"By the Healer's Orders" Log Date: 12/15/00 Log Cast: Jenara, Julian Log Intro: A great act of magic has been carried out within the walls of the residence of Julian Nemeides: Cynara, the infamous Lady of Thorns, branded healer and leader of the Outcasts, has returned to Julian the wings he lost fifteen years ago as part of the bargain the two have struck between them. The shaping of his flesh and bone has taken a great deal out of Cynara, but it has also taken a great deal out of Julian... and in the hours that have passed since the thing was done, those who serve the Rook as well as those who share bonds of blood and affection with him have boggled over the sudden blooming of great black wings upon his back. And the Mongrel woman Jenara, who has been a loyal aide to Julian ever since he took over House Nemea and who has been a supportive, unflagging presence while her Deus has been laid low by the effects of what has been done to him, has efficiently managed the shocked House in the two days that have elapsed since Cynara's completion of her task. Now, though, as she comes once more to check up on the man she serves, Jenara intends to carry out Cynara's instructions -- and get Julian on his feet and moving again, to exercise his brand new wings... whether or not the Rook is quite prepared to do so himself. ---------- Jenara Jenara..mongrel woman. For many that fact is more than enough to make her invisible. However if you look past her mongrel state you will find a young woman with that odd ethnically mixed look that many a mongrel possess'. Yet, still her features are lovely. Fair skin with a soft olive cast to it, a mild sprinkling of freckles march across her nose. The features of her oval face are fine boned and delicate; as is her form. Do not be deceived however...that delicate body for all it's feminity is strong with years of labor. As strong as the dark blue gaze with it's exotic slant that peers out at the world as if expecting the worse but hoping for the best. Fairly tall at 5'8 and with wildly curly hair that regulary escapes confinement tumbles down to her waist, a rich red like a smouldering ember. She wears a simple chiton of fine weave and the color of pine. Upon her feet are sturdy sandals that look somewhat new and plain gold hoops adorn her ears. Julian Empyrean. This is proclaimed in no uncertain terms, for when the eye is drawn to this man, it cannot help but stop first upon his most obvious feature: the wings that sweep up and back from his shoulderblades. But what may command a second glance even from those accustomed to the pinions of the Children of Air is not their existence... or even their size, for they could well reach a good thirty feet if fully extended. Rather, it is their color, for where most Empyreans bear pinions of snowy white, the wings of this Son of Air are a pure raven black too natural for any dye to create, gleaming with highlights of deep blue and purple. Wings that proclaim him not only Empyrean, but also darkling. If one glances past or around those dark wings, one might then register the rest of their owner. At just over six feet in height, he is tall but slim, leanly muscled, finely boned. The hue of his skin is certainly as pale as any Empyrean could wish, but his short and often rakishly tousled hair matches his wings, and for all that his eyes are still blue, they are the blue of deep twilight rather than the lighter hue of morning. Darkling he may be, but he comports himself like a lord. His manners and accent are impeccable, his every word uttered in a lilting velvet tenor, though it is every so often punctuated by a sardonic drawl and a glint of irony in his eyes. He conveys to the world an aura of unspoken assurance and vitality, befitting a man who appears somewhere in his mid-thirties. The house has been quiet the last few days. The staff doing the daily chores in hushed tones. The children being kept occupied with quiet games or being taken to the park when they get noisy as children do. Late morning sun heats up the city and the room as Jena pulls open curtains letting rich sunlight pool across the floor like liquid gold. Upon a table lies a tray filled with more food, water ect.. He's barely moved for a day and a half; the first work the Lady of Thorns had done upon him had drained a lot of Julian's strength, and the completion of that work had tapped his reserves all over again. Thus has the Deus been lying huddled in his bed, not needing a blanket even in the comparative coolness of his chamber, for he now sports a considerable weight of feathers, bone and tissue upon