Helping Hands [Montaine]

by **Nira'lia** on June 2nd, 2012, 7:15 pm

As Montaine cleaned the wound, Nira'lia watched him eagerly. Even if this wasn't his line of work, it seemed that his hands were deft in action. The blood slightly seeped from the cloth and unto the water every time he dipped it. Soon enough, the water was light red and dirtied with the woman's blood.

She listened intently to his words, taking it all in. As a Konti, Nira'lia knew she would surpass many beings. They would come and go and she would live through more centuries. Death made her uncomfortable. She was a medic and life was a precious concern to her, and she could not stand see a hollow shell of a being.

As she listened to him speak, she couldn't help but become more uneasy. He spoke about death as if it was unavoidable – and Nira'lia knew that it was for most. He was right. Just like him, she would also face death someday. Whether it would be from old age or from a bad stroke of luck, she was going to have to face it. Even those of the unaging ethaefal race were at risk of dying, though they had the benefit of living through centuries, maybe even millennia, untouched... if they could handle the dangers of the world.

The concept of death made her uneasy, and she knew it was reality, but his statement made her even more uncomfortable. She couldn't tell herself 'these things happen, and that's it'. Every dead body made her insides stagger with sadness. Nira'lia didn't know this man, nor did she know the burdens he was currently facing, but she responded to just his words and to nothing else – not even his expression.

Her logic was flawed. She knew nothing could be done, even attempting to cope with it wouldn't work, yet she still challenged him.

"You're right, there's nothing we can do... but isn't there more to it? Don't you feel sorrow?" asked the Konti. Her voice was flat as she said it. The words came out of her mouth even before she could think of what she was saying. How absurd! The underlying offense made her cringe. Nira'lia faced him quickly. "Oh, I'm sorry, that was very rude of me!"

Nira'lia attempted to push the topic away. Looking at the woman's now cleaned wound, she saw that it needed stitches. She took a sterilized needle with thread and approached the woman, leaning before her.

"Oh, my gloves..." she realized. Nira'lia put them on to keep her Konti gift from occurring. "Monty, could you please hand me the—"

Turning around swiftly and pointing at the nearby desk, her fingers accidentally and ironically grazed his hand. Instantly, her eyes turned into a daze as images of his most precious memories came before her.

by **Montaine** on June 2nd, 2012, 11:39 pm

Montaine’s life had been so full of hardships in those early days, those early years. His sickness that made his Da so sad and filled his heart with fears and sorrows and guilt for the trauma it caused the man was matched at least as strongly by his boredom. The intense tedium of his childhood that gnawed away at his very being while the other children raced and ran and played and lived their lives outside the walls of their homes, of their poky little rooms. In his father’s desperation to keep him safe, to keep him alive he had instead killed the boy, his spirit, his life.

Until that day.

A head ringed by halo of light, Syna’s great sun eclipsed by a face that promised so much more, so many possibilities of adventure and a life lived, not spent wasting away in bed. A face that made the eight year old’s own light up, his eyes sparkle and his mouth stretch into an ecstatic grin. His first emotion at the time had been fear, tinged with excitement, but after years of maturation all the emotion that memory held had transformed into something else, something that still caused his face to light and eyes to sparkle but also to set his heart racing, beating so fast in his chest.

To see that man.

His tattooed skin was imprinted on the boy he had been, and the man he had grown into. He was no longer the little child trapped by his father’s kindness, for this image, this creature had changed him so fundamentally. He had freed the boy from his own self imposed cage, showed him a glimpse of the world beyond his prison.

And yet the memory was tinged with sadness too. Fear. It was the happiest he possessed and yet alongside it rode the desperate fear of unrequital, and the miserable resignation that came with abject certainty of it.

But still, still the memory of the man with the tattooed skin, the sailor from far off lands with no home and no cage and no limitations, still the memory remained, so strong, so powerful. The sailor only ever remained in port for such short stays at a time and every time he left the boy, the man, felt like crying, and every time he returned it was like he was eight again, staring up at the face of his one true-

‘Are you okay Miss Nira’lia?’ Monty frowned at the healer, ‘Do you want me to go get someone? Can’t have one of the doctors comin’ down with somethin’ now can we?’ he grabbed the konti’s gloves from the desk and held them out to her, ‘Really, you okay?’

by **Nira'lia** on June 4th, 2012, 7:35 pm

She pushed away from him as the images flooded in her mind. A warm, lingering feeling enveloped her. When Nira'lia saw the most precious memories of other people, the emotions would spill over to her as well. Over the years, she had learned to grow accustomed to these emotions and she was able to pinpoint most of them.

