[ The card is not exactly what he's hoping for, but it's at least a sign of life. He follows it until he's at the edge of the pit himself, foot nearly losing purchase and sending him tumbling in; he backs up and crouches, peering inside. Sciel stands out against the white snow only because of her dark Expeditioner uniform—she's blanketed by snow, skin gone pale from cold. ]
Hey, [ he calls down, trying not to sound concerned and frighten her. ] It's okay. [ His favorite thing to say when it is not, in fact, okay. ] It's me.
[ A split second of hesitation follows, wherein he tries to determine whether attempting to help her out of the pit will just make him fall in instead. It's a risk he'll have to take, seeing as there's not much else in the way of options. He lets his knees drop to the ground, pant legs instantly soaking with wet snow, before he stretches an arm down toward her. ]
[ As it happens, the figure that does appear on the surface has a better track record in ending her existence than any Nevron. ]
...so. [ The first part of his name freezes on her lips, leaving only the second syllable audible. ] S'you.
[ Sciel seems to relax a little at the sound of his voice, frosted lashes fluttering shut. ...Briefly, because she forces herself to open them again and look up at him.
Expeditioners train to deal with hypothermia, of course, as something both possible and likely in the course of their mission. So right now she tries to remember at what point in symptoms' progression you should really be worried, but that's made difficult by both the unclear passing of time and the cold-driven confusion that's crept into her mind, slowing everything down.
Hmm. Right: Verso's still up there. She registers the question and the extended hand, responding with a sound of stiff exertion as she has to sort of fling her own arm up his way.
...Damn. Not that one. Her dominant arm is the one with the long gash of red, the blood now congealed. And though it isn't a life-threatening injury, the streak of crimson along the wall above her and on her limb doesn't look great. ]
Merde. [ She curses, lowering the injured arm again. Her breathing is lethargic, its slow clouds very visible in the air before her. Sciel is motionless for a moment before she utters another shaky grunt, using all her facilities and energy to get to her feet.
It isn't easy. Her mind is still advocating for her to settle back down and rest, and her limbs all feel like useless, numb slabs of meat. The young woman in the pit is shaking violently when she manages to get to her feet, but she does manage it. And though her condition is somewhat alarming, her eyes have the same dogged persistence than he's come to know from her, and she meets his gaze with a small nod.
This might be her one and only attempt and she knows that, distantly. So when she bends her stiffened knees and leaps for his hand, it's with as much strength and height as she can possibly manage.
I'm not going to die in a fucking hole. Not when we're so close. ]
[ Verso has to lean down as far as he can to catch her hand, and when he does, he has to heave her up with all the strength he can muster. It only gets her halfway out of the pit, and he has to quickly wind an arm around her torso to haul her the rest of the way out. Sciel is relatively small, but it's still challenging to maneuver around what's mostly dead weight at the moment, and he ends up depositing her on the ground next to him with an exhausted grunt. ]
Fuck, [ he says as he crouches beside her and takes her in, arm streaked with red. Immediately, he regrets it, worried he'll frighten her with his reaction. Reassuring: ] You'll be okay.
[ He hopes. He doesn't carry around any tints—no need for them—so he has nothing in the way of healing to offer her. If only Lune had been the one to find her instead. ]
You're freezing.
[ That, at least, is something he can do something about. He removes his coat, gingerly draping it over her shoulders. ]
Here, [ he says, trying not to let his teeth chatter. Fucking hell, it's cold. ]
[ She registers his reaction through the in-and-out mental haze and huffs out a breath, eyeing him seriously. ]
M'not Maelle. [ As in: you're not going to frighten me. They're both adults and Expeditioners aside, and Sciel isn't a sugarcoating sort of person. Not that her situation needs it; her arm is annoying, but not fatal.
The cold, though. Right, there was that. It should be hard to forget, since it's eating away at her from the inside out, and yet.
He at least seems perfectly aware of the real danger here, and soon she feels the pressure and warmth of the coat over her. It blocks out some of the bite of the wind, providing immediate relief, and she sinks a bit beneath it as if with one big exhale. She wants to needle him for his chivalry, but forming the words is getting more difficult by the minute.
She'll have to tease him later. Once they make it to a fire and she comes back to life.
Okay, now get up. Her body feels absolutely locked in place where he'd set her down, but she channels everything she's got into moving her stiff limbs, shifting jerkily until she's...basically standing, though it's tenuous. ]
W- [ Unlike Verso, she is unable to stop her teeth chattering. ] ...Where?
