[He offers her a wordless nod of thanks as she departs, finding himself weary and suddenly overwhelmed by the medics descending on him. He braces himself and lets them go about their work; they're expedient, at the very least, and within half an hour he's been cleaned up, stitched, bandaged and set mostly to rights.
Fifteen minutes later and he finds himself settled in the very room Aranea had mentioned. Her men had given him something for the pain, thankfully, and he sat propped up on the bed, a glass of water in one hand as he rested with his head against the wall behind him.
This wasn't at all how he had imagined his hunt concluding, but he could have been much worse off.]
[It takes her a little longer, but when she finally knocks on the door and enters, she's showered and changed. Not that it matters what her appearance is since Ignis can't see it, nor is it really that much different than what she usually wears.]
So, how are you holdin' up? [She shakes the bottle in her hand, the warm liquid swishing inside.] Brought a get well present.
[He doesn't need to see the bottle to know what it is, and he offers her an appreciative smile, genuine as it is weary.]
Well enough, all things considered. Your men do good work.
[He would heal, but the idea of resting for as long as it would take for him to do so was a bit daunting for someone who liked to stay as active as he did.]
[She'll even let him keep it—more out of knowledge that he'd probably like the entire thing on hand than actual generosity.
She walks over and without even a moment's hesitation sits down on the edge of the bed next to him. There she'll gently nudge the bottle against his good hand so he'll know it's there before she leans a little so that she can better see the job the medics did. Satisfied, she sits back, weight shifting away from him.]]
I heard that there isn't any nerve damage, so at least I didn't paralyze you even further. [A dry and somewhat...dark joke, all things considered, but hey. That's how she rolls. Being genuine and not sarcastic isn't her strong suit.] But this was my fault, so if there's anything, just say the world. Least I could do for letting it happen in the first place.
[While she does feel actual guilt for almost killing him, confused or not, it's also a bit of a sore point for her own pride that she lost her senses like that.]
[His fingers close easily around the neck of the bottle, steadying it. The joke itself does little to mask the sentiment behind the apology, and he grimaces in reply.]
It was hardly your fault. You were the instrument of my injury, but it wasn't your choice.
[And that, he feels, is the crux of the matter, why she had been so angry in the wake of the Mindflayer's defeat.]
Even you could do little to defend against that. You are no lesser for it. We both lived, and for that, I'm grateful.
[Outwardly, she maintains her cool composure. Inwardly, however, she can already feel that frustration bubbling. She had trained to deal with daemons, even before she joined the army. She may not have studied or researched them, but through combat she had known how they worked. That included the Mindflayer's specialty of dulling the senses and altering one's mind. It's really the source of their namesake. Usually she's prepared, even equipped to resist at times, yet she had still been caught off guard. Perhaps it was due to the fact that it was a daemon of higher caliber.
Fingers dig just slightly into the bedding before she closes her eyes and casts the thoughts away.]
So, you finally learned to fight, huh? Not too shabby back there. [Until, you know. She started attacking him.
Also, that is a very deliberate and noticeable change of topic.]
Hah, I can imagine that. But if they had the confidence in their skills, then it wouldn't be a problem. [Clearly she does since she had offered. Or maybe she wouldn't have felt that responsible if something did happen. ...Kind of a toss up.]
Could use a little improvement, but not too bad. I'm more surprised at how you were able to use magic that efficiently.
[But she's looking at them, rather curious about how he's going on about fighting.]
You must have a good sense as to where it is, especially being able to throw the spells with that much accuracy. What do you base it off—sound? Smell? Just a lucky guess?
[He smiles faintly, finally balancing the bottle against his leg to uncap it for himself.]
Sound plays a large role, but daemons also have a certain effect on the air around them, much like magic. To say that they twist it isn't quite correct, but their presence is very strong-- and with some, smell certainly enters into the equation, as well.
