002] mercy waits to take your hand [location: wayne manor/backdated forever]

[sibreden]

By the time he reaches the place where he's figured Sagramore must be, the rescue committee has of course come and gone. He stands on the sidewalk for a few minutes, swearing in repressed panic, before he remembers the map -- it's going to take him a while to get used to that. He's still a little scraped and bruised by his own encounter with

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[obscuronoctis]

Mordred has pretty damn good timing, anyway, as Bruce was just starting to go through what evidence of Sagramore's presence he could find on the tablet network. As he found a cached recording of the indisposed man's arrival, he knows who Mordred is and that they're comrades. ... Of a sort, anyway.

That said, when he opens the door, he doesn't look surprised or even terribly curious.

"You're Mordred?"

[sibreden]

Hello, tall man. He tenses a little, not having expected that, and falls back a step. "Aye," warily. "You've a friend of mine."

[obscuronoctis]

Bruce raises an eyebrow a bit at that reaction, but doesn't comment on it. "I do, yes. Sagramore, right?" Instead of waiting for confirmation, he steps back to allow Mordred entrance. He really just wants his house to start to clear out, and fortunately for everyone, Sagramore isn't that badly injured - no coma, no apparently brain damage, just an unpleasant bump on the head. Trixie's been efficient about giving him the medieval equivalent of The Good Drugs, so he's right as rain.

Alcoholic rain, anyway.

"He had a seizure and gave himself a minor head injury," Bruce explains as they walk through a hall. "He's been treated by a medic here and checks out fine for now, but he should probably see a medical doctor. We have medication to treat seizures in our age, but it requires some in depth review first. There's a Doctor McCoy who should be reachable over the tablets, he's probably your best bet."

[sibreden]

Which is a fair bit to take in, and Mordred sorts through it rapidly as he follows along. "They showed me that. I came after him, but the damned fool won't wait for me even when he's fainted," wryly. "I'll ask pardon for him, I doubt he's been pleasant company since he woke up."

[obscuronoctis]

"He hasn't been here long. His attitude is his own problem. He doesn't need prolonged care, so he can leave with you." Immediately, is the implication. It's not that Sagramore is the most offensive guest in the world - Bruce hasn't spent enough time with the man to judge either way - he just really is in a hurry to get everyone out of his house except for the people that need to be there. It's making him anxious with all these people wandering around in what he's come to expect as an empty museum. To someone like him, the silence is quite comforting.

"Does he have these regularly?"

[sibreden]

"He always has." Mordred leaves it at that -- Sagramore's concentrated efforts at self-destruction, if they're not already obvious, don't really need to be brought up. (A large if, that -- besides, he's one to talk.)

[obscuronoctis]

"Then he probably has epilepsy." Bruce is not a doctor, but ... look. "Lack of sleep, stress, alcohol, caffeine - they're going to exacerbate this and make the chances of him going into seizure more likely."

He stops at the doors to the ballroom that's been turned into a temporary emergency room, where Sagramore is waiting some ways away. He looks at Mordred seriously. "Medical care here is extremely limited. Someone intentionally putting themselves at risk when they could very well be healthy and not infringing on strained resources is a serious problem for everyone. No one is going to be barred from care, but we could all do with being adults about it."

And with that, Bruce withdraws, leaving the two men to collect themselves and head out. He likely won't interact further unless called on specifically, but he'll lurk around until they've left.

[sibreden]

Reasonable-sounding theories are one thing -- it fits with what Mordred has observed for himself over the years, barring the caffeine, whatever that is -- but that last brings his chin up sharply. "No doubt." And then, under his breath as the man retreats, "Teach your grandmother. --Sagramore? Wake up, idiot."

Pleasant fellow, isn't he.

[crophisownrose]

Sagramore has been waiting with his hand over his eyes, trying to keep his stomach settled despite the overwhelming urge to go and vomit in a corner. He sighs and gets lankily to his feet. "Hush, I'm awake."

[sibreden]

"You heard the man. If your headache's worse than usual, it's your own damned fault." Which does not prevent him offering Sagramore a shoulder to lean on. He's a jerk, not a sadist. "Come on."

[crophisownrose]

But Sagramore refuses to lean. His pride has been sorely wounded by seizing in public, and being noticed, and he doesn't want to be any more dependent than he can reasonably get away with; besides which, though he's used to Mordred's abuses, he's feeling rather tenderly on the subject. "I'm coming."

[sibreden]

The look he casts up at Sagramore has none of the prickly arrogance he's been wearing like armor. But: "All right," he says brusquely, and starts back the way he came in.

[crophisownrose]

He wanders out after Mordred, keeping a good three or four steps behind him, and once they're outside he starts back off towards his own rooms.

[sibreden]

Nice try, Sagramore. "Where do you think you're going?"

[crophisownrose]

He glances up. "Home."

[sibreden]

"Don't be an ass," wearily. He holds out an arm. "Come on."