Anselme shifted impatiently from foot to foot, lowering his hand after knocking firmly on the door. His breath visible in the chilly Coerthan air, hands clasping together to rub gloved fingers for additional warmth as he waited. After what felt like a short eternity the door finally swung open and immediately the Knight's already sunny countenance warmed to supernovic levels of cheerfulness.
"There you are, if we do not hurry we are going to be late." The chirurgeon grumbled, looping a scarf around his neck to cover primly pressed lapels and a cravat tied with the precision befitting his profession. His hair combed to a perfect sheen and not a single hair of the whiskers that crept along his chin out of place. Ishgardian propriety at its finest. After looping the scarf into a neat knot he finally glanced up and stopped short. "Oh, Anselme…" He sighed, brows knitting together. "We cannot go with you looking like /that/. Come in." Lionnet ordered, reaching out to grab the front of the Knight's jacket to drag him into the room.
"How did you even manage that? You appear as though you were harried by a pack of wild dogs the whole way over. Did you not look in the mirror before leaving?" The medic continued to complain gruffly without any real ire behind it. More complaining just for the sake of it as he hurried to fetch a comb and pomade. "It is a /wedding/. The guests must still appear presentable." He continued, beckoning for the much taller man to lean down so he could fix his unruly hair.
"Ah, well, I did not want us to be late so I hurried…" Anselme offered his excuses, his smile not diminished in the least by the other's admonishments. In fact he seemed amused by them as he tilted into a polite bow so the chirurgeon could reach. Lionnet's assessment was fair. The Knight's hair looked as though he had just woken up and not in the artfully tousled bed-head manner though it was quickly tamed with a few quick swipes by a practiced hand.
"The state of your cravat! Did you even tie it or have you simply balled it up and let it lay where it may?" Lionnet continued as he carefully undid the tangled mess to straighten it out properly. His hand moving deftly to cross the long ends of the neck cloth into a knot of appropriate complexity. His movements had slowed somewhat as his masterpiece neared completion, eyes on his task even as his hands shifted slightly. Taking perhaps a few moments longer than strictly necessary to adjust the lay of the Knight's collar once the knot was finished. Fingers trailing gently just next to bare skin without touching.
Anselme was still as the other worked, tilted forwards as he was he had a perfect view of the serious expression on Lionnet's face. Close enough that when he inhaled it brought in the clean scents of the other man's soap mixed with the warm notes of his preferred cologne. The combination nearly drowning out the smell of medical tools and alcohol that had always put him on edge around any other chirurgeon. He was silent. Perhaps if he didn't speak the moment may last just a little longer. The silence stretched out between them until finally Lionnet lowered his hands and lifted his eyes. Sapphire blue meeting summer sky for the briefest of moments before both of the Ishgardians looked aside in opposite directions as though caught peeping at something unseemly.
"My thanks, Lionnet. You have an eye for such matters." The Knight said quickly as he straightened up, resisting the urge to stick his fingers in the hair that had just been painstakingly tamed in his embarrassment.
"Of course. Now we are most certainly going to be late, let us be on our way." The chirurgeon responded with a light shooing motion.
Anselme followed the shorter man out onto the street, pulling the door closed behind them as he smiled warmly. It had been a fleeting moment but it was precious seconds he would treasure. It had been entirely worth standing outside the other man's door in the cold before knocking; one hand in his hair to ruffle it to a wild bird's nest as the other jerked ruthlessly at his poor cravat to turn it the perfectly passable knot into a tangled mess. Would Lionnet notice if he were to start doing it every time before visiting? And if he did… would he say anything…
“And you, their best beloved one, are now to me, flesh of my flesh; blood of my blood; kin of my kin; my bountiful wine-press for awhile; and shall later on be my companion and my helper.”
Anselme de Haillenarte grinned brightly. They were outside of the Manor now, that was a step in the right direction, at least. He turned up the collar of his coat against the Coerthan chill. “The Argents aren’t in, Quincy is busy studying, there’s nothing wrong with having a ‘night off’.” He suggested hopefully, looking with brows lifted hopefully between Idristan and Lionnet.
