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abhorrently) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2023-09-14 07:12 pm
abhorrently) wrote in come_sailaway2023-09-14 07:12 pm
(open.) while now i'm free
Who: Fever and open!
What: First month on the ship, and she's getting adjusted.
When: September.
Where: Everywhere - a few specific locations for some prompts.
Warnings: Marked in specific threads if they happen.
Notes: Will match tag-in format.
they let anyone in - infirmary.
There's a new face in the infirmary, but not slinking in with something that needs repair. Rather, Fever's taking stock of the inventory, looking at what's familiar and unfamiliar alike, reading boxes and labels to understand what they're for. She moves purposefully, before she's collecting items to put together in a group - not a lot, but a pattern emerges. One set of bandages, one of different ointments, something to splint a broken joint - all necessary components for a first aid kit, along with the violently red potion she has on the counter.
Though on a different day, she's cleared a little section for herself, and is cautiously using some equipment with a few empty bottles. Heating water, and crushing something unknown into it, the scent of brewing plant matter beginning to rise. Might as well refine what materials she can, while she's here.
you need hobbies - playback.
The arcade is loud, bright, but it offers amusements if she's patient enough to learn, and Fever sees the potential if she just keeps trying. Her despair over some of the games just not making sense is apparent - the Pacman should be able to face his foes always, not just at certain intervals, and it's beginning to frustrate her deeply before she stalks away to try and find something better.
But later, she's found her niche, almost serene as she carries on playing one of the light gun games. Her score keeps going up, but she barely seems to see it - only what comes to the next target, when to reload and where to fire next, at vital points that make the virtual foes fall. Peaceful as one can be while hearing fake zombies attacking and dying in explosions of pixelated gore. And all that said, there is a gun for player two there.
"let there be something green" - flowers.
Of course, the new plantlife is something to investigate. It shouldn't be growing from walls, from the floor, which is enough to tell her that she needs to be a bit careful. But looking for the effects and being around them, they're not destroying her with their aura - yet. Yet is always the key word, and that's good enough for Fever to make the unwise decision of taking blooms for herself. Plucked, placed in her satchel, she's hoping it'll ward off the worst effects.
Except of course, when it can't. And given that there's quite a few types around, it means that those who venture too close might be also at risk to falling victim to whatever plant she's clipped and currently dealing with. At the least, the magic should be a sufficient icebreaker. Or you can stop her from picking up one with truly hideous side effects.
[ooc: open to any and all flower effects except for baby's breath and titan arum. mix and match with me!]
insomnia club is always open - around.
Even on this ship, her sleep is no better than it has ever been. Never a truly sustained night, only some uneasy truce with her mind and her body to lie down and attempt rest. It never lasts for as long as it should, and when her nightmares inevitably wake her, sometimes staying in the cabin is suffocating. So Fever goes out, heedless of the hour, walking softly in the cabin halls and seeing where her feet take her.
Maybe she lays in a chair by the pool, trying to find new rest there and failing, or maybe she's sprawled out in the lounge by the atrium, having just taken a tumble from trying to fit all of herself on a chair. Or she's posted up in Bobby B's, but drinking isn't the name of the game. Instead, this is one of the few areas she can idle in with a mote of fire in her hands and not get sprayed down for it. Rolling the magic around between her palms like someone else would a stress ball, lost in consideration, her guard's relaxed for a moment.
wildcard.
[have a different idea for something to happen? come at me, my arms are open. basic info and permissions here, as well as Fever's opt out.]
What: First month on the ship, and she's getting adjusted.
When: September.
Where: Everywhere - a few specific locations for some prompts.
Warnings: Marked in specific threads if they happen.
Notes: Will match tag-in format.
they let anyone in - infirmary.
There's a new face in the infirmary, but not slinking in with something that needs repair. Rather, Fever's taking stock of the inventory, looking at what's familiar and unfamiliar alike, reading boxes and labels to understand what they're for. She moves purposefully, before she's collecting items to put together in a group - not a lot, but a pattern emerges. One set of bandages, one of different ointments, something to splint a broken joint - all necessary components for a first aid kit, along with the violently red potion she has on the counter.
Though on a different day, she's cleared a little section for herself, and is cautiously using some equipment with a few empty bottles. Heating water, and crushing something unknown into it, the scent of brewing plant matter beginning to rise. Might as well refine what materials she can, while she's here.
you need hobbies - playback.
The arcade is loud, bright, but it offers amusements if she's patient enough to learn, and Fever sees the potential if she just keeps trying. Her despair over some of the games just not making sense is apparent - the Pacman should be able to face his foes always, not just at certain intervals, and it's beginning to frustrate her deeply before she stalks away to try and find something better.
