02.17.3014: Not Just a Ship in a Bottle
Summary: Balius and Nitrim visit a post-surgery Cyrielle
Date: 24 November 2013
Related: Recent logs where Cyri discusses getting her leg tended to. A Flint/Cyri log to be posted if ever finished.
Balius Cyrielle Nitrim 

Willowtree Hospital, Landing, Imperius
The walls of the top hospital in Haven are painted in bright, pastel colors, presenting a calm, cool facade. Cleaning and nursing drones bustle down the hallways around human nurses and doctors, staying out of the way of their living counterparts. There are triage rooms meant to hold dozens of patients, two-person rooms for those with severe wounds or illnesses, and operating theaters filled with scanners, laser scalpels, and every sort of medical technology available to the people of Haven.
Monday February 17th, 3014

The surgery was only hours prior. Cyrielle had sent Nitrim word just before she had to fully give up any awareness of the outside world. It's the sort of drugs one could enjoy in some situations, but this is not one of those. Heavier doses to keep a person down and out for a long period of time.

Things have gone well enough and any inquiries made at Willowtree will report that the surgery went according to plan and she's in a private room now. A few monitors surround the young noblewoman; not too many, but enough. A fair number of wires and devices surround the area around her knee and the blankets are tucked back away from the gleaming replacement. Readouts, at the moment, show everything is normal and thus far, her body is within allowed (if still early) parameters for the nervous system accepting the replacement limb.

While she's not fully alert, Cyrielle is beginning to stir. The room has been kept dim, with only minimal lighting.

The many sour hospital smells have been replaced by something familiar to Cyrielle's left. Coming from a position lower than her bed is a hint of burning leaves and ash, accompanied by the rusty smell of tobacco smoke that has been soaked into the heavy felt and leather of a black coat; Nitrim's coat. Sitting alone in a chair, leaning with his elbow heavily propped for balance, the Khourni lordling rests with dark circles under his eyes that peek out from beneath the dark sunglasses he wears indoors.

As she rouses, he reaches for her hand, and the familiar feel of a copper-jacketed finger gauntlet ring, a drake with claws that point outwards, slips in over her palm.

Probably having overheard of Cyri's surgery through a chain of Ephraim to Lorelei to himself, Balius ducked out of his last class for the day, some boring crap about Haven History Founding to Reversion, as if that was going to do him any good. The Quellton is wearing his typical green tunic as he's got a parcel in his hand, something longer and in a brown paper bag. Thankfully, he's got an internship over her for one of his classes and finds her room without much difficulty.

At the door, he notices the familiar figure of Nitrim and waits quietly at the doorway, though he makes enough sound to make his presence evident.

While there may be an intent to form words, what comes from Cyrielle's lips is something more of a groan. No matter how skilled one may be in regards to the imbibing and handling of drugs for recreational value, it's a measure more difficult when you've been put far under for a medical procedure. Her hand shifts beneath that familiar touch, eyes coming open.

Pupils shift; dilating and contracting as Cyrielle becomes slowly aware of the room around her. There's slow shifts of her body in a natural reaction to just waking. When her right leg, however, shifts, there's an increase in the sounds of the monitors and a sudden hiss of pain from the Hollolas as she goes still once more. Her eyes sharpen then, eyes staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, girl, take it easy and don't try to move it." Nitrim murmurs quietly, his voice hoarse and his mannerisms grim and darkened. While a woman waking for a surgery may be cause for smiles and happiness, for Nitrim it has only resulted in his presence and a vase of red roses and thistle from the Hand. Nitrim's lips flatten, almost a scowl as he squeezes her hand and looks over in the direction of the shifting shadows at the door.

Spotting Balius Quellton, Nitrim's head jerks up in a silent hello, sending his neck-side scar tissue tightening against the healthy skin that surrounds it. "Cyrielle you have another visitor, our good friend, Balius. Master Quellton." Nitrim's fingers flap against his palm, waving him in. "Please. Don't be a wallflower."

Holding his package, Balius gives a nod to Nitrim as he makes his way into the room. He notes Cyrielle's reactions to the first attempt to move her leg. "Good to see you again, m'Lord." The eyes scan the equipment, some knowledge in them at what the beeps and whirrs mean. He'll take his seat on the opposite side of the bed.

