TIMESTAMP: 6th Sun's Zenith, 122
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Both Vergil and Hector were rather deep sleepers normally. Add on the exhaustion both of them had been plagued with and the two of them might as well have been comatose. Regardless of whatever noise that there was around the pair, they both stayed sound asleep for roughly ten hours.
When Vergil awoke, he didn't know exactly how much time had passed, only that he felt better than he did when he'd fallen asleep. While the comfort of the airship was debatable, he'd been in a rather desperate need of sleep. Adjusting once more to the conscious world, the larger man gave his companion a gentle squeeze before shaking him to wake him up.
Hector's eyes opened, his mind being a groggy mess. The memories of the day prior were all jumbled, out of order, and foggy. After a few moments, many of them came flooding back with much greater clarity but…not everything. Due to his injuries and how exhausted he'd been, some things still remained blurred. As his mind pieced everything together, he realized where he was. On an airship, in Vergil's arms, flying away from the only home he'd ever known.
Most of that made sense with his memories…except for his mentor holding him like this, really. Not to say that he minded at all, however. He'd always cherished the larger man's touch any time it was given to him, so of course Hector was pleased to be in this position, he's simply…surprised. The elf didn't want to dwell on whatever reason the other had, because if he did, then his mind would drift toward the idea of a more intimate relationship between the two and that was something Hector actively tried to avoid entertaining. Much as he wanted something like that, he firmly believed that even the thought of such a thing ever happening was delusional.
After all, Vergil was popular with both men and women. People were drawn to him for many reasons– his wit, charm, skills, kindness, good looks and so on. Hector had no doubt that it'd be easy for him to collect lovers in their new life, wherever that may be, as he had in Zaichaer. And because he believed this, time spent on dreams of the two of them being together were a fleeting hope that could only set himself up for disappointment.
Or were they?
In reality, if Hector ever drummed up the confidence to say any of what he thought on the subject directly to Vergil, he would actually be rather pleasantly surprised with the other vampyre's response. Unfortunately, he very much lacked the confidence. Perhaps, one day, the subject would come about naturally, but the elf intended to avoid it completely due to the fact that he believed it to be a moot point. Nonetheless, he very much wanted to prolong the time spent in his companion's embrace.
This was all despite the fact that his still very injured arm ached terribly. His leg had been repaired the day before, so it, mercifully, felt completely fine. Stretching that leg, he was able to easily bend it, roll his ankle around, flex his toes and so forth exactly how each was intended to function. He really wasn't surprised…Vergil was a very thorough individual. It's just that the stark contrast between yesterday's feeling as if the entire thing was broken and filled with shattered glass compared to today's completely fine was a bit abrupt.
As he moved, however, one of Vergil's hands slid down from the elf's chest to the outer side of his thigh. This was not meant to be a suggestive sort of touch, much as Hector may have wished it to be.
"Everything feel OK?" Inquired the older mage, hoping he'd done a good enough job, especially with the foot and ankle as he'd been quite exhausted by the time he'd finished.
"It feels as if nothing ever happened to it…" The elf responded, sleep still present in his voice.
"Glad to hear it. We ought to fix your arm before it starts to heal incorrectly, then, yes? I know you'd probably want to avoid going under the knife again, but really, it'll be easier now than later." Vergil spoke with a sort of soft gentleness meant to be reassuring.
Which, of course, it was. Hector knew he was right…much as everything that had happened was so very fresh, he'd have time to rest from his trauma once his body had been completely repaired.
"...you're right." Hector mumbled a reply, his hesitancy clear, but he knew it had to be done. One cannot simply wish away the type of damage he had without some sort of divine intervention.
"Really…I feel terrible you're even in this position in the first place. I'm sorry, dear one, if I were more competent you'd have never gotten hurt." The doctor's guilt was very clear in his voice, and much as his feelings were genuine, they only made the elf feel worse for being, as he believed, useless.
"It wouldn't have happened if I weren't so weak, actually…" The young mage spoke with a trail, his voice fading out partially because he was tired and partially due to the heavy weight of his disappointment in himself.
Vergil sighed and moved to embrace the elf again, "...you've not had any training intended for combat, Hector, please don't be too hard on yourself. You've so much time ahead of you to improve, too. For where you are, I think you're doing rather well." His statements were genuine and his voice reinforced that, speaking to the younger man with open affection and reassurance. "Let's get your arm fixed, though."
