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Preoccupation [24/12]
Topic Started: Feb 9 2011, 08:31 PM (390 Views)
Narcisse nó Valerian
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The tension post-Masque felt so thick it was suffocating. Worry haunted the faces of more than a few adepts, and naturally Narcisse noticed it although he had his own things to think about. It was a queer feeling that laid upon him ever since the Masque, the sort of feeling that made him wonder what was going to happen in the days to come. He had never felt so preoccupied with the future before. In his case he felt a little guilty because, even though the gravity of what had happened was immense, his thoughts drifted moreso to the Mandrake adept he had spent his Longest Night with.

Then there was the cut on his finger. He'd hid it in his sleeves, but he could only go so long without tending to it. Unlike some, Narcisse abhorred scars. Scars acted as reminders for things he'd rather forget, and so he was most fastidious in their care. As for this 'love scratch', he found himself putting off tending to it, as he found he might not mind remembering what had created it. Nonetheless, it was bad form to go to an assignation in less than perfect shape, and so a couple days after the Masque he dragged his feet toward the healer's quarters.

He thought it might be better if Asterie wasn't there. He knew where the balms were, and he wasn't sure if he was prepared to outwardly discuss what had occurred. But nonetheless he was fond of Asterie, where the other members of the household went.

He tapped on the door frame, peering into the healer's quarters to see if there were any signs of life.
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Asterie de Sauveterre
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The adept's tapping upon the frame did not take long to bear fruit. Hearing it, Astérie emerged from the open door of one of the rooms branching off of the main area of the healer's quarters, the leather-bound figure of a book clasped absently against her with one hand, fingers marking a page. The chirurgeon's expression, unwontedly pensive, transformed with a welcoming smile when she saw who stood there.

"Hello, Narcisse. What may I help you with?"

The book was set gently upon the clean surface of a work table. It would not do to have people enter the healer's quarters and be greeted with the sight of blood and injury immediately, nor would it put those being treated at ease to be so on display - in most cases - thus the actual treatment area was in one of the rooms beyond. Yet this outer one saw a tidy portion of use as well. It was here that assistants would stand to roll fresh bandages into ready bundles and other such tasks. Great cabinets and shelving held a multitude of tidily arranged supplies. Several of the former were locked, holding the prepared medicines and herbs unwise to take without a physician's supervision. Numerous shelves held a selection of books. It was in here that Astérie could often be found, creating balms and tinctures, and evidence of such activities could be told in the materials on the shelves and the tightly sealed glass vessel sitting on one counter that held a mixture of herbs and oil.

There was the pleasant, subtle scent of a sweet herb drifting through the room courtesy of a selection of plants in pots scattered about. The quarters were comfortably warm and the overall atmosphere was significantly different than many of those areas of the House which were arranged with patrons in mind. This place considered only those in need of healing, its decor calm and peaceful.
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Narcisse nó Valerian
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Asterie's voice greeted him, and Narcisse's expression defaulted to one of warmth. Despite his worry, Asterie was easier to relax around than most. He was accustomed to her, which was more than he could say for many of the denizens of Valerian House, when all was said and done.

He gestured with his finger easily, brows knitting as he did his best to look abashed. "I seem to have pricked my finger," he said, quite lamely. It was half the truth, but he judged that better than a lie which Asterie probably wouldn't believe, anyway. "I thought I'd trouble you for some balm."
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Asterie de Sauveterre
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"It is not any trouble," Astérie assured him with an easy smile. "May I?" She put a hand out to take gentle hold of his fingers, examining the one proclaimed afflicted. Following, the young woman lifted her eyes to Narcisse.

"What caused it?"

A brief question, but one underlaid with much more known by adepts who had made their debut. It was a physician's question and one that Astérie undertook to express the importance thereof to those seeing her for treatment for the first time. To best tend injuries, she needed to know their cause. It was not a demand for intimate details; were an adept to describe only the vehicle of the wound, it was entirely sufficient for her purposes. What she needed was to know that which would best guide the treatment, best prevent possibility of infection, and minimize lingering damage. To know that a patron laughed while wielding the whip that left weals in its path did nothing to that end and she did not pry after such things. And that was very much a part of what she took care to stress to the adepts: they need not take on the discomfort of saying anything more than strictly necessary.

That was not to say that some did not choose to regale her with greater detail, things that helped little to not at all with care of physical injuries, but perhaps soothed other things. For all that Astérie did not seek such tidbits, she listened with a grave and quiet focus were they offered, as her hands went about a healer's work.