There were different kinds of happiness, something which Nira'lia had learned by now. They were similar, but for someone like Nira'lia, she knew the small, blurred differences. The feeling that a child gets when he's with mother is different from what one feels when he learns something new.

Then there was also that kind of happiness when you meet someone special, a person who means the world to you, for the first time and every time after that. Nira'lia personally had never felt anything this intense for another person before, but she could recognize it, the feeling of adulation, and maybe even more.

She pushed the visions away, returning her focus to the present. Montaine was asking her something, and he was handing her the gloves. Still shaken up, she nodded at him gratefully and put the gloves on. "I-I'm fine, I'm sorry... it's just that, uhm..."

Nira'lia smiled at him sheepishly and decided not to finish her sentence. Once the gloves were snugly put on, she turned to the wounded woman, who was looking at the two of them sceptically. Nira'lia didn't say a word but gestured for her to relax.

The first time the needle pierced the woman's skin, the woman winced but bit back anything more. Nira'lia peered up at her with a comforting smile as she pulled the needle away, allowing the thread to go in snugly and correctly. The Konti's hands moved with elegance, her actions careful and accurate. She wasn't an expert medic, and while her work in this task wasn't perfect, it was one of the jobs she was accustomed to.

Needle and thread worked together to slowly close the wound. It was deep, but it was a clean cut – at most she would get a nasty scar from it. Nira'lia focused at the task at hand, her mind fully concentrated, and she almost forgot about everything else. When she was finally done, she knotted the thread and cut off the excess, putting aside the tools.

The old woman thanked her, though there was much pain her expression. Nira'lia couldn't blame her – having a wound sewn shot was not a pretty experience, but it was necessary. Smiling, Nira'lia nodded her farewell to the woman as she returned her attention to Montaine.

"I admire you..." she said simply, her smile wide but also painful. "I've never met anyone so special to me."

She stared at him. It wasn't usual for her to talk about her Konti gift, but at this moment, she thought it would be good for her. Nira'lia needed something to cheer herself up, and somehow she wanted to know more about Montaine's sailor. She was able to see memories, but she didn't usually know the context behind them.

"I have a gift, all Konti do... mine is when I touch someone, I see visions of their most precious memory... that's why I was startled, that's why I use gloves..." she explained in a hushed voice. "I'm sure you know what I saw... who is he? Is he from Zeltiva? I-if it's fine to ask, that is..."

by **Montaine** on June 4th, 2012, 11:25 pm

Monty’s content expression dropped.

The glassworker looked around at the patients that seemed to be everywhere, his breath becoming almost imperceptibly laboured and his heart speeding up, he spoke in whispered tones, ‘What did you see? Don’t tell, please! What did you-’ he paused and met her eye. She was so like the fair doctor in some ways, perhaps his mind simply saw the scales and pale, blonde hair and associated them with kindness, with a lack of judgement. She was a healer, she cared for people and perhaps she understood. It couldn’t be easy going through life unable to touch someone without being inundated with their memories, their happinesses. It must have been difficult living, forever witnessing the happiest moments of others, unable to grab a hold of them yourself.

Monty knew what that was like. He knew what it was like to live on the lives of others, to experience through the experiences of others. He had spent so much time dreaming of living the sailor’s life; he had spent so many hours listening to the sailor’s stories, unable to step inside them.

She’d understand.

Wasn’t as though he could take back whatever it was she had seen now, anyway.

‘H-he’s a friend,’ he began, he knew who she had seen, there could only have been one, ‘Just a friend, an’ no, he’s not from Zeltiva, not exactly. He was born here, in a manner of speaking, I s’ppose,’ Monty looked to the floor, ‘He was at sea, when the storm hit,’

After a pause the glassworker turned his gaze back to the konti and spoke, ‘He’s dead, I think.’

Montaine had spent some time coming to the conclusion. He still wasn’t sure of it, and he hoped to the gods that it wasn’t true, but it was the worst case scenario, and if he could vocalise it then it made it seem somewhat less troublesome. Somewhat less destroying.

