back to work [OPEN]
Who: Otto Octavius & whoever stops by in the clinic. [OPEN]
Where: Clinic at the high school.
When: During the day, Thursday.
Rating: PG-13, just to be safe.
Summary: Many feel trapped within the town of Discedo -- although Otto can safely say, he feels trapped after walking about twenty feet.
the log: ( two days gone is better than all of them )
Where: Clinic at the high school.
When: During the day, Thursday.
Rating: PG-13, just to be safe.
Summary: Many feel trapped within the town of Discedo -- although Otto can safely say, he feels trapped after walking about twenty feet.
the log: ( two days gone is better than all of them )
He didn't like showing in the clinic, because while scars and war wounds were badges of honor of a sort, the pain that went along with getting hurt, and the risk of showing that anywhere publicly, was a little embarrassing.
But something of his pride had been broken over the past week, needing more help in dealing with his darkness than expected. Being sick as a dog and with invisible strain on his heart all at once. Now that he was back on his feet, he was eager to get back to work, routine...
And so it was an annoyance when, fixing the roof of his own residence, the sun had passed from behind a cloud and glinted off the toolbox into his light-sensitive eyes just so that his hammer had missed the nail, and caught a finger instead. It was badly bruised and he couldn't wiggle it. So with some grit-toothed frustration at himself, he'd climbed down and headed warily for the Hall of Injury Shame, mostly wanting to get it over with quick.
Pushing through the double doors, he slips into a seat near the back and simply watches for a bit, cradling hurt hand in the other and wondering how people actually go about getting help in here.
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It's the way of things. People are very reactive.
Otto is behind one of the screens, readjusting his arms and harness to hold them up. It's never comfortable, but it's enough. After some binding, he places his coat back on, looking more or less like a hunchback.
Pushing the screen aside, he takes note of Prydain. The silver hair gives him away, surprisingly, and the gloomy cloud hanging over him. He talked to the boy once over the network and that's been about it. Never in person.
"Something the matter?" There's sort of an edge of... perkiness, so to speak, in how Otto speaks. Understanding, sympathy, and a wry smile.
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He fixes the man with a careful, willful glower of appraisal. Of course something's the matter. He'd never hang around here for kicks.
Prydain holds his left arm out, glancing aside quickly with a faint huff of a sigh. "Finger. The fourth one." From the purpling beneath the skin, and the funny crookedness at the joint, that much is obvious.
"I hit it on accident with a hammer." A curt explanation, but he figures that'll be enough.
Prydain shuts his eyes with another miserable quick exhale. The high school's lighting is irritating, artificial and stingy, he's been blindfolded mostly for five days prior, and the last thing he needs is to look like a pain-wuss with watering eyes. Shadows of an unpowered Gohl would be plenty more comfortable, right now.
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For a moment, Otto observes him, tilting his head faintly. Many people here are different, and from a quick study, he knows Prydain is no simple boy. He takes care of his home at Gohl -- and he's unique, somehow. In ways Otto does not yet know.
He tilts his head up to glance at the lights, more or less, before reacquiring his smile.
"Come follow me. Take a seat; I'll set that for you, Prydain." Otto motions for the replica to follow; he moves, slowly, and he has no choice to. He goes to one of the desks, taking a seat before he's digging through the drawers.
"Are the lights bothering you?" Takes out his sunglasses, and holds them out in offering. "Might not be your style, but it's better than being uncomfortable."
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It won't ruin his sword form, this finger on his off hand, but this will definitely make basic things like, say, climbing their new net ladder to the second floor landing a little harder.
"They're just bright." he peers upward, squinting. "My place doesn't have electric lights or anything."
It's awkward, reaching for the glasses, fitting them to his face (a little big, slipping down his nose a little) but his mouth twitches into a half-grateful smile. Yes, its dimmer, and much better on the eyes.
"...It shouldn't be too long for it to heal back up, right?"
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With his arms functioning, they had better vision than even himself. He didn't need as much light as normal people, and for the better. Now, though, of course -- it's a bit more of a requirement.
Otto notes the little half-smile, quietly.
"If it's broken? As it does appear to be. It could take a minimum of five weeks."
He doubts this boy will be happy to hear that.
Otto holds up what looks to be a bar of... rubber.
"You may want to bite down on this when I set it in place."
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Grumbling at that, realizing by the time it's healed it will probably be nearly a year since he's been here. That will be an inconvenience, especially with two handed things...like making jerky, moving armloads of firewood...
"Well it'll just me my finger, right? Not my whole hand or anything?" Right now its sore down to the center of his palm, but it was really only the finger that got mashed.
He wrinkles his nose at the...second thing offered, tensing just a little at the realization- uurgh yes, it's going to hurt awful. And for a moment he rethinks it, because with his darkness still a bit...questionable, he's not sure how his reflexes might respond.
But he doesn't dare say so to the doctor, just takes the rubber piece and taps it against his chin, watching Otto get things in place.
