cogi qui potest [OPEN]

[knittingbackwards]

Who| Merlyn and OPEN
What| Merlyn accustoms himself to the Arena and sets things on fire
Where| The castle, main hall
When| The first night
Warnings/Notes| TBD

Merlyn had to say that, so far, he was not taken with this place. The village stank quite hideously of rot and decay, and the whole place was bitterly draughty. At least his outfit wasn't too bad. It was heavy, of course, but to a man used to weighty robes, it wasn't too bad at all. He did resent that they had taken his hat away again, though. Was it so much to ask that he be left with a skullcap, at least?

But all that was purely cosmetic. The real problem, of course, was that he was here at all. He had no intention of participating in their barbaric Games, no matter how they might browbeat him. At the Cornucopia, the moment he had felt his powers kick back into gear, he had abandoned his plans of running; squatting down and making himself small, as he'd once taught the Wart, he had turned himself into a blackbird and flown for the rooftops. He'd been mobbed by crows on the way, but he was a deft flier, and they had lost interest around the time he darted in through one of the castle's arrowslits.

When the sun started setting, he was settled in the rafters above the Great Hall, an old man again. He had taken off his heavy gloves, tucking them into the pocket of his leather apron, and was sitting with his skinny legs dangling over twenty feet of nothingness, considering the fire flickering over his head.

"A queer kind of trick," he announced at last, to whoever might happen to be watching. "You might have put less thought into firelight and more into better architecture. Why, even the Castle Sauvage is less draughty! I should give a great deal for less fire over my head, and more in the grate!"

He got his wish a few moments later, when he grew bored with contemplating his surroundings and attempted to conjure up some knitting to keep him occupied. No sooner had he stuck out his hand and said "Knitting!" than the rafter he was sitting on burst, rather unexpectedly, into flames. Yelping in a very unwizardly manner, Merlyn dropped the yarn and needles that had just appeared in his hand. They clattered to the floor far below as he scrambled back and beat at the flames with his apron. Echoing around the chamber, along with the flapping of leather, the occasional ..."by-our-lady..." sounded out.

When he finally managed to smother the fire, he looked down at the hall below. More specifically, at the bright blue yarn in the middle of the floor. "Drat it!" he snapped, and started to shuffle along the rafter. It was going to be a long climb down, for an old man.

Comments

[knittingbackwards]

"Two." Merlyn may be slurring very slightly, but the flat disdain in his voice is still perfectly clear. "A fact which I could tell you no matter how bad the concussion, unless I was actually unconscious at the time. Ugh," he repeats, for good measure. "Give me a hand up, will you?"

[infinitemayonnaise]

"What, I thought concussions made you see multiples and stuff." He's pretty sure he'd seen multiple Harutos before he died in the last Arena, though the memory is understandably fuzzy thanks to all the internal bleeding and general dying he'd been doing.

He holds out a burned, badly bandaged hand for the old man to take. "Sure, I'll get you up!"

[knittingbackwards]

Merlyn looks long and hard at the damaged hand, then takes it with some caution. Truth be told, his vision is rather blurry and fractured, but he can make out the shapes of things, at least. "They do," he confirms, "but that does not change the shape of your hand. Speaking of which, who did these dressings? They're appalling."

[infinitemayonnaise]

"I did 'em myself!" Nitou looks down at the bandages. "With my other hand. Didn't want to bother the others." Because Haruto was in just as bad a shape as he was, and Gary was even worse than the both of them.

[knittingbackwards]

Merlyn tsks, shaking his head, and lets go of Nitou's hand without standing up. With the way his head is swimming, he doesn't want to stand if he doesn't have to. "Come here, my boy. Hold still. I'll fix them." Because, really, that dressing is appalling, and Merlyn can't stand to see a job done sloppily when it can be so readily improved. Without waiting for an answer from Nitou, he reaches out to start unwinding the bandages.

[infinitemayonnaise]

Nitou's letting him fix the makeshift bandages while holding still as instructed, but he's still protesting, "But dude, what about your head?"

[knittingbackwards]

"My head is quite hard," Merlyn assures him, blinking several times to steady his swimming vision and starting to wind them back over the skin, more tightly and carefully. "And it's taken plenty of blows in its time. I'm sure it will be quiet. Quit. Quite all right."

[infinitemayonnaise]

"If you say so." Nitou still doesn't seem very certain of that, but he's easily distracted by the rebandaging. "Hey, you're pretty good at that!"

[knittingbackwards]

"Many, many years of practice," Merlyn informs him dryly, blinking a couple of times to try to clear his (admittedly blurry) vision before tying the end under. "It isn't so hard, in any case. Much easier on somebody else."

[infinitemayonnaise]

"Well, yeah...you can use both your hands." Nitou nods. "You sure you don't want me to bandage your head?" Not that he knows if head bandages will help anything, but they always do it on TV.

[knittingbackwards]

"Quite sure, quite sure." Merlyn shakes his head, reaching up to prod tentatively at the cut on his scalp. "Head wounds bleed a great deal, but they're unlikely to get infected, I understand. It ought to heal quickly."

[infinitemayonnaise]

"Long as you're sure..." Nitou doesn't sound entirely convinced. "But they've got a lot of crap out here in some of these Arenas, like it's really easy for stuff to get infected even if you don't think it should."

[knittingbackwards]

"You may be right." There's a slightly mischievous glint in Merlyn's expression. "But who's to say, in that case, that the bandages themselves aren't infected? Or the very air we're breathing. I choose, my boy, not to live in fear."

[infinitemayonnaise]

Nitou laughs. "I like that! You're a cool old dude." Even if Nitou still thinks Merlyn had been the fun police when they'd first met.

[knittingbackwards]

"Positively chilly, in this draught," Merlyn agreed wryly, and tried to push himself to his feet again. The dizziness came in waves, and it wasn't so bad now.

[infinitemayonnaise]

"I kinda like it being a little drafty," Nitou says absently, still a little addled from being hit by lightning, "it beats being on fire."

[knittingbackwards]

"Maybe for you," Merlyn grumbles. "Some of us have rheumatism to deal with. Age isn't all wisdom and experience, you know."

[infinitemayonnaise]

"I maintain that getting set on fire by a lightning strike is really unpleasant no matter what your age is," Nitou says solemnly.

[knittingbackwards]

Merlyn considers for a moment, then chuckles dryly, rubbing the bloody back of his head. "You may have a point," he agrees at last, shaking his head and immediately regretting it as stars start to dance in the corners of his vision. "You may very well have a point."