With that, the larger vampyre moved to help his companion to his feet and the two of them walked back to the same place where Vergil had repaired the other's leg the day before.
When Hector laid down, his anxiety began to make itself a bit more pronounced. The cast of Vergil's Pheromancy was felt, and this would be a relief, but the idea of laying here for hours and hours while the other man fiddled around with his bones was…not exactly the most pleasant of thoughts. Ah well…again, wouldn't want bones to heal misshapen or for his mobility to be inhibited.
First, one must free the arm from the makeshift sling that bound it to the elf's chest. Once his shirt was removed, the bindings were easy enough to unravel but this process was not without its discomfort, causing the patient in question to wince quite a few times despite his pain being shifted. One could only imagine the severity thereof if it felt like actual, proper pain– and Vergil's touch was exceptionally gentle as is.
Given the fact that they’d the time to rest…Hector was far more awake this time than the last. A lot more alert. Realistically…this wasn’t a good thing whatsoever. The state of half-consciousness he’d been in before was actually a boon for his perception, but oh well, what was there to do? They didn’t have any proper anesthetic to use. None of what they’d gathered on the fifth of the month was useful for that particular purpose. They didn’t carry something like that around, either, and these…sky pirates? also didn’t appear to possess any of their own. Unfortunate. For both of them, really. Vergil was distinctly bothered by the elf’s distress. It wasn’t like working on a stranger; such a thing was why in most medical facilities, doctors did not work on people they had ties to if it could be avoided.
As with the leg, one should start with the joint that anchors the limb to the body. In this case, that would be his shoulder. He could tell that it had been dislocated, but not precisely the degree of damage to bone within. Had it merely been popped out? Or perhaps it had been smashed? Only one way to find out since all he could see on the surface was grotesquely bruised skin. Having gathered his tools, it was time he ought to begin.
Hector was a lithe man. His vampirism left him with little body fat due to the high rate at which his body generated and consumed energy, leaving him quite thin and sinewy. There are both advantages and drawbacks when it comes to working on smaller patients. For one thing, there is less to fix if broken…but their pieces are smaller.
With his carving hook, Vergil broke skin and drew the incision down to about a half inch above his elbow, running along the center of the arm if one were laying in a supine position. As standard for his cuts, it did not bleed despite going through both skin and muscle. All fresh wounds were capped off with hardened, crystallized blood. Hector whimpered, shifting uncomfortably where he lay, but the transfer of movement was a tad muted to the damaged arm. His shoulder was dislocated, and so it was simply unable to move properly.
The bones were cracked and splintered, muscles bruised and torn, connective tissue and various bursae in the area were quite damaged. Fixing joints was such a pain. Luckily for him, he'd had to fix three yesterday and from the looks of it, three more today! And so he began.
When starting this process, one must clear the surrounding tissue of debris such that one may actually see what they are doing. Using the embalmer's tongs to hold open the flesh in the area near the shoulder, he cleaned the area of blood with a combination of Vicissitude and Thaumaturgy and then picked free any splintered off pieces of bone with forceps. His movement and casting were both precise and swift, clearing the area in short order. While it was substantially less of a gorey mess, broken bones are rarely pretty.
Once he'd extracted each piece of bone that had managed to chip off, he methodically placed each piece back where it belonged, as if a very complex puzzle. Meticulous and exacting in nature, this was a bit of a tedious process. Once each bone piece was placed and he was sure it was correct, he knit the tissue together to restore the bones by gently pressing a fingertip to the bone itself and using Vicissitude.
Once he'd restored the humerus and any other damaged bone he could see, he turned his attention back to the poor synovial joint's battered connective tissues. With the gentlest of touches, he restored each piece again, with Vicissitude.
"Try and move your shoulder, would you?" The doctor's voice was warm and empathetic.
Hector obeyed, and he succeeded, the shoulder itself functioning as it was meant to, but he grimaced a bit when the movement jostled that which remained broken. While the pain itself was warped, the sensation he was left with was nonetheless bizarre; it was almost alien, and often uncomfortable. That, and it was just a very strong sensation given the extent of the damage the elven man had endured.
"Perfect," he spoke as one would to administer praise. To be honest, however– he was praising himself for doing his job well.
With the joint repaired and the bones fixed and reinforced, this particular area was done. Each incision site was made to focus around a single damaged joint, so it was time to move on. Extracting his hands and any other tools, the surgeon collected his bone needle and requisite sinew thread to begin the process of weaving the flesh back together in a way that would not cause any more magical strain to himself.