"...I won't have to sit around or anything while it heals, right?" The replica doesn't have time for that. Too busy, too much work to do, and training he's falled behind on already, probably.
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"No need to be defensive, Prydain," Otto assures him, tone quite pleasant.
"And yes. Just the finger. So long as you're careful, you can continue your work, but I would really suggest you try to not use that hand when you can. It'd be much easier."
He gives the boy a curious look. "But something tells me you won't be much for sitting and letting others do you work for you while you rest. Are you? Bite that now."
The scientist is taking Prydain's hand. He's feeling over the injury with his fingers without much of a hesitation, and once he's sure how the bone is cracked--
SNAP!
Back into place.
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Sometimes he wishes older people we're so wise. Or would keep their pointing out truths to themselves. It's easier among his peers, like Coldfoot or Ness, where he can counter 'You're being defensive' with 'No, you are', and most of the time that holds well to swap the subject.
"...I won't." He agrees quietly, mumbling, glancing aside with a short snort. "It's just annoying, being stuck with a handicap when you know what you should be able to handle things just fine."
And apparently he doesn't recognize the man he's telling this to probably knows that feeling far better than he does.
He pushes the rubber between his teeth just as the doctor's searching pinch at his finger begins to hurt, and his jaw tightens down on it with the immediate pain of the finger being set, eyes wincing shut behind the glasses, his whole body tensing for a moment.
Painpainpain anngh no, hold it in, hold it-
But suddenly he thrusts his right hand outward, down and towards the floor, opening his palm wide and releasing the flow of reactive dark energy, a violent pulse of misting black and something like cold fire, which evaporates upon having no target to transfer the harm to. The room smells of ozone and oil, and something indistinctly sinister. Pry leans back in his chair with a long discouraged sigh.
...well at least the powers are there.
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To put it all lightly. Otto isn't about to slam Prydain with the information, in detail, of how much he knows this feeling. It's rather pointless. No one needs to hear your burdens, just that you know how it feels.
When the finger is set, the doctor finds himself staring -- curious and surprised -- at the sudden display of power. Oh, he's heard of it, but he never really knew what it meant until he sees this. What Prydain can do. The smell of it, the sight of it.
That's. Fascinating.
"Tell me. What was that, exactly?" Otto asks him quietly, cleaning off the finger before going to find bandages... and something to keep the finger still.
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If he were Riku, maybe he'd feel ashamed of the darkness now, its sudden appearance. Its slightly embarrassing yes, that it rose up in a response to something hurting, but at least he'd mastered redirecting it enough to harness it outward, harmlessly as possible...Iroh's taught him a thing or two about the way internal energies work in his own world, how to channel the flow of positive and negative emotions...and the techniques have been adopted, somewhat, if not to keep his abilities in check, then at least to keep his darkness from repelling people.
And he knows better than to brag when asked about them, especially in front of the doctors. As a shrewd man called Peter advised him long months ago, most people are skittish at the mention of...'Dark Arts', he called them. 'Be careful how powerful you make yourself sound, if you could ever be considered a threat.'
"That's...just what happens when my chip comes out. Got it done about a week ago." He explain casually after pulling the rubber down, tracing a forefinger across his stomach, indicating the incision, wondering if he ought to have second opinion on the stitches and if they should come out yet, while he's here.
"Its okay," Prydain assures, shaking his wrist a few times by his side, flexing fingers, relieving tension before it builds again into another burst of raw darkness. He breathes and sits back, trying to relax, running his dimmed gaze along the ceiling. "It shouldn't do it again-"
And the track lighting stage bulb directly above them chooses that very moment to sputter out, perhaps to spite his point. The boy gnaws at his lower lip, a touch wary.
"...if you're done with all the bits that are going to hurt."
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Perhaps for a good reason.
"I am," Otto assures. "I'll get you something for the pain for now, but it won't be entirely effective."
It's better saved for more... extreme occasions, he reluctantly tells himself.
"This darkness of yours. It must not be easy to control, I take it?"
That's understandable.
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"Thanks. But I...really don't need pills or anything, thats okay." He mutters, declining the offer. He'd rather deal with the pain, like he did when Vexen stitched his other hand after the Reaver attack.
His mouth tightens a moment, quiet, thinking. That's not the kind of question that's too comfortable to answer. Drawing a breath, he tilts his chin in the air a bit, fingers curling as he scratches over the left side of his chest, over his heart, kneading with his knuckles.
"It takes sure handling, yeah." He finally responds, deliberately casual. After another hesitant moment, however, Prydain continues slowly, closing his eyes.
"Most people are afraid of the darkness, and that's when it feels strong against you, when you're resisting. Its not...evil, that's just what people say when it's not- when it's out of- It's there, even if you don't know it or recognize- everyone's got a little, but I mean not a lot of people want to let themselves use it, because it's strong, people kind of shy off if you use it, but...it's alright, really, it just needs to be balanced."
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