[ They've got to move fast, as night falls. Even so, there's a little flutter of anxiety in her chest with the knowledge that their camp...isn't exactly close. ]
[ Oh, fuck this. Verso doesn't say it aloud, but he certainly thinks it. He takes the liberty to sling Sciel's uninjured arm over his shoulders, slouching so that she can lean against him without any major discomfort. He doesn't play up his heroism to make her swoon like he might have under different circumstances; it's pragmatic, single-minded, instinctive. This is just the sort of thing he was created to do. ]
There's a little alcove if we double back, [ he says, thinking out loud more than he's actually speaking to her. Sciel doesn't really get input into what they're going to do in this situation, unfortunately. Denying people of their own agency in order to feel as if you're protecting them is the Dessendre way! ] It'll block the worst of the winds.
[ It'll still be freezing fucking cold, but it's not like he can freeze to death. Even if he does, they'll just have to thaw him out in the morning. They'll focus the warmth on Sciel, keep her alive until the sun comes out again. Verso's not a fan of Maelle having to bring Sciel back from the dead a second time. ]
I'll start a fire, look at your arm— [ He sounds a bit as if he's rattling off a list of chores. ] Come on.
[ Somewhere, she's aware that Verso is supporting her as they drag their way along to wherever they're going. Sciel feels the pressure of his body as she automatically puts her own weight against it, very much without a choice in the matter. He's talking, and she assumes it's a plan, but it's all she can do to force herself onward rather than succumbing to a siren's song more potent than the Axon's.
Dimly, she remembers that dying from hypothermia is not an exact science. Apparently, there's less consistency with what exact measure of freezing kills a person, and after how long. Because she has no idea how long it's been, or what the temperature is, she has no clue what her chances are.
Better now than when she'd been in the pit, at least. These are the meager embers she has to warm her hopes. But by the time they get to the spot he'd deemed serviceable, Sciel is shaking badly, her lean muscles desperately trying to generate heat as the cold continues its assault from the outside in.
She knows she'll be slower in trying to start a fire, so she extricates herself from his grasp and plops down on the ground, making herself useful by summoning to mind all of the warm memories she can. Campfires with the 33s, fighting hard in the gestral arena, breathing hard in the woods with Verso, cozy nights in with Pierre in their flat. Warm, warm, warm. Alive, alive, alive.
It's another temptation: close your eyes, lose yourself in those nice moments. But she staunchly keeps them open, instead forcing herself to look up, focusing on Verso, glancing over the space on his torso and arms where the coat used to be. ]
I know, [ he says, idle conversation to keep the situation as light as he can, ] I should show off my arms more.
[ He's joking. Sciel isn't interested in any parts of his body anymore—which is fine and not disappointing at all. Verso gets to work starting a fire, wishing that it were Lune who'd found her instead; she would have been able to heal her and warm her with a flick of her fingers. As it is, Verso just has to rub sticks together until they ignite.
They do, eventually, although it's a smaller fire than he'd like. Careful not to jostle her too much, he puts an arm around her shoulders and brings her nearer to the flame, gently rubbing at her shoulders to create some heat. ]
[ Normally she would make a quip in reply, easily falling into old flirtations and banter without missing a beat, but between the fog pooling in her mind and annoying chatter of her teeth, all she manages is a short laugh, which escapes in a visible puff of breath.
Putain. This is irritating. There's a noise of mingled frustration and discomfort, though she seems to settle into his grasp when he does return to her side after having successfully started up a fire. When they shift closer, there's a small, sharp inhale of breath: the heat of the flames, however meager, meet her frigid fingertips and burns in a way that feels like it gets down to the bone.
Ironically, it'd probably have been better for her if anyone else had found her. Lune is the obviously optimal result, but Monoco can transform into several flame-based Nevrons, and even Maelle has been able to infuse her rapier with fire. As it is, the only two members of the Disaster Expedition who can't create heat are huddled together under thread of death by exposure.
...Well, they can't create heat anymore. She almost laughs. ]
Dunno. [ Try harder, this is important. There's another sigh through the nose as she shifts against him, leaning in further so she's almost tucked under his chin. ] 'N hour, m-maybe. Or m-more.
