Highway to Hell

Aya is in her room. Where else would she be at this moment? She would greatly prefer most ANYWHERE else, but her mana-scalded body has adamantly dictated otherwise. Even after hours of rest, she can barely escape the bed, much less the room. She even attempted stepping into the shadows; something all but second-nature to her. The results were not only ineffective, but left her sprawled in agony for several minutes. One small consolation is that most are off to hear The Resurrectionists (something she had intended, but was denied by A CERTAIN HEALER; not that she would have been capable, in the end, anyhow); few known acquaintances or passersby remain to hear what cries she doesn't withhold.

All will be well, she's been assured. In time. Time is a luxury she does not feel she can afford, not with all that is occuring. That her state is untenable to her own sensibilities is only part of her discomfort, if likely a large part, of her motivation to seek alternatives. Possibilities exist, and ... favors are owed.

She tidies herself and her bed as she's able before taking a set atop the edge in something resembling comfortable. Only then does she make contact with her contact. A request reminding of offered aid, with emphasis that discretion is paramount. The reasons for which may be plainly apparent as she gives her location.

The discerning ear might hear the gentle pad-pad of bare feet against the stone floor outside Aya's room. Certainly she, waiting for her visitor as she is would hear it. The slight scuffle. The almost-familiar sound of amusement just on the other side of the door. Then it opens, and Seldan is standing there. An unexpected figure to be sure. His tattoos are for the moment bared, his lower half covered by a sheet, and one might hope something more, but it's hard to tell. He glances around the room before lifting a hand to push his hair back. Errant blond curls getting in his vision.

"Greetings Aya." He offers, his voice clear and in good humor it seems, and he moves with enough grace to not stumble over his sheet as he moves across the room to her side. There he pauses and offers her a very un-Seldan-like grin. One that's a little too knowing and a little too familiar. "You rang?"

The figure walking into Aya's room from the hall has garnered other attention, however. Another ginger-blonde figure with unruly hair is nearby, perhaps closer than Aya's visitor realizes. Slowly, carefully, the other ginger-blonde pushes aside the covers and sits upright, covering his eyes against the ice pick of pure evil that lances from temple to temple, threatening to blind him with its force. Shakily, slowly, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and pulls the light blanket around his shoulders, where it will not drag on the floor.

Aya's eyes move to the door and she straightens up. While she may be sitting (and for her own stability), she can still be somewhat presentable. She waits expectantly as the door opens... and her neutral expression is suddenly strained in shock, brows shooting upwards as Seldan?! enters. A cascade of thoughts race through, intersect, and detonate in explosions inside her head. Wasn't he bedridden? Wasn't he not even here? Wasn't he... wait- was he just grinning?!

Well, $#@!

Whether this realization and shift from expected->unexpected->expected? is an improvement or not, Aya is unsure. In any case, it's done. She turns her head to regard him, speaking softly,"I did... though I don't know that I would consider ...that... discreet. I seek your aid. Not against foes nor for information; I can do that, myself."

Her lips purse and her face tightens. "Rather, I could, were it not for this ... unfortunate condition. Its remediation is in our mutual interest."

Seldan's face gives a broad fake-pout, which is a totally unseen before expression from Seldan who is not given to such expressiveness. "What? You don't like it?" He gave a little twist and glance at himself. "You have to admit he keeps himself in great shape." In spite of his good humor the man who is playing the part of Seldan keeps his voice down but waggles an eyebrow at Aya. Another expression that looks almost odd on Seldan's features.

After a moment he shrugs and looks at Aya more seriously, reaching out to touch her face with gentle fingers. "Luckily for you..."

It takes all of the considerable will and concentration that Seldan possesses to slide, slowly and carefully, from the bed to the floor, pulling a blanket around his shoulders, keeping it off the floor so that it does not drag.

Across the room to the door makes his head feel like it's preparing to explode, his body screaming at him to lay down, and yet that alarm bell four inches behind his eyes clangs away, spurring him on, to hear - quiet voices. Aya's - and his? He leans against the wall on the inside of his room, as silently as he can manage, closing his eyes and giving himself over to listening. Hard.

GAME: Seldan rolls perception: (18)+7: 25

Even if it appears to be Seldan (or perhaps because it does?), and even if the fingers are gentle, Aya tenses at the contact. She doesn't fully recoil, nor does she take her eyes from her visitor's. One brow arches. "I don't rely upon luck."

Despite her neutral facade, he may well observe the underlying frailty and the misery it has wrought. It isn't only luck she does not rely upon, but most anything and everything that isn't herself; weapons fail, people fail, alliances fall... This instance is less reliance and more a lack of other, tenable options.

Still, the implications seem to be positive, at least inasmuch as any of the current situation could be considered such. Thus, he may also see the slim glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"If you can rid me of this malady and restore my strength, do so."

