sunchime | ☆ the vorkosigan saga psl post, volume 3

Miles has stopped calling everything a hallucination because it seems to offend them all so much, and honestly, after that talk with Solas, his head is still spinning a little. This is still disorienting as hell, only all the more so for the fact that it persists in feeling so real, and at this point, Miles is finding it easier to just play along. It's a little more pleasant that way, too. It's like being inside a goddamned holovid.

"Herald's Nest? Really?" Miles raises an eyebrow. "It hasn't occurred to them that it makes you sound a little...avian?"

Oh, hello there. Pretty lady in the armor catches his eye -- terrifying pretty lady, actually, pounding on some training dummies with impressive ferocity. Miles trails off, his feet still moving, but his gaze stays stuck on Cassandra.

"Better than rabbit or rattus--" she starts, only to be surprised at the way he trails off. The source of the distraction is obvious, mostly because he's staring, and Lavellan stops to lean against the wall, arms crossed in front of her. "That's Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast," she says by way of explanation. "Right Hand to the Divine."

Not that she expected Miles to understand what that meant, but it's important context if he's just going to continue to stare at the woman.

No, he has absolutely no clue what it means, other than it being a very impressive-sounding title. Cassandra, though, that's a lovely name. He's just about to ask just what the Divine is -- or if she's, uh, currently attached -- when he promptly misses a short set of steps, skips them entirely, and lands on the ground with his arm pinned under him and a very distinctive snap.

Lavellan sees what's about to happen only just too late to do anything about it, one arm reaching out to grab some of the fabric of his shirt before he falls too far too quickly out of her reach. She can't help but wince as he falls, even as she attempts to follow him down the steps at a pace that won't leave him groaning and potentially badly injured for longer than possible. She's no talent at healing magic, and they'll have to take him to someone to look over--

But that's before she hears the sound of bones breaking, and winces visibly as she comes down to him. It shouldn't have been that bad, she thinks, one of her hands going to the shoulder of his non-injured arm, and the look on her face is concerned. "Are you-- how bad is it?" She's allowed to ask pointless questions, alright.

Miles has broken his bones so many times by this point in his life, it's rather a lot like getting the wind knocked out of him -- something that takes him by surprise but is immediately recognizable, but doesn't quite...well, no, it does hurt, it hurts like hell every time, even if he's about as used to it as anyone gets. Also, he's pretty sure the fall did knock the wind out of him, because he wheezes for a second before he manages to get any words out, blinking away the stars in his eyes.

"Broken," he manages, rolling over onto his back, clutching his upper arm with his good hand. There's no bone showing, but it...is bent at an odd angle. He's a little white around the face with pain, but any man would be, after breaking a bone. Aside from the gasping as he tries to get his breath back and the sweat beading on his forehead, he looks...more composed than you'd expect someone with a broken bone to be. "Thoroughly. Oblique fracture, I think. Not sure. Hard to tell without looking."

Through a scanner, anyway. God, does it hurt. Just as much as every other bone he's broken. It's not supposed to hurt this much in a hallucination, is it? Isn't this the sort of thing that's supposed to snap you out of it? He'd have settled for a pinch, but if a broken arm isn't going to do it, then what the hell is? He lets out an involuntary giggle of hysteria as he wheezes again and gives Lavellan a pale, tight smile. "Probably should've mentioned the brittle bones earlier."

The hysteria is coming back, Lavellan notices, and frowns further. "It would have been nice to know," she says, but reaches out to help steady him once he manages to get back onto his feet. "I've no skill at healing magic, but we can get you to former Circle mages and a surgeon to see what they can do to help."

They'll do their best, and a broken bone isn't as bad as missing limbs or bad burns, but they're already taxed enough patching everyone up from Haven still -- this isn't going to be a welcome addition to their duties. "If you can keep from breaking anything else," she adds, although that's more under her breath than anything else.

Cassandra, hovering nearby after seeing some of the commotion, is waved off by Lavellan with her free arm. It'll be fine, she'll fill in the woman later.

Miles's eyes track Cassandra even in this state, but in his defense everything is starting to go funny around the edges.

"Didn't think it'd come up," he says honestly, panting for breath. In his mind a thousand questions buzz over one another in his mind -- healing magic, right, he's got a thousand more questions about magic, and he'd like to know what the hell circles have anything to do with mages, and he'd certainly like to know more about Cassandra Pentaghast -- but he follows up automatically, almost absently, with, "Don't need a surgeon. It just needs to be set and splinted. I don't suppose you've got any good analgesics?"

