#saerdha

Lebeaux tilted his head slightly, as though entirely surprised by the accusation, though his smile didn’t falter at all. “Whyever would you think that.” He mused as he reached for the hand that poked into his bellybutton, not twitching in the least. Gloved fingers curled around the mage’s hand to lead him by it further on towards the window seat and the tea he had been enjoying as he prepared to leave. “Simply because I’ve not been to the Quill offices in some time. Or taking messages."

"Because," Saerdha explained, pulling the buckle of his sword belt to loosen it around his waist. Once it slipped free, he knelt down to set belt and sword to rest on the ground before hopping up to insinuate himself onto the elezen's lap. "You're afraid of me〜" He grinned as he made himself comfortable. "And you're certain that I am still cross with you."

Lebeaux moved his hands aside as Saerdha came to settle in, figuring it would be useless to resist or assist. The mage was perfectly capable of making his own way squarely onto the medic’s lap. He wasn’t foolish enough to assume the danger was passed simply because the sword had been set down. “Mm, well considering the circumstances. There isn’t a etiquette example to follow for ample ‘cooling off’ time after getting a thaumaturge’s mate gravely injured. I figured a moon or two would likely be sufficient. At least enough time for the sutures to come out and the wound to heal.” He looped his arms lightly around the other once he seemed satisfied that he had the most comfortable seat.

"Oh, you needn't have worried over it so much yourself. Rin is perfectly capable of getting himself into ample amount of trouble quite of his own accord. You can hardly be blamed for that. Your associate, however, will likely needs make regular examinations of his backside to ensure I've not set them alight if he should ever see me again〜"

“Oh? I suppose you found his bedside manner lacking?” To be fair, of the two, it was likely Geofferaut had the gentler touch when it came to the treatments themselves… but Lebeaux was the more personable of the two by a long shot. As scary of a thought as that was.

"No. It does not at all bother me that he was only slightly more personable than a stone wall. I've peers at the Ossuary who could likely learn a thing or two from him when it comes to interaction with other human beings. Its his methods I take umbrage at. I use sutures on my cadavers, and though I do take care to make them as aesthetically pleasing as possible," and by this he probably meant that he stiched his into little flowers or something else along those lines, "I would never use them on the living unless I had no other options available to me. Potions and magick are far and away more preferable."

“Suturing is a common method of treatment in chirurgery. Seeing as Rinha’li had just been exposed to the Void, it’s likely Geofferaut opted for analogue method to avoid over saturation of the patient or wound with aether and possibly inflaming other side effects.” Lebeaux explained, his tone a shade condescending.

"An argument I would take as more valid if he had not himself requested that you use your magicks to purify the wound as he worked. I'm rather given the notion that he is just a sadist." Saerdha countered.

“To purge the ill humours that can fester if left untreated…” Lebeaux paused as the other Ishgardian was called a sadist. He couldn’t help it, he laughed aloud at that. The sound sharp and devoid of real mirth. “You’ll have to excuse me, after being called that so many times myself, it’s an unusual change to have someone else be referred to as such.”

Rinha'li points to a corner cabinet in the thankfully empty coffeehouse. "C-clear spirits," he explains.

“Hot water and clean cloths, as well.” Lebeaux suggested, tacking onto the shopping list, turning the miqo’te to start him towards the way down the stairs.

Rinha'li staggers down the stairs and collapses gratefully into the chair at the end of of the hall. “Hot water, t-there's a kettle. Cloth too.”

Geofferaut spent a moment sniffing a few of the available spirits and chose the strongest to bring with him.

Lebeaux helped Rinha’li into the chair before taking a step back to inspect the damage to his sleeves. Frowning briefly at the smudges. “Geofferaut, would you begin cleaning the wounds. I’ll go put the kettle on.” He suggested almost cheerfully, turning on his heel to go find the items in the café area upstairs.

Atlan Lanning had been studying in the basement office when he heard multiple people coming down the stairs. He recognized Rinha'li's voice immediately, but he didn't like the distress in it. "Rin? Are you...?" His question was cut off when they came stumbling by and Rinha'li was placed in the chair at the end of the hall. "What happened!?"

