6 Ash, 121
Loud footsteps coming down the corridor from the direction of the exit to the underground area, (dungeon?) pulled Rivin from his reverie and back into the reality of his current situation. The steps passed by his cell, but he could hear their owner banging on each door before sliding something beneath it. It must be a mealtime, probably...breakfast? He had arrived late enough in the evening of the previous day to have missed dinner, and enough time had passed for it to be breakfast. Not that meals were specifically distinguished for prisoners most of the time.
Rivin wasn't exactly a prisoner, more like a useful tool that was not currently convenient to have hanging about. When the boots approached his own door there was a bit of discussion that seemed to go between the gaolor and himself. After a moment the edge of a tin plate appeared in the opening under the door, and then it disappeared to be replaced by a different one. This plate was porcelain, the type of plate he ate from when he joined Dr. Ilex for suppers. The food it contained also looked like the sort he was fed when he was being used as an assistant-cum-companion to the doctor. Springing out of his lounge position the part-Lysanrin landed in a crouch, his tail flicking his curiosity as he examined the meal.
It did look, remarkably, as though the good doctor had plucked a plate from his own breakfast table and sent it down to the cells. A tight smile sharpened its way across Rivin's face as he plucked up the plate and went back to the little nest he'd built himself from the clean hay that had been left in one corner and then he'd covered with the blanket to make a sort of couch.
Ilex was reassuring him that he wasn't being punished, that he simply had no time for him right then. It was good to know, though still a bit bothersome that he hadn't earned the right to a normal room of his own again. His still-adolescent appetite made quick work of the nosh, setting the plate back near the hole to be collected when the provider came back with more. Settling again into his comfortable position, now with a full belly, he went back to contemplating his fate.
~~~~
"Good. Good boy." The older man, without horns, tail, or the sharpness to his features that Rivin's mother's face was made from, put a hand on top of Rivin's head, not a pat exactly, more like a benediction, though the tiny child had not known that. Squatting down till they were nearly on the same eye level the man introduced himself,
"I am Doctor Ilex, Rivin. I am here to run some tests on you, to see if you are worthy of continuing in this place. I would very much like it if you were to pass the tests, so I'm going to need you to behave. Do you understand?" The man pronounced his name slowly, not in a sing-song way as though Rivin were stupid, but as though he knew the child had never heard it before and wanted him to remember.
The urge to look back at his mother and check which answer he should give was strong, but something, a something in his head that was older than he was, told him not to look away. Not perfectly sure of which words to use he nodded instead, as seriously as he was being spoken to. The doctor gave him a tight smile, no mirth in it; appreciation only.
"Good. Now, I am going to lift you up onto the table, alright?" The question seemed more perfunctory than actually seeking permission, but he nodded again anyway. As he was lifted he was turned, so he could at least easily see his mother again, who still looked calm, attentive but without action. Standing on something even as high up as the examination table was a wholly new experience and looking down over the edge had the same, though a lesser, effect as looking out the windows had. He took a step back, then realized how narrow the table was and overbalanced in his fear, landing on his backside with a little thump. The doctor, who had turned to another table to retrieve an instrument, turned back around to see the little boy's eyes blinking up at him in confusion, but neither pain nor upset. The doctor grunted, a small sound, a little impressed.
The instrument the doctor held was shiny and sharp, with odd little circles on one end that his finger and thumb fit into. Placing his large, soft hand again on Rivin's head, the doctor took samples of his hair, which did not hurt. Then held his tiny hand to take samples of his nails, which also did not hurt. When he wanted a blood sample, that did hurt, but not very much, he merely pricked the end of a finger then squeezed it till a fat drop fell into a small, clear container. Rivin was more interested in the substance, there but also seeming to not be there. Reaching out to touch it he stopped and looked up, asking permission with his wide eyes rather than his words. The doctor had smiled again, mirth visible this time, and nodded, holding the container out for chubby hands to gently poke and then stroke at a few times.
"It's called glass." He was informed, matter of factly, the last word again pronounced slowly so he could catch it.
"Glass." He repeated back this time, and got a nod of approval. When the samples were stored away the doctor again lifted him, placing him back on the ground and telling him he could go back to his mother. He did as he was told, though he did not cling to her this time, only taking care not to look back towards the windows until they were well and truly back into the lower levels of the building. Their cell was waiting for them, like coming home, though it had been cleaned and swept.
