ways_infirmary | (no subject)

Current Mood: contemplative

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It's been a few days since Asar-Suti and then Strahan came to visit, and his mind is full of so much, making his brain feel more like a rock than muscle.

He stares at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the material. And he thinks back to the day he'd been visited by the god and sorcerer.

Asar-Suti, the god said, would make him a crystal that would control his shifts into wolf-shape, and Strahan would help. And Strahan, once told of the plan, was more than eager to do his part, being very interested in how they would go about it.

The Ihlini's interest didn't stop with the crystal; it extended to the ice shards Rabastan admitted he still had. Items that Rabastan said were like the crystal that was to be made, and Strahan, curiosity aroused, wanted them, to study and learn from them and, according to him, they could even [possibly] be incorporated into the finished crystal itself, once Rabastan had turned them over to the sorcerer.

More than enough payment for a service rendered, Rabastan was informed. This was for Rabastan's well-being.

No promises though. Of course.

And Rabastan feels hope blossom inside him. With the help of Strahan and the Seker he might be able to defy the laws of lycanthropy in his world and have a say in when and what he becomes.

He groans. His head hurts. And he doesn't know why.

But Strahan does.

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Moon peeks around the corner of curtain, her green eyes lighting on Rabastan's form in the bed. Quietly, she approaches, hands clasped in front of her. She wears what she usually does: a long, whispy white skirt with a tight fitting bodice that laced in the back and had only slight straps hugging her shoulders. Her hair is loose, hanging in a long, black cascade down her back, and her bare feet make no noise as she walks.

Some might call the attire "inappropriate" for someone visiting a medical ward, but apparently no one stopped her. Or maybe no one was willing to.

He's still staring at the ceiling, wondering how his life had come to this moment. What he'd done to provoke the wolves.

Or why they were there at all.

Of course it was appropriate -- it was her common wear. He wasn't dead, so there was no need for drab black, and Moon liked white.

She stops at his side and looks down at him sadly.

"Your dreams caught up with you," she murmurs softly.

He turns to look at the woman beside him, and his emotions run into overdrive.

Yellow eyes meet green.

"It seems they did, after all."

Despite all assurances to the contrary.

"Paths once walked can't be unwalked," she says sadly. "But you find yourself on a new path now. New opportunities and new chances." Moon smiles gently. "You've not been abandoned."

Ah, nothing like a little pop psychology...

"Then where is everyone?" he demands hotly and loudly, eyes blazing with anger. "Where are all the others?"

He breathes slightly, surprised at his outburst. Where did this sudden rage come from?

"I—I'm sorry," he says more calmly. "It's just... I haven't seen many people since ... since the ... accident. I suspect they're all frightened that I might attack them now that I've been bitten."

"I'm here. Strength and Wheel visit, do they not?"

Moon reaches out to brush at Rabastan's hair.

"Your brother is not in the bar at present, for he has gone to Aman for a while. Raise his children some in peace. When you are well again, perhaps you would go and visit him and Námo? Or, when I next see them, I can let them know you're here... they can visit you..."

She remains quiet and calm. Wolf or man or both, he was Rabastan to her. Wolves and men were her speciality, after all.

—flash of fear as his mind thinks of his blood-brother, Rodolphus—

No. Gwador. Rodolphus has no children. That I know of.

He nods. Someone should tell them. It will be a shock at first but at least they'll know, and hopefully will understand his strange moods and what brought them on.

Like sudden bursts of temper.

"I'm not sure if they've been here, but I've been too out of sorts to tell. I think they have. They don't look like the sort to leave people like me without a guest or two."

"When we next see them, we will let them know your condition. I am certain they will be concerned."

Moon then chuckles.

"My siblings were the ones who told me where you were. I was... worried... if one such as I can worry about things like this."

"They probably will be," he says guiltily. He did rush off without taking stock of the dangers.

The clock, he counter-argues himself. There wasn't much of a choice. We all could've died.

He shifts over onto his left side.

"Did they?" he asks. "And ... are you concerned? I mean, are you as worried as gwador would be?"

He's not sure if she meant her last words in terms of "I'm supposed to be impartial in these matters" or if she meant "I know you'll pull through; there's no need for me to overly concern myself here".

If it had been Gorlim or someone else close to him Rabastan would now be doing his nut.

"They will be. They fled when the Clock was here. Protect the children."

She rests her hand on top on his.

"Yes. I am. I am concerned as someone who cares for you beyond that expected." Yes, she was supposed to be impartial, and yes, she knows he will pull through, but even with both those things on her side, she had worried. "Paths contain twists even the cards can't see, and those twists in your path have led me to worry... for I care."

Rabastan nods. He doesn't have to ask why he knows that when children are in danger it's the duty of the parent to remove them from danger.

His eyes flash with emotion, and he can't help but smile. It's not his battered, stiff left hand she's touching after all.

"You mean even you couldn't predict this?" he asks. He didn't know much about beings like her, but he'd been left with the impression that they knew far more than most mortals did.

And these events [possibly unforeseen by the cards] worried her.

Somebody cares...

She frowns.

"I had... ideas... whisps of dreams... I saw paths. It was always up to you which path you walked, and that, I cannot predict."

"So you knew that this lay before me?" he asks, expression darkening.

He's trying not to accuse Moon of anything, but he would have liked a little warning.

Your dreams gave you more than enough warning. And you prepaired yourself for it. No one could do more than that.

He sighed, wishing he'd had time to bring Námo's soul-shards with him. He might've escaped with fewer injuries.

And likely they would've killed you if you did use the shards against them. How hard is it to tear an eagle apart?

"Paths walked can't be unwalked," he repeats sadly, "But I wish I could."