his back... and thirty feet of wings makes for a good deal of warmth. One of those wings stirs feebly, though, as the summer sunshine pours into the room. From somewhere under the dark pinions sounds a breathy moan. Jenara chuckles softly and pads upon bare feet across the cool floor staring down at the pile of feathers upon the bed. Kneeling next to the bed she gingerly and gently sort of lifts one, or at least makes the attempt and quips.."goodness be there someone under there? I just be thinkin' one o'the pillows exploded!" She tugs on one of hte pillows "Git ye up! It's time ye started movin'." she orders crisply. Soft, the raven-feathered pinions are, soft but not without their weight, though the bent joint above Julian's shoulder and arm can be lifted easily enough. Enough to reveal the Deus' pale face in striking contrast to his hair and his newborn feathers, and his eyes still firmly and tightly shut. His nearer arm fumbles instinctively up to try to restore his haven of velvet darkness... making muscles that have stiffened up during his slumber protest the movement. He grimaces, still without opening his eyes, and tries to burrow his head beneath his pillow. "Tomorrow," wafts a sepulchral reply out from under the pillow in question. "I'll move tomorrow..." Yank! Goes the pillow out from under your head "Nae the Lady says ye must be up and movin' and so tis m'job tae get ye up.." she laughs merrily "Don make me come in there after ye..I might be gettin' lost in that ebon forest ye call wings." One of the Empyrean servants chooses that moment to walk through the door with fresh toweling to put in the Deus' bath..just in time to see the mongrel Jena thwap his Deus-ness in the head with the pillow. The stuffy woman flutters her wings that have yellow slightly with age and hrmphs handing Jena the towels and stalking out muttering about uppity servants. It's enough to bring Jena up short and have her move away decorously to set the towels where they belong "Come along Deus Nemeides. The Healers said ye had tae move". Her voice sounding contrite and subdued by the woman's censure though if you bother to look at her face you might be able to tell she's fighting the urge to make faces at the woman's back. "Infernal woman," mumbles Julian, head flopping weakly onto the mattress as the pillow is seized. But now Jenara's voice is finally begin to soak through the heavy fog of his languor, and with an effort, he manages to crack open his eyes. "Tyche... what time is it...?" And why is there a shadow in the corner of his vision, when ahead of him he can see the sunshine spilling across the floor? As his mind stirs, though, it brings memory with it, and the unmistakable feel of what now occupies his shoulderblades. _That_ jolts the Deus into full consciousness, and those great pinions rustle and shift as he tries to roll onto his side, left hand shooting up over his right shoulder to find the feathers there, as though he cannot quite believe their reality until his hands connect with them. Even that movement is a small torture, though, and this time the grimace of his elegant features is more pronounced. Jenara smiles "Infernal perhaps but none o' _them_ " jerking her thumb toward the door indicating the other servants " would get in here and make ye move." She strides toward the bed again bringing you a glass of water. "eh. Nae be movin' sae quick. Yer muscele's don' be havin 'the strength tae handle the new weight yet. Cynara said it would be hurtin'." One hand reaches out toward the soft tuft of feathers nearest her but then it falls toher side. "Here" handing you the glass "ye should be hungry aye? I brought food" Julian cannot, offhandedly, remember ever feeling quite so weak before... except perhaps when his wings had been ripped out the first time. Frowning intently as you return to his bedside, he begins to try to haul himself into a more or less sitting position. His teeth clench and his eyes go slightly unfocused as the room threatens to swirl about him... but he makes it into sitting up and takes the glass gratefully. And slowly, trying to ignore the way his hand is shaking. "Yes," he rasps, "I'm... famished. I feel as if... I haven't eaten in a week." He's obviously thirsty too, for he starts in on the water with such alacrity that you'd think he'd stumbled out of the desert. Jenara was prepared for a repeat of the first half of the healing process and so there is food aplenty as well as a large jug of water. As soon as she's sure you aren't going to fall over she brings the tray over setting it beside you on the bed. There's