02.18.3014: Pimp My Cybernetic
Summary: Ephraim visits his sister at Willowtree.
Date: 25 11 2013
Related: Not Just a Ship in a Bottle
Cyrielle Ephraim 

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.
Tuesday, February 18 3014

It's only been a day and change, but Cyrielle Hollolas is already restless. Perhaps it's a trait of Hollolas to dislike being in one space for over-long, or at the very least: have the ability to roam taken away from you. The young woman is in her assigned recovery room, sitting upright in bed and poking absently at her dinner meal. There's an Infosphere display on, cycling through some of the recent news of the realm. She's only barely paying mind to it.

Though there are monitors hooked up to Cyrielle overall, most are centered around the knee of her right leg; where original flesh meets cybernetic replacement. Tracking the progress of acceptance and nerve regrowth. Specialized pressure cuffs and bracers encircle her thigh, though blankets moved askew cover much of it. The room does already show signs of some visitors; someone's brought her flowers common to Beacon and there's a ship in a bottle (handcrafted, by the looks of it, and not a store-bought thing).

Arriving at the door, whether having checked in with the nurses station or not, is one Ephraim Hollolas. Aside from a jacket for the cooler weather this time of hear, he comes with a satchel over one arm, a wrapped box, and some flowers. The flower thing is sort of a twisted bramble like stick adorned with small pink and yellow flowers; one might recognize the flowers as indigenous to the mangrove, it they were so inclined and enjoyed sailing and swamps and such. Not quite Beacon native, but close enough. No ships in bottles, alas, he never had the patience it seems.

"You're still here," he says with a grin, "Embellishing much?" As if to accuse her of playing up a minor wound. "I thought you might like a few things," the box and flowers put on whatever table/ledge space is around. "They're chocolates," he says, taking out the surprise of the gift wrapping. The satchel is placed down at such an angle that the real gift might be in there, looks like a bottle with some brown liquid in it, might be that Khourni stuff she introduced him too. Leaning in to offer a real hug, he offers real concern finally, "How are you Cyri, everything go well?"

"I haven't seen you have any limbs chopped up and some thing of modern science tacked on instead," Cyrielle says, glancing away from her bored reverie of the Infosphere display at last. Despite the equally teasing tones of her words, her overall mien is light-hearted. Her gaze is a bit disjointed, indicating there may be pain killers affecting her mood.

A good mood is better than a bad.

There's a look to the bag and her eyes widen slightly. Certain appreciation there. She even reaches for it and tucks it somewhere up by her pillows. Further outside the view of any nurses who may come to check on her. "Everything's going according to plan so far," she offers, reaching for a small device for controlling the Infosphere display. It's muted, silencing the droning of the newscaster. "Nerve adaption will still take a bit, they say." Nose wrinkling slightly, she looks to her brother and there's a warm smile for him. "It's good to see you, Ephy."

"Only if dad allows a hook for a hand," grins Ephraim about getting his own limbs chopped up, "Alas, it will ruin my value to the house as potential offspring for some horrendous troll from a vassal." Not looking at the leg, she doesn't need the reminder, he assumes it looks like a cybernatic leg just the same, he instead moves to take a seat. Grinning. "I'll make sure to stay on your good side … *sigh* finally, right … I don't think I want to be on the receiving end of any swift kicks."

There is a pause, he leans back in that chair finally, "But, it is good to see you too. Nerve adaption sounds pretty serious, they telling you how long its going to take. Any idea when we can sneak you out of the room for a romp around the hospital in a chair at least? We don't need nurse clearance or something?"

"Ah, come now, Ephraim. We're prime stock for wedding off to second lines of Paramounts. Everyone wants a piece of Hollolas pie." Cyrielle offers over a wink, but it's a bit put-on. Relationships are tricky things. "At least none of our vassals have been trying to curry favor just for a step up." Unlike a certain Young Lord that's only recently stopped his efforts to curry her favor.