Hm... Interesting. And impressive. [A quick since she's actually not meaning to sound too dismissive. She really is a bit interested in his technique, not really having fought alongside a blind man before.]
I do understand what you mean about them "twisting" the air. Usually how I know one is going to show up soon. [Handy if also a bit annoying when there are a lot.] And I have to say I was surprised to see you just jump in there at first.
Not being able to see means that there's less shock value to cause hesitation, I suppose.
[That smile quirks upwards a bit on one side. If his shoulder weren't injured, he might have paired it with a fluid shrug.]
Closing the distance means I know exactly where the enemy is, within arm's reach. Fighting at range is safer, and useful, but closing in quickly will usually allow me to cripple the enemy in some way. I have good reflexes. Better now, perhaps, which is saying something.
Not a bad tactic. Just wouldn't expect such a seemingly reckless move from a stiff guy like you. [He may not see it, but he could probably hear the wry smirk on her lips.]
Especially up against a high ranked daemon like that. ["Rank" as in what the hunters had designated it as.] But clearly you've had some practice since you kicked me out of your place.
'Stiff.' Tactics, as you may recall, were a part of my job description in service to the crown. Strategy is not always about care and subtlety.
[But he doesn't have to tell her that. Being military, she already knows. His smile turns wry at the mention of their last meeting.]
If I'm not mistaken, you would have left on your own if I hadn't said anything. [Neither of them had been in good spirits at that point.] Three dozen, perhaps a bit more. There's no shortage of daemons to be slain.
It still runs counter to your image. [Your facial scars may give him a bit of a "cooler" image, but the rest of him is still stiff and proper to her.]
And you're right, I would. [Because he was being a big baby.] But since you're out here, at least that means you listened. [Because she knows she's right and she is not above effectively saying, "I told you so." However, she isn't holding anything against him. If she had, it all flew out the window the moment she realized she had attacked him.
A notion further grounded when she issues the following playful challenge.]
You have a lot of catching up to do if you want to get on my level, though. So don't take too long. [Healing up that is.]
[He's feeling well enough to take teasing in stride, at the very least-- and he's not incorrect in saying so. He pauses for a moment before continuing, because admitting that she'd been right was still difficult. Pride, unfortunately, was his achilles heel, having spent so much of his life being self-sufficient and taking care of others that asking for help for himself seemed unthinkable.]
I needed time. [He'll admit that much.] I've never been one to ask for assistance. It was-- a difficult transition. Still, I'll catch up soon enough. If nothing else, I'm a fast learner.
[She can relate to that sense of independence and not asking for help. Pride as well. Really, she probably wouldn't have been so different as him at first. ...She just wouldn't have thrown a tantrum when the flaws were pointed out.]
It's gonna be slow if you keep relying on those hunters.
His breath catches in his throat for half a moment as she leans in, unused to having anyone invade his personal space that closely. By all accounts, it's been a lonely year and a half. That, he's sure, is the only reason the sudden and unexpected change makes his pulse quicken.
Then she stands, and he frowns faintly.]
That's it? Hardly a reunion.
[Given the fact that she'd almost taken his arm clean off.]
Aw, miss me already? [There's that coy, teasing voice.]
You know what they say, time is money. [And now he'll hear the soft thuds of her heels as she starts to saunter off toward the door.] If you want more of mine, better give me a good reason to stick around.
[It's the only reason he has to give her, unless she's waiting for him to tell her that she was right-- but he's still sore enough about how indelicately she'd handled that situation to be hesitant to utter the words outright.]
[She leaves without him having a chance to reply, and finds himself sighing heavily in her wake.
Well. He supposes he should have expected that.
Once they reach town, it's one of her men that offers him assistance-- one from the medical bay, who offers himself as a crutch. Ignis finds himself irate about having to accept help, as usual, but struggles to make himself swallow his pride-- his injuries are too severe for his cane to be enough support to make it home. Thankfully, he makes it there without incident, the bottle Aranea had left him with in tow.