[ Honestly, Sciel isn't sure how long it's been since they set off or since she managed to fall into a fucking pit. Time's more difficult to judge, with the earlier onset of night, and her head is fuzzy besides. ]
W-Weren't even m-...any corpses. [ She mutters, staring into the little fire as it begins to build. ] Al...m-most made one, though.
[ Maybe she still would. Maybe they'd both freeze, and in the morning, only one of them would wake again.
Distantly, beyond the freezing landscape of her addled brain, Sciel rails against this idea, even if Maelle can bring her back again. I'm not going to fucking die here. I have to make it back.
[ They've been close like this before—closer—but the circumstances had felt impossibly different. There's nothing romantic or exciting about the feeling of her body against his now; it feels surprisingly smaller than it used to, like she's crumpled in on herself. He'd been drawn to her brightness and warmth from the moment they'd met, had wanted to bask in it the way a cat does in the sun. Now, though, it's like her light is flickering, dulled. ]
But you didn't. You're alive.
[ And going to stay that way, if he has anything to say about it. A moment more of trying to warm her, before he creates a little distance, withdrawing so that he can gently peel the coat away from her arm.
This isn't his first time doing this. Expeditions are dangerous, and he's seen a lot of wounds. Helped, sometimes, with bandages and ointment. This is the first time he's felt such a twisting in his gut about it, though. ]
[ Yes, she's alive. But she's also...terrified. Not of dying, really, but of failing now, when they're so close to what's revealed itself to be their true mission. Sciel can see all of the people waiting for them, counting on them, who hadn't been brought back after the most recent Gommage. Not to mention those who'd otherwise been killed over the years, who would have another chance at life very soon. They're counting on the 33s to help Maelle gain control of their world and restore everyone who'd been lost.
It's an enormous weight, and she usually manages it. But right now...
Verso moves and she utters a sound of protest, but he only withdraws enough to bring her injured arm into view, which she helps him with as much as she's able, moving stiffly. It's her right arm, and the gash -- now an ugly stretch of icy, congealed red -- stretches from just beyond the array of bracelets up along to her bicep.
The wound isn't fatal, isn't as concerning as the cold, but it doesn't help. For about the hundredth time today, Sciel mentally catalogs her own suite of skills, hunting for anything of use here. But, as she's already been forced to recognize, her ability to heal is contingent on drawing strength from Nevrons. They'd need to start a fight in order to make use of it, and with her body as uncooperative as it is, that'd be a terrible idea.
She's forced to leave the whole thing in Verso's hands, which makes her grumble a bit, if only internally. It's difficult, going from the de-facto caregiver to...this. ]
S'not so bad. [ Sciel assesses. It'd stopped bleeding a long time ago, with the cold, and she doesn't feel any pain for the same reason. ]
[ Sciel, he's noticed, has a tendency to downplay the uncomfortable and unpleasant and emphasize the more upbeat parts of life. A natural optimism, maybe, but part of him wonders if she feels she has to. Like it's her role here: the eternally chipper caretaker, who handles everything with a smile while everyone else in their group mopes and sighs. Verso certainly hasn't been a help in that regard.
The wound looks bad, in his uneducated opinion. Enough that he wouldn't be able to shake it off without a little rest himself, were it his own body. It's difficult to tell if the lack of bleeding is a good or bad thing; the flesh there looks pale, cool to the touch. He grimaces, but says nothing about it. ]
We should clean and dress it. [ He fumbles for the waterskin, feeling the way the cold has turned the water inside to slush. ] It's— going to be cold.
[ It's clear his intention is a polite "heads up, this is going to suck," but Sciel shifts so she can eye him with a meaningful, slow blink that suggests "yes, thank you, I assumed."
The truth is, when it does hit her skin, she doesn't really feel it. The semi-solid bits are more easily identified, but as she watches him tend to the wound, Sciel recognizes that there just isn't a lot of sensation there at all.
After another stream of mental curses, she starts working her fingers. Focuses on flexing one hand at a time, and when that just results in a lot of trembling, one finger at a time. ]
...I was...l-looking forward to the...skiing, the...b-beauty. [ Of the snow, she means, as her gaze drifts out to the harsh wasteland beyond their temporary 'haven.' ] This is...l-less fun.