Geofferaut sat and mechanically unpacked supplies from somewhere in his robes. A small assortment of needles. Two weights of thread. Small, wickedly sharp scissors. Two small vials of clear liquid that joined the purloined spirits. He turned dead eyes to the stranger. "You will bring a lit candle to the table."

Lebeaux paused in his departure, his smiling growing slightly when he noticed Atlan. “Oh, perfect. I was going to ask if your boy was in. Atlan, fetch hot water and clean cloths as well.” He turned his attention over to the items being laid out.

Geofferaut turned his gaze to the bleeding subject. "You will lay your arm on the table with the wound turned up." Geofferaut also had a task for the newly unoccupied Lebeaux Desrosiers. "You will aetherically cleanse the subject. If able."

"...I guess you both can answer me when I get back." Atlan didn't like leaving Rinha'li there, even if he did know Lebeaux. He quickly left them to fetch the items the man he assumed would be helping the miqo'te had asked for. "...I'll be close by, Rin. Yell if you need me, otherwise I'll be right back."

Lebeaux sniffed slightly at the order. Yet since he had passed off his last task to poor hapless Atlan it left him with nothing better to do. He settled primly onto the rug beside the table and took Rinha’li’s wrist. Extending the arm and laying it on the table so the forearm was turned upwards to display the full extent of the injuries, under a drying layer of blood, ichor and desert dirt.

Rinha'li winces as Atlan comes through the door, looking quite distressed. He was hoping he would avoid explanations. He lays his arm on the table, palm up, to expose the ragged furrows left by a corpse's unkempt nails. Carefully, he clenches and unclenches his hand, gritting his teeth. “ Atlan, I'm--I'm f-fine-” Rinha'li does not look fine

Atlan came rushing back as quickly as he could to avoid putting out the candle he held in one hand and the items Lebeaux had asked for in the other. He carefully set each one before Geoff, eyes locked on Rinha'li's wound. "...You don't have to say anything right now, Rin."

“ Um... R-really, I've...I've h-had worse.” Rinha’li insisted.

Geofferaut slides two of the cloths, layered, across the table with only a perfunctory command, "Lift," before sliding them under the injured limb.

"...Just because that's true doesn't mean the current situation isn't bad." Atlan suggested.

Rinha'li takes a moment to realize the "lift" is a command and is addressed to him. “It's...it's n-not as...as b-bad as--as-- it l-looks. Aether-sick.”

“You’re not doing him a favor by lying to him.” Lebeaux offered pleasantly enough as he leaned forwards to inspect the damage. There was quite a bit of physical dirt and grim to be cleaned away. “Keep your hand relaxed, flexing like that will only make the corruption travel further.” He took one of the clean clothes, dipping it into the warm water and squeezing it over the injury before dabbing lightly. Clearing away the dried filth so it could be sanitized with the alcohol after. The dirtied water being soaked up by the cloth Geoff had placed underneath.

Rinha'li hisses between his teeth as water hits open wound.

Geofferaut addresses the liquor bottle he was readying. "The subject will probably survive. The limb will probably remain functional. Lebeaux Desrosiers will not touch the wound. Lebeaux Desrosiers will aetherically cleanse the subject." 

Lebeaux glanced up, unsure whether to be impressed or annoyed by how chatty Geofferaut had become now that their subject was no longer a corpse but living being. Touching the wound was half the fun. Nonetheless he smiled primly and set the bloodied cloth aside. Now that he could see the edges of the cash a little more clearly he curled his fingers and then spread them out, channeling aether through his rings to sink the spell into the torn skin. Magic seeping through veins and bloodvessels to seek out the spreading ill humors and drag them back to the wounds to drain them away.

Geofferaut waited for the subject's arm to be released, frozen, staring. Once it was cleared of interfering hands, he upended the booze bottle, giving the open, ragged wound an extremely generous pour.

"Lebeaux, how did this happen?" Atlan asked.

Rinha'li keeps his eyes fixed on the magical process in grim fascination, his arm shaking. "I'm n-not...lyin--Atlan, really, it's--" And then he is taken entirely by surprise when Geoff upends a healthy dose of sanitizing alcohol all over his lacerated arm without warning. He YELPS loudly in surprise and pain.

Geofferaut set the newly empty bottle aside and plucked his gloves off and tucked them away. Long, lean hands criss-crossed in overlapping webs of finely lined new, old, older, and nearly gone scars selected a sinisterly sharp needle and threaded it. "The subject will remain still."