meat and cheese and bread and fruit and sweets. Soft rolls filled with something savory and apricots soaked in honey and little wine. Soft cheeses, grapes, fish. It looks like a feast though in reality its small portions of alot of things. She wasn't sure what' you'd want and can easily bring more of the thintgs you do. "Here ye start on this..." The sight of such an array of edibles sets off a strange reaction within Julian, a simultaneous distinct rumbling of his belly along with a clear flash of dismay in his countenance. No, Julian has never been a heavy eater... and the animal hunger making him veritably crave all of what he sees before him alarms him, just a little. But he is not about to hurl himself face-down onto the tray for all that it requires another effort of will to restrain himself... and, for that matter, to keep his hands steady when it feels as if his shoulders are trying to support the weight of four or five strapping Varati. "How long have I been asleep this time?" he croaks, meeting Jenara's eyes at last even as he starts in on the meat and bread. A meeting that lasts all of a few seconds until the servant girl looks aawy. Jena fusses with the blankets that had fallen to the floor, folding them neatly "Nearly two days m'Deus. I be bringin' the children by tae see ye tae reassure them ye be well. Moirae can not stop talking 'bout bein' able tae fly wit her Da" She immerses herself in talk about her charges.."Momus was just confused but he be seemin' relived when I be tellin' ye ye'd be fine." she chuckles "Ye scared the other's fer they be sneakin' in afore dawn this mornin' right when ye were havin' some bad dream. Told 'um ye just be havin' night terrors like they have sometimes and ye'd be fine once ye woke. Ye'll have tae see them soon fer I nae think they belive me" The notion that he might have been having a nightmare not only before the children but before Jenara as well is almost enough to stop Julian in the midst of devouring his sorely needed sustenance -- almost. Not quite. It does, however, slow him down, and his dark azure gaze turns chagrined even as he keeps making inroads on the food. "I... hope I didn't frighten them badly," he says then. And, for that matter, he hopes he did not frighten _you_, but this remains unsaid, nothing more than something which might be gleaned from his embarrassed expression. Jenara chuckles.."Perish the thought. We mongrels are made o'sterner stuff. They were more concerned than terrified. Scared for ye nae of ye. As fer me I be far more worried ye'd cause yerself harm than me. But ye settled down" She doesn't mention how she sat there and sang the nightmares away until she was hoarse. "D'ye recall what Cynara and Grace be sayin' about workin' them wings?" Does he remember, when he'd thrashed in his sleep in apparent attempts to shield his new wings from whatever attacked him in his dreams? When he'd groaned out _didn't do it, Cleon, I swear I never harmed her no brother no don't take them again_ -- in tight, taut little whispers showing far more of his inner state than any panicked yell could do? Or how he'd almost knocked the wide-eyed Roki over when the boy had crept up to the side of the bed, and one of his wings had convulsed in involuntary dreaming reaction to the feel of a hand upon his feathers? Only when Jenara's voice had washed over him did he subside back into true sleep... does he remember? Julian gives no sign if he does -- no sign, save for a long, searching stare. But at last he lets himself be distracted by the new question... and by the presence of a good deal more food upon the tray. The cheese gets his attention next, along with the fish, while his brow crinkles in consideration. "I remember... patches," he confesses gruffly. "Remind me, just to be certain." Whatever it is she may have overheard she will take with her to the grave and so she takes the searching look stoicly staring somewhere around your chin. At your request she nods "They be sayin' ye need tae excersise those wings afore ye'l be able tae fly again. The muscele's be healthy just nae strong enough. I reckon it'd be like how Momus will be when he get's his wings only worse fer yours are fully grown wit all the weight. Ye'll need tae work them till they be sore and then work them somemore. She said tae tell ye foce yerself tae hold them up even though ye'll want tae be lettin' um drag behind ye. And she said it will hurt. Alot." Dark brows drawn together over his eyes, Julian listens -- and eats, as he does so, alternating between between the fish and the cheese and a few of the