set immediately after live vaccinations

Stay awake. Don't fall asleep. Just stay awake.

It was quiet here, after the cat had ran off. The smoke and ash still lingered and Aethril still lay with her back on the floor, hands thin and burnt and black. Everything ached, now, as the adrenaline bled out of her body-- she couldn't move her arms or legs and her chest felt stiff and heavy.

The only thing she could hear was her own wheezing. Every breath felt like it was tearing out her throat more and more. She knew, partially, that she'd recover if she went back into her chrysalis, but that was a risk the Hand was refusing to take.

Five thousand years. She had been asleep five thousand years. She'd only been awake a week. She couldn't do it. She didn't want to go back in. She couldn't. Not when she had so much to do.

A little focus of her mind and there was magic at her scorched fingertips again-- not His magic, all the damn good it'd ever done her --but something else, something almost refreshing that, when it blanketed her body, relieved some of the pain.

It didn't do much to cure the sickness, or regain feeling in her hands, but it sure as hell was better than nothing.

@Pollen

Pollen smelled it before coming across the aftermath. A smoky aftertaste in the roof of her mouth, and she had jolted away with a snort, barely about to remember just where she fell asleep.

And, when she twisted to look out the nearest window, all she saw was smoke. The plants! She'd scrambled up and booked it to the Gardens, sprinting on all fours with surging bounds. "No- nononono!" The garden would burn down! A rising pitch wailed out of Pollen as she struggled back frantic tears, her paws tearing into the dirt as she came upon the scene.

Purity had been long gone once she'd seen Aethril's prone form. "Miss Aethril!" Her voice cried out as she first recognized her, and she cried harder. Her legs moved before she could thing, sprinting to her side. "Miss Aethril, are you okay?" Definitely not. "Should I get Obieth? Miss Isra? Are you going to be okay?" She'd skidded to a stop and panted, pacing around her like an anxious dog. What did she do? Why was she like this? Did she set herself on fire?

Looking up, Pollen cried to the Palace. "Somebody, help! Miss Aethril's hurt!" She bent down, letting out a wheeze, before touching her muzzle ever so gently to Aethril's burnt hands.

"I'm going to find help. Don't move! You might hurt yourself!" And she sprinted back, crying out one word: "Help!"

@Obieth

While Aethril was frantically thinking about a space of time spanning five thousand years, Obieth--crashing through the leaves toward the voices--was thinking about a slightly smaller span. Three hours, was her alarmed, and irritated thought, the words ringing angrily through her mind. Three hours, since she last dismissed me, and now what's happened-? The acrid stench of smoke threaded through the air, curling urgency into her brain.

She crashed into the clearing, ridged tail lashing behind her, the teal light vanishing to leave her eyes black as she quickly searched their surroundings for any enemies. She saw nothing, but she knew on instinct screaming down her nerves that they might not have much time. That someone might still be lurking. She glanced down at her mistress, magic reaching for her.

What happened to you? she thought, but it was not a true message, not a direct question (though it might be overheard). What she wanted was to see: to check, in this frantic moment, Aethril's thoughts, perhaps her recent memories.

Were they still in danger? What had happened? Those were the only ways she could think of to gauge their next step, either way.

@Aethril

Aethril didn't hear Pollen at first-- not until she touched her hands and the Hand hissed with pain, soldiering through it to stiltedly rub the muta's nose. Then, she was gone, running off before she could think of formulating an answer.

In Pollen's absence, Aethril made it a goal to at least try and stand back up. She'd rolled onto her knees again and was starting to find her feet when Obieth crashed into the garden and, instinctively she reached for the Valkhound, arms wrapping around her shoulders and yanking the cat a little close.

Obieth's presence in her mind was growing somewhat, subtly, familiar to her. There was no real hesitation in showing her what happened; two backfiring spells (the mental note that she was still weak from hibernation came with it) while trying to attack a cat spitting insults at her until she set it on fire. Aethril was quite certain it did not survive the corrupted flames.

One comment was bugging her in particular, as she half-yanked herself up, using Obieth as an achor. 'You can't even use your own magic.' How did she fuck up so badly? What did that chrysalis do to her?

The Hand coughed and dry-heaved into the crook of her elbow. As much as she wanted to immediately practice, get better-- she could almost feel the fluids seeping into her lungs from the self-inflicted disease. "I-- need to.. get to my room," she told Obieth hoarsely, who was rapidly becoming more of a dark blob than a cat. "Can you.. take me there?"

@Pollen

Obieth had sprinted right by her, and Pollen let out a loud gasp of surprise, twirling with the Valkhound. Frantic eyes flicked between the two as they made contact, and Pollen scrambled up next to Aethril, too, leaning down without just touching Aethril. What happened? The muta let out an anxious breath as she leaned in under the Hand's other side, offering to support her as much as her tiny body could.

"Here, let's--" she glanced to Obieth through wet eyes, tears budding at the edges. "I can't get in her room, but I can help you up- can you walk, Miss Aethril?" She offered her hand down to Aehtril to take, uncertain of how much pain she was in. Was she sick? What happened?

That would be a question for later. For now, Aethril needed to get to safety, and Pollen's throat locked up as she tried to put her shoulders under Aethril's other one. "Please, don't rush- don't hurt yourself, okay? Do you need me to get Miss Isra?" Oh, how she worried, and she breathed hard as she struggled to rein in her emotions.

@Obieth

Black paws stumbled a little as Aethril's arms pulled her close. Her senses were at once overwhelmed, a glorious miasma of breath and skin, of memory and smoke.

