and finally, it seemed the spell was broken (open)

[thenobledie]

Who: thenobledie and other...people...
When: W E L P. Primarily, September 21st and on but as far back as September 18th, too. I guess. Whatever, ANY DATE.
Where: the Clinic
Format: Do yo' thang, bb. Do yo' thang.
What: okok, so. Malfatto drops Shirley off at the clinic on September 18th. SHE IS COMATOSE UNTIL THE 21ST (Arthur will be playing Prince Charming

Comments

18 - 21 / ota

[supercilious]

[ The moment he finds out she's in the Clinic, he's there. ]

Honestly, if you weren't the type to ignore all your messages, that would have been a far easier guessing game.

[ Arthur must come in half a dozen times a day. Sometimes ducking in before his patrol shift, other days bringing paperwork and just sitting with her, in the chair beside her bed, quill scratching away. And sometimes, when there's no-one else around, he speaks to her. ]

I don't know why I'm here. It's not as though we're particularly good friends.

[ A lie. He knows exactly why he's here. And he knows that he's drawn to Shirley, perhaps in a if-things-were-different sort of way the root of which lies with a ten year old boy who thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. ]

[ She looks ethereally beautiful now, skin almost as pale as the crisp linen where it's not marred, hair a shock against the pillow, all fine bones and traceries of blue veins. The room smells like jasmine and wildflowers and, being that he's there in his chainmail, metal and blood. Sprawled in the chair, Arthur is reading a book as he relaxes after patrol. Earlier, he was reading it aloud, but he'd grown sick of the sound of his own voice and subsided to finish the book quietly. ]

[ Arthur licks his thumb, turns a page.

Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices,
That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that, when I wak'd,
I cried to dream again.

When he looks up, her eyes are open. His own go wide. ]

Shirley.

[thenobledie]

[ she tries to remember him - it's all very automatic before she even realizes it. so she can assume form again. she must be lazy about it, that explains a lot. and she haunts this place because the feel of her own magic, residual but strong, is heavy on her skin. he knows her. but nothing comes, and shirley wonders if her memory has become that atrocious. it wasn't false when she took more than moments to remember rose's face, her voice, the way she carries responsibility upon her back like it's a heavy cloak.

but rose is comrade and sister and lost soul. he is?

(her head aches in her temples and behind her eyelids.) ]

Arthur.

[ shirley might have said more, but her mouth is dry, and her voice is raw. beneath the sheets, her feet move, muscles flexing. it's followed by the tiny sounds of joints cracking. (first, her toes. then, her whole foot. then, her ankles.) ]

[supercilious]

It's ... good to see you awake.

[ A glimmer of vulnerability - three days, after all - and then it's gone. But he still looks happy. Arthur has no idea of Shirley trying to remember, the effort it takes just to speak his name, and he has no idea what to do at bedsides even though he's sat more than his share in his short life. Should he call for Remus or Raphael or some other assistance? Probably. Instead he lifts the pitcher of water universally common to hospital rooms and pours her a glass of cold water. ]

You must be thirsty.

[thenobledie]

[ she nods without thinking, wants to sit up - stand, too, because she has the legs to. but just because you can do something doesn't mean you should, does it? her body is stiff, anyway, and shirley has to settle for propping herself on her elbows. only slightly awkward while drinking.

when she's had enough: ]

How long was I -?

[supercilious]

[ Arthur sets the glass back on the table with a light clink. ]

You've been here three days.

[ Here being the Clinic, this tiny room. ]

Someone announced finding you three days before that.

[ Arthur shakes his head slowly, still not sure what to make of Malfatto and his turned leaf. Who knows how long he'd had her for? He can't pinpoint when she went missing. Perhaps Shirley herself can. ]

What happened?

[thenobledie]

I suspect if I knew I would not be here.

[ she tilts her head, getting a better look of him. her voice cracks at on the last syllable, but shirley pays it no mind. ]

[supercilious]

You don't remember?

[ At that, Arthur looks concerned. Perhaps she was attacked in the street. There have been so many serial killers, after all, and there are Natives that still bear grudges sharp enough to cut down the unwary. (As though Shirley is ever unwary.) ]

[thenobledie]

[ that question, though, is after what she did to some natives would others approach her with that much courage. ]

And I don't remember you. Forgive me.

[ she looks apologetic, but there isn't any feeling behind it. ]

[supercilious]

You don't-!

[ This is not the first time, Arthur tells himself. If she died, or... if she went home... Sometimes people just forget. So he softens his tone. Best to begin as he means to go on. ]

I'm sorry to hear that.

[ And there's genuine feeling there, leaving Shirley's apology in the dust. Arthur wonders if she's faking that cool demeanor. He would be. And Shirley's much better at closing herself off than he is. ]

Do you remember anything of Anatole?

[ Unspoken, with a ten year old's petulance: You knew my name. ]

[thenobledie]

[ shirley's head tilts just a little more, and one corner of her mouth twitches - torn between curiosity and knee-jerk amusement but both tempered in the face of his emotion. ]

No.

[ and she looks away, as she moves to sit up. which only worsens her headache, but it works some stiffness away. ]

[supercilious]

[ Arthur looks down at his hands for a few beats, listening to the sound of Shirley moving: the pop of bones cracking, the rustle and scratch of overstarched linen. Outside, in the distance, the birds are calling out the end of the day. ]

[ Finally he glances up. He wants to tell her something about her time here, but at first comes up empty. Everything he would say seems shallow and useless. Eventually: ]

It's a city that drags in people from other worlds. This is its Clinic. You were found in the street and brought here to recover.

[ A deep breath, and he puts what he knew of Shirley from his mind for the moment. Everyone deserves a fresh start. ]

[thenobledie]

[ she remains silent, listening to her own body until she finds comfort best with her legs drawn to her side and his breathing and things only she hears that aren't birds or mist. then: ]

Speak your mind.

[ nothing is fresh to her, and that is the only reason she knows once she says it, she immediately thinks, but guard yourself. ]

[supercilious]

My mind.

[ He gives a bitter little laugh. ]

To tell you the truth, I'm angry.

[ Though he looks and sounds mild. ]

You were one of the few people around here I could trust to be strong.

[ Arthur leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him, tipping his head up to stare at the ceiling. ]

I don't like having to reacquaint myself with people. Even in this place. It's not something I've grown used to. And it's not fair to expect someone to be the same. I've learned that much the hard way.

[thenobledie]

[ what a master of illusion, she is, then. shirley barely manages to not say it, and the last she remembers of home is feigning patience when all she felt was pain that reached too deep like some bottomless chasm where the rest of her had fallen into.

she looks at him, and it's only another silence before she finds her voice. ]

Perhaps - [ and her pause is slow to save her throat. ] - you shouldn't have such expectations in a city like this, then.

[supercilious]

[ Arthur shakes his head slowly. ]

Far easier spoken than acted, Shirley.

[thenobledie]

Of course. Otherwise would not be human.

[ and far, far easier. but it hangs there: don't attach to me. this isn't her shrine, and he isn't a bandit that protects her solitude from the weaker. ]