There is a wicked grin for her brother and Cyrielle waggles her fork at him, "Don't forget. I've got powers supernal. I don't need to kick you." She does get a few more bites of food into herself, considering the question. Her eyes go to where the majority of wires for monitors end up: at the knee. Well, just above. Replacing the whole joint is easier, perhaps, or the damage just went that far. "Likely once they deem all this equipment no longer a necessity. I'm sure we'd have half the drones in the hospital on us if we tried disconnecting them ourselves."

Chuckling between both ideas, the certain young Lord who sought her favor and the drones if certain wires were disconnected, Ephraim seems to agree. "Or worse, I'd get myself shocked, or you, or both of us, if I touched any of them. We're more safe if I keep my hands to myself I think." For now at least, his hands remain nearer his person. "How's everyone treating you, they bringing you everything you need, or do I need to go raid your room for drake plushies and certain young knight posters … make it feel more homey in here." Looking at the bed a moment, "I could even loan you my pirate ship sheets even." Feigning a stage whisper, "I still have them."

There's a snort for Ephraim, eyes rolling. "My room at The Hand is a terrifying place, to be sure. Still a 14-year-old's interests, for the most part." That, perhaps, may be another part of why Cyrielle was so loathe to return there. It's a time capsule of her life, pre-incident. With all the hopes, dreams, and flights of fancy therein.

The mention of the sheets does earn a giggle and she looks to be seriously considering it. "Ahhh, perhaps once they release me. I'll have to stay at home proper for a while. They wouldn't like all the stairs at the treehouse." Ephraim does earn a mock-serious expression from Cyrielle. "It'll be up to you to make sure she doesn't get lonely."

Ephraim responds by letting his eyes open in amused surprise, the sort that one might imagine a certain recent generation of holofilms about teenagers and partying (perhaps by that director Yohn Hughes). But his grin spreads, that might of happened when he was in school, but still. "I shall take good care of her, keeping her sails unfurled to favorable winds, and her ropes in good care." He knows she's talking about the tree-house, but he's going along with her as a ship all the same. "If you like, we can always work on a pulley lift even, so you don't forget how wonderful she is." Looking from something at randon in the room to her at that moment, "Yes, a lift and a slide. In fact, you take a few months, recover, I'll see about a few modifications to make her more comfortable for your return." Maybe the party joke would of been a better idea.

There's something of a groan from Cyrielle at the modifications spoken off, and she reaches out to swat at him with her hand — making sure it's free of fork first — for it all. "You leave that perfection of a house un-modified! And you accused me of making her a broken home!" She's grinning, all the same, so overall… the attempts to keep her in cheer have worked.

It has the added benefit of getting her moving enough to inspire an appetite and she goes for the food once again. "Nitrim wants to be able to visit for a bit once I'm released here. I've sent Father a request already…" There's a faint groan and her eyes roll until she's regarding her brother again. "Father visited me at the treehouse recently and in barged Nitrim. Didn't even give me any advance warning. I'm not sure I've ever been so uncomfortable. At least neither of them embarassed themselves too much."

"You're saying it was completely polite," ponders Ephraim, "I don't need to find father and offer a morning of deep sea fishing to get his mind off the idea?" Of whatever it was that he (being Roger) speculated on, considering it was probably before they approached him to discuss things. "Or should it be phase II, I need to make a public appearance, do something completely stupid, start the diversion?" Either one is a good idea, he seems curious though, about this aforementioned visit. As an after thought itself, he says, "You survived it at least, that's a good thing … maybe we should make a secret ring tone, so we can text each other when father is getting curious about our business, more ready interference …"

"Thus far, I don't think anyone will need to run a diversion," Cyrielle offers, but she's grinning all the same. "Unless you're just getting an itch to cause a whirlwind of activity and gossip centered on yourself… in which case, by all means, have away."