When Vergil awoke, he didn't know exactly how much time had passed, only that he felt better than he did when he'd fallen asleep. While the comfort of the airship was debatable, he'd been in a rather desperate need of sleep. Adjusting once more to the conscious world, the larger man gave his companion a gentle squeeze before shaking him to wake him up.
Hector's eyes opened, his mind being a groggy mess. The memories of the day prior were all jumbled, out of order, and foggy. After a few moments, many of them came flooding back with much greater clarity but…not everything. Due to his injuries and how exhausted he'd been, some things still remained blurred. As his mind pieced everything together, he realized where he was. On an airship, in Vergil's arms, flying away from the only home he'd ever known.
Most of that made sense with his memories…except for his mentor holding him like this, really. Not to say that he minded at all, however. He'd always cherished the larger man's touch any time it was given to him, so of course Hector was pleased to be in this position, he's simply…surprised. The elf didn't want to dwell on whatever reason the other had, because if he did, then his mind would drift toward the idea of a more intimate relationship between the two and that was something Hector actively tried to avoid entertaining. Much as he wanted something like that, he firmly believed that even the thought of such a thing ever happening was delusional.
After all, Vergil was popular with both men and women. People were drawn to him for many reasons– his wit, charm, skills, kindness, good looks and so on. Hector had no doubt that it'd be easy for him to collect lovers in their new life, wherever that may be, as he had in Zaichaer. And because he believed this, time spent on dreams of the two of them being together were a fleeting hope that could only set himself up for disappointment.
Or were they?
In reality, if Hector ever drummed up the confidence to say any of what he thought on the subject directly to Vergil, he would actually be rather pleasantly surprised with the other vampyre's response. Unfortunately, he very much lacked the confidence. Perhaps, one day, the subject would come about naturally, but the elf intended to avoid it completely due to the fact that he believed it to be a moot point. Nonetheless, he very much wanted to prolong the time spent in his companion's embrace.
This was all despite the fact that his still very injured arm ached terribly. His leg had been repaired the day before, so it, mercifully, felt completely fine. Stretching that leg, he was able to easily bend it, roll his ankle around, flex his toes and so forth exactly how each was intended to function. He really wasn't surprised…Vergil was a very thorough individual. It's just that the stark contrast between yesterday's feeling as if the entire thing was broken and filled with shattered glass compared to today's completely fine was a bit abrupt.
As he moved, however, one of Vergil's hands slid down from the elf's chest to the outer side of his thigh. This was not meant to be a suggestive sort of touch, much as Hector may have wished it to be.
"Everything feel OK?" Inquired the older mage, hoping he'd done a good enough job, especially with the foot and ankle as he'd been quite exhausted by the time he'd finished.
"It feels as if nothing ever happened to it…" The elf responded, sleep still present in his voice.
"Glad to hear it. We ought to fix your arm before it starts to heal incorrectly, then, yes? I know you'd probably want to avoid going under the knife again, but really, it'll be easier now than later." Vergil spoke with a sort of soft gentleness meant to be reassuring.
Which, of course, it was. Hector knew he was right…much as everything that had happened was so very fresh, he'd have time to rest from his trauma once his body had been completely repaired.
"...you're right." Hector mumbled a reply, his hesitancy clear, but he knew it had to be done. One cannot simply wish away the type of damage he had without some sort of divine intervention.
"Really…I feel terrible you're even in this position in the first place. I'm sorry, dear one, if I were more competent you'd have never gotten hurt." The doctor's guilt was very clear in his voice, and much as his feelings were genuine, they only made the elf feel worse for being, as he believed, useless.
"It wouldn't have happened if I weren't so weak, actually…" The young mage spoke with a trail, his voice fading out partially because he was tired and partially due to the heavy weight of his disappointment in himself.
Vergil sighed and moved to embrace the elf again, "...you've not had any training intended for combat, Hector, please don't be too hard on yourself. You've so much time ahead of you to improve, too. For where you are, I think you're doing rather well." His statements were genuine and his voice reinforced that, speaking to the younger man with open affection and reassurance. "Let's get your arm fixed, though."
With that, the larger vampyre moved to help his companion to his feet and the two of them walked back to the same place where Vergil had repaired the other's leg the day before.