"It's simple enough." Seldan says, removing his hand and holding it above her. A swirl of magic in the palm of his hand generates a vial and he offers it to her. "All you need do is drink this, and allow me to cast a spell on you, and you'll be right as rain in a few hours. I did promise to help you did I not?"

Simple. Aya does not truly believe that, though it is somewhat moot. She reaches, carefully, to take the vial. A moment is taken as she considers an investigative sip, but she thinks better of it. Best to tear off the bandage than slowly ache. The vial is opened and downed quickly, before she re(re?)considers.

There are no illusions: she doesn't expect the ...whatever that is to taste of vintage wine, nor the spell to be soothing. Her own attempts at magic were excruciating, afterall. So there is naught except to bear it. The vial is set down, which allows her to leave the hand on the bed to brace.

"Proceed."

GAME: Seldan rolls Spellcraft: (12)+18: 30

The man at Aya's bedside seems surprised by her simply downing the liquid, but he says nothing about it. Instead he waits for the liquid to take hold inside her body. To work the change he needs it to. At first there's no indication that anything has changed and then... Aya feels worse. So very, very much worse. As if the whole of her body is trying to tear itself apart from the inside. Then, at the height of her agony, he casts the spell. The magic pouring into her and quieting the effects. A glob of black ichor rises from her mouth, and not-Seldan quickly captures it back in the vial that he had given to her. A flick of his wrist and its gone again.

There's an amused smile on his lips as he strokes her forehead, waiting patiently for her to come back to herself. To recover from the ordeal that he just put her through. "There, there. All better."

On the other side of the wall, Seldan's eyes are squeezed shut as he focuses all his mental power through the fog of fever and headache and weakness to understand what is happening. He barely relaxes at the words of the spell, even one so familiar to him. _What was in whatever it was he gave her? What did he do to her?_ He doesn't move, barely dares breathe.

Aya is expecting the worst... and yet nothing seems to occur, at first. Just when a brow start to lift in possible query, she sucks in a gasp and doubles over, clutching at herself. Her inhale is very, very much attempted to be held in. She will not scream.

Even as it all but feels that the event that caused her impairment is occurring all over again. Even as she tries to hold her breath. Even as she winds up pressing her face into not-Seldan's chest (which he probably finds even more glee in). Even if she ends up grinding her teeth or even biting down on him (which he might also find amusing). Even if...

In the end, the best she do is simply press her face in harder with the spasms to try and mute herself as much as possible. She's not wholly aware of when the spell is cast, nor would she be able to discern its nature; it would be unlikely even if she were coherent.

Even as the pain subsides, she is left focusing only on breathing for the moment. It is important. Indirectly, this means she may not fully appreciate the level of 'Seldan's amusement in her positioning and state (which he may find less delight in than the rest). Aya simply breathes. One they've slowed slightly, she manages a word; one with some sharpness powered only from the lingering adrenaline.

"Good."

That adrenaline also helps her to, rather fumblingly, attempt to right herself.

He pets her a few more times, indeed amused by her exhaustion and her pain. It puts him in a good mood. There's no mark on him to suggest that she harmed him. But his fingers come away decorated with a few of her hairs and he silently makes another magical motion to dismiss her sweat and hair from his body. "Indeed. I'll be on my way then. I'm a busy man after all. Trying to rescue the world from demons and other calamities." He flashes her a grin and lowers his voice considerably, to the point that only she can hear him. Whispering sweet nothings in her ear just to watch and see if the blood drains from her face.

Then he's away, turning and disappearing without a trace. Gone.

Still Seldan remains held as if by magic, leaning against the wall as motionlessly as he can possibly manage, eyes screwed shut, listening for everything he is worth.

And then - there is nothing. At all. And he waits, sweat beading unheeded on his brow.

GAME: Seldan rolls fortitude: (19)+27: 46

Aya is coherent enough to hear and register the 'sweet nothings,' though may be already drained enough. Her face reacts, though, rippling and clenching as if unsure exactly what expression is most appropriate. In the end, it settles on a scowl.

And then he is gone. Aya flops over on the bed, breathing still working to slow its paceback to something normal. She was already miserable, before, and then it was worse. She was also exhausted, and, now that all that has passed, she is commensurately also worse. Even the warnings screaming in the back of her skull, much concerns of weakness or sloth aren't to be dealt with at the moment. She just lies there.

Adrenaline is a powerful thing, but even it has its limits. Seldan waits, watches, listening in silence for several minutes more, eyes gradually opening in the darkness. But - there is nothing. Silence, not the quietude of the tomb, but the peace of a starry night. Carefully, he straightens and pads back across the room to his bed, as silently as he can manage, and swings back into it, tangled in the blanket that had shrouded him, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep does not come at once, leaving the question of who that was and what he did to Aya to swim in his mind. He's near certain he knows the _who_ - but what does it mean?

When sleep takes him, it is less like a blanket spreading over him and more like a mugger coaching a victim from behind in a dark alleyway, leaving him senseless where he lies, tangled in that blanket.

-End