Lionnet Blodoint sighs. He groans. But he follows dutifully, if reluctantly. “You have yet to explain exactly what a so-called night out entails, Ser Anselme.”
Idristan Agache arches a brow at Anselme as he sticks his hands into his pockets in an attempt to keep his hands warm. “You know I won’t ever object to going to have a few drinks. But I don’t think I’m going to be the one you need to convince…” His voice trails off as he gestures with his head towards Lionnet, as if he had just proven his point.
“Well, it depends, really. A night out with the old outfit was usually actually spent indoors in whatever served as a tavern nearby, drinking away what little coin we had earned…” Anselme trailed off at Lio’s reluctant expression, a hand raised to scratch sheepishly at his own hair. “We don’t have to do that. We’re older and wiser, after all.” Or at least older. “When’s the last time you had a walk around Foundation or the Pillars, just to have a look?”
Lionnet frowns. “I walk through Ishgard quite often, though not to stare at my surroundings. I am not a tourist.” His tone shifts at that last word, a bit of spite evident. Tourists are annoying. All these different people visiting Ishgard. Ugh.
Anselme chuckled at that, shaking a finger. “See, you go from here to there. I’ve been away for some time, minding the frontiers or trapped indoors at this Manor at that.” He explained, stepping back to throw his arms out wide to gesture to the buildings behind and around him. “At least the tourists appreciate what we take for granted; the beauty of Ishgard. One little walk?” He asked, brows tilting as the hopeful expression grew. Seeming more like a kid waiting expectantly for Starlight.
Idristan glances between Lionnet and Anselme, sighing and shaking his head as he catches sight of the latter’s expression. “Just agree to it,” he suggests to Lionnet. “Lest he starts to look a disappointed child on their nameday.”
Lionnet huffs. “Well, I suppose walking is healthy, as is the alpine air. Lead the way, Ser Anselme.”
Anselme grinned brightly, absolutely delighted. If he had a tail it would have wagged vigorously at the prospect of a walk. Nonetheless he strode forwards, arms wide as he clapped a hand onto a shoulder each, guiding them along onto the street proper. “We’ll see where fate and Fury guide us!” He offered cheerfully. It was probably going to end in a tavern. But at least the pretense was there.
Idristan’s lip curls as he reaches up, gently prying Anselme’s hand off his shoulder, though he does keep up with the other two. “As long as it is not the Brume,” he grumbles. A tavern wouldn’t be that bad, really.
Anselme took his hands back from both of them once they were out onto the street. “As much as things have changed, the Brume is not a particularly welcoming place. Especially not for anything that looks even remotely like nobility.” He gestured lightly between the other two. They certainly looked far more posh than he did. “We’ll keep away from there.”
Idristan eyes Anselme at this. The irony of him gesturing at the two of them was not lost on him. “Don’t forget to include yourself in that, Hailenarte,” he points out. “And very well. Perhaps we’ll manage to find some of the more interesting sorts that haunt the Pillars, instead of just the dull nobles.”
Lionnet nods along, slowly slipping out of Anselme’s grasp as well. “Agreed.” He looks this way and that, curious as to what Anselme has in mind.
Anselme kept his hands to himself, wincing slightly as Idristan called him by his surname. He looked more than a little sheepish, brushing a stray snowflake from earlier from his coat. “To be quite fair of the trio I would be the last one would suspect as a noble.” He offered as a counterpoint.
“And yet you outrank all of us. Ironic, isn’t it? The Fury must be laughing somewhere.” Idristan observed flatly.
Lionnet looks up and down Anselme, deciding his outfit seems relatively noble as well, but says nothing of it. “Nobles hold themselves a certain way that I and Mister Agache lack to an extent.”
Idristan narrows his eyes as he looks sharply over to Lionnet.
