[Pain and exhaustion greet Grace when she wakes, the familiar burn of a fever. She stirs slowly, too sluggish to act surprised at her location. But her eyes flick to the side, looking for some familiar face she already knows won't be there.]
Where... am I?
[Of course. The palace....the carnival trial...the rain. She is in Hell just as surely as she was when she lost consciousness.]
[She is certainly pretty rough still, her cheeks still obviously flushed and her movements leaden. She makes no move to sit up, turning her head to let out a chain of less violent coughs instead.]
My lungs are still bad. Something to dull the pain...
[She's been looking for a medication that she can trust and that she can use instead of the one she trusts from Dr. Richter but has nothing on hand. Andrew rolls back into the pillows, contemplating.]
You brought me?
[Unlike the last doctor who attended her, he has no reason not to kill her here. She wonders if anyone who gets into this room would...]
I shall ask around for those who received painkillers if they are willing to share. In the meantime, I have brewed a pot of ginger tea to alleviate the inflammation.
[He offers her the cup once she’s able to sit up enough.]
Dan Heng carried thee. I offered to do what I can to keep thee stable, as I have some experience with medical care.
[Nothing amazing, but options seemed to be limited.]
[Usually, Herta would be here to pull the pillows up for her, but Andrew has recently gotten better at doing things for herself. Bathing, dressing, fluffing her bedding. She gets into a more comfortable position and props up the best she can.]
You as well. [The cup sits at her knees, but she doesn't sip right away, running the edge of her finger around the lip of the cup.
Her father would do the same thing, she realizes.] What is it brewed with? [Other than ginger.]
[Andrew stirs the tea with the little spoon that came along on the saucer, watching the liquid swirl... but really watching the silver of the utensil itself.]
It smells very bracing.
[Since I wasn't raised by a paranoid tyrant, I assume nothing happens, but she'll stare down at it a little longer until she can be certain, then finally attempt a sip if it doesn't.]
What is this "experience"?
Edited (yes anding it a bit more than poison checking) 2025-03-17 03:19 (UTC)
Aye. Ginger is sharp and spicy, but possesseth a sweet aftertaste.
[He can’t exactly blame her for the apprehension, given what’s transpired. He doesn’t plan on forcing her to drink it either. It’s just something he thought might help.]
Mine experience lieth in healing magicks, which, unfortunately, have been silenced in this place. But I have read a fair amount about minor home remedies which I have utilized tonight.
[It really is bracing. The spice burns at her throat; she makes a face like she's drinking a truly bitter medicine. But she is also an obedient patient when she has no reason to suspect the medicine and attends willingly.]
That damnable Witch said we had no great doctors among us. I suppose he only partially lied. [He probably uses it to justify the things he says and does, a possibility that wouldn't surprise her in the least.] Do you know what happened to me?
Urianger takes a breath as he listens. Yeesh. That would definitely do it. But man…]
It…doth bode ill. [Coughing up blood is never a good sign.] Thou needest proper aid, ere it worsen still. However, I worry that Ish will not care to provide thee with such aid.
[She doesn't look surprised by the general prognosis in the least; little response is in her face or her eyes whatsoever. Perhaps the fever and weakness keep her from properly fully expressing it.]
Why should he? I only need to be well enough to kill.
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week 1 post-trial, nursemaid urianger
[Pain and exhaustion greet Grace when she wakes, the familiar burn of a fever. She stirs slowly, too sluggish to act surprised at her location. But her eyes flick to the side, looking for some familiar face she already knows won't be there.]
Where... am I?
[Of course. The palace....the carnival trial...the rain. She is in Hell just as surely as she was when she lost consciousness.]
no subject
Thou art returned to thy bedchamber.
[He closes the book and sets it aside, then rises to his feet to fetch some ginger tea from the pot he'd brought along.]
How art thou feeling?
[She seems pretty rough still, but she knows herself better than him.]
no subject
My lungs are still bad. Something to dull the pain...
[She's been looking for a medication that she can trust and that she can use instead of the one she trusts from Dr. Richter but has nothing on hand. Andrew rolls back into the pillows, contemplating.]
You brought me?
[Unlike the last doctor who attended her, he has no reason not to kill her here. She wonders if anyone who gets into this room would...]
no subject
[He offers her the cup once she’s able to sit up enough.]
Dan Heng carried thee. I offered to do what I can to keep thee stable, as I have some experience with medical care.
[Nothing amazing, but options seemed to be limited.]
no subject
[Usually, Herta would be here to pull the pillows up for her, but Andrew has recently gotten better at doing things for herself. Bathing, dressing, fluffing her bedding. She gets into a more comfortable position and props up the best she can.]
You as well. [The cup sits at her knees, but she doesn't sip right away, running the edge of her finger around the lip of the cup.
Her father would do the same thing, she realizes.] What is it brewed with? [Other than ginger.]
no subject
[He nods as an acknowledgement of her gratitude toward him, easing back into his seat.]
‘Tis pure ginger root and nothing else.
no subject
It smells very bracing.
[Since I wasn't raised by a paranoid tyrant, I assume nothing happens, but she'll stare down at it a little longer until she can be certain, then finally attempt a sip if it doesn't.]
What is this "experience"?
no subject
[He can’t exactly blame her for the apprehension, given what’s transpired. He doesn’t plan on forcing her to drink it either. It’s just something he thought might help.]
Mine experience lieth in healing magicks, which, unfortunately, have been silenced in this place. But I have read a fair amount about minor home remedies which I have utilized tonight.
no subject
That damnable Witch said we had no great doctors among us. I suppose he only partially lied. [He probably uses it to justify the things he says and does, a possibility that wouldn't surprise her in the least.] Do you know what happened to me?
no subject
[He feels woefully underprepared for whatever is ailing Andrew, though.]
Thou didst fall unconscious after coughing up blood, and thereafter spiked a fever. Hath this previously happened to thee?
no subject
Andrew glances down at her herself to ensure that she's still fully clothed.]
I have a condition. I fall ill easily. Sleeping in the rain the other night must have made it worse.
The blood is recent.
no subject
Urianger takes a breath as he listens. Yeesh. That would definitely do it. But man…]
It…doth bode ill. [Coughing up blood is never a good sign.] Thou needest proper aid, ere it worsen still. However, I worry that Ish will not care to provide thee with such aid.
no subject
Why should he? I only need to be well enough to kill.
no subject
...Indeed. 'Twould be a convenience to him more than anything, like as not.
But he hath not left us entirely without options. As I mentioned, the painkillers should at least keep thee comfortable.
[And the others will surely be willing to share.]