"Of course she's trying to move it. Natural reaction…they should have given her immobilizers or better pain meds." The Quellton shakes his head, as if this is common knowledge…and with the headstrong assumption that his limited medical knowledge is somehow correct.

Oh, there's likely pain meds. Immobilizers, well, perhaps that will come later. There's some, in wrappings and the like about her upper leg; pressure cuffs to inspire the circulation of blood. To keep everything going. Still, pain meds fade and some can be… less inclined to respond than others. It's not like Willowtree knows of the young woman's extracurriculars.

"Fuck," she finally gets out, voice a bit hoarse. Cyrielle's eyes finally focus, taking in Balius as he approaches the bed. Her hand shifts, ignoring — or not thinking of — any societal standards as she clutches at Nitrim's hand. Close friendships between nobility are no matter of concern and it's quite acceptable to cling to a friend's hand when one or the other is hospitalized, right?

"My throat is raw," Cyrielle murmurs; making an observation rather than requesting the obvious. The waking world is a strange one at the moment.

"It's good to see you too, Balius." First names, short and to the point, Nitrim has wrapped himself in a far less chatty air of self than normal. It is as if Nitrim has taken the ash-choked smog clouds of Volkan and wrapped them around himself and his five-o'clock shadow. "Could you do me a favor and pour some water for her?" Nitrim nods towards a pitcher on an end table. "She's got my hand."

With a shake of his head and a brush of his hand through his hair that has been styled in an unkempt, care-free fuck it of a gel hairstyle, Nitrim reaches between his legs to grip his chair and scoot it closer to Cyrielle's bed. "Yeah, I was never a fan of waking up in a hospital either, but it's day one until day the-fuck-out, Cyri. Do you need us to call the nurse?"

Already moving when she'd complained about her throat being dry, Balius is pouring the water and grabbing a straw for the small cup. After having seen the two of them make eyes the whole cruise, he's certainly not fazed by the hand-holding, or more likely is ignorant of noble protocols in the first place. He sets the cool water on a tray close to her face, well within reach and requiring minimal effort but for her to tilt her head towards the straw and sip. Even so, he's staying close by. His gift is set on a table.

"We can definitely call a nurse." Balius nods in agreement with the Khournas lord.

"Sorry," Cyrielle murmurs absently, misunderstanding the exchange between the two men. She starts to untwine her fingers from Nitrim's, but is distracted by the water. Her other hand rises up to brace the glass as she shifts onto her elbow, moving in for a drink. It's a lengthy one and when she finally settles back, she looks a measure improved.

"I don't think so," she offers finally, head clearing with the infusion of water — and not simply fluids through an IV — into her body. Cyrielle draws a long breath, looking up to the ceiling. "It feels so strange."

"Give it time, you'll get used to it. I haven't had anything replaced like you have, but like anything it just takes time and familiarization." Nitrim replies grimly, rising to his feet as his hand is freed up. He turns his back to the two and walks to the end of the room near an air-cleaning vent. Hospital? Cigarette. The care-not-Khourni slips one from his pocket and lights up in silence. "How long will you be on physical therapy before they let you out of this joint?"

"Between the drugs and exhaustion, you'll feel strange regardless for a few more days at least." Balius adds, staring at her vitals across the monitors. "And phantom pain's a bitch." He says bluntly, though he's eyeing her with a soft smile.

"Can one of you help me sit up," Cyrielle says after a moment of silence. More directed, perhaps, to Balius, as Nitrim has stepped away. Her upper body is fine, but she's still enough out of it that her arms are shaking a bit as she plants hands beside her to slowly sit up.

This has the added advantage of giving Cyrielle the chance to actually look at the cybernetic.

From behind the dark sunglasses on his eyes, Nitrim watches the flow of Cyrielle's words, more towards Balius than him, as he doesn't move from his perch. The cherry at the end of his cigarette flares with another drag as he starts to step away from the wall…but then seconds it. Balius is closer. The arm that Nitrim wraps around his stomach is a comfort to himself.

"Balius, Cyrielle. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to stay here at Landing. Something's come up and I've got to rush back home, this was…a bit of a sneak-away visit for me."

"Of course, Cyri." Balius choosing to be less formal with her as he works to help get her to a comfortable, seated position. He presses the buttons on the bed as well to give her more back support. The tray is also moved to a slightly better vantage point for more water, should that be necessary. "Need another pillow?" He asks as he's turned to grab another one anyways.