Eying her meal a moment, Cyrielle finally pushes it aside and reaches for a glass of juice instead to sip at slowly. "I think I've finally gotten through to 'Trim that father doesn't care about words or politics in the least. It helps, too, that he really enjoyed sailing. He's already spoken of getting more lessons from you."

"That's good, that he liked it, when your a little better, we should see about a fishing trip with Nitrim - preparation for a trip with father," says Ephraim, liking the idea as he spills the thoughts out while it comes to him. A nod even, "Yes, that might be good all around. If Nitrim is good enough to cast a deep line, show that he understands the ropes, and we can take him out with father, hook a large fish, where father is urged to help and give guidance …. dun dun DUN, instant bounding." Then he looks more at Cyri, "If Nitrim might be interested that is."

There's a sudden laugh at the whole plot of it and Cyrielle grins, setting her drink back on the mobile table that can angle over the bed. "Ah! I'll run it past him, but I'm sure Nitrim would love it. It has just enough drama and intrigue, I'm sure he'll be hooked from the start." She leans forward , moving the blanket aside to get a look at her leg. Studying the cybernetic there. "And I'll be raring to give this a good run."

"How does it feel now," responds Ephraim, not meaning pain wise, but still he eleborates a little. "I mean, odd but, you starting to, well, attach to it? Or do you have to go through all the nerve growth stuff before you start wiggling toes and stuff?" As she revealed the leg, he feels the invitation to acknowledge the elephant finally and really look at it. Which he does, leaning forward near the bed even to see what all it looks like. He's not sure what contemporary trends are with these legs and arms and such, and now he can see one first hand, so he's giving it a look. "Is there a cupholder?" It would seem he did, indeed, have to go there.

"It feels weird," Cyrielle says initially, frowning slightly at the gleaming thing. Like as not, she could have gotten one that looked like any other leg. Or perhaps there's a cover applied later. Certainly there's obvious points of contact for those wires and some of the deeper electronics revealed. "I… I can't even really describe it." This said in a fashion that shows he's been trying.

"They told me it might be a couple days before I can move things. Right now it hurts when I try… That's the main thing, there's just… a lot of pain." When the drugs aren't doing their thing. "They said it's from the nerves." The last earns Ephraim a roll of the eyes. "Awkward place for a cupholder."

"Does it hurt now," ponders Ephraim, looking over it like it was a fancy vehicle or something. Observing the wires and such, looking at the way some of the metal reflects the lights even. "If I touch it would you feel it," which might be more akin to him saying he's fighting the inclination to just touch it out right. A pause, then he looks up with clenched teeth, more a sign of indifference, "That would be hard, I would think you'd want to move it, but it hurts if you try now … so you're damned if you do, but …" Stir crazy, he's got a better idea of the concept at least. "Okay, we need to enter phase II of your hospital stay. Flowers and chocolates and favorite drinks might not be enough to survive this. We're going to have to make it more interesting for you here, before you loose your mind from boredom …"

"I'm starting to feel more and more," Cyrielle says with a slight shrug, looking to the leg with a slight wrinkle of her nose. "Yesterday it was just… emptyness, but not. Today, I can feel some things. I guess the nerves are starting to adapt." It's a weird thing, to be certain. She does cast a wary eye to her brother; mildly suspicious of what he may be planning.

"Bey," she offers, naming Lorelei's brother, "is going to be bringing some holovids for me to watch. And I can always take pictures of… uh, my room." There's an art installation for you. 'Scenes From Willowtree Room 222'

"That's a start, but I'm talking exciting," says Ephraim, "I mean, we can easily fit some lighting along the wall there, darken things up, bring in a good speaker system and there we go, Club 222. We can charge admission, make up its for a cause or something, put it into your Treehouse." Grinning at the idea, "We could make a killing, I bet. You could have a dollar dance, I'm sure Lord Pimple Cheeks would pay a small fortune." That is mostly joking, one would hope at least, "Or you know, something fun to do, some games, some dice. Something for your hands to do so you don't have to think about your leg too much at least until the pain is more tolerable right?"