In Narcisse's case, she asked what she did because the wound looked more irritated than she would have expected of something like a pin jab. That of course explained why the adept had come seeking a balm for it, but she was nothing if not diligent in what she did.
Edited by Asterie de Sauveterre, Feb 22 2011, 06:02 AM.
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Narcisse nó Valerian
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Asterie had the unassuming, detached touch of a physician. Narcisse was always reminded of how much he appreciated that fact every time that he came in here, as he'd somehow managed to forget it every single time. He smiled self-consciously, unable to help it, even though he knew Asterie's voice (as always) lacked curiosity and condemnation both.

"It was a rose's thorn," he said, truthfully, and then added the lie. "I suppose I wasn't paying attention when I grabbed at it."

Finally, he looked up to see her face, but failed to meet eye contact as her eyes were busy examining the wound. A hint of breath escaped his lips as he began to realize, yet again, that he was worrying too much over nothing. Silence filled the room for a few moments as he began to consider other things; as he relaxed, his posture became less rigid. He felt like he'd been meaning to speak to Asterie about something for awhile now, but with everything on his mind he kept forgetting what it was. After a few more moments he was reminded of it.

"I also wanted to ask," he added, as he let his eyes wander the room, ". . . You have a lot of books on herbs, and well, I was wondering if I might borrow one. For a time." He turned his head to look at her, his brow creasing as he worried she might decline.
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Asterie de Sauveterre
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"Ah." Astérie nodded lightly to hear a rose thorn played culprit, for that both explained the appearance of the wound and informed her next actions. Standing near to Narcisse as she was and holding his hand in hers, she could feel the tension leaking from his stance and her eyes flickered up. Yet she said nothing, keeping her thoughts on what might be clandestine about an encounter with a rose bush to herself. Instead, she indicated a stool upon which he could perch at one of the work tables. "Please. I will make a poultice for your finger."

"I also wanted to ask. . . You have a lot of books on herbs, and well, I was wondering if I might borrow one. For a time."

She brightened at the question, touching as it did upon a subject dear to her. "You would be welcome to. As you say, there are many books; plenty to spare one. What are you interested in? Cultivation, general lore. . .?"

As she spoke, she moved to one of the tall cabinets, opening it and stretching up to retrieve a particular jar, the label pasted upon its front printed in Astérie's careful hand. The jar set down, she strolled over to collect a mortar and pestle and a few other items.

"It is good that you came. Wounds from rose thorns have a habit of complicating." Astérie looked up from tapping a small measure of dried comfrey into the mortar to smile reassuringly at Narcisse. "Yours does not appear infected, so please do not be alarmed. I simply find it best to be thorough whenever possible."

It was a philosophy which governed much of her work, given that she tended people expecting further injuries as soon as they were in a condition to tolerate them. It was imperative that wounds be set to mend as well as possible, so that lingering damage did not accrue over time into a greater burden.

"It does not look as though any of the thorn is embedded in the wound, but as a precaution, this poultice will draw it out if there is anything. And even if not, it will aid in the healing. I will give you a salve as well, to use afterward."

Water added to the comfrey, she began to blend the two with practiced motions of the pestle.
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Narcisse nó Valerian
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"Really? They do?" Narcisse asked, surprised when Asterie told him about rose thorns. It seemed strange to him, and he wondered just how common that was. He quirked a brow, finding that he suddenly had a number of questions. But, he only asked one. ". . . Do many others come here for those sorts of wounds? I wouldn't think. . ." He trailed off, realizing that he hadn't answered her question about the book.

"Anything would do, really. Everything about it interests me," he said. "Cultivation, I suppose would be a good place to start..." Narcisse paused, thinking he was getting ahead of himself, but this particular idea had been on his mind for a little while. "I would be interested in assisting you. . . with the herbs you grow, I mean. . . I think I could learn a lot."

It was probably an unusual request for an adept to make. And although Narcisse wasn't usually so talkative, he could not help but feel excited about the prospect. He nodded obediently at her suggestion about the balm and waited for her answer.
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Asterie de Sauveterre
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"I would be interested in assisting you. . . with the herbs you grow, I mean. . . I think I could learn a lot."

If Astérie had brightened at the initial mention of herb work, that was little in comparison to the radiant look she presented now upon looking up from the mortar.

"I would be most glad to have your help; I am sure you will do wonderfully at working with the herbs. Thank you." She grinned at him, as if the request were a gift itself.

In knowledge gained, she believed, choices were offered. And she tried in all the ways she might to offer choices to the adepts and fosterlings of Valerian House. There were things beyond her power to impact in an appreciable way, but in other matters, she did what she could. Moments like this were a true pleasure, where someone wished something she could give and her thoughts immediately went to a more thorough consideration of possible texts to loan Narcisse.