The next twenty-four hours are something of a blur. He'd found his apartment to be temporarily inhabited by one very panicked Iris Amicitia, who had stopped by while he was out to check in, only to discover that he'd gone off hunting, something she and her brother had both been insisting against since day one. The result was that she decided to make herself at home, fussing over him and insisting that a local doctor come in and give him a once-over, just to be sure. She then proceeded to take over his kitchen, leaving Ignis to stretch out on his sofa and spend that first evening drinking deeply from the bottle of brandy he'd been given as a parting gift.
Of course, a hunt only went wrong when there were people around to witness it.]
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Fifteen minutes later and he finds himself settled in the very room Aranea had mentioned. Her men had given him something for the pain, thankfully, and he sat propped up on the bed, a glass of water in one hand as he rested with his head against the wall behind him.
This wasn't at all how he had imagined his hunt concluding, but he could have been much worse off.]
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So, how are you holdin' up? [She shakes the bottle in her hand, the warm liquid swishing inside.] Brought a get well present.
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Well enough, all things considered. Your men do good work.
[He would heal, but the idea of resting for as long as it would take for him to do so was a bit daunting for someone who liked to stay as active as he did.]
Everything should mend, given time.
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She walks over and without even a moment's hesitation sits down on the edge of the bed next to him. There she'll gently nudge the bottle against his good hand so he'll know it's there before she leans a little so that she can better see the job the medics did. Satisfied, she sits back, weight shifting away from him.]]
I heard that there isn't any nerve damage, so at least I didn't paralyze you even further. [A dry and somewhat...dark joke, all things considered, but hey. That's how she rolls. Being genuine and not sarcastic isn't her strong suit.] But this was my fault, so if there's anything, just say the world. Least I could do for letting it happen in the first place.
[While she does feel actual guilt for almost killing him, confused or not, it's also a bit of a sore point for her own pride that she lost her senses like that.]
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It was hardly your fault. You were the instrument of my injury, but it wasn't your choice.
[And that, he feels, is the crux of the matter, why she had been so angry in the wake of the Mindflayer's defeat.]
Even you could do little to defend against that. You are no lesser for it. We both lived, and for that, I'm grateful.
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Fingers dig just slightly into the bedding before she closes her eyes and casts the thoughts away.]
So, you finally learned to fight, huh? Not too shabby back there. [Until, you know. She started attacking him.
Also, that is a very deliberate and noticeable change of topic.]
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[The last time they'd met, Aranea had been the only one willing to risk it.]
Nobody wants to be responsible for facilitating a blind man getting himself killed.
[The change in topic does not go unnoticed, and he makes a mental note of the suspected trigger.]
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Could use a little improvement, but not too bad. I'm more surprised at how you were able to use magic that efficiently.
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[But he'd managed all the same, despite the lack of consistent support.]
I've had some practice in that area. I've had to rely on it more, with the loss of my sight.
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[But she's looking at them, rather curious about how he's going on about fighting.]
You must have a good sense as to where it is, especially being able to throw the spells with that much accuracy. What do you base it off—sound? Smell? Just a lucky guess?
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[He smiles faintly, finally balancing the bottle against his leg to uncap it for himself.]
Sound plays a large role, but daemons also have a certain effect on the air around them, much like magic. To say that they twist it isn't quite correct, but their presence is very strong-- and with some, smell certainly enters into the equation, as well.
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I do understand what you mean about them "twisting" the air. Usually how I know one is going to show up soon. [Handy if also a bit annoying when there are a lot.] And I have to say I was surprised to see you just jump in there at first.
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[That smile quirks upwards a bit on one side. If his shoulder weren't injured, he might have paired it with a fluid shrug.]
Closing the distance means I know exactly where the enemy is, within arm's reach. Fighting at range is safer, and useful, but closing in quickly will usually allow me to cripple the enemy in some way. I have good reflexes. Better now, perhaps, which is saying something.
