Post by Magda on Oct 3, 2017 21:20:33 GMT -5
Her hands worked quickly despite the sway and bump of the truck. Every once in a while she peered up at him as he lay there limply, staring up at the passage of the blue sky above. Every now and then his gaze would linger on a building or a landmark that they passed, and she honestly couldn’t tell whether he was seeing them for the first time, or if he actually knew where they were.
I hope… that you’re not thinking of taking me home, on the first date. I’m really - not that sort of man.
Magda glanced up at him, brow crinkled in sync with a thin smile. In that flash of wit, she saw him again, all wry smirks and sarcasm the way she’d always known him. The ten minutes between the main hall and right now were excruciating. And the tiniest sliver of his old self pained her more than his blank, brick-wall vacancy because at least if he looked at her like a stranger then she’d find it easier to be one. But showing her snippets of who he was made her want to grab him by his ripped lapels, shake him around and scream, ’Where the fuck have you been?’ It had been a hell of a long time since she’d last seen him, and it was easier to be detached when viewed as more of a commander than a person, as she so often was these days. Ah, now look at her, she was getting all nostalgic. Fuck. Better cut it out now.
I used to play there. The violin. I knew a man who practically lived there… I think, Benji.
Now she didn’t even know if he was making things up, an addled brain confusing dreams for memory. But it wouldn’t surprise her if he could actually play the violin, after all he wore suits and wing tip shoes habitually. Used to. Damn it, he used to. Even so, Magda was a bit tempted to go grab her old violin as soon as they got to the Manor, jam it under his chin, and see what he could do, either to prove that he was making things up, or that if he could play, that his procedural memory was intact. But then she’d not known much about Dane at all, and he’d known very little about her. Even less right now. There were probably many things about him that she’d never known, and many more that she now never would.
Then Dane started talking about the gas station, and a German. She couldn’t even look at him now. On one hand, she supposed she should be offended that he remembered Stramnnar Inkuroski before he remembered her, but on the other it felt a weird sort of good to know that there was anything left at all. At least he wasn’t totally gone. Just the bits of him that involved her. On the other hand, Magda knew she couldn’t confirm his memory. She couldn’t place herself in it, and wouldn’t want to until he remembered the incident – and her with it – organically. But also because if she told him about Stramn, she’d also have to explain how the German died, and the long story of the Battle of Namaești that went along with it, and she wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t.
At this point Dane was trying to turn onto his side to see more of the city, and Magda looked up as well, turning her head as she recognised the city around her. They’d passed back over the bridge and were heading north; the tall city townhouses signalled that they were drawing closer to their destination. Choiseul Manor sat on the northern side of the city, but they’d been over that way to begin with so they didn’t have to endure a thirty or forty-five minute journey with a delirious werewolf in the back of the truck.
As much as she wanted to hear him recall more, there was the obvious arrow wound in his gut that she didn’t want to be made even worse. Evidently he thought the same, as he raised a hand to his stomach and felt beneath the cloth, looking surprised as though he hadn’t expected it to be healing so soon. Magda put a hand to his chest and began to press him back down, to stop him from trying to get up and exacerbating the straight-through arrow wound she’d given him. But as soon as she applied pressure to his chest, she pulled away, having felt the tight, hard bumps that littered his chest. She may not have known much about him, but she sure as hell knew what his chest had felt like before.
“I know a fella normally likes to be wined and dined before getting his clothes off, but humour me, okay?” she said, leaning in to undo the top few buttons of his shirt. Pulling the fabric down and aside to expose the area over his heart, Magda revealed a series of thick knots clustered there. Christ on a bike. The flesh wasn’t just scar tissue, although it had a lot of the same silvery pallor to it, but Magda recognised the inflamed blue of the skin. She’d never seen prolonged silver poisoning in a werewolf before, but every medical journal she’d ever read had described it as being exactly like this.
At that moment the truck drove into the shadow of willow trees, and she knew without looking up that they were nearly home. She looked from Dane’s chest, up to his face, with a look of thinly veiled horror. “What happened to you?”
Below them, the truck had slowed, and was let through the gates of Choiseul Manor without having to stop. They advanced up the long driveway through the rolling lawns of the gardens, past vibrant flowerbeds and box hedges and post-bloom cherry blossom trees. They were past the fountain and at the Manor doors in a second, and within moments of stopping the back of the truck was surrounded by several others. One of them lowered the back of the truck door and as Magda slid out onto gravel and pulled Dane’s arm around her shoulders again, there was another wolf at the other side to help her get him up the set of marble steps, between twin marble columns, and through the front door which was being held open by a vampire in green scrubs.
“Alright, what are we dealing with?” the vampire said, falling into step just ahead of them as they crossed the foyer towards the infirmary.
“Silver poisoning.”
“Liquid or solid?”