Gilbert frowns. "With respect, you're wrong." he says, staring back at Lebeaux. "Halone is there for all who love bravery and the fight against evil. She is there for all who brandish a blade with Her prayer on their lips. Be they Miqo'te or man. Rich or poor. Surely She would not favour those whose blood is tainted by that of others over the other races. If anything it should be the other way around."

Qahs’il simply stares between one and the other, ears flinging in their directions, sliiiightly worried about how this is going to end.... and not peeping a word.

Sarto’rien felt none of the chill of the others gaze, such was the intent of his own fury in that moment. "You speak of leaving them to their own devices, a commendable thing in theory. And yet you intend to belittle their devices, humiliate and despoil all they do for your own sick satisfaction. Your religion is the worst of Eorzea; it seeks not to aid or raise, but simply to oppress, which is does constantly throughout its bloodied history.” He said, his tone becoming a little less civil as he spoke. “Even the filth of Ul’dah pales in comparison to the blood-soaked streets of Ishgard. None hate those deemed ‘below’ more than our people. They’ve answered for it, in part, but a deeper reckoning is needed, judging by your general manner.” He said, then turned to Gilbert. “Even the insufferably naïve is better than the snobbishly hateful.” 

Gilbert rises to his feet, one hand on the table: "Worship of the Fury is not about oppression, it is about reveling in the spirit of battle. The opinions of Lebeaux are not driven by Her tenets but by his birth. Thousands of years of lies, perpetuated by the dragon-tainted, leading to our drowning in snow and being forced to submit to peace with dragons. It is by such snobbery that we have lost her favour. Not gained it."

Lebeaux glanced aside only briefly towards Gilbert, the expression decidedly… disappointed. He had been under the impression that they were of a mind but it seemed like the Reformist ideals had corrupted the lad as well. Yet as the tiny hyur’s tone shifted he turned his attention back towards him before he could expression any of that. “Say what you will of Ishgard and her people, it’s plain to see that you’ll not listen to reason.” He declared, oblivious to the irony. He raised a hand, long fingers framing his own eye on the side that the other’s burned red. “I’ve seen something like that before, that corruption that burns through those who cast off Her love and submit themselves to the darkness. Ones not even worth reason nor salvation but perhaps the mercy of a swift end.”

 Gilbert's head turned swiftly towards Lebeaux. "What are you saying?"

Sarto’rien visibly scoffed at that. "From what I hear, t'was the lies of the elite that created war with the dragons. Peace is always in favour, never against it." He said, eyes glaring at Gilbert, before he once-more rounded on Lebeaux. "Ishgard is a state that's been run into the ground by its corrupt faith. This reform is a step in the right direction, however; I don't believe it's a big enough one." He near spat by this point. When the framing came, his eyes widened a moment. “My eye is nary one born of corruption, but of magic. A symptom of a foolish mistake, nothing mor-“ He paused when the mention of a swift end came. The Thaumaturge licked his lip and moved himself whole-body to face the other. “If your god IS real, then t’was she who cast me off. Me and millions of others.” He said, before lips curled into a smirk. “And you’re more than welcome to try and be my end. It wouldn’t have your desired outcome, however, I assure you.”

Gilbert looked back at Sarto'rien. He had some things to say about what the other was saying, but the threat of force made him change his mind. "If either of you take up force against the other, you shall have to deal with my blade as well." He looked at Lebeaux in particular. "Submission to dragons may be an abomination, but here in this pub, we should have peace."

Lebeaux exhaled a cruel sort of laugh. “You mistake me, I would not grant you that mercy should it come to it.” He declared as he rose to his feet, glancing between them. “Not to dragons. To the darkness. The oathbreakers’s corruption and heretic’s blade. The man stinks of forbidden magicks, same as a dark knight.” He took his hand away from his own face and gestured at the other mage. “As well as declaring for himself that he had no love for the Fury nor any semblance of Faith. Which makes him all the less a candidate to be preaching as to how to fix Ishgard. A state founded on its Faith and the purity of its blood. Now that both count for little and less it will fall to the same corruption as the rest. All of those undeserving ‘castoffs’.” His smile grew to a cruel grin as the hyur faced him.