grapes. Every so often his pace flags a bit, as his lingering weakness battles with the need to blunt his hunger. When you're done speaking, though, he pauses and nods, almost hesitantly, still bemused by the presence of the pinions behind him. His being still feels... stretched, but whole at the same time, in a way he hasn't felt in years. "That's... what I thought I remembered," he admits then, and one corner of his mouth turns reluctantly upward. "Cynara would be... right. But I'll manage. And aye... not quite the same as Momus' wings growing in. His'll be paced with him." Now that he's beginning to talk more freely, the words come out of him a bit faster than normal for him -- another subtle sign of his state of mind, perhaps. She watches you eat making sure you don't eat so fast as to make yourself ill. "I'll be keepin' food in here sae when ye wake ye donna have tae call fer anythin' if ye nae want tae. Are ye going tae explain anythin' tae the other's?" meaning the house Servants mainly. Her tone clearly says she dosn't think this is such a good idea. "Or just let them be wonderin?" She herself has said nothing ignoring the looks and staring down those who were bold enough to ask. Julian considers on his way through the fish, not exactly pleased by the prospect of having to keep secrets from the servants who'd been loyal enough to follow him to Haven from Nemea's estate in the Empyre... but absolutely cognizant of the necessity. After a swallow of wine to chase down the last of the fish, he draws in a breath and replies, "All they need to know is that I... had a favor returned me, by an... anonymous benefactor." It's almost perfect truth, even if it's partial. "And that I'll expect them to say as much if they're questioned." The Deus doesn't bother to elaborate that his less obvious people -- the Guild folk who watch his house and his back and night -- already know better than to identify Cynara to over-curious inquirers. And at last he smiles faintly, concluding, "You're absolutely right, though. It _is_ time for me to be moving, and I don't plan to be laid out flat much longer. I can't afford it." The young woman grins at you "Ye htink ye can stand on yer own? I would nae want ye tae fall over. Have tae keep up the dignity o' the Deus infront o'the hired help aye?" she says teasingly moving the tray a bit out of the way and more importantly the expensive glass now devoid of water. "I shall pass along the instruction Deus. I can't imagine any o'them would be actively disobeyin' yer wishes in this." Good -- because truth be told Julian isn't sure he's got the ability to stand right now, much less launch into the servants. Still, though, he does ponder the adventurous concept of standing, and even as he puts a few more grapes out of their misery, he begins to cautiously swing first one leg over the side of the bed, then the other. His wings shift behind him at the moving of his back... and for a moment he pauses, bemusement still etched into his features at the unfamiliar sensation. "Let's just give it a try, shall we?" he murmurs, half to himself... and then he rises, slow, careful. Halfway up color drains out of his face and his eyes squeeze shut. And Jena is there..slipping in under your shoulder and feathers, her strong back providing support to keep you upright. "Come on now ye inky Rook. Ye can stand fer more n' half a moment can't ye" she goads softly. "the Lady be sayin' tae lift yer wings up. Donna fergit tha". Julian has his pride -- though at the moment, he doesn't have so much pride that he doesn't appreciate the support under his shoulder. "Yes," he answers hoarsely, eyes still closed and his rangy frame leaning inadvertantly against the young Mongrel woman. There is a small upward twitch of the muscles along his shoulderblades -- and then, stiffly, the black pinions haul themselves up, folding themselves against his back as neatly as they can while he's still standing near the bed. They can be felt back there, too, not only by the Deus, but also by the servant girl; the wing just behind her, in fact, leans perceptibly against her. Belatedly realizing this, Julian mutters, "My... apologies, my dear." She hadn't been prepared for just how heavy it was and oof'ed softly when it banged up against her but she chuckles "Nae need tae apolgize m'Deus. Iffin' the Lady had been sprouting wings outta m'back I think I had tried tae stand I'd hae fallen right over on tae m'face. Ye doin' much better than I ever could. She grins up at you blowing one the small downy underfeathers that floated upward when you moved out of her face "Shall ye try takin' a step forward tae get the wings off the bed?" Managing a nod, aware of the stiff awkwardness of each of his movements and annoyed by it, Julian makes himself put one foot forward and then the other. Move one portion of the body at a time -- easier that way, when each and every muscle he can claim as his own feels as though it's turned to a solid mass of pain. The ends of his wings catch against the tangle of bedclothes he's abandoning... but only after he's gained a bit of distance from the bed does the Rook focus again on trying to pull the new appendages after him. They brush the floor, and then, one at a time, wobble upward again. "Tyche's... _tits_," Julian grunts, brow furrowing with his effort. The young woman at your side frowns and then slips her arm under your wings at the base of your spine thinking it's not unlike carrying something heavy upon your back so more support at the base would help. Her arm acting like a brace...or at least trying to. "Ach..and here I thought ye could curse far more creatively darlin'!" trying to distract from the pain of it all with her favorite weapon and fallin' into a far more less formal mode. Hard to be formal when yer "master" is tottering like a baby taking his first steps. And this time, Julian doesn't even have the excuse of the pear brandy, either. But the vocal goading seems to accomplish its intent, getting him to straighten even as he tries moving the wings again, a ripple of motion that jolts out through their raven lengths... one. Then the other. Then both of them, up and down again. "Great... flaming jewels... of Khalid Atar," Julian gasps, in a tone that might almost be conversational if it weren't so strained. Jenara moves with you "better but I've heard many a sailor wit nae even half yer education be more colorful. Hrmms how's about hrmmm "great deflier o'virgin goats ..or..damn that's worse than Khalid atar's bed chamber after they've given him beans for dinner?? Nah that's nae so good...come on I need some help here!" She jerks her head to free a strand of hair that got caught inbetween some feathers and mutters under her breath about wings sproutin' like mushrooms glancing at your face with an irrevernat grin. He can't help it; he begins to laugh, and that only makes a few more of his muscles try to spasm uncomfortably. But now that he's actually gotten himself into motion, Julian is determined to keep going. He _will_ do this. He takes a few more unsteady steps forward, giving himself more range, and keeps working at the flexing of his wings. Up. Down. Up. Down. "Son of a lame pig and a desperate tree-hugger," he grits out between clenched teeth -- but this time with a bit more force and life. Sweat is starting to bead along his brow, but... there. He's trying to grin, too. The young woman grins up at you "eh now yer gettin' it. " she giggles and quips "Great Burning Balls of Khalid." and giggles harder " tha be soundin' lioke he be pickin' up sae kind o' fungus from one' o' his concubines" She matches you step for step keeping her back straight and her steps steady though truth be told you are pretty heavy for the smaller woman. Still you can do this so can she. Her expression unguarded and merry reveals more than perhaps she knows it's a good thing you're distracted by learning to walk again or she'd be more embarrassed than a varati woman caught naked by a troop of traveling acrobats . "I said that already," Julian protests weakly, though the lack of strength in his voice does not mean he can't still manage to sound arch. "Or did you... miss the part about the flaming jewels, eh...?" Yes. Keep him distracted. It's definitely helping, as he works to exercise nerves and sinews that haven't seen use in almost half his life... and which are connected to new ones that haven't seen any use at all. As long as he's at it he stretches his other limbs as well, his free arm, his legs, shifting his weight to first one and then the other as he bends them at the knee to try to relieve stiffness that has nothing to do with the wings and everything to do with having lain in bed for nearly a week. He starts twitching again with laughter he can't quite manage to fully release, though, at the thought of the Varati God-King having such problems with his women. "How about... clammier than an Atlantean virgin on her wedding night?" Can't leave the People of Water out of equal opportunity cursing, after all! Bright laughter bounces off the walls at that one "oh aye that one's _good_ I'll have tae be remeberin' that. Umm let's see..we canna be leavin' thelvan's out now