knightsoflegend | OPEN ♔ I'LL FIND IT IN MYSELF TO GIVE THIS ONE MORE SHOT

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OPEN ♔ I'LL FIND IT IN MYSELF TO GIVE THIS ONE MORE SHOT

WHO || Francesca and YOU [open]
WHAT || It's been a long couple of days for some and an eternity for others.
WHERE || Knights HQ; the medical wing
WHEN || Wednesday, April 11
HOW || Either actionspam or prose, multiple threads.

Francecsa's alive for quite a while before she actually comes to, her breathing slow and even. When she finally begins to rouse, her body is first to react, although it's movements and changes are slight, such as a finger twitch or a more exaggerated exhale. Her mind is a little slower to perk up, as it's quite the sensory overload to suddenly return from nothingness to life, but she soon feels the darkness give way to coherency.

The room itself isn't very stimulating, and while the lack of provocation helps her brain focus on waking up, it does nothing to ease the rapid assault of memories that are subsequently flashing behind closed eyelids. As her reminiscing approaches her present condition, her chest starts to rise and fall much more desperately. When she finds herself practically gasping for air, she finally opens her eyes in hopes it will stop the violent spinning in her head.

She knows she's not alone. She can feel him in the room, Christos that is. When her eyes shoot open, on top of the fear, she feels a sudden panic that maybe he isn't here, and this feeling is just from reliving so many memories of him at once. With the room spinning, it's impossible for her to immediately locate him, though, and she finds she can't really just move, the soreness in her body complete. All this just fuels her hyperventilation even more, and she gives up focusing on anything but just breathing for a couple seconds, desperately hoping she's somewhere safe, and not alone.

* * * * *

After he leaves, she just sleeps more, not trusting herself to walk anywhere, let alone all the way to her room. So she'll just hang out in the cleric wing, drifting in and out of nightmare-accompanied sleep. She wakes in a panic several times, desperately trying to free herself from whatever it is she's dreaming about. She can't really stop any visitors, not that she'd mind a few good words right now anyway.

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The only reason that Thoster is in the medical wing at all is... Well, he got lost. And because he's such a proud bastard, he doesn't bother asking for directions. He's a captain of a ship, after all! One bloody castle isn't going to best him. But before he finds his way back to the familiar rooms, he winds up in the medical wing. And lucky him, someone is just waking up. Thoster has no idea what's going on with the poor woman, but even he can't just stand by and watch someone obviously in pain of some sort. He rushes forward, not touching her, but shushing in a calming tone.

"Easy... Breathe slow. You're alright, lass. There, there." The string of comforting phrases come so easily, like the thousand nightmares he helped soothe when his younger siblings awoke in a panic.

Optimism has never, ever been in Christos' nature. It's not that there aren't those in this world he respects enough to fight alongside and put enough faith in to entrust his life to them to some degree in the field - but he never considers the power of personal faith or belief to be something that will get a man anywhere but disappointed.

So to be honest, sitting here guarding Francesca's corpse and waiting to find out whether she was going to make it or not has been an exercise in the most painful kind of pessimism.

It's with honest surprise, therefore, that he hears her breathing suddenly spring to life, sees her body rise up with the force of a sharp intake of breath, and for a moment, he can't move either, and his mouth falls open as he stares.

But that's only for a moment. He's off his chair in a flash, at the side of the bed, gripping her hand as if he would crush it. Still, he can't find the ability to even so much as say her name.

The weight of his hand around her's gives her mind something definite to focus on and it makes her feel more grounded. At least she finds comfort in the assurance that she's not alone. Her breathing is still faster than normal, but she trusts herself to open her eyes again, turning her head in his direction.

Her mouth is unbelievably dry, but upon seeing him, she manages to croak out his name. The look on her face is something beyond grateful, as the comforting relief of his presence softens her expression and eases her breathing back to a normal pace. She twists her fingers slowly to grip his hand back as best she can in his iron grip.

She doesn't take her eyes off him as she quietly asks, "Where are we?"

"London," he says simply, assuming alluding to the cleric's wing would only serve to remind her of why she'd needed to go there. "You've been returned to the castle." As good as he usually likes to think he is at masking his feelings, the tight pale lines of his face from these days of worry speak volumes, along with the insistent pressure of his hand.

"Did I...?" She word catches in her throat and a look of fear overtakes her countenance before she closes her eyes to push it away. She doesn't want to make him say it, so she just nods her head slowly to show she understands as she opens them again.

It takes her a few moments of studying his features to notice the strain etched into them and her brow creases in apprehension. She clears a throat before attempting to speak again. "Has everyone else returned as well?"

Her shift off from the question allows him a moment to watch her come to terms with the possibilities. Unfortunately, it also lends a sense of reality to the situation that was missing in the first moment of pure relief, and he becomes aware of the way he's still gripping her hand, and extricates it slowly.

"Everyone's fine," he says, and there's a testy impatience to the pronouncement as if he doesn't care about their well-being, and she shouldn't either.