Monty looked around the infirmary, ‘Shouldn’t we be tendin’ to patients, Miss Nira’lia? Can’t be wastin’ time on idle prattle when there’s wounds to be cleaned,’ he looked away and picked up his bowl, ‘Think I’ll be needin’ a fresh one, people might complain,’

by **Nira'lia** on June 6th, 2012, 5:59 pm

Nira'lia didn't need to be a genius to see that Montaine was going through a difficult ordeal. The thought of not knowing if someone special to you was safe, or even still alive, was torture. She could relate with him. Until this day, she had no idea where her sisters were. It had been so long since she last saw them that she could only see their faces through the vast webs of the chavi.

"Uhm, yes, let me get some fresh water..." she said softly as she took the bowl from him. The water in it was stained, after all. Nodding at him with a smile, she made her way to the back of the infirmary. She let the water spill to the soil and put the bowl away – even if she had discarded the water, it still wasn't hygienic until washed completely, and she didn't feel like doing the chore.

Instead, she took a clean bowl and a towel from the nearby stash. She filled the bowl with spotless water from a wooden bucket. Peering inside the container, she saw that the water would run out soon, and she wondered who was tasked with refilling it – nor where they got the water from. Since she wasn't a regular in the Infirmary, she had no idea if there was a stream or a well nearby.

She leaned down and sighed. Montaine's story had reminded her too much of her lost sisters. A familiar welling of sadness filled her heart. Finally, she walked back to Montaine, bowl in hand.

"Here we go," she said, forcing a smile. "About your friend... I'm going to be travelling soon, and I know it's a long shot... but if I see him, I'll tell him you're waiting for him, alright?"

After she said that, Nira'lia looked around the infirmary, searching to see who was unattended.

by **Montaine** on June 6th, 2012, 10:01 pm

‘No! No wait, if you see him-’ he put a hand to his forehead and shook his head, ‘If you see him, tell him-tell him-’

Oh gods, there were things he wanted to say to that man and to hear said back, so many things, declarations yelled and sweet words whispered so quietly into private ears, stories told from distant shores like he was young again, the sailor and the child, even a simple acknowledgement of life, of living, for either of them. He wanted to hear so many things yet all would go unsaid, unheard, unmeant, unknown. He wanted to tell him so many things that were almost certainly also best left untold. What should she tell him?

Tell him I love him.

‘Tell him nothing, please, about this, you can say you met me, an’ maybe tell him, if’n you see him, if’n you find him, if’n he’s still alive, you can tell him to get back here with new stories, but please, please,’ his breathing was getting worse, he knew he would have to calm down, perhaps Erudite’s lessons would relax him, else he would collapse on the infirmary floor, ‘Don’ tell him nothin’ about what you saw. I-I don’ want him to-’ the glassworker inhaled deeply and sat himself down where the woman had been. If he was going to have an episode, he had picked an appropriate enough place for it.

After a couple of chimes his breathing had returned to a rough approximation of normal, his lungs felt like they were filled with sawdust and every breath was accompanied by a soft wheeze but the danger had passed. Nevertheless he felt exhausted.

‘Sorry, I’m not normally like this,’ he smiled weakly, his brow furrowed, ‘Hope you don’t mind if’n I just take a quick breather? Feel somethin’ awful takin’ up beds when there’s people that need ‘em,’

He wasn’t there for long before the bell struck and Erudite was due and Montaine left for his lesson in reading. Yet he found himself unable to concentrate, his thoughts drifting back to the sailor, to the dreams he’d had as a child of sailing the seas by his side. They were dreams that had evolved as he had grown older to include his glassworking and, just maybe, a little escalation in the relationship that straddled the fictitious. Now his dreams never went far beyond that petching man still being alive.

He honestly had no idea how he would react to seeing the sailor once more, kiss him, kill him or just collapse in a heap.

Probably all three.

Completed

OOCFeel free to add a quick addendum on here if you want to add a final post from Nira, Cas.

by **Arcane** on June 24th, 2012, 5:01 am

Rewards and Treasure!

Nira'lia :

Montaine :

In Conclusion
An interesting and eloquent thread that manages to weave in medicine-stuff amidst the story. I would have liked it more if Nira had pursued interrogating Montaine on his philosophy, but I understand if it would not be playing her personality true if she were to do that. Rock on~