beyondthedoor | ♔ call me out

[This is the first time he's gotten sick since he was little. Er, littler. Everything in him feels dizzy, horrifyingly so; he can't even stand up straight. The dull aching pains combined with the fever shouldn't be enough to wipe out a chief, but here he is, bundled in several furs and completely useless to everyone.

He shouldn't be idling like this. He remembers his father braving the storm, dealing with his sick people like a fair and just chieftain ought to. But the eel pox has infected him to the point where he can't just shrug it off.

Toothless churrs sleepily and wraps his tail around his rider. Hiccup doesn't recall leaving his bed and curling up with Toothless on his firestone, but here he is anyway. He's trying to figure out if he should crawl back into his proper bed when he sees someone sitting on it.

There's no mistaking that silhouette, the intense untamed red hair or the smile.]

... Dad?

[Someone like Hiccup who often stuck it out despite any disadvantages or handicaps, wasn't always entirely invincible. Even Astrid knew that, knowing him too well, a kid who tried his hardest even when he could use a break every once in a while.

She makes a point to try and balance taking care of things while he's in bed rest while also taking care of him, not trusting leaving either in the care of someone like the twins for instant. But she hasn't been entirely alone either, with Gobber keeping a look out on things in the village while Gothi provides herbs to ease the effects of the pox. They told her to just give it time, but if anyone could match up with Hiccup's stubbornness, it was Astrid who sits at the edge of the bed just after giving Toothless a soft, appreciative petting.]

No, I'm not that tough, Hiccup. [Not like the great Stoick in the least. It practically breaks her heart to hear the name called, but she's not about to remind him that his father's passed on, not when he's in this state.

But she tries to smile, as she lets fingers stroke his forehead, praying to the gods that the effects can somehow wear out faster.]

[He shivers and wraps the furs tighter about himself. The fever is making it hard to pay attention. Everything has a thick fog about it, and some kind of reddish-yellowish halo. Still, he tries to squint at the bedside visitor. Slowly, very slowly, he sees the vision shrink and become someone just as familiar. Softer edges, though.]

A-- Astrid, [he whispers roughly, feeling embarrassed about his mistake.] Sorry, I... I don't know what's...

[He knows his father is dead, but he'd-- he'd hoped, for that one instant, maybe... Drago was all part of some awful nightmare. Maybe he'd wake up whole, with his family intact, and his village not overrun by a dragon army, and—

Hot tears sneak past the corners of his eyes, unbidden. It's not the kind of sobbing he did when Stoick actually died, but the sickness and everything else welling up. He squeezes his eyes shut.]

Sorry.

[She'd seen his tears far more often since that day than she had ever remembered. Astrid, herself, hadn't cried with everyone else, not because she didn't feel, but simply because she just hadn't really known how, having fallen in too deep into trying to keep the tough gal act over the years. But if something were to activate those tear ducts, watching Hiccup probably could. It was never too difficult for his pain to transfer under her own skin.]

It's alright. I know. [Her words get caught in her throat when she says it, wishing that it could have been true for him, that his father had really been there instead of her.

But unable to change the reality of things, she tries to push forward through it, hand slipping down to give a subtle caress to a cheek to wipe away the wet patches. Fingers poke softly at small dark circles, not as visible as they were on a regular basis.]

You're getting a little color back at least. Those dorky freckles of yours are popping back.

[He's sure he looks like death, what with the way Astrid keeps touching his face like that. He swallows thickly, feeling worse, though her soft and subtle support makes him want to keep going. Whenever he thinks he might be alone, she's always there to punch him in the gut. In a good way.]

Don't talk about my freckles, [he mumbles.] They're... shy, okay?

[So is he, but that's not up for discussion right now. His expression relaxes beneath her ministrations, and he leans into her touch in that subconscious way that people do when they've spent enough time together.]

How's everyone?

[She smiles just a bit at his comment, relieved that he at least has some energy to engage in conversation. It's already an improvement, albeit a small one.] Considering how long they've hung out on this baby face of yours, I thought that's the case.

[Her hand reminds where it is once she feels the hint of that lean, figuring it's a minor way to give him comfort. Soft touches from her weren't too common after all, so she could at least spoil him a bit.]

Same as they could ever be. Unless you're really anxious to get a peek at the twins tipping yaks for the thousandth time, you're not really missing out on much.