[ Fuck Frozen Hearts, honestly. How'd he decided to live here for so long? She pictures Verso and Monoco holed up in a place like this, snuggled up for warmth and, with her thoughts still a little iced over, chuckles to herself in another visible puff of air. ]
[ Verso cringes as the slush washes over her wound, not because of her agony but because of the lack of it. That's not good. For what isn't the first time today, he wishes Lune were here. Even if she weren't able to heal the worst of it—unlikely; she's the most magically gifted of all of them, whereas Verso couldn't even heal a papercut on someone else's finger—there's no way that she hasn't memorized everything there is to know about first aid.
Everything there is to know about everything, really.
He strips off the Expedition armband from his coat, taking the initiative to wind it snugly around Sciel's wound. It's probably not the cleanest possible bandage, but something has to be better than nothing. (Maybe. He's not the first aid expert.) ]
Yeah, [ he says absentmindedly, just trying to distract her, keep her talking. If she falls asleep before the sun comes up, he's not confident she won't freeze to death. ] We used to go skiing here all the time, pre-Fracture.
[ Pre-Nevrons, too, obviously. ]
...You should have seen me do tricks, [ he offers, playing it up. ] Turns out that I excel on water before and after it's frozen.
[ He wraps her wound in the emblem of their expedition, the one that Maelle had given to him, and she watches it as it becomes gradually twinged with her blood, wondering if there might be some symbolism to be found there. ...Since her mind is sluggish and deathly cold, though, Sciel dismisses the possible poetry of the moment and tries to focus on the sensation of him binding the wound, finding it...yep, still numb. ]
The Dessendres. [ She states, eyes unfocused, still trained on the golden band(age). "We" means the Dessendres, which she's since learned include...painted people, like Sciel herself, except that these are copies of 'real' people in another world. ...With the exception being the Paintess, who is both Verso's mother and Maelle's, but they aren't really related.
Distantly, she imagines the Paintress on skiis. Sciel laughs again, albeit weakly. ]
Don't tell m-me you were...swim captain and s-skii captain. [ She says warningly, her voice low, but amused. She shouldn't tease too much, though: he'd done a perfectly respectable job of teaching her how to swim, in that...last amorous day and night together. He's probably very good at skiing.
Even so -- and even in spite of her half-asleep sort of haze -- she knows he's teasing. Trying to keep her as alert as he can. So she tries, pushing herself beyond that tempting fog. ]
Jumps. Turns. I could ski right off a slope and into a Bourgeon's mouth.
[ Joking. There weren't any Bourgeons around back then. He's not entirely lying, though; Verso is good at nearly everything—at least, everything Aline could think of to make him good at—and so he does have a talent for skiing. He'd always entertained the family with his little tricks, even if it meant being regrettably sore later.
Wound wrapped, he takes the edges of his coat and draws it tighter around Sciel. ]
You might be able to go skiing after this, too.
[ With your husband, he doesn't add, although he does know that's who it would be with; he approves, of course, because he can't not approve of Sciel having the love of her life returned to her, but it's not... enthusiastic approval. ]
[ When the sleeve is eased back down over her arm, the coat moved into place, she seems to relax with another short puff of breath, settling against him.
Verso doesn't have to mention Pierre for her to pick up on it. And though it's true -- once he's back, she intends to spend as little time apart from him as possible -- Sciel also doesn't mention that fact. Even if she's completely unapologetic in how she talks about her husband and doesn't at all dim her overwhelming excitement for his return, she also isn't cruel. The man currently keeping her alive is still important to her.
The possibility that Pierre could return had never been the reason she'd pushed for a more casual relationship, of course, but...hopefully it helps now. They'd agreed, hadn't they? That this would be better, keeping things purely physical?
Knowing what she knows of Verso now, though -- with all his masks -- she has to wonder what he really had thought, through all of it. ]
I will g-go skiiing. [ Sciel corrects. ] S'long as someone's ar-round to watch my s-step. And...actually t-teach me.
[ Also, if he thinks she's going to let him drop off the face of the earth once they retake the Canvas, he's got another thing coming. ]
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no subject
Hey, [ he calls down, trying not to sound concerned and frighten her. ] It's okay. [ His favorite thing to say when it is not, in fact, okay. ] It's me.
[ A split second of hesitation follows, wherein he tries to determine whether attempting to help her out of the pit will just make him fall in instead. It's a risk he'll have to take, seeing as there's not much else in the way of options. He lets his knees drop to the ground, pant legs instantly soaking with wet snow, before he stretches an arm down toward her. ]
Can you reach?
no subject
...so. [ The first part of his name freezes on her lips, leaving only the second syllable audible. ] S'you.