Her eyes immediately shift down to his hand as he pulls away and she curls her fingers into a fist in response to it's absence. She feels a stinging sensation behind her eyes and lets her gaze fall back to the ceiling, quick to will it away.

Now she just feels vulnerable, so she gathers her strength and pushes herself up on her elbows, gritting through the discomfort of actually moving for the first time in days. She gives the room a fleeting once-over before turning back to him. Several immediate questions enter her mind, and despite the circumstances, she instinctively considers which ones he'll actually answer and which ones will scare him away.

She takes careful scrutiny of his reaction as she asks tentatively, "How did you even find me?"

He considers ordering her to stop trying to sit up but restrains himself, at least. Still, he's on the edge of his seat waiting for her to collapse and this tentative moment to crumble to so much dust.

At her question, he averts his gaze, finding a corner of the blanket to fixate on.

"It hardly matters."

She finds it hard to believe it doesn't matter, and so she assumes the opposite, giving him a suspicious look. Regardless, she doesn't have the strength to argue with him right now, so she moves on.

"If you say so," she resigns with a short sigh. "I just wish..." She breaks off, attempting to school the emotion from her voice, and mostly failing. "I wish I could have done more." Besides get myself killed, she adds in her head, a defeated look clouding her features.

"Done more?" His tone is incredulous, disbelieving. He stares at her for a long moment before he can compose words. "You averted a war. The man who survived the attack's thrown his full support behind the idea of an alliance. They're in negotiations with the sun elves at this moment."

She's thrown off by his tone, and then truly dumbfounded by his words. She holds his gaze as she attempts to absorb what he's telling her, and she feels her stomach drop in relief as she learns of the man's survival.

She swallows hard, looking away from him for a moment to digest the information. "I didn't -" She looks up at him, apologetically. "That's a relief to hear, I suppose, after everything."

He drops his gaze instantly, laboring under the weight of his own memory of exactly how the man survived.

"Yes, well, it's amazing how much influence a martyr can have on a situation," he says, and there's a strong bitterness behind his words that doesn't speak to any relief whatsoever at the current state of affairs.

Only he could make her feel ashamed for inadvertently becoming said martyr. She looks even more dejected than before.

"I didn't intend to become a... martyr, by any means. You must know that."

Edited 2012-04-20 01:05 (UTC)

His head snaps up at her words, because of course she had to take that entirely wrong. X(

"Of course you didn't," he says, rather harshly. She better not have, at least. "I was simply remarking on the nature of people."

"And the gravity of death," she tacks on quietly. Having just experienced first-hand the harshness of mortality, she now fully understands how it can change a person's perspective. That said, she moves to meet his eyes, and her face softens significantly. Arguing with him is really the very last thing she wants right now.

Now he holds her gaze for an extended moment, obviously mulling over what to say to that. He settles on: "How are you feeling, by the way?"

"It's an intimidating concept to come to terms with. I'm not sure the shock has quite worn off. The physical discomfort is tolerable, however, especially given what I remember enduring." Her hand subconsciously moves to her face as she feels for the cut no longer there. "But I suppose I should have expected as much."

And in that moment he gets that she remembers all of it and his face falls just the slightest bit. With his usual skill at segueways, he says very bluntly:

"They're all dead."

She just stares at him for a moment, caught between feeling quite satisfied with this announcement and then guilty for thinking that way. However, given the circumstances, she gives in to the gratification, and her face hardens a bit as she nods.

"They deserved the worst." Her tone becomes much gentler as she ventures to ask, "Were you the one who found me?"

Christos has to fight to keep the truth out of his eyes, the horror that surrounds the memory of that moment, but it's the last thing she needs to see reflected back at her right now.

"... Katniss and I."

"Katniss as well?" Her voice is strained and heavy with regret, her heart breaking for the scene the girl had stumbled upon. "Is she alright? Are you - " She cuts off, remembering how adverse he is to the concerned sentiment. Instead, she just fixes him with a troubled frown.

He quickly cuts in anyways, to stop her from finishing that question. "She took it rather hard, but she'll be glad to hear you've recovered." He hesitates, obviously wondering what more to tell her about that day, before he decides to jump ahead. "The humans agreed to negotiate after all." A snort. "It seems it took this much to make them realize they were in over their heads."

Now she has to fight the terrifying flash of memory from that night, and she closes her eyes briefly in an attempt to combat the disgust. However, by the way she tenses, and the change in her face, it's obvious the statement has sparked something.

She takes a deep breath, opening her eyes to look down at her hands. "I doubt many of them could have conceived of such carnage."

"They didn't understand the nature of the Spider's society," he says, with evident scorn. "Just like children, playing with something they couldn't possibly comprehend."

"Of course, it's not as if they sought this out." She's not arguing with him though, simply making a statement. "At least now the situation can be dealt with more effectively."

She looks back up at him after a second of contemplation and asks hesitantly, "Do you think my actions were foolish?"

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