Anselme laughed a bit awkwardly, especially considering he had dressed down for the occasion. He wasn’t wearing anything with fur or plate. He thought he was doing well. He looked confused for a moment as he glanced between the other two. “Really? I think you two look rather distinguished.”
“I appreciate the sentiment.” Lionnet noted.
“That is rather the idea,” Idristan admits.
“You’re trying to look like a nobleman?” Anselme grinned blankly at Idristan, blinking a few times. “I thought you disliked them. Rather intensely.”
Idristan notices both of them looking at him and shrugs his shoulders once. “Just because I dislike them doesn’t mean I abhor their sense of fashion,” he counters quickly. “And it makes life easier in some respects.” He does not seem eager to elaborate on what exactly those were, for he quickens his pace in an attempt to get the others to just focus on keeping up with him.
“It is always in one’s best interest to look gentlemanly and distinguished, indeed.” Lionnet does not keep up very well, keeping the same pace he’d been at before.
Anselme trotted easily to keep pace with Idristan. Even if he overindulged in tea time sweets since being ‘laid off’ he did enough training to keep up with it. He wouldn’t get away that easily. “How so? Many react the same way you do to a nobleman. Distrust and dislike right off of the bat.”
Idristan glances over to side eye Anselme. “You’re assuming that I care about being liked,” he points out. “Mayhaps I simply want to avoid people asking inane questions,” he suggests lightly.
Anselme de Haillenarte knocked politely as possible on the door given the circumstances, essentially making it more of a rapidfire pounding on the knocker. When the door was opened by one of the serving staff the Knight pushed his way past with muttered apologies. Both for the rude entrance as well as the black smudge of Fury-knows what was transferred from the torn and bloodied coat onto the servant’s attire. “I’m looking for the Lord of the Manor, err… the Argents?”
Cassiopeia Argent furrowed her brows, placed a hand on the table and rose to her feet after the commotion and the use of her family's name.
Luca Black shot a look to Idristan at the voice in the foyer.
"But it is the largest," Idristan Agache points out. Because him knowing that wasn't suspicious at all either. He seems prepared to add more, only for the words to die in his throat as he looks sharply over his shoulder. He knew that voice... but surely there was no way, no reason why he would be here. "Anselme," he murmurs to Luca, as if in agreement, then he pushes back his chair roughly and gets to his feet.
".....Anselme?" Luca repeated.
Cassiopeia did them one better. "Who is Anselme?" She unfolded her arms, following Luca with brows still furrowed.
Idristan doesn't look at Cassi as he answers. "A knight," he says curtly as he strides forward, following the others to see what was going on.
Anselme looked up as his name was called. He and his coat had both seen better days, dark smudges of blood and something else smudged over both. He held his side with a small wince as he caught his breath, but at the sound of familiar voices he brightened up considerably. Grinning despite bruises and a bloodied nose. “Hello, good evening. Ah, I’m Anselme.” He gestured at himself. “My apologies for the carpet, and for interrupting your party. But it seemed rather important.”
Lionnet Blodoint shrugs at Quincy. "Do you know this man?"
"...no, but then I can't say I know any of you, really, Ser." Quincy Pallene retorted.
Cassiopeia looked upon said knight in the foyer and her brows raised as though she was silent saying ' yeaaaaah he is.'.
"What the..." Luca could see the blooms of discoloration on Anselme's face and the sorry state of his posture and worse state of his clothes. "Anselme, what happened? Lionnet!"
Idristan sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as he gets a decent look at the other elezen's face. "All of that is important," he remarks as he steps forward. "But we should really let him sit down before the questioning. And... yes," he adds as Luca calls for Lionnet. Let the healers do their work too!
Quincy quietly goes back to reading.
Lionnet stands and strides surprisingly swiftly over, reacting to the strained tone of Luca's call. "Yes?"
Cassiopeia turned, disappearing into the kitchen for a moment.