can we..umm " she pauses as you stop to stretch other musceles to comment "ye know. The next time ye try this let's be gettin' a masseur in here tae loosen up those sore muceles first. Just a bit we donna want ye sae loose ye fall over aye? But it might be helpin' ye tae move more easily." She goes back to thinking about a good sylvan curse.."Crankier than a wolf graisha whos in love wit a rabbit?" she grimaces.."Nae..tha's terrible. The mere thought of a massage calls forth a tiny, almost primal noise out of Julian, and it also stops him dead. "My dear girl," he rasps after a moment, in tones that sound suspiciously yearning, "if you are going to tempt me with such blissful notions... do at least be prepared to immediately follow up upon them, if you would...?" And once he stops one of his legs begins to wobble, threatening to tumble him to the floor. Feeling this, Julian abruptly tries to compensate -- but the Rook clearly hasn't quite learned the changes in his balance as of yet, now that his back once more bears its wings. He teeters violently in the opposite direction. Jenarayelps as she feels you falling, shifting so both arms try valiently to hold you up. It's actually a rather funny looking moment were anyone there to appreciate it. Wings flailing, arms flailing, Jena trying to hold you up but starting to fall herself as she tries to not trip over wings that are suddenly drooping very which way. She can't help it. A chuckle rises in her throat bursting into a merry laugh as despite her best efforts she feels gravity winning out. Shifting so to try and cushion you and your aching body from the fall, hoping beyond hope that you'll be able to right yourself she let's go so as not to take you down with her...she hopes. It's a trifle too late. Julian's leg buckles beneath him, but he retains enough grace and control to tilt himself back so that his knees and his quickly outthrust palms take the brunt of the fall, rather than his infant wings. He has just enough time to mutter, "Oh, for feck's sake" -- and then he lands, ebon wings giving a slow shudder before drooping against his back and his bowed disheveled head. "Ow!" she mutters inbetween giggles as she hits the floor and slides slightly landing in a heap of flaming curls as her hair does it's shaggy dog impression and midnite blue eyes peer through the mess at you as she brushes it away. She crawls toward you all merry bits of laughter as she bites her lip not sure you'll think it's too funny. "ye alright Julian?" she asks as she gets to her knees a prelude to getting to her feet to help you up. With that, the Deus lifts his head. His features have taken on a layer of sweat all over them, but still, there's a strangely giddy quality to his gaze and to the crooked grin that curls his mouth. "I... feel as though I have been trampled by a griffon on its way to a fresh-killed cow," he pants, "but I am... surprisingly all right, nevertheless...! A trifle unbalanced... but I cannot be surprised..." Jenara hauls herself to her feet and holds out a hand "nae I donna suppose ye can be. But ye'll get it soon enough. Come on let's be gettin' ye back toward at least a softer landin' spot aye?" she asks with an impish grin. "I be thinkin' meybe that be more n' enough fer now. Besides if ye make me laugh much harder the others will be comin' tae investigate." she can't help but tease it's her nature. She gesutres toward the still full tray "And I 'd be willin' tae bet m'granddam's teeth that yer fightin' between more food or more sleep??" "Ach, well," Julian drawls, his mood fey enough to let him summon up his own street accent, almost as natural to him as his first one, after over a decade of use. "We cannae have that, can we, lass?" Up comes his hand, then, to take the one offered him. His grip's steady, for all that his back and his legs are still fragile. And up the Deus pulls himself, humor glimmering in his eyes; on the way up, though, his gaze goes slightly unfocused. Ruefully he appends, "You'd not be far wrong there, either... Tyche." The twilight eyes close. "Damnably dizzy at the moment, it seems..." With a grin she hauls you upward and then moves back to her spot under your shoulder to give you some support. She pauses though when you complain of dizziness that perhaps not being the best time to move and then has an idea "I tell ye what. Keep those eyes closed and I'll just lead ye tae the bed. Tha way it won't be matterin' if the world be spinnin' ye won't be able tae see it. It's only a few steps away after all. [And with that, as Jenara helps Julian back to bed, end log.]