean. When things change, we always wonder if it will change the other person’s mind. But you have no need to worry about Brother Shadow. Unless he does get himself killed with all his thinking.”

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