a very special holiday game.

[poleaxed]

FORM: Crystal.
SENDER: Jone of Denerim.
RECIPIENT: All y'all.
NOTES: a history of violence.

[Jone's voice comes out a bit nasal, as if one of her nostrils are blocked. The reason quickly becomes clear:] Oi! You lot! I've a contest. Which of you's the best healer? Fix this old nose of mine... and my face along with it, would you?

It's not especially bollocksed, but which of you can do it fastest, eh? I'm at the mess.

While I'm here, this lad I know, Benedictus? Little Vint. Everybody should attack him-- non-lethally-- when he's least expecting it. Which is all the time, innit? Ben, lad, it's the next step in your training.

Comments

[keenly]

He's something, [Colin says mildly, coming over and setting the disinfectant aside. He gently feels Jone's nose to determine if it's broken--it may be, but if it is, it's only a hairline fracture and therefore doesn't need setting before healing.]

You're exceedingly Fereldan, [he says as his fingertips glow white and her nose quickly heals.]

[poleaxed]

A complete savage? [Laughter,] A mercenary, me. Good for my angle. Looks good on me, anyway.

[keenly]

[A grin and a chuckle.] I like it, though. Fereldans say what they mean. It's very reassuring. And I guarantee you're the first person who's even thought about teaching Benedict Artemaeus to fight. That's very Fereldan as well.

[poleaxed]

There's a war on, for Andraste's sake! He says he won't do his magic, how's he supposed to get through it. But keep complimenting me, you don't stutter when you do that.

[keenly]

[Another soft laugh.]

He's not a soldier. More of an artist. He needs people like you in his life, people who expect something of him and don't buy the, um, the wounded halla type of thing he tries to get away with.

[poleaxed]

[More ugly laughter.] Words don't work with me. Fists only. Official policy.

[keenly]

Good to know! [By now he's gently wiping the blood and any grime from her face so he can get a good look at what's going on.] Now I know what to do if you don't do as your healer says.

[poleaxed]

What, can you make a proper fist? He sticks his thumb in it, our Ben does. Nobody ever got around to telling him that's how you break your thumb.

[Still not over this!]

[keenly]

He's a nob, or was. Nobs don't fight, they have other people do that for them. Unless it's a matter of Honor.

[Something the lower classes take less seriously. The middle class has Duty, the lower...he's not entirely sure, might be too close to tell.]

[poleaxed]

A knob, more like. [Wheeze.] He's a bloody mage, he is. Caught him playing with fire in the hallway. Haven't seen that in years. Having all that power, and sitting life out, I can't fucking imagine it.

[A belated moment.] Present company... look, at least you're making yourself useful.

[What a charmer.]

[keenly]

Thank you, [Colin says, this time with the slightest note of irony.] Anyway, he's not a powerful mage. He's got better luck defending himself with his fists than with fire.

[Which he knows Benedict didn't do in the hallway, but she's probably misremembering.]

[poleaxed]

[Jone, the recipient of an endless string of head injuries starting at the age of six, definitely got some details mixed up. What a terrible witness she'd make. She yawns a bit.]

Did he have a staff? Could train with that...

[keenly]

Ah, no. [Even if they'd let him have a weapon, Bene's not ready for that.] Just start with self-defense for now. That's going to be alien enough to him. Or, maybe even just start with exercise and work up to self-defense.

[poleaxed]

[For literally the first time in this entire everything, Jone considers Colin for his own sake.]

You his mate, then?

[keenly]

[With the blood clean from her head, Colin searches for any debris or shards of bone.]

Yes. What about you? Do you habitually wander Thedas training fallen nobs?

[poleaxed]

Fuck, no. [She lets him do whatever he's doing, because he's the expert, whatever.] He reminds me of somebody, that's all.

[keenly]

Sometimes that's enough. [His fingers glow again, the magic closing the wounds.] Anything else that needs my attention?

[poleaxed]

[So weird. So useful. Jone is so glad she's not a mage.] All fine. Official, you're the best healer in this dump.

[keenly]

You've seen other healers here?

[Already?]

[poleaxed]

[She reaches down to boop his nose. She still doesn't know his bloody name.]

Got it done first, you did.

[keenly]

[Well that's not something he's had happen since Camilla was trying to remind him he was younger than her...when they were eleven and twelve. He blinks.]

Um. Anyway, you don't need any follow-up, but you might find a bit of swelling still, especially in your nose until your body realizes the healing work's already been done for it. If it gets uncomfortable, you can come back in. Remind me of your name?

[poleaxed]

[Did she share it? She's genuinely unsure. Shoddy memory strikes again.]

Jone. Like 'crone' but younger. [She turns to go.]

[keenly]

Lovely to meet you, Jone. I'm Colin. [He looks up from the entry he's making in the log book to see she's already leaving.] Um. Have a good day!

[poleaxed]

[Over her shoulder as she goes:]

Weren't lovely, but you're a prince with words.

[keenly]

Thank you! [he says lamely after her, not actually sure if that was a compliment.]