When Hector laid down, his anxiety began to make itself a bit more pronounced. The cast of Vergil's Pheromancy was felt, and this would be a relief, but the idea of laying here for hours and hours while the other man fiddled around with his bones was…not exactly the most pleasant of thoughts. Ah well…again, wouldn't want bones to heal misshapen or for his mobility to be inhibited.
First, one must free the arm from the makeshift sling that bound it to the elf's chest. Once his shirt was removed, the bindings were easy enough to unravel but this process was not without its discomfort, causing the patient in question to wince quite a few times despite his pain being shifted. One could only imagine the severity thereof if it felt like actual, proper pain– and Vergil's touch was exceptionally gentle as is.
Given the fact that they’d the time to rest…Hector was far more awake this time than the last. A lot more alert. Realistically…this wasn’t a good thing whatsoever. The state of half-consciousness he’d been in before was actually a boon for his perception, but oh well, what was there to do? They didn’t have any proper anesthetic to use. None of what they’d gathered on the fifth of the month was useful for that particular purpose. They didn’t carry something like that around, either, and these…sky pirates? also didn’t appear to possess any of their own. Unfortunate. For both of them, really. Vergil was distinctly bothered by the elf’s distress. It wasn’t like working on a stranger; such a thing was why in most medical facilities, doctors did not work on people they had ties to if it could be avoided.
As with the leg, one should start with the joint that anchors the limb to the body. In this case, that would be his shoulder. He could tell that it had been dislocated, but not precisely the degree of damage to bone within. Had it merely been popped out? Or perhaps it had been smashed? Only one way to find out since all he could see on the surface was grotesquely bruised skin. Having gathered his tools, it was time he ought to begin.
Hector was a lithe man. His vampirism left him with little body fat due to the high rate at which his body generated and consumed energy, leaving him quite thin and sinewy. There are both advantages and drawbacks when it comes to working on smaller patients. For one thing, there is less to fix if broken…but their pieces are smaller.
With his carving hook, Vergil broke skin and drew the incision down to about a half inch above his elbow, running along the center of the arm if one were laying in a supine position. As standard for his cuts, it did not bleed despite going through both skin and muscle. All fresh wounds were capped off with hardened, crystallized blood. Hector whimpered, shifting uncomfortably where he lay, but the transfer of movement was a tad muted to the damaged arm. His shoulder was dislocated, and so it was simply unable to move properly.
The bones were cracked and splintered, muscles bruised and torn, connective tissue and various bursae in the area were quite damaged. Fixing joints was such a pain. Luckily for him, he'd had to fix three yesterday and from the looks of it, three more today! And so he began.
When starting this process, one must clear the surrounding tissue of debris such that one may actually see what they are doing. Using the embalmer's tongs to hold open the flesh in the area near the shoulder, he cleaned the area of blood with a combination of Vicissitude and Thaumaturgy and then picked free any splintered off pieces of bone with forceps. His movement and casting were both precise and swift, clearing the area in short order. While it was substantially less of a gorey mess, broken bones are rarely pretty.
Once he'd extracted each piece of bone that had managed to chip off, he methodically placed each piece back where it belonged, as if a very complex puzzle. Meticulous and exacting in nature, this was a bit of a tedious process. Once each bone piece was placed and he was sure it was correct, he knit the tissue together to restore the bones by gently pressing a fingertip to the bone itself and using Vicissitude.
Once he'd restored the humerus and any other damaged bone he could see, he turned his attention back to the poor synovial joint's battered connective tissues. With the gentlest of touches, he restored each piece again, with Vicissitude.
"Try and move your shoulder, would you?" The doctor's voice was warm and empathetic.
Hector obeyed, and he succeeded, the shoulder itself functioning as it was meant to, but he grimaced a bit when the movement jostled that which remained broken. While the pain itself was warped, the sensation he was left with was nonetheless bizarre; it was almost alien, and often uncomfortable. That, and it was just a very strong sensation given the extent of the damage the elven man had endured.
"Perfect," he spoke as one would to administer praise. To be honest, however– he was praising himself for doing his job well.
With the joint repaired and the bones fixed and reinforced, this particular area was done. Each incision site was made to focus around a single damaged joint, so it was time to move on. Extracting his hands and any other tools, the surgeon collected his bone needle and requisite sinew thread to begin the process of weaving the flesh back together in a way that would not cause any more magical strain to himself.
____
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
Aidolon Speech
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
Aidolon Speech