"Club 222. I actually like the sound of that." Cyrielle is laughing softly, glancing towards the door. "And what, Lord Ephraim, are you intending for your tactics to evade the cleaning drones that patrol the halls? Our latest reports show them to be quite invasive." Lips are twitching in amusement and her attention drawn from the leg. "I'm sure that we could find a real cause to donate the funds to, make it even more legit."

"Oh yes," nods Ephraim, "I meant a real cause." No he didn't. Then he considers the drones, "Does lipstick and stockings on female drones still work these days? Otherwise its one of those complicated things of paying of the drone controllers and monitors, with free admittance to the party. Then again, Maybe with the right incentive, we might be able to conjoin a few rooms and make it a real affair even. Just, if it got too big, it'd take more than dealing with the drone monitors. So, you're right, small up-scale affair, a few nobles, the right price, and its happening. Any good doctors or nurses we should invite, or they all have been terrible horrible to you?"

There's a good-natured roll of Cyrielle's eyes for her brother, the woman grinning. "Ephraim, I wish I could say yes, just to see you try wooing a cleaning drone." She leans back into her pillows, a hand coming to press the heel of her palm against her eyes. "So, how are you and Lorelei?"

A chortle at the thought, as if Ephraim might do it to get a kick out of the reaction of anyone on the remote viewing end of whatever the drone might be recording even. The mirth is there, fadind slightly towards serious at the question, but not gone all together. "Well, I met with her folks as well, its all more seious you know. I even went hunting with her father, crossbows and all, don't tell him I never trained with one. It seems like everyone wants to get in on the act, question my morals - Lord Benedict Orelle is even in on the act. It was an amusing conversation with that one …" He says, pondering to see if that's up to date, then recalls, "And her horse bit me, I think he's jealous."

"You and Nitrim, just barreling in with fathers." Cyrielle offers a roll of her eyes. "I felt like I ought to hold his hand and walk him through what to do. He thought bravado and politics would win him over. I finally got him to appeal to our father's own vanity, rather than just try to spread his around." Maybe she's trying to offer some subtle advice to her brother? Who's to say. "Wait, wait…" Something catches her, "Young Lord Benedict Orelle? Whatever are you doing getting the heir to a Paramount involved?"

"Oh, apparently he had pursued her a little, then completely vanished, without a word," responds Ephraim, his head nodding agreement that it is indeed the Young Lord Benedict Orelle. "Lorelei asked that I play nicely with him, with him being heir to a paramount and all, as well as a knight. He said he felt it his responsibility to ask my intentions, considering he was interested in her first. I told him that was presumptious, taking the responsibility of an Arboren citizen like that, and subtly reminded him my intentions weren't so much the important issue as it was that Lorelei had made a choice as well. I mean, he can bully me if he likes, but its rather uncouth to start claiming someone when they have chosen another. I think he understood my point as we wrapped up our meeting."

There's a shake of the head and Cyrielle sinks back against her pillows. She's laughing, hand lifting to press fingers into her hair. "Six Above, Eph. You do find the best spots of trouble, don't you? That's what I get for assuming that without a ship for a while, you might stay safe." She squints slightly at him, "Just be careful. There's no telling what his plans may be from here. Has he made any moves on her? Does she seem… at all inclined? I mean, you've made it clear you want her to be your Companion, right? Does the Orelle know that she wants that too?"

Chuckling lightly at the idea of him being safe, Ephraim thinks there might be no place for that. "He has made an advance, she informed him she had moved on since he left her in the cold. He knows both of our intentions now. Lorelei was worried what I might say to him, how that would reflect on our house, but I think for once, in this matter, its good being from the lesser home. If Benedict were to turn a complete jerk, he has much more to lose in this one, not merely face. So we have an understanding, my intentions stay true, he wants me to honor her, maybe realizing his mistake. That's about as good as we can get, he won't be joining me on a quick sailing trip any time soon, let along for an evening of drinks."