“Solid,” Magda said, and at the same time had never been so sure of something and so afraid of something in her life. If Dane had liquid silver in his veins, he wouldn’t be alive by now, let alone able to pull off the tricks that he had back at the store. At the same time, this was long-term silver poisoning, and around his heart. Lord knows how he was even still kicking.
I hope… that you’re not thinking of taking me home, on the first date. I’m really - not that sort of man.
Magda glanced up at him, brow crinkled in sync with a thin smile. In that flash of wit, she saw him again, all wry smirks and sarcasm the way she’d always known him. The ten minutes between the main hall and right now were excruciating. And the tiniest sliver of his old self pained her more than his blank, brick-wall vacancy because at least if he looked at her like a stranger then she’d find it easier to be one. But showing her snippets of who he was made her want to grab him by his ripped lapels, shake him around and scream, ’Where the fuck have you been?’ It had been a hell of a long time since she’d last seen him, and it was easier to be detached when viewed as more of a commander than a person, as she so often was these days. Ah, now look at her, she was getting all nostalgic. Fuck. Better cut it out now.
I used to play there. The violin. I knew a man who practically lived there… I think, Benji.
Now she didn’t even know if he was making things up, an addled brain confusing dreams for memory. But it wouldn’t surprise her if he could actually play the violin, after all he wore suits and wing tip shoes habitually. Used to. Damn it, he used to. Even so, Magda was a bit tempted to go grab her old violin as soon as they got to the Manor, jam it under his chin, and see what he could do, either to prove that he was making things up, or that if he could play, that his procedural memory was intact. But then she’d not known much about Dane at all, and he’d known very little about her. Even less right now. There were probably many things about him that she’d never known, and many more that she now never would.
Then Dane started talking about the gas station, and a German. She couldn’t even look at him now. On one hand, she supposed she should be offended that he remembered Stramnnar Inkuroski before he remembered her, but on the other it felt a weird sort of good to know that there was anything left at all. At least he wasn’t totally gone. Just the bits of him that involved her. On the other hand, Magda knew she couldn’t confirm his memory. She couldn’t place herself in it, and wouldn’t want to until he remembered the incident – and her with it – organically. But also because if she told him about Stramn, she’d also have to explain how the German died, and the long story of the Battle of Namaești that went along with it, and she wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t.
At this point Dane was trying to turn onto his side to see more of the city, and Magda looked up as well, turning her head as she recognised the city around her. They’d passed back over the bridge and were heading north; the tall city townhouses signalled that they were drawing closer to their destination. Choiseul Manor sat on the northern side of the city, but they’d been over that way to begin with so they didn’t have to endure a thirty or forty-five minute journey with a delirious werewolf in the back of the truck.
As much as she wanted to hear him recall more, there was the obvious arrow wound in his gut that she didn’t want to be made even worse. Evidently he thought the same, as he raised a hand to his stomach and felt beneath the cloth, looking surprised as though he hadn’t expected it to be healing so soon. Magda put a hand to his chest and began to press him back down, to stop him from trying to get up and exacerbating the straight-through arrow wound she’d given him. But as soon as she applied pressure to his chest, she pulled away, having felt the tight, hard bumps that littered his chest. She may not have known much about him, but she sure as hell knew what his chest had felt like before.
“I know a fella normally likes to be wined and dined before getting his clothes off, but humour me, okay?” she said, leaning in to undo the top few buttons of his shirt. Pulling the fabric down and aside to expose the area over his heart, Magda revealed a series of thick knots clustered there. Christ on a bike. The flesh wasn’t just scar tissue, although it had a lot of the same silvery pallor to it, but Magda recognised the inflamed blue of the skin. She’d never seen prolonged silver poisoning in a werewolf before, but every medical journal she’d ever read had described it as being exactly like this.
At that moment the truck drove into the shadow of willow trees, and she knew without looking up that they were nearly home. She looked from Dane’s chest, up to his face, with a look of thinly veiled horror. “What happened to you?”
Below them, the truck had slowed, and was let through the gates of Choiseul Manor without having to stop. They advanced up the long driveway through the rolling lawns of the gardens, past vibrant flowerbeds and box hedges and post-bloom cherry blossom trees. They were past the fountain and at the Manor doors in a second, and within moments of stopping the back of the truck was surrounded by several others. One of them lowered the back of the truck door and as Magda slid out onto gravel and pulled Dane’s arm around her shoulders again, there was another wolf at the other side to help her get him up the set of marble steps, between twin marble columns, and through the front door which was being held open by a vampire in green scrubs.
“Alright, what are we dealing with?” the vampire said, falling into step just ahead of them as they crossed the foyer towards the infirmary.
“Silver poisoning.”
“Liquid or solid?”
“Solid,” Magda said, and at the same time had never been so sure of something and so afraid of something in her life. If Dane had liquid silver in his veins, he wouldn’t be alive by now, let alone able to pull off the tricks that he had back at the store. At the same time, this was long-term silver poisoning, and around his heart. Lord knows how he was even still kicking.