[Hiccup doesn't give her a response immediately. He's feeling a bit drifty, like he's halfway between sleep and awake. But he's clinging desperately to awake just in case he starts hallucinating his dad again. That was-- that was scary, and wrong. He doesn't want to deal with that anymore. It's hard enough.]

I told them to stop that. [He sighs, though whether it's exasperation or because Astrid's charm is working, it's hard to tell.] Maybe I'll... leave 'em on Outcast Island. Lose them in Alvin's beard for a while.

[They hadn't really spoken since Hiccup delivered the news. It was understandably awkward for everyone involved. Yet another reason why Hiccup felt like he wasn't really up to the task.]

But, Astrid... thanks. For-- for keeping everything together. [He turns his head a little, brushing his lips against her warm palm. He feels clammy and disgusting in comparison.]

[Honestly, fuck the dozens of small islands that make up the bulk of Briste. Furthermore, fuck the fact that the island with the supposedly abandoned library requires careful navigation through what can only be described as a labyrinth of rocks. Bad enough that the weather is gloomy, rainy, windy, making the sea churn. The constant threat of ramming the small boat that they've had to rent in order to get there is bad enough. Now the rocks are proving to be protected. Toxins from plants have already sent their five person crew into paralysis and enchanted sleep. Who the fuck knows what'll be next.

Waver sighs, standing on the deck as the seas calm down for once, permitting the small vessel a chance to move through a narrow lane without much of a threat.]

Please hold out for ten minutes--

[Thrall hates sailing. It's not that he gets seasick. It's not that he doesn't enjoy the fresh breeze on his face. It's the fact that every time he's gotten on a boat, something has fucking happened. "Take your people across the ocean," Medivh said. "Fulfill your destiny," he said. And then they all ended up shipwrecked and at the mercy of Kalimdor and a bunch of pissed off night elves. Some orcs have taken to sailing since, but Thrall is always, always leery.]

I must apologize, my friend... I still cannot contact the spirits of the water.

[Thrall is tired. Being vigilant about guiding and protecting the boat also means the occasional use of his earth magic to move the rocks. When he isn't doing that, he's been purging the toxins from the crew. Life's tough for a healer. There are dark circles under his eyes, but his posture is strong and unyielding at the front of the boat.]

I have prayed as hard as I can, but...

[Spirits.]

Are you all right? Nothing touched you during that last scrape, did it?

[One of the vines had grabbed his arm, but he threw it away before it could do much. He's pretty sure, anyway.]

A large chunk of me suspects that not even they're willing to come out into a dangerous place like this. Not that I can blame them. What's the use of being in a space that's definitely trying to kill you?

[Waver sighs, and leans forward on the railing. His arms are folded atop the wood, and he lets those arms take all his weight.]

My leg took some cuts, but I don't think it was anything besides blood.

[Lazily, Waver shakes his left leg, indicating that it was the one that came to harm. His trouser leg as a legion of tears, and there's shallow cuts from the knee down.]

I've had worse.

[Thrall glances at his friend. He's struck by how physically different Waver seems when he isn't trying to be a business owner or a serious business contact. His presence is much larger, but not in a boastful, raucous way. It's the air of authority. Yet he's lanky and pale when at rest, and Thrall has advisors who could use him as a toothpick, probably. It's an interesting dichotomy.

His bright blue gaze shifts to Waver's leg.]

I'm concerned about whatever has been charming the crew, but you seem all right.

[He lets out a breath and leans his back against the railing, though not too much. He's vigilant even so, his eyes constantly scanning for signs of danger.]

I hope this library is worth it.

[It's all acting, when Waver's at the Barrel. He must present himself as a businessman with no agenda besides avoiding the war to everyone he meets, and then become the hardened tactican and dealer of information his allies have come to know and rely on when he is alone with them. To be able to sit as Waver velvet rather than as Lord El-Melloi II is a rare thing, and one that Waver appreciates the chance to do. Thrall's one of the few people who have Waver's trust to even see this side. The side Waver values because it is why he marches with Rider in the Hetairoi.]

You'll know if I'm not, I'm sure.

[A wind blows sea spray up into their faces, and Waver swats at the salty air like that'll actually make a difference.]

If it isn't, at least we'll have gotten away for a while and can claim we just had a shit vacation

[Thrall spits out some saltwater. Ewgh, nasty. For all his trips to Theramore, though, he's almost getting used to it.

He licks at one of his tusks, brow furrowing.]

The wind is picking up again. Do you think we'll make it to the island before the next storm?

[He's not sure how far it is. He rubs at his arm idly where he'd been scratched by a thorn. It's tingling where the water hit it.]