Past the stench of seared flesh, the rank odors of adrenaline and sweat, came the mind-piercing knowledge that Aethril offered. Magic, backfiring. The tangle of imagery that was a long-haired cat, an enemy, swathed in darkness.

Obieth blinked, and it was gone.

She had been trained, a little, in guardianship and combat--but she had not been trained in emergency situations. She was a half-feral creature living in the moment, and knew nothing of the infrastructure of the palace, of even the idea of medics or medical aid. She only knew that Aethril had asked to get back to her room; that, at least, she could try to help with.

The problem was weight. The soft arms draped around Obieth's hard-edged collar, the six-foot height of the Hand, was just about her own weight--a little more, or less, she didn't know. But she herself was not enormous--the best she could do would be to drag her Hand.

Unless-...

Obieth cast her eyes around rapidly, searching the gardens for the creatures that she knew she would find there. Teal blink found the white blur of Ivory deer not too far off; they were taller than Obieth, perhaps a little lighter, but if she could force one into helping, they could cooperate to get Aethril back inside.

Pollen's offering of a hand to the Hand went half-noticed, and her worried questions, went in one of Obieth's ears and out the other. Aethril had given her a command, of sorts, and she would follow them, if she could.

After a moment's focus, she found that she could form no link with the white deer. They simply stared, ghostlike, empty-eyed, from their distance. Obieth spat at them, in the manner of a cat, and then turned--putting all her strength into supporting, pulling, Aethril.

She was silent, as she did so: whether her Hand took Pollen's support, or walked or was dragged, she would do her best to haul her to her room--as requested.

@Aethril

Aethril took Pollen's hand and another shot of pain went up her entire arm. It was unpleasant, but she was partially determined to pull herself up and, between Pollen and Obieth, she got back to her feet. It didn't come without another wave of nausea and dizziness clouding her vision, and all at once she realised how foul her throat felt.

But as for Isra-- "No," she said hoarsely, but firmly. She trusted Isra and she liked Isra, but there was a sense of embarrassment in it. She didn't want Isra to see her sick and half-burnt, and as she started shuffling along the courtyard, she realised the extra embarrassment in essentially losing to a cat.

At least it was dead.

Aethril took a breath and focused quietly, and a spring of magic came to her. And backfired. At once the Hand doubled over and retched-- but she'd already evacuated everything in her gut from the vomit of two minutes ago.

What was happening? She'd have to lay off casting magic for a while, perhaps.

With another rasp, she straightened up and kept shuffling. "It'll be fine," she assured. "Let's-- just go."

@Pollen

Pollen's ears flicked back with unease. "Okay," came her smallest voice, her other hand coming up to gently support Aethril- even if the most she could reach was her lower back.

Her chest tensed when Aethril doubled over. Worried eyes glanced to Obieth, and Pollen remained steady, looking back up to the Hand as she could only wonder what she'd felt. "Let's go slow, okay?" The offer was for the both of them as she walked beside Aethril, not really able to support her in much other than presence.

As she looked back down to watch where they were walking, she hoped it was enough.

@Obieth

Aethril was moving on her own, now, but Obieth stuck close, making herself available to lean on. She glanced, too, at Pollen: could the gardener do anything to help-? Words were... maybe helpful, she supposed; but it wouldn't help the Hand to walk any better.

Paws crushed down on stray grass, and ears laid back. Obieth fired a venomous glare off at the deer, sending her magic out more like a hateful lance--Come HELP! with the imperative of command behind it. This time, one went blank-eyed, and lurched into puppeted motion. Regal anger driving her, Obieth tracked its movements, directing it around to Aethril's other side.

"This is mine," she informed her Hand, in a low and guttural snarl of a tone--anger again directed at the deer. "You can use it. It will obey." Maybe it'd be useful; maybe not. But Obieth wasn't quite sure what else to do, and bar a brief (and worried) glance at Aethril, she kept her focus on the deer.

She tried to ignore the stench of burnt flesh and vomit. Tried to ignore the rasping quality of the Hand's voice, and the way she shuffled, stumbled.

These were not things she wished to savor.

@Aethril

Aethril stiffened at the touch to her lower back-- there was a flash of a memory of someone touching the same area a very long time ago in the Palace. She hadn't liked it then and she didn't particularly like it now, but she wasn't particularly in any state to protest. She swayed and shuffled, and then her attention went to the pale deer.

She was unsure if she'd heard Obieth with an outright aggressive tone before, but it amused her nonetheless, in some distant way. Her arm unhooked from the Valkhound to lean onto the larger deer instead, and she began shuffling along with it, using it to guide her back inside.

One last try, she considered as she crossed the threshold. A flourish of magicka swept through her aching chest and she felt her lungs take a clearer breath almost hungrily, with some relief. It did not much for her throat, nor her black hands, but it was enough.

Her room wasn't particularly far, but far enough that it was agonizing enough to get there. It was as she'd left it; Obieth's bed (a fainting couch with cushions and a blanket on it) in one corner and her own bed (considerably larger and softer, with even more pillows and blankets on it) in the other.

The curtains had been left drawn on the otherwise dim room and even the faint voidlight was enough to irritate her eyes when she crossed to clamber into her own bed with a sigh. "Close the windows," she wheezed as she lay down.

It felt better, at least, to be horizontal. She pulled one thick quilt over herself and then extended a hand towards Obieth-- a distinct invitation to come lay in the bed with her. She wanted the comfort of someone there, someone she trusted, someone to protect her.

A pause. "Thank you," Aethril rasped to no one in particular.

@Pollen