That little thread of hysteria is still tangled in his voice, but mostly he's preoccupied with how much it hurts. It shouldn't hurt this much. Everything else has been too sharp, too real for a hallucination, but his stubborn mind had persisted. But now...now the pale sweat and the wildness in his eyes have far less to do with any physical pain.

"Analgesics?" That would be a no, then. "We have Elfroot--" Welcome to the Time of Isolation, version Thedas, Miles Vorkosigan. Lavellan frowns, before offering her hand and arm to the part of him that isn't terribly broken. It's just a short walk down another flight of stairs to the main area that doubles as an infirmary -- she'll see to it that he gets tended to.

Still frowning, she considers the very short shemlen. "Brittle bones. How did that happen?" And is there a way to prevent this from happening again, for as long as he's left with them?

Oh, Miles fervently hopes that whatever the hell Elfroot is, it has roughly the properties of a powerful opiate, but somehow, he doubts that will be the case. Then again, he's not sure he needs anything in his system that might further impair his faculties, because right now, the pain is keeping everything vividly sharp. Too sharp. Miles is panting by the time they get him to the infirmary, his gaze distant, but he manages to let out a hoarse, somewhat worrying laugh at the question.

"Long story." He gives Lavellan a smile through teeth gritted in pain, not a particularly pleasant sight. It's taking all he's got not to just burst into hysterics right now. He clutches his broken arm to his chest. "I'd be happy to tell you if you care to hear it, but I think I'd rather get this -- ha -- straightened out first. Who's the doctor here?" He looks around, his movements jerky, totally unsure how to identify whatever the hell a doctor looks like here.

At least Lavellan knows what doctors are, which is a step up from his previous question. Unfortunately for Miles -- "Most of the healers and surgeons are tending to the wounded from Haven. But one of them has set up in the lower courtyard, if you can walk that far." It isn't a very long walk, and Lavellan has always been tempted to simply jump from one ledge to another to get down instead of the stairs, but she can only imagine the cries of heathen knife-ear and therefore decides that taking the stairs is the better approach.

"You can talk on the way, if you can."

Please, Lavellan. The only thing that keeps Miles from talking is lack of consciousness.

"Right," Miles pants, nearly letting go of his injured arm to wipe the sweat off his brow, but he regrets even the slightest shift instantly and grits his teeth, holding his broken arm gingerly but closer to his chest. "Sure. I can walk that far. I've walked farther under worse circumstances. Hey, have I ever told you about Dagoola?"

He brings himself up short abruptly with a slight wheeze as he realizes he's starting to descend into feverish babbling and gives Lavellan a not-very-comforting grin. "Scratch that. Another long story. Hey, mind telling me what your healers actually do? Pretty vague title, that. Granted, we don't have magic where I'm from. But I'm guessing it's not a catch-all if you've got surgeons and doctors too. So, what are they -- like nurses? With magic?"

You said he could talk, Lavellan.

She takes everything back about allowing him to talk. But the questions give her something that she can answer, in the midst of his questions that she can't, and she focus more on those than anything else. "Healers call upon spirits who have natures in line with what they require them for, and heal through magic." Lavellan says, carefully guiding Miles towards the tents where the medical members of the Inquisition stayed.

"You haven't told me about Dagoola, either." It does sound like a long story, but if it's enough to keep him distracted for long enough-- still, she switches back to the magic as it seems to have his attention. "The doctors and surgeons don't use magic at all. But sometimes we are short mages who have any skill in healing, or they can only heal partway and not fully."

It was a delicate balance, and one that Lavellan hadn't studied much with, all things considered. She knew her strengths, and it wasn't in that branch of magic.

Miles squints at her, attempting to focus on this thread of conversation instead of the nausea that's starting to rise out of the acute pain. Oh, God, please don't let him vomit undignifiedly in view of Seeker Pentaghast.

"Right." He blinks owlishly at her. "What a fantastically vague answer."

Sorry, Lavellan, that doesn't clear much up. Miles almost reaches to scratch his head, but remembers to clutch his broken arm just in time.

"So this healing magic...it repairs tissue damage?" he suggests, lips twisting in thought. Another mystery to puzzle out at least gives him something to think about. "On a cellular level, I'm guessing? Er -- you know, accelerate the natural healing process?"

☆ the vorkosigan saga psl post, volume 3

i'll renew my paid later w/e

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