Once the door was closed and the lock had been fasted behind them Rivin's mother called her to him and inspected, as best as the low light would allow, the parts that had been taken from him. It wasn't much, the pierced place on his finger had stopped bleeding as soon as the doctor had stopped pressing it for more, and it wasn't as though he knew anything of what his own hair looked like. She also seemed unperturbed after her looking was done, and picked him up to settle him onto her lap. She began to sing to him, a sure sign that she was pleased by his behavior, but, for the first time, Rivin wasn't really listening.
For the first time his mind was opening to the idea that there were things outside the cell that weren't awful or frightening, or only wanted to take his mother away. There was glass and sky, and people who looked very differently than Mother did. He sat, blinking eyes that were still too big for his head, and tried to think. He wanted more, more of these new things and the ideas they represented. He wanted to ask his mother about them, but since he did not know what the other new things would be, he couldn't think of how to do so.
When word came, two days later, that Rivin had passed the tests, that his 'blood was right', his mother seemed very pleased indeed. Her pleasure felt good, as it always did, but somehow there was something missing from it now. Or, perhaps there was simply something that he wanted in addition to it. Dr. Ilex has been pleased with him too, when he had behaved well, and the doctor had said he would be pleased if Rivin passed his tests. If Rivin had passed, as the guard had told his mother, why wasn't he allowed to see the doctor being pleased as well?
That night, with their suppers, a tiny bowl had appeared, it has been clear, like the instrument container, and there was an odd set of swirling scratches marked into one side. Inside the bowl was fresh fruit and a thick, creamy substance that was cold. His mother had smiled at him again, her proud smile, and told him the doctor was rewarding him. This too was a new concept, one which bloomed into the boy as he used his little spoon to eat, insisting his mother ate the cold cream and fruit as well. Reward. That was this new concept, being given things in exchange for pleasing someone else. His mother had never had any things to give Rivin, and had used disapproval as her tool to earn his cooperation.
The doctor was showing that he was pleased, he simply did not have to be there himself to do it. A whole new set of ideas began forming, though they were still only sparks. Sparks that flew around his mind and spoke of influence, of instruments that were people to do ones will, of power. When the food was all gone his mother turned the little bowl around until she could see the strange markings on it. She explained that it was letters, that this was writing, a way that you could see words.
Rivin blinked, his head starting to hurt from all the things he was trying to cram inside it that day. Still, even as he settled comfortably against her warm body and began to drift down towards sleep he said,
"What does it say?"
She answered him,
"Glass."
Loud footsteps coming down the corridor from the direction of the exit to the underground area, (dungeon?) pulled Rivin from his reverie and back into the reality of his current situation. The steps passed by his cell, but he could hear their owner banging on each door before sliding something beneath it. It must be a mealtime, probably...breakfast? He had arrived late enough in the evening of the previous day to have missed dinner, and enough time had passed for it to be breakfast. Not that meals were specifically distinguished for prisoners most of the time.
Rivin wasn't exactly a prisoner, more like a useful tool that was not currently convenient to have hanging about. When the boots approached his own door there was a bit of discussion that seemed to go between the gaolor and himself. After a moment the edge of a tin plate appeared in the opening under the door, and then it disappeared to be replaced by a different one. This plate was porcelain, the type of plate he ate from when he joined Dr. Ilex for suppers. The food it contained also looked like the sort he was fed when he was being used as an assistant-cum-companion to the doctor. Springing out of his lounge position the part-Lysanrin landed in a crouch, his tail flicking his curiosity as he examined the meal.
It did look, remarkably, as though the good doctor had plucked a plate from his own breakfast table and sent it down to the cells. A tight smile sharpened its way across Rivin's face as he plucked up the plate and went back to the little nest he'd built himself from the clean hay that had been left in one corner and then he'd covered with the blanket to make a sort of couch.
Ilex was reassuring him that he wasn't being punished, that he simply had no time for him right then. It was good to know, though still a bit bothersome that he hadn't earned the right to a normal room of his own again. His still-adolescent appetite made quick work of the nosh, setting the plate back near the hole to be collected when the provider came back with more. Settling again into his comfortable position, now with a full belly, he went back to contemplating his fate.
~~~~
"Good. Good boy." The older man, without horns, tail, or the sharpness to his features that Rivin's mother's face was made from, put a hand on top of Rivin's head, not a pat exactly, more like a benediction, though the tiny child had not known that. Squatting down till they were nearly on the same eye level the man introduced himself,
"I am Doctor Ilex, Rivin. I am here to run some tests on you, to see if you are worthy of continuing in this place. I would very much like it if you were to pass the tests, so I'm going to need you to behave. Do you understand?" The man pronounced his name slowly, not in a sing-song way as though Rivin were stupid, but as though he knew the child had never heard it before and wanted him to remember.