[ Sciel seems to relax a little at the sound of his voice, frosted lashes fluttering shut. ...Briefly, because she forces herself to open them again and look up at him.
Expeditioners train to deal with hypothermia, of course, as something both possible and likely in the course of their mission. So right now she tries to remember at what point in symptoms' progression you should really be worried, but that's made difficult by both the unclear passing of time and the cold-driven confusion that's crept into her mind, slowing everything down.
Hmm. Right: Verso's still up there. She registers the question and the extended hand, responding with a sound of stiff exertion as she has to sort of fling her own arm up his way.
...Damn. Not that one. Her dominant arm is the one with the long gash of red, the blood now congealed. And though it isn't a life-threatening injury, the streak of crimson along the wall above her and on her limb doesn't look great. ]
Merde. [ She curses, lowering the injured arm again. Her breathing is lethargic, its slow clouds very visible in the air before her. Sciel is motionless for a moment before she utters another shaky grunt, using all her facilities and energy to get to her feet.
It isn't easy. Her mind is still advocating for her to settle back down and rest, and her limbs all feel like useless, numb slabs of meat. The young woman in the pit is shaking violently when she manages to get to her feet, but she does manage it. And though her condition is somewhat alarming, her eyes have the same dogged persistence than he's come to know from her, and she meets his gaze with a small nod.
This might be her one and only attempt and she knows that, distantly. So when she bends her stiffened knees and leaps for his hand, it's with as much strength and height as she can possibly manage.
I'm not going to die in a fucking hole. Not when we're so close. ]
sowwy for slow omfg the time blindness got me
Fuck, [ he says as he crouches beside her and takes her in, arm streaked with red. Immediately, he regrets it, worried he'll frighten her with his reaction. Reassuring: ] You'll be okay.
[ He hopes. He doesn't carry around any tints—no need for them—so he has nothing in the way of healing to offer her. If only Lune had been the one to find her instead. ]
You're freezing.
[ That, at least, is something he can do something about. He removes his coat, gingerly draping it over her shoulders. ]
Here, [ he says, trying not to let his teeth chatter. Fucking hell, it's cold. ]
girl pls you're preaching to the choir
M'not Maelle. [ As in: you're not going to frighten me. They're both adults and Expeditioners aside, and Sciel isn't a sugarcoating sort of person. Not that her situation needs it; her arm is annoying, but not fatal.
The cold, though. Right, there was that. It should be hard to forget, since it's eating away at her from the inside out, and yet.
He at least seems perfectly aware of the real danger here, and soon she feels the pressure and warmth of the coat over her. It blocks out some of the bite of the wind, providing immediate relief, and she sinks a bit beneath it as if with one big exhale. She wants to needle him for his chivalry, but forming the words is getting more difficult by the minute.
She'll have to tease him later. Once they make it to a fire and she comes back to life.
Okay, now get up. Her body feels absolutely locked in place where he'd set her down, but she channels everything she's got into moving her stiff limbs, shifting jerkily until she's...basically standing, though it's tenuous. ]
W- [ Unlike Verso, she is unable to stop her teeth chattering. ] ...Where?
[ They've got to move fast, as night falls. Even so, there's a little flutter of anxiety in her chest with the knowledge that their camp...isn't exactly close. ]
no subject
There's a little alcove if we double back, [ he says, thinking out loud more than he's actually speaking to her. Sciel doesn't really get input into what they're going to do in this situation, unfortunately. Denying people of their own agency in order to feel as if you're protecting them is the Dessendre way! ] It'll block the worst of the winds.
[ It'll still be freezing fucking cold, but it's not like he can freeze to death. Even if he does, they'll just have to thaw him out in the morning. They'll focus the warmth on Sciel, keep her alive until the sun comes out again. Verso's not a fan of Maelle having to bring Sciel back from the dead a second time. ]
I'll start a fire, look at your arm— [ He sounds a bit as if he's rattling off a list of chores. ] Come on.
no subject
Dimly, she remembers that dying from hypothermia is not an exact science. Apparently, there's less consistency with what exact measure of freezing kills a person, and after how long. Because she has no idea how long it's been, or what the temperature is, she has no clue what her chances are.