Anselme lifted a hand in a small salute to Luca before he placed his hand back on his side. “Still working that out, to be honest.” He exhaled a sigh and straightened up, having finally caught his breath after likely running across a good portion of the city. “So far as I know… Luca, have you been drinking? You’re leaning… oh that’s me.” He slumped down to sit hard on the floor.
Lionnet Blodoint pokes his head out the door of his office, ears perked up slightly. Who's calling at this hour? He walks over to the door and eases it open an inch, before pulling it wide. "Mister... Haillenarte, was it?"
Anselme Haillenarte winced slightly as he was addressed by his family name. “Just Anselme will do just fine, thank you.” He noted as he stepped into the cozy little clinic. He reached up to scratch at the bandages covering half his face sheepishly but dropped fingers away again, remembering at the last moment. “My apologies, when we first met I was a little flustered, I don’t believe I caught your whole name.”
"It is Lionnet Blodoint, ser. I take it you are here for treatment of some kind?” Lionnet regards the other elezen impassively, eyes moving up and down as they survey the extent of the damage.
Anselme nodded. “Pleasure to be reacquainted.” He said before he reached up to untie the bandages around his face, unable to lift the right arm as high as the left as he did so. “Ended up on the wrong end of a sword, I managed to get the bleeding to stop but I ah, couldn’t get an appointment with my usual chirurgeon. If it’s not an inconvenience would you mind having a look.”
Lionnet shakes his head, stepping aside and gesturing inward. "Oh, of course, anything for a knight of a High House. Please, come in- would you care for some tea, or anything?"
Anselme lowered the bandage and began folding it up carefully. The left side of his face was smudged with dried blood, the eye swollen to give the appearance of squinting though the blade’s swipe seemed to have missed the eye itself. “Please, just Anselme really. It’s fine.” He insisted with a cheerful albeit crooked smile as moving one side of his face hurt. “Tea sounds lovely, thank you.” He dabbed lightly at his cheek, just to be sure he wouldn’t be dripping blood on anything.
Lionnet Blodoint gestures at the couch. "You may take a seat there, Mister Anselme." He busies himself preparing some tea, a classic and familiar Ishgardian brew. Damp towels are brought over to Anselme for his use, as well as fresh bandages stacked nearby. "The face wound- is that the extent of your injuries, ser?"
Anselme Haillenarte nodded and took a seat on the couch. He’d made it thus far without his wounds impeding him terribly, what was a few minutes more while enjoying tea. “Really, just Anselme.” He insisted again with a small chuckle, picking up a damp cloth and pressing it to his own face with a quiet hiss. “A sword to the side as well, is it alright to call you Lionnet?”
Lionnet raises his eyebrows, but the rest of his face remains expressionless. "My, my. All that and you still found your way here without any trouble? That's certainly a feat, ser. You may call me whatever you like, though I must insist I refer to you formally unless it truly bothers you. It is only proper." Lionnet carries the tea set over on a small tray- a large pot, two cups, and a small plate of sweeteners. He pours a cup for Anselme and offers it.
Anselme considered that for a moment as he lowered his gaze down to the pile of bandages and damp cloths. He was still mulling that one over when the medic approached with tea service. “Thank you.” He noted distractedly, taking the cup and setting it down in front of himself. Finally, with a small nod he straightened up and grinned. “It does bother me, a bit. But then again maybe it bothers you to be informal.” He noted with a shrug. “How about this. I would prefer it if you weren’t, but I’ll understand if you must.” He seemed rather pleased with himself for that solution, reaching with his free hand and a small wince for the cup of tea to have a sip without adding anything to it.
Lionnet nods once, curtly. "A compromise, then." He takes and fills his own cup, though adds a bit of milk and honey. He takes small, slow sips, casting a glance again at Anselme. "Would you prefer I begin treatment immediately or give you some time to relax? Relaxation is an important part of recovery, after all. You may stay as long as you like."