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Especially up against a high ranked daemon like that. ["Rank" as in what the hunters had designated it as.] But clearly you've had some practice since you kicked me out of your place.
[Ah yes, she is definitely bringing that back.]
How many hunts have you been on?
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'Stiff.' Tactics, as you may recall, were a part of my job description in service to the crown. Strategy is not always about care and subtlety.
[But he doesn't have to tell her that. Being military, she already knows. His smile turns wry at the mention of their last meeting.]
If I'm not mistaken, you would have left on your own if I hadn't said anything. [Neither of them had been in good spirits at that point.] Three dozen, perhaps a bit more. There's no shortage of daemons to be slain.
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And you're right, I would. [Because he was being a big baby.] But since you're out here, at least that means you listened. [Because she knows she's right and she is not above effectively saying, "I told you so." However, she isn't holding anything against him. If she had, it all flew out the window the moment she realized she had attacked him.
A notion further grounded when she issues the following playful challenge.]
You have a lot of catching up to do if you want to get on my level, though. So don't take too long. [Healing up that is.]
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[He's feeling well enough to take teasing in stride, at the very least-- and he's not incorrect in saying so. He pauses for a moment before continuing, because admitting that she'd been right was still difficult. Pride, unfortunately, was his achilles heel, having spent so much of his life being self-sufficient and taking care of others that asking for help for himself seemed unthinkable.]
I needed time. [He'll admit that much.] I've never been one to ask for assistance. It was-- a difficult transition. Still, I'll catch up soon enough. If nothing else, I'm a fast learner.
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It's gonna be slow if you keep relying on those hunters.
[She is totally not baiting him, nope.]
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You have a suggestion, I take it.
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[Her weight shifts so that she's leaning toward him.]
But we're almost to town so I need to head out. [A light tap of the bottle.] And you can keep that, so enjoy it.
[She then stands, ready to leave.
Also yes. Yes she's deliberately cutting the conversation off early like this. She's a horrible tease, isn't she?]
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His breath catches in his throat for half a moment as she leans in, unused to having anyone invade his personal space that closely. By all accounts, it's been a lonely year and a half. That, he's sure, is the only reason the sudden and unexpected change makes his pulse quicken.
Then she stands, and he frowns faintly.]
That's it? Hardly a reunion.
[Given the fact that she'd almost taken his arm clean off.]
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You know what they say, time is money. [And now he'll hear the soft thuds of her heels as she starts to saunter off toward the door.] If you want more of mine, better give me a good reason to stick around.
[Now she's definitely playing with him.]
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[It's the only reason he has to give her, unless she's waiting for him to tell her that she was right-- but he's still sore enough about how indelicately she'd handled that situation to be hesitant to utter the words outright.]
Train me-- once I've recovered.
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I'll think about it.
[AND SHE'S OFF AGAIN.]
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Well. He supposes he should have expected that.
Once they reach town, it's one of her men that offers him assistance-- one from the medical bay, who offers himself as a crutch. Ignis finds himself irate about having to accept help, as usual, but struggles to make himself swallow his pride-- his injuries are too severe for his cane to be enough support to make it home. Thankfully, he makes it there without incident, the bottle Aranea had left him with in tow.
The next twenty-four hours are something of a blur. He'd found his apartment to be temporarily inhabited by one very panicked Iris Amicitia, who had stopped by while he was out to check in, only to discover that he'd gone off hunting, something she and her brother had both been insisting against since day one. The result was that she decided to make herself at home, fussing over him and insisting that a local doctor come in and give him a once-over, just to be sure. She then proceeded to take over his kitchen, leaving Ignis to stretch out on his sofa and spend that first evening drinking deeply from the bottle of brandy he'd been given as a parting gift.
Of course, a hunt only went wrong when there were people around to witness it.]
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I SAW THAT
:D
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