To Nitrim, he looks slightly confused, but only half-interested. He won't say anything to that as he fluffs the pillow.

The more casual terms are a comfort, of sorts, for the Hollolas. There's been enough pomp the last few days; much guestright surrounded the cruise, which led to being kept close to the Hand itself. Endless insistence, primarily by those vassals beholden to Hollolas, upon speaking with her. She's the prodigal child still yet.

This brings up a thought for Cyrielle as she settles in to the new position: "Thank your brother again, next you see him, for freeing me of the Young Lord at the feast in Beacon last year. It seems it finally drew his attention from me, for the most part." Her dark eyes shift finally to Nitrim and she watches him for a long moment. "I understand…" Words distant; timed medication seeping its way into her system. She closes her eyes, swallowing to focus. "Keep me up to date… I'll be in here a while and desperate for news."

"I'll make sure to send you details as they come in, truly. I'm amazed it hasn't hit the news just yet." Nitrim's head dips rather pointedly towards Cyrielle, his green eyes and tired-whites are framed by dark circles and a distinct lack of sleep. Those eyes shift from Cyrielle, to Balius, and then back again. The cigarette flares once more, and the smoke is blown directly towards the vent.

Finally stepping from the wall, the lower hem of Nitrim's coat brushes over the tile and the heels of his boot as he makes his way closer. Keeping the cigarette aloft, Nitrim moves to stand at Cyrielle's side and direct his attention to Balius, while offering Cyri his hand once more. "There's been a death in the family, Balius. Hence why I'm not my normal…ridiculousness."

Once Cyri's propped up and as comfortable as she's going to get for now, Balius sits back down next to the bedside. He'll back to Nitrim and give a nod. "I'm sorry to hear that, m'Lord. I'm sure your family needs you then." The statement is given sincerely as the Quellton offers the Drake a brief, sad look before he's glancing back to the Hollolas. "Need anything to eat?"

When Nitrim steps in alongside her, Cyrielle curls her fingers into his. She's drugged and not mindful of such things. Word can travel, perhaps. There's a firm squeeze to his hand, as well as a small smile. It's a concerned one, but warm all the same. The Khournas' hand is lifted and a soft kiss pressed to the back of it. Evasive of the wicked-in-appearance-only rings.

"I'm glad you came," she says to him and a glance is cast to finally see those flowers. She blinks. "When did you find the time?" And in turn, Balius' gift. The woman's cheeks take on color beyond the pale pallor of one just out of surgery. "You guys, I… I didn't need anything. I'm just glad to see people."

"The WayGates make things quick and easy. C is on the card too, she helped." Nitrim replies, to Cyrielle, a quieted smile forming at his lips as she kisses the back of his hand. He opens his mouth to speak again and is interrupted by a chirping at his him. His words come out in a sigh, opting instead to lean over and press a kiss to the top of Cyrielle's head. "Rest up. I'm a call away." He murmurs to her. With a squeeze to her fingers, he uncurls them.

"That would be them, Balius. And please, give your sister and brothers my regards." Nitrim raises a hand to his brow, a mock salute as he starts towards the door in a backwards step. "Be well, both of you." …and with that…he takes his leave.

"It's nothin' special, but…I thought ya might like it." Balius says in reference to the mystery package that's setting on the table. "But for real, you want me to see if I rustle up some jello or some other barely solid scrap for ya to bite?" He smirks a bit, thinking on hospital food.

Eyes narrow slightly at the corners as Nitrim departs and Cyrielle breathes out a small sigh. "I hope he takes care of himself through this," she murmurs- half to the Quellton and half to herself. The Hollolas manages a bit of a laugh at Balius' words and tips her head in a small nod. "Something cold and soft sounds good. Jello, ice cream… Something for my throat." She does reach for the water again, looking askance at the gift. Almost worried about it.

Maybe it's karma for giving Tristan the stuffie.

Nodding, Balius stands again, offering her a friendly smile. "I'll see what Nurse Wanda has for ya." He picks up the package, seeming nervous about it now as he hands it to her. He looks serious to her. "I ain't a noble, so if this here ain't to your likin', you toss it in the bin there and we won't have naught to say about it ever again." With another nod, he heads to the hallway, presumably looking for the Nurse.

The gift, should she open it, is at first glance an old school ship in a bottle. However, the bottle isn't made out of just any glass, nor is the ship normal. The water in the glass seems to be flowing, and there's some sand on the bottom. It's a replica of some Hollolas vessel or another, though not perfect in its making.