Anselme grinned brightly at the chirurgeon, or at least the uncovered half of his face did. He set the teacup down and adjusted a little before picking it back up again. “That’s very kind but I wouldn’t want to impose on your hospitality. Besides, it seemed rather rude to just show up and expect that you’d be able to treat me immediately. I appreciate your making time for it.” He noted, tilting his head slightly to show his appreciation before he let his attention drift around the clinic. “I took something before I came by, am I rambling a bit?” He shifted slightly and fished a small, empty, bottle out of his pocket, setting it down on the table. A powerful alchemical painkiller, which would likely explain why he seemed to be perfectly content having a nice cup of tea and a chat while bleeding.
Lionnet picks up the bottle and reads the label with a frown. "Ah, this is... you took all of this? Oh dear. It would explain your attitude, however."
Little did Lionnet know... no, Anselme was naturally like that. Save for the rambling. That was made only marginally worse by enough medication to drop a draught chocobo. “I’m not very good with pain.” The Knight admitted with a sheepish shrug as he took a sip of the tea.
Lionnet regards the empty bottle a second time before dropping it upon the table once more. "Hmph. Not many people are, though. Well, when you are ready, simply let me know and I'll begin the treatment. It would appear the wounds are not too grievous, but do need attention. And if you'd need more painkillers, I can provide them... if in smaller doses."
Anselme nodded firmly, furrowing his brows briefly as though bracing himself. “Of course, whenever you’re ready. Feel free to finish your cup first.” He noted with a casual wave of his own teacup. “We can chat a bit in the mean time, I know little and less of you save for what I’ve heard from Quincy. How long have you been working with the Argents and their associates?”
Lionnet frowns into his teacup. Oh dear. Small talk. His worst nightmare. "I joined the Silver Table Accords as soon as I possibly could. I, along with Mister Agache and another woman, were directed towards the Black family as a target of our charity efforts. In the case of us three, it was to provide medical assistance. I take it you know the young Mister Black's story by now, yes? Mister Agache and I became embroiled in the mystery through a series of events and encounters. And here we are now."
Anselme tilted his head side to side briefly. “Only in bits and pieces. I think there’s a lot that I’m missing.” He admitted as he took a sip of tea and thought about that, lowering the damp cloth from his face for the time being. “I was aware that strange creatures were drawn to Luca and Idristan, then there was the Inqusitors that weren’t.” He noted, connecting the dots by gesturing lightly with the cup. “Now I seem to have stepped in it. I’m just not sure what it is exactly.”
Lionnet blinks rapidly. "You have not been informed? Yet you jumped into this mess without looking back?"
Anselme lifted both shoulders in a shrug that said yes, that’s exactly what he had done. “Er, things moved a bit quickly… I’ve worked with Idristan and Luca before, when it seemed as though they were in trouble I swung first and assumed I could ask after...”
Lionnet purses his lips. "And you still did not ask? Would you... like to ask?" He looks a little perturbed, sipping his tea quite severely. "Throwing yourself into harm's way like that is reckless and foolish."
Anselme managed a lopsided smile as he scratched a bit awkwardly at his cheek. It took him a moment to realize that he had picked the injured one and hissed softly. Regrets. So many regrets. He lowered his hand and settled it on his teacup to avoid doing it again. “I admit I thought I might ask you, Quincy has always spoken highly of you and seems to trust you implicitly.”
If Anselme were to look very very closely, he'd see a small smile stealthily make its way onto Lionnet's severe and solemn features. "Mister Pallene is a patient of mine, and to be my apprentice in the future, once he's finished his studies. You may, of course, ask me anything, and I hope I can respond, though I'm sadly out of the loop a bit in comparison to those dwelling in Argent Manor."
The note Lebeaux Desrosiers had sent was penned in a careful and precise block rather than a flowing script. As though one was unfamiliar with the letters or perhaps working on practicing. That’s what happened when you hired a Hingan scribe to pen a letter in Eorzean. At least it was legible. It requested Lionnet’s presence at the Shirogane Tradehouse at his earliest convenience. Lebeaux waited patiently, preparing tea as he waited for his guest’s arrival.
