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Words Lurking in Shadows[10/1]; Late Afternoon
Topic Started: Feb 7 2012, 06:17 AM (134 Views)
Asterie de Sauveterre
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She crossed the threshold into the outer room of the healer's quarters and, even had her eyes been closed, she would have known it. The scents of the potted herbs scattered the area about combined into something distinctive and sweet. It was a care Astérie took, to keep the air here clean.

A round of checking upon those recovering from assignations complete, the chirurgeon soon busied herself with other work. Unlocking a drawer, she withdrew a sheaf of papers in which the current conditions of all the adepts were recorded, setting about making annotations based on the recent observations. There were those to be cleared for a return to Naamah's service, notes about medicines dispensed, and a reminder that Milon needed more work on his shoulder.

Tapping a finger thoughtfully to her lips, Astérie gazed up at the contents of the cabinets above her.
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Tempest Ferraut no Valerian
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She gathered the fallen flowers at first and brought them to her room before she made her way to the healer's quarters. She would have to see what she could do to repair the garland, having been damaged during the scuffle with her patron.

The whole assignation still confused her, since her patron did not tell her why she should stay quiet about her origins. She knew her parents' names were Jacques and Margaux, so why would he name someone else as her mother?

It annoyed her that even with one who supposedly knew her, an assignation was no different from one with a stranger. Or maybe that was how D'Angelines were. After all, she experienced nothing but pain with them; neither did she get any pleasure except when she 'helped' them, almost killing herself in the process. Only then did she get what would be like sadistic pleasure when her patrons feared the outcome of her actions.

And then she remembered the gentle stroke given by one to her. That must have been the first time anyone had been gentle with her despite his blunt honesty. She was not aware of the slight upturn of the corners of her mouth as she walked, still deep in thought despite being aware of the direction she was taking.

So deep she was in thought that she did not even bother to knock on the door but just opened it. Though when did she ever wait for doors to open if she knocked? She walked in, still preoccupied, not even looking at the chirurgeon. It was routine to be examined after an assignation. At least, in this case, she would not have to keep her legs tightly together in protest.
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Asterie de Sauveterre
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In the midst of collecting a selection of jars and packets from the cabinets lining the walls, Astérie turned when a sound at the door brought her attention about. Somewhat to her surprise, the person who entered was Tempest.

It was the practice, to bring word to the healers' quarters when an adept accepted an assignation. That message was bereft of information about the patron involved, for that was unnecessary to the point and Valerian guarded the privacy of its visitors. But it was important that someone be on hand to deal with the aftermath of an assignation and therefore the notification.

Thus had such news been brought earlier, that Tempest was so engaged. But what was surprising was that the time between now and then was not so very long at all: the assignation itself must have been quite brief.

Circumstances on the peculiar side or no however, Astérie promptly set the empty container she was most recently retrieving on the nearby counter and smiled a greeting. Her reactions were tailored to the situation, but in Tempest's current case, she was moving under her own power and without a hitch to her step, there was no obvious sign of blood, and the other woman's own expression was. . .well, odd in its own right, but not twisted in pain.

"Hello, Tempest." The chirurgeon gestured at the curtain between this outer room and the one beyond, proceeding in that direction herself. "Please."

Once Tempest passed the threshold, Astérie pushed an actual door closed behind the curtain and beckoned the adept to a comfortable spot to sit down. This room, like the one without, spoke less of the overall atmosphere of the rest of Valerian and instead was arranged and decorated in a way to take the mind to a more soothing, calm place. The trained gaze of a physician had surveyed the adept on approach and continued to do so now, as she said, "I am sorry if you were waiting elsewhere for someone to come tend you. I hadn't received word that your assignation was complete.

"Where are you injured?" She had already caught sight of darkening bruises on the other woman's arms - vicious ones, to be colouring so soon - but she did not make the assumption that was all there was.
Edited by Asterie de Sauveterre, Feb 13 2012, 03:32 AM.
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Tempest Ferraut no Valerian
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Her ears perked at the word "injured." Her wrists were hurting, but she never considered such an injury. Having been 'damaged' by a seasoned warrior, she felt a little better, despite her frustration and a little bit of anger left from their scuffle. And worse...

He still treated her like a ten-year-old girl!

Since the chirurgeon suceeded in getting her full attention, she gave the other woman a sharp look, as she always gave any treating physician when she had to be examined. She was never going to let any of them examine her there, in case they found any sign of force. Her legs then came together, tightly so as not to give the healer any chance to examine her for damage there.

Her chin came up, nose in the air as she gave her answer.

"I am not injured anywhere!" was her response, sharp, abrupt, defiant before she calmed herself down. "These," she continued, extending her arms toward the chirurgeon, "were placed by a warrior, tried in battle. It seems my lord Josserand gets as angry as I do, and shows no mercy; neither would I."

My lord Josserand...

Her eyes widened and she suddenly realized that she might have hinted at an acquaintance, but don't the adepts say the names of their patrons as well? She hoped the healer would not read anything other than an adept uttering the patron's name. It might look rather odd to anyone who knew, however, that Josserand d'Aiglemort asked for her, considering her reputation at Valerian, one rivaling that of Revanche. Why a Camaeline noble who usually attended viewings suddenly asked for an individual adept, and not the type that one would expect him to arrange an assignation with.
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