10 Jan 2012
11:15am
St. Mungo’s Hospital
Spell Damage
Directly following 10 Jan 2012 - The Ruin of Many a Good Wolf“I’m fine,” Figaro insisted as he played tug-of-war with the blanket against his mother Zelda.
“I’m in my underwear, stop it,” he protested. The nurses had taken his cut-up trousers and put him in a gauzy hospital gown with tiny little constellations on it.
Figaro was laid up in a hospital bed with a mending broken leg, the result of a violent attack the night before during his first shift as a werewolf safe house attendent in Dumfriesshire.
[1] It had taken Healer Marrowbone all of four seconds to repair his femur, but he had to stay for observation a few more hours. Possible concussion, possible Obliviation sickness. (Figaro also suspected he was being asked to say so the Aurors would know where to find him.) Zelda in the meantime, insisted on checking the healers’ work.
In response to her son’s lack of cooperation, Zelda gave him a death glare. She’d been furious and terrified when she heard her oldest son had been attacked on his first night as a werewolf safe house attendant. It was a mother’s perogative to dote and fuss so he’d better stop fighting her. Figaro released the blanket with a sigh and sat back against the pillows.
“It’s fine,” he repeated. “They do this all the time.”
“I’m going to put something on it,” Zelda resolved, patting and squeezing Figaro’s bruised right thigh. The swelling had gone down and the worst of the pain was over. Now it just ached bone-deep.
“Mum, no.”
“Oh, have you got a spare leg, then?” she asked, her sense of humor always thickly veiled.
“Yes? That one? Right there?” Figaro gestured at his left leg.
Zelda got into her bag and pulled out a charcoal stick and a small smoky bottle. Figaro knew this one. He sat up and made some room. What Zelda did wasn’t healing exactly, but practical home remedies passed down in her family, almost all plants and potions (with a smattering of runework). Figaro couldn’t deny it helped to have parents who knew this kind of thing, but it didn’t make it easier to have stinky paste smeared on him all the time.
Now that the healers had stepped out, Zelda was able to speak more freely.
“You haven’t said anything to anyone have you? No Aurors?” she asked as she began making marks on his leg with the charcoal. Figaro had already told her everything - well, almost everything. The words of his doppleganger hung in his head like a dead man in a noose.
[/i]“Eradicate the werewolf threat … Tell them I do this for the good of wizardkind.”[/i]
“No, I haven’t said anything,” Figaro said. Everyone was still at the scene, but he expected it wouldn’t be long before someone showed up with questions.
“Well, the healer at the place, but she just wanted to know about our injuries, me and Ji-Won.” Ji-Won, the other attendant who’d already been shoved in the closet when Figaro got there.
“What did she say?” Zelda pressed, eyes on her work.
Figaro shrugged. “Nothing.” Actually, no one had asked him any questions yet. He and Ji-Won had been separated as soon as they arrived at the hospital. Figaro figured it was so they couldn’t compare stories. But it could just be that Ji-Won didn’t want to see him.
In the hour since he’d arrived, Figaro kept spacing out, remaining quieter than usual. He’d been in sticky situations before, but they’d all been his own making and his reaction was to start talking and not stop. But this was different.
Someone had used his face to do something terrible. No one had told them anything, but he was sure the invader had hurt the people upstairs. And even if all the werewolves were okay, which he doubted, Ji-Won had still been attacked by someone who looked like him. All that, and being attacked by
himself would be quality nightmare fodder for later. It had been horrifying when it happened, but now all Figaro felt was a sort of blunted anger.
Zelda looked up from her runes, noticing the drawn-out silence.
“You’re not going to speak with anyone else without Talisha,” she said.
[2]Figaro shook his head. “But I’m not a suspect. It obviously wasn’t me. I want to help.”
“Damnit, Figaro.” Zelda looked up from her work and stared at him incredulously. “How do you know you’re not a suspect? What’s hard about this? Aurors are not your friends. They’ll do their job and you’ll do yours. They’ll be looking for someone to blame.”
“Kurby is my friend,” Figaro shot back. “He -”
Zelda looked a little sad, but she insisted. “Kurby has a boss same as everyone else.”
Figaro shook his head and just stopped. He’d do as she said, but this felt different than Regents Park
[3] and that burglary
[4].
Zelda watched her son’s face and began shaking up the little bottle. She’d drawn a column of runes down his leg, old Centaur script. She felt herself relenting, seeing the concern on Figaro’s face. It was harder to see the bigger picture when her son had been taken advantage of and ambushed. Someone he knew had done this and there was spark for vengence in her she couldn’t ignore. Figaro was sure that werewolves he’d been meant to watch over had been hurt, but he wouldn’t say exactly why. Regardless, Figaro could be right. If he could help, he should, both for himself and those other sorry souls.
“Talisha will know what to do,” Zelda said, her own way of being reassuring.
When she opened the bottle a wisp of lemony-mint aroma puffed out - a welcome surprise to the usual pungence of Zelda’s concoctions. She sprinkled it on top of the runes and rubbed it in. Figaro felt a warm sort of numbing. It helped the deep ache.
“Write Frank. He’ll want to hear you’re okay before any of this is in the papers. Skimp on the details. Don’t scare him,” Zelda instructed her oldest.
Figaro laughed. “He’s growing up, mum. He can handle it.”
Zelda shook her head, echoing Figaro’s chuckle but more wryly. “I’m barely handling it.”
[10 Jan] I Feel It In My Bones [Snapshot]