The mixture of comfrey and water in the mortar had taken on a suitably gummy consistency. Astérie carried it over to where Narcisse was and applied a spread of the poultice to a piece of clean linen she folded into a small pad. Positioning that over the injury on his finger, she gently wound it with a strip of fabric to hold it in place.

"There. Try to leave it undisturbed for three hours. I will get the salve for you as well before you go."

Making her way over to where she could better view the books marching along the shelves, Astérie considered them with an intent look. Several tomes were taken down and flipped through.

"As to injuries by way of rose thorns," she said as she looked, recalling his earlier question. "It is more typically a complaint heard from gardeners actually. And one that teaches them to wear gloves, certainly.

"I have not seen many such wounds myself, and none that were badly infected. But I've heard of other cases. Physicians talk amongst themselves as much as those of most any other profession I'd dare say, if not more. It is a way to learn of things that we have not yet faced ourselves. The specific matter is an interesting one. . .perhaps the incidence of infection is not truly higher than other open wounds ill-tended. Yet there is ample room for doubt when looking at all the tales together. Still, what might be causing it. . . ." She shook her head. "For all that we know, there is so much more that we do not. For now, I shall be content if your finger heals without issue." Astérie smiled at Narcisse and returned to his side with a book.

"I am fond of this one. It is illustrated with lovely pictures, quite detailed and accurate. Although because of that, it doesn't cover as many plants as some of the other books, but what do you think of it as a beginning?"
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Narcisse nó Valerian
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Narcisse perked as Asterie seemed enthusiastic about his question. His mind was abuzz with all of the things he might learn and do.. and yet there was a touch of concern that the Dowayne might disapprove. Or would she have to know? It was much the case when he was a fosterling at Alyssum, but he was often overlooked for reason of his youth. Now he was an adept, though, so there could be less leniency. After the taste of freedom at the Masque and the temptation of rebellion, as minor as it was, he found that the idea titillated more than it might have otherwise.

His smile grew, and he nodded in compliance as Asterie finished wrapping his finger and gave her instructions. As she spoke of rose thorns, even though she worded it simply, it made him feel out of his element. Daft. He nodded, silently, wide eyes watching Asterie as she chose a book. He carefully took the one she offered and opened the page. Ironically, the first page it opened to was of an illustration of hellebores. He rested his wrapped finger against the edge of the flower's petal, running it over the contour for just a moment as his expression grew wistful. He glanced up at Asterie, thinking it was a good omen indeed. "I think it's a good start," he said. "My thanks."

He glanced back at the illustration, admiring the detail of it. It was a dark purple hellebore with pale yellow gleaming from its center. He stared after it for a few moments longer before closing the book. "Cereus House had many hellebores in the garden," he quietly explained. "It is.. regretful that we do not have any here."
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Asterie de Sauveterre
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"I think it's a good start," he said. "My thanks."

Astérie smiled. "You are very welcome." As Narcisse returned his gaze to the illustration, the young woman stepped away to fish within another cabinet for a small stoppered pot. From elsewhere she produced a larger jar and then set to spooning a portion of salve from it into the first container.

"Cereus House had many hellebores in the garden," he quietly explained. "It is.. regretful that we do not have any here."

She looked up at that, as much at his tone as at the words. "They are very beautiful flowers." Returning to where Narcisse sat, Astérie stood holding the small jar, staring down as the adept did at the book, now closed. But she had seen the picture when he first opened it and summoned its image to mind now easily. As she had said, it was a book she loved herself and she knew it well.

"I never sought to have it planted amongst the herbs, for it's poisonous," she continued at last. "But that need not mean we do not ask the master gardener to see it planted elsewhere here. It is lovely enough for that to be reason.

"What do you think, shall we suggest to him that it is more apt to Valerian House? I am not sure how well it suits Cereus." She touched the book cover lightly, then seemed to recall the little pot of salve in her hand and set the latter on the worktable next to it. "A blossom that unfurls with pride when others have faded against the chill and dark of winter." Her voice was soft with reflection, ice blue eyes unfocused though their direction was still that of the herbal.
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Narcisse nó Valerian
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Narcisse was silent as he listened to Asterie speak. Her words surprised him. He'd been in and out of the healer's quarters many times in the past year, but in all of those visits he'd never heard her wax poetic like that. That it was her fondness of plants that brought it of her only endeared her more to him.

"You are very poetic, for a healer," he said, a light smile drawing itself across his lips. Then, a moment later, he realized how that must have sounded, and he quickly added, "I mean that as a compliment."