"It was a possibility, Rabastan," she says quietly. "One of many. Paths fork and branch and split... I had no way to know for certain. It is also not the place of the cards to warn outright of a possible future. We are but guides. Our hands are bound with chains made of unspoken, but clearly heard, rules."

He listens. He doesn't like what he hears but he listens.

Thinks of Strength telling him not to get involved in Gorlim's dealings with Ruin.

Something about free will, but he's not sure he heard that.

"Guides?" he asks softly, yellow eyes staring. It makes him look feral. "Rules?"

What are you? What are you all?

"Did someone make you?"

She pulls up a chair and sits, taking his undamaged hand into her own gently.

"I was. We can simply come into being, waken, when enough belief is given. We can also make others. The Major Arcana have power beyond the Minor, and we can instill that power into another being and bring them into the family. We have one such occurance happening on Tuesday." She sighs, looking into his eyes. "Belief made us. Belief also rules us. We are aids. Guides. We whisper into your ear a direction, but it's up to you to take that direction. Sentients have free will, Rabastan. You could have chosen differently, but you didn't. You went to your world. You risked death and worse. It was your choice. I couldn't stop you, and neither could my siblings. We are tools of Fate, as much as some of us hate to be."

Wheel is not one of those who hates it. Wheel is utterly devoted to Fate and Fate can be a possessive mistress; something Wheel does not mind in the slightest.

"I went, to give refuge to another," he says, not quite understanding the process of Becoming for a card. "I didn't know that that would be the day destiny would come calling." He looks sad. "I ran from one danger straight into another danger entirely."

It's a good thing Moon's here. Wheel would just shrug and say that's how the Wheel of Life turns.

"It's like ... someone made it so that it would happen. Like ... they knew I would be there and arranged it."

Little does he know that someone did orchestrate the entire disaster. That someone had set him up to die that night, even though he escaped death narrowly.

Ruin, on the other hand, hates the idea that he is not of his own will. He struggles through what binds him, even though he chose the bondage.

She pats his hand, bending to kiss the top of it. "Fate is what it is, and does what it does. It is the woods your paths run through. I am sorry you suffer so."

"It hurts," he says after much contemplation. "I never expected it to hurt this much."

He looks at his left hand. It's regrown, but the regrown area, only marginally thicker than the rest of the hand, is stiff, as though arthritic. Bending his fingers and his thumb is hard, and it worries him that he might not be able to hold a wand properly any more.

Helplessness, to a wizard or witch, is a lack of a wand.

"The attack hurt, the change hurt, the treatments hurt. It's not like the Cruciatus Curse—that kind of pain is unrivaled. But all this pain is certainly not too far behind it."

"Yet pain does pass," she points out. "It may take time, but you will move beyond it."

"I hope so. I hope it passes. I don't want to hurt like this any more."

But the change will hurt. It will always hurt.

That pain can't be avoided.

She smiles kindly.

"You're strong. You'll learn." Moon continues to caress his hand lightly. "All things happen for a reason."

"I want my brother dead, do you hear? I don't care if you leave a body behind or not I want him dead."

Words probably spoken by Rodolphus before the attack.

"If the reason is to ensure my life's full of pain," Rabastan says sarcastically, "they've achieved it. But then again, a life of pain began when I took the Mark. This is just the current chapter."

Faces full of worry dance in his vision. Gorlim. Námo. The cards. His mother. And she dominates them all, because she was the one who always worried about her youngest son.

"I wish my mother was here now..."

"She is. In her own way."

Moon smiles, her voice musical and soft.

"Mothers never leave their children's sides, even should death try and part them. A mother's love defies death."

He nods, as his mother's face continues to take up most of his vision. Sometimes he felt as if she were nearby. Somewhere here in Milliways.

"She'd probably be keeping a constant vigil here, refusing to leave. She was always like that. I think she enjoyed being a parent.

I don't know how she'd take the news of me being a werewolf now though. Might break her in two."

"Perhaps. Perhaps it would break her in two because she feels your pain, wishes she could take it from you?" Moon sighs. "I never had a mother, and my siblings are not like the siblings sentients have born into their family. I find it difficult to relate to families. To understand them."

For someone who didn't know how to relate to families Moon certainly understood mothers well enough.

"She would. I can see her handing me the cup of wolfsbane, telling me to drink it up."

He smiles. He loves his mother as much as he misses her.

The concept of motherhood is not beyond her. She had a son at one point.

She thinks.

She's pretty sure.

"I could go ask Bar for a cup and bring it to you," she says with a smile.

If she does have a son Rabastan would be interested in meeting him. Though perhaps moreso if the son is still a ~~cub~~ child.

He's about to say "It's not really necessary" when he remembers that Asar-Suti plans to induce a transformation shortly after Rabastan is discharged.

It's the only thing that'll keep him from trying to murder everyone in the bar.

He says as much, agreeing and thanking Moon for her willingness to do this for him.

Very few people back home would visit me, let alone offer to bring me wolfsbane.

She places a soft kiss on his brow before almost dancing from the room -- merely her way of walking. You couldn't spend centuries as a dancer and not have the mannerisms bleed into your everyday movements.

Moon isn't gone long. She bring him a cup of the liquid, pleased to do something constructive.

"Does it taste awful?" she asks curiously as she nears.

When she's around it's like the most pleasant of dreams. A dream that I would do anything to see that it never ends.

He takes the cup. It's smoking slightly, and looks sort of greenish-black. Giving it a sniff tells him that the blend isn't so bad to the nose.

But when he drinks it...

Rabastan grimaces wolfishly. "It's positively horrid! And to think I have to drink this stuff every month!"

The thought makes him want to cry as the bitter taste causes his mouth to water, as though to spit out the flavour.

"Oh Merlin it is real. I wanted it to be a bad dream but it's not. This is real. I'm a beast now..."

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