The urge to look back at his mother and check which answer he should give was strong, but something, a something in his head that was older than he was, told him not to look away. Not perfectly sure of which words to use he nodded instead, as seriously as he was being spoken to. The doctor gave him a tight smile, no mirth in it; appreciation only.
"Good. Now, I am going to lift you up onto the table, alright?" The question seemed more perfunctory than actually seeking permission, but he nodded again anyway. As he was lifted he was turned, so he could at least easily see his mother again, who still looked calm, attentive but without action. Standing on something even as high up as the examination table was a wholly new experience and looking down over the edge had the same, though a lesser, effect as looking out the windows had. He took a step back, then realized how narrow the table was and overbalanced in his fear, landing on his backside with a little thump. The doctor, who had turned to another table to retrieve an instrument, turned back around to see the little boy's eyes blinking up at him in confusion, but neither pain nor upset. The doctor grunted, a small sound, a little impressed.
The instrument the doctor held was shiny and sharp, with odd little circles on one end that his finger and thumb fit into. Placing his large, soft hand again on Rivin's head, the doctor took samples of his hair, which did not hurt. Then held his tiny hand to take samples of his nails, which also did not hurt. When he wanted a blood sample, that did hurt, but not very much, he merely pricked the end of a finger then squeezed it till a fat drop fell into a small, clear container. Rivin was more interested in the substance, there but also seeming to not be there. Reaching out to touch it he stopped and looked up, asking permission with his wide eyes rather than his words. The doctor had smiled again, mirth visible this time, and nodded, holding the container out for chubby hands to gently poke and then stroke at a few times.
"It's called glass." He was informed, matter of factly, the last word again pronounced slowly so he could catch it.
"Glass." He repeated back this time, and got a nod of approval. When the samples were stored away the doctor again lifted him, placing him back on the ground and telling him he could go back to his mother. He did as he was told, though he did not cling to her this time, only taking care not to look back towards the windows until they were well and truly back into the lower levels of the building. Their cell was waiting for them, like coming home, though it had been cleaned and swept.
Once the door was closed and the lock had been fasted behind them Rivin's mother called her to him and inspected, as best as the low light would allow, the parts that had been taken from him. It wasn't much, the pierced place on his finger had stopped bleeding as soon as the doctor had stopped pressing it for more, and it wasn't as though he knew anything of what his own hair looked like. She also seemed unperturbed after her looking was done, and picked him up to settle him onto her lap. She began to sing to him, a sure sign that she was pleased by his behavior, but, for the first time, Rivin wasn't really listening.
For the first time his mind was opening to the idea that there were things outside the cell that weren't awful or frightening, or only wanted to take his mother away. There was glass and sky, and people who looked very differently than Mother did. He sat, blinking eyes that were still too big for his head, and tried to think. He wanted more, more of these new things and the ideas they represented. He wanted to ask his mother about them, but since he did not know what the other new things would be, he couldn't think of how to do so.
When word came, two days later, that Rivin had passed the tests, that his 'blood was right', his mother seemed very pleased indeed. Her pleasure felt good, as it always did, but somehow there was something missing from it now. Or, perhaps there was simply something that he wanted in addition to it. Dr. Ilex has been pleased with him too, when he had behaved well, and the doctor had said he would be pleased if Rivin passed his tests. If Rivin had passed, as the guard had told his mother, why wasn't he allowed to see the doctor being pleased as well?
That night, with their suppers, a tiny bowl had appeared, it has been clear, like the instrument container, and there was an odd set of swirling scratches marked into one side. Inside the bowl was fresh fruit and a thick, creamy substance that was cold. His mother had smiled at him again, her proud smile, and told him the doctor was rewarding him. This too was a new concept, one which bloomed into the boy as he used his little spoon to eat, insisting his mother ate the cold cream and fruit as well. Reward. That was this new concept, being given things in exchange for pleasing someone else. His mother had never had any things to give Rivin, and had used disapproval as her tool to earn his cooperation.
The doctor was showing that he was pleased, he simply did not have to be there himself to do it. A whole new set of ideas began forming, though they were still only sparks. Sparks that flew around his mind and spoke of influence, of instruments that were people to do ones will, of power. When the food was all gone his mother turned the little bowl around until she could see the strange markings on it. She explained that it was letters, that this was writing, a way that you could see words.
Rivin blinked, his head starting to hurt from all the things he was trying to cram inside it that day. Still, even as he settled comfortably against her warm body and began to drift down towards sleep he said,
"What does it say?"
She answered him,
"Glass."