There's a slight nod from Cyrielle as Ephraim explains. She casts a bit of a smile towards him. "Why, Ephy… That's rather wise and mature of you. I'd have expected some elaborate prank to put him in his place, to make you appear greater, better, and stronger than he in Lorelei's eyes." The gift he brought is drug out and opened, the woman taking a quick swig beore holding it to her brother. "That calls for a toast."

Taking the offered bottle, Ephraim nods, "I'll drink to that." Taking a swig, or two, before offering it back again, for her to drink or stash as her desires dictate. "I think I'm finding this maturity thing almost fits. Almost. I'm actually planning farther ahead, watching my investments. I'm thinking given enough time in the coming year or so, I can reclaim my ship, without doing the fun things - you know, like stealing it back, or gambling double down. One of these days, I might even be considered … respectable." Silent gasp from him, followed by that grin. Then quietly as an aside, "You know, have I said yet how good it is to have you back Sis? And no, that's not a set up for you to say no so I can say good,I didn't want to lie to you … I mean it, its good to have you back."

There's a long pull of the liquor taken and Cyrielle lets her eyes close as she closes the bottle once more. Surely a nurse later will realize things and tut tut, she'll have a talking to. Those naughty nobles, thinking they can get away with anything. "Oh, I'm still willing to help you steal it back, but only on the grounds you don't go and lose it again the next week."

Her lips curl in a smile as she glances over. "It's good to be back, Eph. I do love the forests still and my time there was good, but… the clubs are terrible."

"Stealing shall be plan B then, Irvette is willing to contribute as well," grins Ephraim. "As for the clubs, I could only imagine. I'd suggest putting away for a private getaway cottage off in the woods, but next thing you know, that'll draw Hostiles or something. That seems to be the way everyone's luck is going." Forget that the Hostiles are just steadily growing more active. Its only what, a year in, Ephraim can still live on the pre-Hostile presumptions that a lot is still safe in the world. "So, we have work to do, the opening of Club 222 and some fishing to consider. I came in to be supportive and I'm going to leave with an agenda."

"I'm sure Nitrim would be gladly involved," Cyrielle says with a soft laugh, already imagining the Hollolas-led pirate crew to steal back a ship. "Bey, maybe, too. He had a grand time on the sailing trip, even in the storm. We can make a sailor of him yet. I told Father we ought to fund his studies at Academ." She tucks an arm behind her head, glancing to the ceiling with a chuckle. "Ephy, brother dear, you love leaving with an agenda."

"That's not a bad idea, I imagine if Balius enjoys sailing, he would be a good fit on one of our ships. I think Rovehn is covering some expenses, you should tell father to move in before they get a contract obligation out of him for post graduation services." A chuckle, he watches her look up at the ceiling, "You're right, I love agenda's, its good to feel busy, even if its half filled with whatever my mind has made up as an agenda item."

"Ah, I'm trying to. I told father he's already pledged to aid me as I need," Cyrielle explains. She stifles a yawn. The wonderful combination of pain medications and alcohol. "The festival after Cape Amran came out well. I'm sure Club 222 will as well."

"And we won't invite Lord Zit-sir," says Ephraim slowly. Then leans over, a soft stroke of her hair. "Leave the details to me, you claim some rest Cyri. I'll keep the nurses out for a while longer." So not bottle is discovered just yet. "It looks nice, you wear it so well." The leg, but he's not trying to draw attention their or make an issue. If she seems tired enough, he'll give her some silence to drift away, but then will start to rise, to give her more time to rest.

"I'll kill you if you do invite him," Cyrielle murmurs, voice becoming hazy and distant. She does smile towards him at mention of keeping the nurses out. "Thanks, Eph. You're a good brother." It doesn't take her long to begin to drift off, either.

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