Time passes, but eventually a knock sounds at the door. One, two, three raps on the door, not obnoxiously loud, nor too quiet.
Lebeaux called out cheerfully. “It’s open, do come in.” He turned to face the door, a cup of tea in his left hand. If it was his guest, all was well and he would find the medic smiling his standard saintly smile in the opulent office. If it was a more unpleasant visitor. Well a cup of hot tea to the face would be enough to buy a few seconds to finish the spell he had begun pre-emptively weaving.
Lionnet Blodoint opens the door slowly and steps inside, bowing stiffly. "Good evening, Mister Desrosiers. How are you?"
Lebeaux tilted into a half-bow of greeting in return before he turned back to the sideboard. “Well enough, all things considered. I’m pleased you were able to make the trip over to visit my rooms, I hope it wasn’t too terribly difficult for you. Oh, and how do you take your tea?”
"I do not get out to Kugane all too often, but when given the chance, I am always happy to come. There are so many individual cultures present and so many new and foreign medical techniques. Ah- and with nothing but a spoonful of honey or two."
Lebeaux spooned two generous spoonfuls of honey into the other man’s tea and turned to hold it out to Lionnet, again with his left hand. His right he kept close to his body. “You are always welcome here, should you find yourself in Kugane or desiring an excuse to visit the city. I would make a poor tour guide but at least there would be tea and a comfortable couch to rest upon your return from Far Eastern adventures.”
Lionnet accepts the tea gratefully, blowing on it first before taking a small, delicate sip. "You have my gratitude, Mister Desrosiers. Your hospitality is much appreciated, and offers of tea are always welcome."
Lebeaux tilted his head to acknowledge the thanks. He then picked up his own cup of tea and made his way over to the sitting area nearby. “The least I can do after you’ve come so far. I do admit there were ulterior motives to my inviting you by for tea today.” He admitted as he set the saucer on the side table rather than drink. “I’ve been injured and I was hoping you may assist me.”
Lionnet raises his eyebrows, though does not seem entirely surprised. "Oh, dear. What has happened?" He moves over to the couch and settles down upon it, posture still as stiff as a board.
Lebeaux extended his right and slowly turned up the cuff of his jacket to show a splint and bandages underneath. He slowly began to unwrap the bandages to show the swollen and darkly bruised skin underneath. “I was forced to discharge a firearm in self-defense.” He explained. “I was not aware that the weapon kicked like a cannon and my wrist was broken in the recoil. Alas, I’m right handed.”
"Oh my. I suppose it is a gift you were not wounded otherwise, given that this was in self-defense. I hope everything is alright besides. This is quite an issue, unfortunately. You have no other medical staff on duty within your company?"
Lebeaux rose from his spot on the chair and shifted over to sit beside Lionnet. “I was quite lucky. The shot was enough to scare off the assailant, as well as the aetherwork of the one I was with at the time. It could have been far worse.” At the mention of other medics his icy gaze glanced aside, tilting his brows to look ‘troubled’. “There are two. One is a miqo’te raised in Ishgard. A kitchen boy who fancies himself a medic. He practices…” He lowered his voice as though the word itself was unclean. “Sharlayan Astrology.”
Lionnet blinks. "It is not what we are used to, but in my experience, it works just as well as conjury. Do not be so hard on astrology, simply because it is unorthodox. We, as chirurgeons, can always learn from other peoples' methods. Now, what is it you'd need my assistance with? You seem to have the situation already under control." He gestures to the splint and bandages.
Lebeaux lifted his shoulder in a small shrug. “Unorthodox is part of the larger problem, Lionnet. While there is room for minor indulgences here and there to ensure the field of medicine doesn’t stagnate, there are radical ideas that go hand in hand with Sharlayan Astrology that are, frankly, dangerous.” He declared. “And when I attempted to see if he subscribed to such ideals in place of a proper Ishgardian ideal, he became angry and sicced his hulking monstrosity of a beastman husband on me.” He used his left hand to adjust his cravat and lapels to ensure they hadn’t shifted during his brief fluster. “The other medic on staff is Idristan Agache.” He waited a moment, watching Lionnet from the corner of his eye for his reaction as he preened his own clothes into order.
