Prompt #5: Matter of Fact
"I should have you arrested, you know."
The Keeper's voice is matter of fact, no nonsense, practical--and infuriatingly difficult to get a read on. Her expression did not help; her red eyes were cold, her mouth set into a hard line.
"I know what that smell is. Even after years, you never quite forget it."
"Don't bloody start Evenar," Idristan groans. "I didn't come here to deal with your jokes about imprisoning me."
"Obviously not," she says smoothly. "But you've made a large presumption, Idristan. You should know I do not joke. But fortunately for you, I also value my friendship with Solenne more than padding some Yellowjacket's drug arrest statistics." She pursues her lips as she eyes him critically. "So what is it you want?"
"It's nice to know you're as charming as ever," he says through gritted teeth. "Especially since I came for your help."
That seems to catch her off-guard, for she falls silent for a few moments as she considers this. Then a simple question: "Why?"
Idristan grimaces and looks away, even though he had known that question was likely coming. "Because you're… objective," he grumbles.
Now that causes Adeya to break into a small smile. "Yes, I am. Even when it comes to you. So come in then," she adds as she opens the door wider.
Idristan continues to look unhappy even as he walks into the office. It was dark, of course, though the Keeper didn't seem to mind as she sauntered over to sit on the edge of her desk. She crosses her arms, giving him an expectant look.
He doesn't move to sit, but instead stands, fingers awkwardly fidgeting with one of his sleeves. "I need to… know how bad something is." Adeya's expression doesn't change, but she does lift a hand and waves it in a small circle. Go on.
Idristan eyes her for a few moments, then he grits his teeth and undoes the buttons on his shirt. One of his shoulders is discolored with signs of a healing bruise. But it's not that he's concerned with, for as Adeya opens her mouth he turns, revealing his back to her. She makes no sound, she is professional, but her eyes do narrow as she catches sight of that long wound across his back, marring his skin from shoulder to opposite hip.
Frowning, she rises to her feet, one finger hovering just above his skin. "This is… it’s gone through the first two stages of healing, but there are not any signs of stitches. And you would need those, for something this large, or there would be a serious risk of exsanguination… Someone healed it by magic, didn't they? They did a good job, if so." She seems to be thinking aloud. Then she looks up. "What are you asking, specifically? Is this truly about how well this is healing, or is it about your vanity?"
Idristan tenses at this, his fingers curling and uncurling in answer. "Everyone else would be inclined to try and reassure me. That, and you're an arcanist. I thought there might be a spell you knew that could… lessen..." His voice trails off.
Adeya is quiet for a few moments. Then she shakes her head and steps away. "No," she says. Her voice is not unkind, but there is a frankness to it. This is not a woman who would soften her words, nor give false hope. “If you had come immediately to me, rather than… whomever did this, then perhaps. But something this large… some scarring is inevitable.” Keen eyes study him closely, then she waves a hand vaguely to him indicating that she was done. “But scars have never troubled you before,” she notes, a hint of a question in her voice.
Idristan, who had started to tug his shirt back on, freezes mid-motion at this question. He swallows hard and looks away before speaking.”I’m not proud of this one. I don’t… want to remember it.”
Adeya tilts her head at this, then she shakes her head lightly as she leans against her desk. “It does not work like that, Idristan. You and I both know it. Besides. Scars are natural. They don’t have any value--besides that which they are given.”
Idristan glowers over at her, then he exhales a heavy sigh. “...I truly detest it when you’re right.”
Adeya breaks into a smile. “I know. Which is why you do not like me in general. That, and I do not have Solenne’s patience when it comes to your bullshite. Honestly, I still do not understand why she indulges you.” Idristan opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off. “But since she is my friend, I am not going to charge you my consultation fee.” The corners of her lips twitch in a ghost of a small smirk.
Idristan rolls his eyes. “You’d charge a former colleague? Fury, but you’re even colder than I remembered you. I suppose professional courtesy truly is dead,” he declares as he turns to leave.
“Give Solenne my warmest regards!” she calls after him. Idristan squares his shoulders at this, a pained look passing across his features, and doesn’t say another word as he leaves the other mage to her thoughts. A finger lightly taps against her lips as she stares distantly at the door. “Something’s wrong,” she murmurs finally. Opening a desk drawer, she shifts aside the papers until she finds the small blue linkpearl hiding at the bottom. Her fingers reach for it, then stop as she closes her eyes--and closes the drawer. “They know where to find me, if it’s necessary.”
But still… questions lingered unanswered in her mind. And she truly hated that feeling.