Better now than when she'd been in the pit, at least. These are the meager embers she has to warm her hopes. But by the time they get to the spot he'd deemed serviceable, Sciel is shaking badly, her lean muscles desperately trying to generate heat as the cold continues its assault from the outside in.
She knows she'll be slower in trying to start a fire, so she extricates herself from his grasp and plops down on the ground, making herself useful by summoning to mind all of the warm memories she can. Campfires with the 33s, fighting hard in the gestral arena, breathing hard in the woods with Verso, cozy nights in with Pierre in their flat. Warm, warm, warm. Alive, alive, alive.
It's another temptation: close your eyes, lose yourself in those nice moments. But she staunchly keeps them open, instead forcing herself to look up, focusing on Verso, glancing over the space on his torso and arms where the coat used to be. ]
no subject
[ He's joking. Sciel isn't interested in any parts of his body anymore—which is fine and not disappointing at all. Verso gets to work starting a fire, wishing that it were Lune who'd found her instead; she would have been able to heal her and warm her with a flick of her fingers. As it is, Verso just has to rub sticks together until they ignite.
They do, eventually, although it's a smaller fire than he'd like. Careful not to jostle her too much, he puts an arm around her shoulders and brings her nearer to the flame, gently rubbing at her shoulders to create some heat. ]
You're freezing. How long were you down there?
no subject
Putain. This is irritating. There's a noise of mingled frustration and discomfort, though she seems to settle into his grasp when he does return to her side after having successfully started up a fire. When they shift closer, there's a small, sharp inhale of breath: the heat of the flames, however meager, meet her frigid fingertips and burns in a way that feels like it gets down to the bone.
Ironically, it'd probably have been better for her if anyone else had found her. Lune is the obviously optimal result, but Monoco can transform into several flame-based Nevrons, and even Maelle has been able to infuse her rapier with fire. As it is, the only two members of the Disaster Expedition who can't create heat are huddled together under thread of death by exposure.
...Well, they can't create heat anymore. She almost laughs. ]
Dunno. [ Try harder, this is important. There's another sigh through the nose as she shifts against him, leaning in further so she's almost tucked under his chin. ] 'N hour, m-maybe. Or m-more.
[ Honestly, Sciel isn't sure how long it's been since they set off or since she managed to fall into a fucking pit. Time's more difficult to judge, with the earlier onset of night, and her head is fuzzy besides. ]
W-Weren't even m-...any corpses. [ She mutters, staring into the little fire as it begins to build. ] Al...m-most made one, though.
[ Maybe she still would. Maybe they'd both freeze, and in the morning, only one of them would wake again.
Distantly, beyond the freezing landscape of her addled brain, Sciel rails against this idea, even if Maelle can bring her back again. I'm not going to fucking die here. I have to make it back.
Everything is different now. ]
no subject
But you didn't. You're alive.
[ And going to stay that way, if he has anything to say about it. A moment more of trying to warm her, before he creates a little distance, withdrawing so that he can gently peel the coat away from her arm.
This isn't his first time doing this. Expeditions are dangerous, and he's seen a lot of wounds. Helped, sometimes, with bandages and ointment. This is the first time he's felt such a twisting in his gut about it, though. ]
Hey, show me your arm.
no subject
It's an enormous weight, and she usually manages it. But right now...
Verso moves and she utters a sound of protest, but he only withdraws enough to bring her injured arm into view, which she helps him with as much as she's able, moving stiffly. It's her right arm, and the gash -- now an ugly stretch of icy, congealed red -- stretches from just beyond the array of bracelets up along to her bicep.
The wound isn't fatal, isn't as concerning as the cold, but it doesn't help. For about the hundredth time today, Sciel mentally catalogs her own suite of skills, hunting for anything of use here. But, as she's already been forced to recognize, her ability to heal is contingent on drawing strength from Nevrons. They'd need to start a fight in order to make use of it, and with her body as uncooperative as it is, that'd be a terrible idea.
She's forced to leave the whole thing in Verso's hands, which makes her grumble a bit, if only internally. It's difficult, going from the de-facto caregiver to...this. ]
S'not so bad. [ Sciel assesses. It'd stopped bleeding a long time ago, with the cold, and she doesn't feel any pain for the same reason. ]
no subject
[ Sciel, he's noticed, has a tendency to downplay the uncomfortable and unpleasant and emphasize the more upbeat parts of life. A natural optimism, maybe, but part of him wonders if she feels she has to. Like it's her role here: the eternally chipper caretaker, who handles everything with a smile while everyone else in their group mopes and sighs. Verso certainly hasn't been a help in that regard.