"Was this... beastman the assailant that caused you to fire the gun?" Lionnet does look genuinely surprised, if very mildy so, at the mention of Idristan. "Mister Agache works here? I happen to know him, as well. A reliable sort, when it comes to conjury, though his personality may be lacking."
“Oh, no. That matter was settled without incident.” Other than a bruised ego. “The husband is also a miqo’te, yet one of the desert breed and I suspect far larger than average.” He carefully maintained that ‘troubled’ expression. “There is something very wrong with Master Agache, haven’t you noticed? I can’t quite put my finger on it… yet I certainly cannot trust him. I’ve seen some things. Anyroads, I dare not ask him, not even for a second opinion.” Lebeaux indicated the bruised wrist. “I’ve set it to the best of my ability, won’t you check it for me to ensure all is in order?”
Lionnet nods. "Of course. Let me take a look." He reaches out a gloved hand, palm open for Lebeaux to lay his wrist down. "Though I must disagree with you on the subject of Mister Agache. He is disagreeable, yes, but he is very reliable indeed."
Lebeaux extended his hand gingerly to lay it on Lionnet’s open palm. “I wonder.” He mused, wincing as he extended the fingers of his right hand. “He often seems distracted and troubled. I’ve regularly caught him pilfering medical supplies to treat mysterious wounds. He refuses to explain where they came from. He often seems exhausted to the point of being drained, incapable of casting for a prolonged amount of time. All but useless in an emergency situation. You work with him as well?”
Lionnet carefully inspects Lebby's wrist, gingerly, carefully. Was it well taken care of? Was it healing? His eyes are sharp, focused, and he responds in a somewhat distracted tone. "I have on occasion. Mister Agache does other work as well, I have heard. His own mercenary contracts and the like. It is nothing to worry about, I am sure."
Lebeaux smiled serenely, though he did inhale a bit sharply as the wrist was inspected. The wrist had been carefully set almost immediately and treated for damage. As well as being well stabilized in the mean time. Other than the swelling and bruising it seemed to be coming along perfectly well. “Mm, well. If his work was that good I would be willing to overlook other shadier aspects of his personality. Alas, he’s rarely fit to assist.” A shoulder rolled in a shrug. “No matter, your assistance has been a gift. It is a comfort to know I’ve reliable aid should I need it.”
"I would say you do not need it- not at the moment, at least. Your wrist appears to be coming along quite well- it has been set properly, and I see no problems. It simply must have time to heal. You are more than capable, Mister Desrosiers. But of course, my aid is always available, should you need it. Feel free to contact me at any time."
@officiallongboy
with mentions of: @roses-and-grimoires @eorzeansky @fyrrdetelemagna
Anselme de Haillenarte‘s presence was announced by the thudding of boots on hardwood and the clatter of light mail before the Chirurgeon’s door was burst open. “Lionnet!” The Knight called out cheerfully as he let himself in to the clinic. “Good evening.” He quickly added, nearly forgetting the more formal greeting.
Lionnet Blodoint is seated stiffly on one of his green chairs, a book held in one hand as he flips through the pages. He looks up, adjusting his glasses with the other hand. "Ser Anselme. Good evening. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Anselme grinned brightly. Even when Lio was ‘relaxing’ he still looked stiff as a board. He tilted into a brief bow and closed the door behind himself before he made his way over and dropped into the other chair. “I was…” Wait, it sounded a bit silly to say he was passing through. He really had no reason to be there. “I wanted to come by for a cup of tea and to see if you would like to take another walk.”
Lionnet smiles softly, placing a bookmark into the book he was reading and shutting it quietly. "Tea would be a pleasure, though I may need to be persuaded to go for a walk."
