119th Day of Ashan
715th Arc
715th Arc
It was his father’s fault, Virikai thought… if he were to pinpoint a cause. Covered in blood, vomit, urine, faeces and all other bodily fluids, Virikai had sunk lower than he had ever thought possible. The young scion was above this… filth. This was the point of servants, or, better yet, slaves. They had few other purposes, and the son of the Delegate Verity Talius was the last person anyone would expect to be in this situation.
Yet here he was… wearing what could no longer be described as ‘fine’ clothing, not now that it had been ruined by the filth. And despite all the foul, murderous thoughts that were running through his head, Virikai did not stop the painstaking work of cleaning up the barely conscious patient.
A mere break ago the Talius scion had been fast asleep in bed, many breaks before the sun’s rays would bathe Viden in light. Three quarters of a break ago he had dragged himself out of his warm sheets and blankets, eaten the breakfast so diligently prepared for him by the family’s slaves. Half a break ago he had left the Obsidian Prism and was well and quite truly on his way to work in the Facility for Retrospective Analysis, with a lead weight in his gut. He was still new to the work here - an effort in his part to become more current in the practice of Medicine, since his pause in studying. The lead researcher had had the scion come in early that morning, in order to bring him up to speed with basic practices. It had been a dull start, but a necessary one.
Now, Virikai found his heart heavy and his hands covered in blood, some orderly attending the subject next to him giving him hasty directions as the student attempted to see to the pained man's wounds. “Unbandage and clean the wounds thoroughly, she’s been here a while and I don’t know when they were last changed.” A bitter sigh left the orderly’s lips as she gestured to the bloody mess of an arm before the scion. The woman shot the man before her a wayward glance, his forehead covered with beaded sweat and mouth twisted into the form of a pained scar.
Virikai knew the subject wanted to question him, to probe him and ask him if he truly knew what he was doing… but the answer to that question was not one that she wanted to hear. Virikai would have answered honestly: yes, he did, but he would not do it in the caring way an orderly would see to the dressings. With a a sigh of his own, the medical student lifted the woman's arm and began the painful task of unwrapping the stained of blood bandage, now stained with dried blood and yellowed with pus dirt.
At every flinch and wince, the scholar would pause shortly, give the ageing, silver haired woman a stern look, before returning to his work, teeth gritted at the unpleasantness of the activity. The first few twists of the bandage were awkward, at best, with the student propping the arm of the man up with one hand as the other took the bandage and threaded it over and through, and he found himself thanking the Gods that it was only on the upper arm of the patient that her wounds were concentrated, especially if he was going to be of so little help in supporting his own weight.
Yet here he was… wearing what could no longer be described as ‘fine’ clothing, not now that it had been ruined by the filth. And despite all the foul, murderous thoughts that were running through his head, Virikai did not stop the painstaking work of cleaning up the barely conscious patient.
A mere break ago the Talius scion had been fast asleep in bed, many breaks before the sun’s rays would bathe Viden in light. Three quarters of a break ago he had dragged himself out of his warm sheets and blankets, eaten the breakfast so diligently prepared for him by the family’s slaves. Half a break ago he had left the Obsidian Prism and was well and quite truly on his way to work in the Facility for Retrospective Analysis, with a lead weight in his gut. He was still new to the work here - an effort in his part to become more current in the practice of Medicine, since his pause in studying. The lead researcher had had the scion come in early that morning, in order to bring him up to speed with basic practices. It had been a dull start, but a necessary one.
Now, Virikai found his heart heavy and his hands covered in blood, some orderly attending the subject next to him giving him hasty directions as the student attempted to see to the pained man's wounds. “Unbandage and clean the wounds thoroughly, she’s been here a while and I don’t know when they were last changed.” A bitter sigh left the orderly’s lips as she gestured to the bloody mess of an arm before the scion. The woman shot the man before her a wayward glance, his forehead covered with beaded sweat and mouth twisted into the form of a pained scar.
Virikai knew the subject wanted to question him, to probe him and ask him if he truly knew what he was doing… but the answer to that question was not one that she wanted to hear. Virikai would have answered honestly: yes, he did, but he would not do it in the caring way an orderly would see to the dressings. With a a sigh of his own, the medical student lifted the woman's arm and began the painful task of unwrapping the stained of blood bandage, now stained with dried blood and yellowed with pus dirt.
At every flinch and wince, the scholar would pause shortly, give the ageing, silver haired woman a stern look, before returning to his work, teeth gritted at the unpleasantness of the activity. The first few twists of the bandage were awkward, at best, with the student propping the arm of the man up with one hand as the other took the bandage and threaded it over and through, and he found himself thanking the Gods that it was only on the upper arm of the patient that her wounds were concentrated, especially if he was going to be of so little help in supporting his own weight.