He's not a noble and Cyrielle… well, Balius may someday meet Lord Holloas. It would explain a lot about the woman's own regard for how she interacts with people. To be certain, she can blend in well in different levels of society… But the woman was sequestered away for so long, she just likes being casual with her friends.

There's just a smile for Balius as he departs; a slightly bemused thing. She does, indeed, open the gift when he departs. Realizing the Quellton might be nervous about her opening the gift before him. The packaging is tossed aside as she looks over the gift. Her leg is, thankfully, put out of her mind as she looks over the ship. When he returns, he may find her looking at it; smiling a bit.

"That sand in there. It's from…the island." Balius says quietly. "It's a memento. My Da is always sayin, ya gotta use the obstacles of the past to strengthen your future. So, that's just a reminder about what ya been able to overcome. And ya got more to do." He's brought three different colors of jello…just in case. Green, Blue, and Red. There's some awkwardness to his posture as he finishes his explanation of the gift.

Taking the seat, he's not really making eye-contact. "So, which color ya want? They kept givin' me flack about ice cream, but I'll give 'em the once over later."

"It is?" Cyrielle looks a bit stunned, lifting the bottle further to look it over. She lowers it back to her lap after a moment, holding the thing close. "Red," she says of the jello, not quite looking up at the Quellton. She might be a touch awkward as well, in the moment. "This… Bey, I don't think anyone's given me something quite like this before."

Though noble, she's not one to go spending money everywhere. She wears much the same outfits and her boots show wear of one who uses things to the very end. "Thank you."

Balius hands her the jello and has a bit of a grin on his face. "It's just somethin' I thought ya might like. After we'd gone through, well, stuff. You've said we's friends, so it just seemed right." He shrugs a bit as he opens the gelatin and sets the spoon down next to it on the tray. He'll take the blue one for himself, apparently.

"While we're on the subject, any particular holovids I should fetch ya? Place is dull most of the time, as far as I can tell."

"It'll look good in the treehouse. Maybe you can come visit once I'm allowed back there…" The stairway within will be out of the question for a time. "Help me find the perfect spot. Thanks." Cyrielle does quite appreciate the ship and it's placed with a reverence upon her tray.

Taking up the jello, she pokes the spoon into it as she mulls over the question. "Hmmm… There's a lot of movies I've not seen yet, due to how long I was away. I really like horror stuff. Always good for passing the time."

"I can find ya plenty of that, horror holovid marathon." Balius nods. He's a tacit fan, though mainly as a way to take girls on dates. There's some beep on his datapad and he pulls it out, idly eating his jello in rather large spoonfuls.

Her spoonfuls are smaller. Tiny things to savor and let soothe a throat sore from hours in a sterile environment, with breathing tubes hooked up to her sleeping form. Cyrielle's lips twitch in a small smile. "You can collaborate with Nitrim," she offers quietly, "he's the one that's been giving me an… education in the genre. I missed a lot while I was in the woods."

"If that's what ya'd like." Balius says, his smile a bit more forced now. He gulps more of the jello. "Have you ever seen the Shriek series? That's one of my favorites, all that stuff about vid within a vid, dude, that's the coolest." He nods a bit, chuckling at the thought. That poor cup of jello has been demolished in three or four bites.

There's a thoughtful expression from Cyrielle as she fights further beyond the haze of her drugs to remember. Finally, a small shake of the head is given as she places spoon between lips. After swallowing, she looks to the Quellton. "I don't think I have. Or if I have, I don't remember. It's a series? Bring that one. It sounds interesting."

"It's a good one. I'll definitely find that." And then the Quellton's looking back down at his datapad. He stands slowly. "I'll be back when I can. You don't let them give ya any flack, ya here?" Balius gives her a firm shoulder clasp and a flash of a wide smile. "I've got work to do at the lab."

There's a glance to the remaining jello. It's clear Cyrielle's already making plans on it. As she's eating the first, her stomach is asserting itself as empty. The woman gives Balius a nod and a small smile. "Thank you for stopping by. I'm sure you'll see plenty of me around here in the coming weeks."

Setting the other jello on the tray too, Balius gives her a knowing smile. "Alright, Cyri, send a message if there's anythin I can do for ya." He smiles again before heading out the door, jogging down the hallway once he's left the room.

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