He looked back down to the book, cradling it against his chest. "I am passing fond of the hellebores," he said, though it was with uncertainty as to whether or not that fondness could be attributed to the aesthetics of the flower itself, or the memories he now associated with them. "I would be glad if the Master Gardener could be convinced to plant them here."
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Asterie de Sauveterre
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"You are very poetic, for a healer," he said, a light smile drawing itself across his lips. Then, a moment later, he realized how that must have sounded, and he quickly added, "I mean that as a compliment."

Looking up in startlement at first, Astérie then laughed, delighted. "And a sweet one it is too. Thank you, Narcisse." She tilted her head and smiled. "We healers are not without some poetry in ourselves I think, but often, people do not visit unless in need of the more expected skills. And few wish to hear such reflections when in pain from a broken limb and the like." She made him a pretty little curtsey. "So I must thank you for coming to me with a small injury, that I might indulge for a moment."

"I would be glad if the Master Gardener could be convinced to plant them here."

"I think he will be amenable to it. Here, I will write it down with my other notes." So saying, Astérie disappeared back into the room she had been in when Narcisse first arrived and re-emerged with a small, silk-bound journal in hand. Taking up a nearby quill and ink pot, she carefully jotted a few lines within. "Though discussions start prior to it being warm enough for any new plantings in the spring," she explained as she wrote. "It is still early to begin them, so I've been recording things so they are not forgotten.

"When it is time, if you are available--" Astérie paused. Of course adepts were frequently occupied with other things, but certainly not every moment of the day. Whatever had brought it about, Narcisse seemed quite taken with the idea of hellebores being planted at the House. She was glad to see him so interested in something and would do what she could to foster it. "No. When I speak with the Master Gardener about it, I shall do so when you can come with me."
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Narcisse nó Valerian
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Asterie kept surprising him. Narcisse couldn't keep himself from grinning when she said that she would be sure to take him along with her when she spoke to the Master Gardener. "That would be wonderful," he agreed. He didn't think anybody else would be so thoughtful about it. He found himself thinking that he ought to find good reason to come into the healer's quarters more often.

He looked to the book that Asterie had given him, averting his eyes as he vaguely realized he should not appear so shameless. ". . . I am not certain what is scheduled for me just now, but I will let you know as soon as I can." Finally he looked back up to her, a new sense of joy giving a light to his eyes that was too often absent. "I won't trouble you further this day, but . . certainly another."

He could not resist some shamelessness.
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Asterie de Sauveterre
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"I shall await news of your schedule then." A smile took Astérie's expression in a broad stroke. The events of but days past had weighed on her mind since their occurrence, yet she was by nature a cheerful person. To see someone such as Narcisse, withdrawn as he often was, fairly glowing with excitement was enough to lighten her own spirits. "And it is no trouble for you to visit. You are welcome to come back whenever you like. Indeed, you must, to tell me what you think of the book after you have read it."

Glancing down, she reclaimed the jar of salve from the table and extended it to the adept. "With the poultice and this salve, your finger should be fine. But if the scratch does redden further or pains you more, please come and see me at once."
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Narcisse nó Valerian
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Narcisse realized that it had never really occurred to him to visit the healer's quarters whenever it struck his fancy. Asterie's kind words and smile made him wonder why he hadn't realized this place for what it was before - a safe haven, a sanctuary within Valerian's halls. That he had gone so long living here without seeing it in that way made him think for a moment just how wrapped up within himself he too often was.

He ran his wrapped finger against the edge of the book, testing it. Normally it would have been irritated to be touched so firmly, but with Asterie's treatments he felt nothing. She was good; her treatments worked quickly. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."

His eyes met hers, a new sense of recognition behind them. "You are a good friend to have," he decided, words that would not have left his lips for anyone except, mayhap, Chantal. "I will come again soon." Very soon, if he had any say in it.

Narcisse turned to leave, pausing at the door to look over his shoulder and offer Asterie a bright, if unsure smile. As he walked down the hall he opened the book, doing his best to avoid bumping into anyone as he studied the illustrations.
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Asterie de Sauveterre
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"You are a good friend to have."

As at an earlier comment, the woman looked marginally surprised at this, but in no way displeased. Her smile in return was a sunny one. It was certainly not every day one heard such a thing as that and it would take a cold temperament indeed not to be moved by it.

"I am glad you find it so," she said. "For you are a fine friend as well and I would hate to fail in returning the favour." She grinned at him a little teasingly, and bid the young adept farewell for the time being as he made to take his leave.

Once Narcisse vanished down the corridor, Astérie turned back to the work table and set to tidying up the materials used for the poultice and salve. But the encounter stayed in her thoughts that day, for there had been the air of. . .hope about it. And those were times not to be forgotten.
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