But later, she's found her niche, almost serene as she carries on playing one of the light gun games. Her score keeps going up, but she barely seems to see it - only what comes to the next target, when to reload and where to fire next, at vital points that make the virtual foes fall. Peaceful as one can be while hearing fake zombies attacking and dying in explosions of pixelated gore. And all that said, there is a gun for player two there.
"let there be something green" - flowers.
Of course, the new plantlife is something to investigate. It shouldn't be growing from walls, from the floor, which is enough to tell her that she needs to be a bit careful. But looking for the effects and being around them, they're not destroying her with their aura - yet. Yet is always the key word, and that's good enough for Fever to make the unwise decision of taking blooms for herself. Plucked, placed in her satchel, she's hoping it'll ward off the worst effects.
Except of course, when it can't. And given that there's quite a few types around, it means that those who venture too close might be also at risk to falling victim to whatever plant she's clipped and currently dealing with. At the least, the magic should be a sufficient icebreaker. Or you can stop her from picking up one with truly hideous side effects.
[ooc: open to any and all flower effects except for baby's breath and titan arum. mix and match with me!]
insomnia club is always open - around.
Even on this ship, her sleep is no better than it has ever been. Never a truly sustained night, only some uneasy truce with her mind and her body to lie down and attempt rest. It never lasts for as long as it should, and when her nightmares inevitably wake her, sometimes staying in the cabin is suffocating. So Fever goes out, heedless of the hour, walking softly in the cabin halls and seeing where her feet take her.
Maybe she lays in a chair by the pool, trying to find new rest there and failing, or maybe she's sprawled out in the lounge by the atrium, having just taken a tumble from trying to fit all of herself on a chair. Or she's posted up in Bobby B's, but drinking isn't the name of the game. Instead, this is one of the few areas she can idle in with a mote of fire in her hands and not get sprayed down for it. Rolling the magic around between her palms like someone else would a stress ball, lost in consideration, her guard's relaxed for a moment.
wildcard.
[have a different idea for something to happen? come at me, my arms are open. basic info and permissions here, as well as Fever's opt out.]
no subject
"So this is why it kept growing back...I'll collect what spills. Pour it back into you."
Make sure there's no dust in it or something. The important part is what she's seeing currently, the tangle of roots around the bones. The surgical scissors work here, like trimming a wayward plant. Careful, precise. Cut where the roots are too snug to coax out. It probably feels exceptionally strange, but her hands are steady, not cruelly yanking or anything like that. Even the chaos of her own mind seems to have subsided in the fact of a particularly tricky task.
Pieces of the roots are coming out. The plant getting less and less connected. Until it's finally removed, and she lifts it away, putting it on the tray with the other pieces. One more snared root piece around the joint, and Yufei is free.
Now, mending him. She doesn't have healing magic, so she can't seal the skin like that, but stitches still work.
"This will hurt too, but I'll try to keep it down."
Because she's not sure if he'll heal, in the end, or if he'll just have stitches, these need to come out right. Small, precise ones, so that more sand can't leak out when he goes and lives his life. And then, with a little bit of space left, she stops, though doesn't disconnect the thread, using one hand to hold the skin together.
"Can you trust me for a few more minutes?"
no subject
"Grew in my arm. Maybe had a seed forced through skin and didn't notice? But would notice. Not sure how this happened." Unless when he died some of his sand got mixed up with whatever else was at the bottom of the ocean. He should be lucky fish aren't hatching in side him and immediately dying.
The stitches hurt again, needle going in and out with wicked precision. He winces, but doesn't pull away.
"Okay. Trust."
no subject
When she's sure she's gotten what she can, then there's the matter of pouring it in. This is another place where having three hands is useful, to keep him steady while she refills the sand she's gathered, much as a dollmaker pours sawdust into a new creation. And then, the last inch of fixing him. More neat stitches, but with the hands attached to her, as her concentration lets the spell wink out in favor of getting this right. Finally, finally, the last knot, and she pulls back, needle detached from him,
"There. Try moving it - you should have better motion, now that the roots are out of the way. And you did a hell of a job being patient."
The plants, she'll take to Bobby B's to burn to ash. No sense keeping them around when they might get a taste for flesh again.
no subject
Because that's pretty awesome, and a great distraction from the whole sand and needle thing going on. Losing sand feels like getting tired, but having it poured back in feels the reverse, like a limb waking up all pins and needles.
He shakes his head rapidly trying to clear the sensation making a brrbrbrbbple sound.
When commanded he tries his hand again, wriggling it easily and grinning huge. "You fixed it! Thank you!"
no subject
"You're welcome. Glad I could do something for you about all of it."
Now, better leave this place semi tidy, so that way no one else walks in and gets mad.
"And in answer to your earlier question? It's because I'm a sorcerer. Doing magic like that is in my blood."
no subject
"Your blood is magic? Sounds painful." He's experienced a lot of what could be called magic, but never this close up. "Sorcerer. I will remember. You helped me and did not need to, is good of you."