The wound looks bad, in his uneducated opinion. Enough that he wouldn't be able to shake it off without a little rest himself, were it his own body. It's difficult to tell if the lack of bleeding is a good or bad thing; the flesh there looks pale, cool to the touch. He grimaces, but says nothing about it. ]
We should clean and dress it. [ He fumbles for the waterskin, feeling the way the cold has turned the water inside to slush. ] It's— going to be cold.
no subject
The truth is, when it does hit her skin, she doesn't really feel it. The semi-solid bits are more easily identified, but as she watches him tend to the wound, Sciel recognizes that there just isn't a lot of sensation there at all.
After another stream of mental curses, she starts working her fingers. Focuses on flexing one hand at a time, and when that just results in a lot of trembling, one finger at a time. ]
...I was...l-looking forward to the...skiing, the...b-beauty. [ Of the snow, she means, as her gaze drifts out to the harsh wasteland beyond their temporary 'haven.' ] This is...l-less fun.
[ Fuck Frozen Hearts, honestly. How'd he decided to live here for so long? She pictures Verso and Monoco holed up in a place like this, snuggled up for warmth and, with her thoughts still a little iced over, chuckles to herself in another visible puff of air. ]
i liked the tag better before but ok
Everything there is to know about everything, really.
He strips off the Expedition armband from his coat, taking the initiative to wind it snugly around Sciel's wound. It's probably not the cleanest possible bandage, but something has to be better than nothing. (Maybe. He's not the first aid expert.) ]
Yeah, [ he says absentmindedly, just trying to distract her, keep her talking. If she falls asleep before the sun comes up, he's not confident she won't freeze to death. ] We used to go skiing here all the time, pre-Fracture.
[ Pre-Nevrons, too, obviously. ]
...You should have seen me do tricks, [ he offers, playing it up. ] Turns out that I excel on water before and after it's frozen.
do not speak of funf!!
The Dessendres. [ She states, eyes unfocused, still trained on the golden band(age). "We" means the Dessendres, which she's since learned include...painted people, like Sciel herself, except that these are copies of 'real' people in another world. ...With the exception being the Paintess, who is both Verso's mother and Maelle's, but they aren't really related.
Distantly, she imagines the Paintress on skiis. Sciel laughs again, albeit weakly. ]
Don't tell m-me you were...swim captain and s-skii captain. [ She says warningly, her voice low, but amused. She shouldn't tease too much, though: he'd done a perfectly respectable job of teaching her how to swim, in that...last amorous day and night together. He's probably very good at skiing.
Even so -- and even in spite of her half-asleep sort of haze -- she knows he's teasing. Trying to keep her as alert as he can. So she tries, pushing herself beyond that tempting fog. ]
W...What tricks?
no subject
[ Joking. There weren't any Bourgeons around back then. He's not entirely lying, though; Verso is good at nearly everything—at least, everything Aline could think of to make him good at—and so he does have a talent for skiing. He'd always entertained the family with his little tricks, even if it meant being regrettably sore later.
Wound wrapped, he takes the edges of his coat and draws it tighter around Sciel. ]
You might be able to go skiing after this, too.
[ With your husband, he doesn't add, although he does know that's who it would be with; he approves, of course, because he can't not approve of Sciel having the love of her life returned to her, but it's not... enthusiastic approval. ]
no subject
Verso doesn't have to mention Pierre for her to pick up on it. And though it's true -- once he's back, she intends to spend as little time apart from him as possible -- Sciel also doesn't mention that fact. Even if she's completely unapologetic in how she talks about her husband and doesn't at all dim her overwhelming excitement for his return, she also isn't cruel. The man currently keeping her alive is still important to her.
The possibility that Pierre could return had never been the reason she'd pushed for a more casual relationship, of course, but...hopefully it helps now. They'd agreed, hadn't they? That this would be better, keeping things purely physical?
Knowing what she knows of Verso now, though -- with all his masks -- she has to wonder what he really had thought, through all of it. ]
I will g-go skiiing. [ Sciel corrects. ] S'long as someone's ar-round to watch my s-step. And...actually t-teach me.
[ Also, if he thinks she's going to let him drop off the face of the earth once they retake the Canvas, he's got another thing coming. ]