ways_infirmary | (no subject)

(no subject)

Zhaan brings Belle in from the main bar and gestures toward one of the exam beds. "Let me get some bandages and tweezers," she says. The tweezers are for any potential splinters. "I will get a paper and pen for you as well. Though since the Bar cannot translate here, I'm afraid you will have to use simple words for me." She efficiently gathers what she needs from the cupboards and makes a quick trip to the infirmary office for the pen and paper before returning to where Belle sits on the exam bed.

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Belle nods and looks thankful. I have telepathy, if that makes it easier.

She slowly takes the robe off, her body finally paying her back for the previous abuse. There's a scratch that's somewhat larger than the others on her right hip, though Belle can't feel it, due to the fact that it's on a heavy burn scar.

Although Zhaan's mildly surprised by the telepathy - or, at least by Belle making use of it this way - she quickly takes it in stride. "That will work," she says, examining Belle's injuries. "You do have a few splinters," she says. "Please hold still." Working deftly with the tweezers, she starts pulling splinters out of Belle's back. She's wondering exactly what happened, although she's concerned that Belle may not want to talk about it. If she does, then she will probably do so without prompting.

Belle sits and winces. Eventually, she starts sharing to take her mind off the pain.

Anger, so cold it burns. Homocial rage. Movement, fast, leaves whipping at her bare skin. Exhiliration, a scream of fear and hate and pain, that doesn't end until her voice can no longer function.

Something grabs her. A branch in her right hip holster. Fear, more pointed, but smaller. Balance lost. Bang! Stars swarmed her vision, then a thud as her back hit the next branch down. A gargled whimper as she slides off of it, not by choice, and lands on her elbows and knees.

Zhaan flinches at the visceral memory, her tweezers poking into Belle's back for a moment. Worried, she puts a hand on Belle's shoulder, sharing the pain in Belle's body so that she can know its nature.

There is no concussion or serious trauma, thank the Goddess - merely the bruise, which she could see with her own eyes. Behind it, though, is a swirl of rage and grief and madness that Zhaan knows only too well, because she spent many cycles conquering it. Belle's mind does not deal with it the way Zhaan's did. In some ways she handles it better, and in others, worse.

The hand on Belle's shoulder squeezes a little, unconsciously. Zhaan wonders if Belle knows what she has seen.

She does, all too well. Belle squeezes the other woman's hand and then shares another memory.

Cells. Walls close. Authority figures. Bad place.

Will.

Hurt.

Rage.

He speaks.

And then there is only that swirling abyss of insanity, broken mometarily, in places, by soul bending sadness.

"I understand," Zhaan says. "I treated him yesterday. He will heal."

And there is a reflection of Belle's anger - at seeing what was done to him, at speaking to the one who had done it, a person without remorse or conscience, with something broken in his mind.

There's an older memory, too, of two Peacekeeper soldiers holding a struggling man - not a human man, or that matter or any race that Belle knows - while a third brings the red-hot tip of a metal rod close to his face. The man sobs and cries for mercy: it is not given. The begging becomes a wordless scream as hot metal sears flesh, and Zhaan can only watch.

"I understand," she repeats hoarsely.

Belle nods. Good. I am glad to hear it.

Not that she needed to say anything, because her entire body showed her immense relief.

The memory makes Belle wince, and she nods.

Joy. So much joy. And love. Red and black eyes and a laugh that turned her to jelly.

Her brother, and a surge of more pleutonic love. Until she sees his eyes, smells the alcoholic cloud hovering around him.

Words, long forgotten. Remy shakes his head, and Belle tightens her arm around his waist. Julien screams and his eyes are full of rage, of the blinding hatred, the bloodlust.

Despair. A scream. Hers? Maybe.

Quick as it begins, it's over, and Remy stands still as a statue. Belle links with her dying brother's mind, searching for reason, for justification, for anything other than simple prejudice behind this attack.

There is only that madness that Belle felt earlier.

And in the here and now, Belle shakes and reeks of fear.

Another reflection, briefer this time: there are two different men, of Zhaan's species. One is her father, playing with her when she was a child, advising her as an adult. The other is her teacher, her lover.

Though the memories are confused, and not linear, the impressions behind them are clear. There are announcements, and there are Peacekeepers, hired by what should be the outgoing government. Protests, arrests, assassinations. Her father dragged out of their home one night, accused of treason and sent to a prison colony.

Behind all that, the terror and the lost, was the man she had trusted most after her father - her beloved. She'd found out. She'd taken her revenge on him. The act of murder - of being in his mind, when she died - had shattered her, sent her into Peacekeeper custody on the outside and madness on the inside, for a long, long time. She, too, fears slipping back.

Zhaan steps around to the front of Belle and puts her hands on the young woman's shoulders. Then, slowly, she draws her into a mother's comforting embrace.

Belle nods again and looks up, tilting her head a bit, before slowly wrapping her arms around Zhaan.

She's too tired to cry, so she simply shakes and holds onto the other woman tightly.

Part of Zhaan knows that Belle has cuts that need to be attended to. But a greater part of her knows that Belle's hurts are the inside are more severe, and more in need of healing. Although Zhaan hardly knows how to give it.

She simply lets Belle lean against her, trembling and clinging. Sometimes being there to hold on to is all you can do.

After a minute, Belle pulls away, her face calm again. She is by no means over it, but she's hiding that fact very well.

Thank you.

It's better, at least. Zhaan nods solemnly and gets back to taking out splinters. Then she gets out her ointment and applies the cooling, soothing substance to Belle's various cuts before bandaging them. The bad one on her hip, not quite a laceration, also gets organic sealant to hold it together.

"There," she says, satisfied with her work. Then, looking up at Belle, "How long has it been since you've eaten something?" Belle will need both food and rest to recover, in any way. "I can get some breakfast for you from the Bar."

She thinks. Hard. Dinner the night before last. I would really like some food.

Now that she's thought about it, Belle can feel her intestines trying to chew on each other. Doesn't really matter what it is

"I will be back shortly," Zhaan says, brushing Belle's hand. She goes out to the main bar and comes back later with a heavily laden tray, the contents of which include coffee, toast, eggs, and fruit. The tray even has little legs, so Zhaan can set it down across Belle's lap. "I simply asked the Bar for something you would like," she says. Zhaan couldn't have ordered this stuff: after all, she doesn't know the names of half the things she was just carrying.

Belle beams up at the woman, too tired to keep using her telepathy, before setting on the food like a one woman wolf pack.

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