With our luck? I sincerely doubt it. I'm more likely to hope for three days left, and then be pleasantly surprised.

[It is cynical, but Waver likes to think that it's the more realistic approach. They've had nothing but the world against them since beginning, and it's been a disheatening thing.

With a heavy sigh, Waver looks down at his leg, and gives it a careful, experimental bend. There's a delay between the thought of bending it and the leg actually moving, and that gives him pause.]

--Odd.

[Thrall sighs heavily and shakes out his arm, which is tingling more obnoxiously now.]

Is something wrong with your leg?

[He kneels to peer at it more carefully, and reaches out. His healing hands are very gentle as they cross Waver's skin.]

It's feeling like there's a delay between wanting to move it and actually seeing the movement.

[Waver doesn't bother to add that that's hardly good. The plants attached to the rocks of this hell sea maze have proven their danger time and again, and Waver is not proud that this is likely another result of their attacks.

There's a jump at Thrall's touch though, more out of instinct than actual pain. Physical contact has never been one of Waver's favourite things.]

That is-- very strange. Are you feverish?

[Thrall can feel needles on his cheeks, but he's sure it's from the stinging sea spray. He notices Waver's twitch.]

It doesn't look like it should be giving you problems. Do you want to head into the cabin so I can look at it more closely?

If you wouldn't mind?

[Inside. Good, less people to see and break into panic. Waver turns, but as he begins to walk, the leg's issue happily displays itself - as he moves, the leg simply seems to be dragged rather than participate in walking, and the whole motion is much slower than it ought to be. Waver hisses when he realizes no, this is definitely wrong.]

Ancestors. Here, let me... [He doesn't sweep Waver up into his arms-- that would be the talk of the crew for sure-- but he does offer his arm. He'd offer his shoulder, but... you know. Waver can't reach. Most people can't reach.]

Let's go.

[Truth be told, being scooped up by Thrall would be the least of all afronts to Waver's dignity. How many times did Rider scoop him up by the back of the shirt like a scruffed kitten? So it's with zero hesitation that Waver takes the arm, and moves very carefully to the cabin. His footsteps are paced, and he makes an effort to ensure that it looks as natural as possible.

Waver fakes it until they're in the cabin proper, which surprises him a bit. In the little bit of time elapsed, it feels as if he's slowed significantly, and when he flops into the spindly chair in the corner, his leg feels like lead.]

Shit, I think walking on it made it worse.

[Thrall closes the cabin door behind them. In a moment, he's back at Waver's side.]

I think it did. You've strained yourself enough, my friend. [He sighs.] I need to take a better look.

[He pauses, clears his throat. He's not going to tell Waver to take off his pants. He'll just try to roll up his torn-up pant leg instead.

Meanwhile, his arm tingles like it's falling asleep. Flexing his fingers makes it clear that isn't so. It's strange, like when someone's rubbed at his skin too long.]

[Waver leans down, doing the best he can to help roll up the pantleg too. He pauses though, and sighs.]

It might go quicker if we just cut the fabric off.

I don't want to damage your clothing further. [This is fine. He draws his hands over the cuts. There is warmth combined with a subtle coolness, like salve; that would be his healing magic.]

Hnn... There is something in your bloodstream. I will do my best to purify it, but without aid from the spirit of water I can only do so much.

They're trousers, and pretty much shredded to hell already. I can get more.

[But the protest falls silent after that initial feeling of warmth. Waver's toes curl, just to make sure that they can, and for the moment it feels like all is back to right.]

Is there any way that other water magic might help?

There might be. Water magic -- [He hates caling it that, SHAMAN STUFF IS DIFFERENT THAN MAGE STUFF] -- boosts healing by clearing away the toxins. If you can be that precise with your spells then it may just be enough. In the absence of that, I've been... treating the symptoms, and hoping the sick will sweat it out.

[He's not as great a healer as his mentor, though he's gotten more practice in the past couple years in the Drabwurld than he has in about a decade.

Speaking of fever, he's starting to feel a little bit odd. It isn't like he's losing control of his limbs, but he feels hot and cold at the same time. Everything is tingly. Very strange.]

I, ah... [He looks at Waver, and feels his cheeks darkening with embarrassment.] You'll have to pardon me. I think I have been afflicted as well, though with something... different.

♔ call me out

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EACH ADVENTURES WITH THRALL AND WAVER or WHO LET THEM ON A BOAT

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