Anselme nodded eagerly, still grinning. Not fazed in the least by the other’s reluctance to leave the cozy warmth of his office. “You wouldn’t have to do nearly as much walking as last time, honestly.” He promised, settling his elbows on his knees comfortably, hands shifting slightly to gesture as he explained. “I wanted to go have a look at a jousting tourney that’s been taking place out in Coerthas. And I was hoping you would accompany me.”
"Ah, the one hosted by House De'bayle? I suppose that is tonight, isn't it... I have been there once before. I could visit again, I suppose. It is quite a spectacle."
“That’s the one!” He agreed, standing back up and smoothing the lay of his coat a bit self-consciously. “I, ah, don’t intend to participate. I would just like to observe and I’m certainly glad for your company. I’ll wait while you get your coat.” He suggested, hurrying the other along as he was plainly excited for them to be on their way.
Lionnet extricates his long frame from the chair, stretching. He smiles wryly. "So no tea, then?"
Anselme stopped fidgeting with his sash and smiled a bit sheepishly. “Well, I suppose we could bring some along… something warm to drink out in the snows wouldn’t go amiss. Do you have something to pack and wrap it in? I can keep it warm.” He offered cheerfully.
Lionnet shakes his head. "I am afraid I do not. I am not one to travel with a canteen of tea, kept hot. I simply have what is to be used indoors. I apologize."
Anselme lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “No great loss. Once we get too cold we could always return for that cup here.” He suggested. “I’ll see about bringing along a kit next time.” Already expecting this to be a recurring thing.
Lionnet nods again, not averse to the idea. "Of course. I shall just be a moment, then, to get my coat and a hat. Will you be alright, Ser Anselme, in the cold?" Lionnet enters the back- his living space. He returns later clad in a long coat, with thicker gloves and boots on as well. He smooths down his hair, which honestly doesn't need any help being smoothed down, before he places his hat upon his head.
Anselme nodded as well, then realized the other couldn’t see it while he was fetching his coat. “Of course. I tuck a fire shard or two between the undershirt and mail to prevent the chill from seeping through.” He explained proudly, tapping the chest of his surcoat as the other appeared, grinning at the other’s traditional attire. “You look very posh, Master Blodoint.” He noted with a formal bow.
Lionnet raises his eyebrows, arms crossed. "Posh?"
“Posh.” Anselme declared again, gesturing to what the other wore. “Classy. Dapper.”
"I prefer the term professional, though I will not complain about the latter two. Thank you, Ser Anselme. And you look quite chivalrous."
Anselme grinned and nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He looked down at his own attire, fidgeting once again with the sash across his chest. “Looks alright? Didn’t want to wear my house colors nor the Temple kit. This seemed a decent middle ground.”
"I did not take you for someone keen on wearing black, often, but it does suit you. Though I dare say you look rather uncomfortable, what with the constant fidgetting and all."
Anselme dropped a hand away while the other lifted to scratch sheepishly at his short hair. “First time being around other Knights since I left the Order, is all. A bit nervous… I suppose.” He admitted. His hand dropped away as he cleared his throat and swept a hand towards the door, inviting Lionnet to lead the way. “It’s alright. We’re just there to support Ishgard and have a bit of fun. Nothing to be worried over.”
Lionnet nods and walks over to the door, opening it and holding it for Anselme to follow behind him. "Truly? You are a knight yourself, though you have not associated with other knights in that long? House De'bayle has a collection of very fine knights. I am sure you will get along splendidly."
“There is still a pending investigation regarding my behavior during the Voidsent incursion in Coerthas.” Anselme explained. “My reinstatement rather depends on how that turns out and considering all else there is for the Tribunal to sort through with the changes in policies, they’re not keen to start dragging Knights out for spectacle. I suppose my name plays a part as well. I'm not concerned. I've enough to fill my days in the mean time."
"Well, consider yourself invited over for tea whenever the idea strikes you, if you need more to fill your time."
Anselme perked up considerably at that, he had been hedging dangerously close to a bit of wallowing, but the invitation for tea cheered him up considerably.
