"Good." The bleeding seemed to have slowed. "I'm not going to bandage the wound; I've only got one roll of gauze here. You should be alright, provided her..." Elias gestured at Eira, searching for a word. He had none to describe what he'd seen. "...whatever she did works." He got up, leaning on his cane. "Perhaps we shouldn't open any more. Or at least be far more cautious."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Wake her up? How was Raptor supposed to do that? He could try shaking her, but he doubted it would be enough. Whatever magic she had done was enough to knock her unconscious.
He glanced around the room.
His gaze briefly landed on Mel. She had recoiled when she had tasted the wine earlier. He wasn't sure if the smell was strong enough to wake someone, but it couldn't hurt to try.
Raptor willed himself to move.
Grabbing the bottle from near Dr. Elias, he approached Eira and held the opening of the bottle near her nose.
The squeezing pain like a vice around her skull greeted Eira like a wrench to the head when she awoke groggily to the scent of wine. Had someone spilled some? Aunt Maggs wouldn't be happy about...
Oh.
A stream of lazy profanity swirled in her pounding head as Eira gently pushed the steel-plated hand holding the bottle of wine away. The cold floor beneath her was rough, and she'd apparently scraped her hand when she passed out.
Eira muttered a curse as she got up, looking around. What did I miss?
Not much, apparently.
She gave the medieval knight a quick nod of thanks before turning her attention to the bleeding guy, glancing between him and the doctor. "Is he okay?" Her voice sounded so weak. If Maggs could hear her, Eira would never hear the end of it.
"I... I think he'll be fine," Nikolai said, looking between everyone there. There was a faint nervous tremor in his voice when he spoke. "He might be weak from blood loss for a bit, but he could make it, thanks... thanks to you."
"silv is obsessed with heists" ~Omni
"silv why didn't you tell me you were obsessed with heists I thought we were friends" ~Ace
"y’all we outnumber silver let’s overthrow her >:]" ~winter
Aumrauth laughed. "All that fuss and you're both alive! And by gods, you all look terrible. Especially in this lighting. It’s really not doing you any favors. You all should really have some wine, it might help. Not with your appearances of course, but, with everything else.”
Eira cast Amutauth a considering look. Turning on her heel, she walked over to him and took the bottle of wine from his hand. "Sure," she said, and, looking him dead in the eyes, took a swig.
Mel was fascinated by the floating poisoned blood that Eira somehow controlled, but she was definitely not impressed that it almost splashed on to her. Luckily she stepped back just in time so it didn't get on her shoes or clothes. Eira passed out from this, but she woke up as soon as Raptor placed some wine under her nose. Lucky she did, too; Mel was this close to coming over there and dumping the wine on her to wake her up.
Instead, Mel turned back to Red and the doctor. "What was in that chest, anyways?" she asked, peering over. She didn't wait for a response as she looked in and reached for whatever treasure may be inside.
Elias hadn't cared to look in case there was a backup trap. His eyes had settled on the great padlocked chest near the statue once more. It seemed to call to him, beckoning. Something valuable was inside, something purposeful.
Elias took a step toward it. He needed to get it open, but how? It could be trapped. He needed someone to break the lock. If he stood off to the side... He shook himself suddenly and looked down. He was now five feet closer to the chest than he had been before. What was this thing?
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Mel grabbed whatever was inside, half-expecting it to be some (weirdly soft) riches and treasure, but instead pulled out what looked like a bunch of clothes. She frowned, visibly disappointed as she unfolded it and saw that it was a measly robe that was somewhat similar to Aumrauth's. This was why Red almost died? Lame. The wine was much better and no one even died by opening it.
Still, she did feel a bit out of place since she was visibly a kid in a school uniform, so she put on the smallest one available. It happened to be a pale yellow color, just like her ribbon.
"Anyone want any of these?" she asked, offering the rest of the pile to everyone else. She would ask Red since he was the one who opened the chest and almost died in the process, but he was busy from, ya know, almost dying.
She looked back at Dr. Archer and Red, but for some reason the doc was farther away. Weird, but it wasn't as weird as opening a trapped chest only to get a bunch of dress clothes.
Eira brushed past Amuruath to investigate the chest, taking his bottle of wine with her. Robes. Cerimonia robes. Of course. Why not.
She took another sip of wine.
Someone had probably done some kind of ritual to bring them all here. A medieval knight, some pretty little schoolgirl, am elf in relaxed attire, and an assortment of other, equally odd people. None of whom seemed to have anywhere near the kind of merit you might lend to a summoning subject. Summoning wasn't exactly a picnic.
Pinching the cloth, she lifted one of the robes up in front of her. She wrinkled her nose. Yeah, they were fancy alright.
"Hey, doc," she said, "You think we can rip these into bandages? In case someone else stumbles into a trap or..." she trailed off as she happened a glance at the doctor.
The man had become transfixed on one of the other chests. He hardly seemed to notice himself moving toward it. "Doc!" she called, "The heck are you doing?"
Elias glanced over his shoulder at Eira. "This chest. It's...it's important."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"If we open it together in a sensible fashion, that shouldn't be a problem," he replied. However, he relented and moved back over to the other chest. His eyes flickered up to the statue.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Remember: when people tell you something’s wrong or doesn’t work for them, they are almost always right. When they tell you exactly what they think is wrong and how to fix it, they are almost always wrong. — Neil Gaiman
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