[Having just put on a display for Rey, Wrathion is carefully seated on his bed so as not to make his injury obvious when Anduin comes calling. But opening the door from across the room is for blue dragons, so it takes him a moment to carefully cradle his arm into a position that will not further jostle the break there in order to wander over and unlatch the lock.
Despite the shooting pain there, he manages a very slight smile for the king upon greeting. The loose loungewear covers up the worst of his broken arm, but there is nothing to hide the way he favors the right side of his body.]
If only so many were to come so swiftly when I call.
[There is a slight wryness in his tone, but he sounds almost grateful.]
[ Just as wry, as he steps inside to let the door shut behind him.
His eyes flicker downward briefly, to the notable way Wrathion's arms aren't moving. Generally as verbose in his gestures as he is with his tongue, it's telling all on its own. Anduin's brow furrows immediately. ]
[To that, Wrathion barks a short laugh. So often it was he who wished to skip conversation and jump straight into business, and not the other way around.]
A misunderstanding.
[That is the easiest way to summarize the conversation he'd had with Ramir.]
I have already settled the matter. It is not why I called you here.
[Not entirely, anyway. He shifts to invite Anduin further inside, though this time, he has to reach to keep his arm from moving too much when he does. Showing weakness in that way is better than reacting verbally.]
[It is clear he does not intend on elaborating. He had not, in fact, settled anything. He'd left out of anger, before he felt encouraged to settle the matter more finally. Anduin might have been proud of him for that -- but he is not particularly proud of it himself.
So he presses on with his original point as he turns, carefully, to consult his small collection of tea -- as if he did not have a broken arm to work around.]
Not long before your arrival, there was a bit of an incident at the establishment known as "The People Zoo". Perhaps you caught whispers of its occurance?
Nothing in any great detail. I know of it. That's about all.
[ His tongue presses thoughtfully to the inside of his cheek, watching the dragon continue about his way, with overt mention of his injury yet to be made.
Always with a penchant for the dramatic, even in pain. ]
I am familiar with the incident's orchestrator, as it turns out.
[It is easy enough for a dragon to boil a pot of water with one hand. He does not need to bother with a stove, after all. He sets one hand to the side of the pot, which glows a soft orange as he does so.
Thanks to their time in Pandaria, he already knows what sort of flavor Anduin prefers, so he does not bother to ask when he picks one to steep.]
I believe she may be the key to the spark of true continued showings of resistance here. From the submissive population, at least.
[ ...alright. If he's simply going to refuse to address it, fine.
Anduin shifts on his feet, eyes flickering over the kitchen, before spotting the appropriate cups and heading in that direction. Can't very well get them if he's busy heating the water, can he? ]
[Ah. Concern. That's not the word he really wanted to use there -- he is distracted by doing too many things at once. Briefly, a furrow in his brow appears before he continues.
This is Anduin he is talking to after all. He can trust him not to pick at his choice of words.]
Her resolve is quite strong, but I fear this city may rid her of it before she is able to gain any ground in her efforts. I thought perhaps you might be interested in meeting her -- as my resident expert on faith.
[He offers Anduin another wry grin as he picks his hand off the pot.]
If you do not already know her, of course. Her name is Rey.
[ He frowns. A memory from his arrival comes back to him, a slight girl with dark eyes and a determined set to her shoulders. More than anything he remembers how absolutely dead set she was against giving even a single inch to those in charge.
That certainly seems the sort of woman who would lead a rebellion. ]
I think we might have met once, in passing.
[ Lips thinning, he sets the cups down in front of the other, staring at him flatly before reaching out a hand for the kettle.
It's not the tea he's concerned with. And he knows it. ]
[Wrathion says this the way someone might announce disappointment with meal options on a menu -- expected, understandable, yet somehow still upsetting. If Anduin had met her for any stretch of time, this would likely not surprise him.
In response to that stare, he accepts the challenge of a one-handed pour into his own cup -- which he manages without much struggle -- if only to make the point that he is capable of it. Only then does he pass the kettle to Anduin.]
Little to do with me, and more to do with my status.
Well now both of them have a disappointed look to them, as Anduin takes the kettle, shaking his head and pouring carefully, to avoid the rising steam. ]
I can't say I blame her. There are enough Dominants here willing to use their status as a weapon, without even considering the consequences for the people involved.
[ The kettle settles gently back into place. ]
Trust needs to be more than earned. It has to be shared.
[ Which would make trusting Wrathion a very difficult prospect for anyone, wouldn't it. ]
[Extremely rude, Anduin, pointing out the obvious like that. But Wrathion's smile remains pointedly charming.]
I do not desire to see this city's ways tarnish her spirit. Perhaps we will get there.
[Or perhaps they won't! But that would certainly be a shame.
Wrathion reaches for his cup to take a sip, but now that he isn't elevating his arm to take the weight off, gravity is really starting to take its toll on the broken bone. It has been like this for a few hours now, and what attempts to mitigate the pain have been all but exhausted.
He's made his point, with the tea. It would be foolish to exacerbate it much further, and risk permanent damage.]
Speaking of Rey's spirt -- perhaps you might consider assisting me with a more...immediate problem.
[He sets the cup back on the counter, carefully setting his fingers upon the dominant bracelet to steady the wave of nausea that hits him. He had been entertaining removing it, but his arm had swollen enough under the loose clothing that it would not slide off without more pain.]
[ Yes, Wrathion's made his point. A point no one asked him to make, a point that served absolutely no purpose but to satisfy his own vanity.
Completely on brand.
There's still a slight release of tension as he finally surrenders, and Anduin sighs before stepping closer. ]
Let me see. How bad is it?
[ The way he's been cradling it against his side says it's bad, but it's hard to tell under the loose clothing. One hand hovers just over where the fabric seems more taut, a thoughtful frown appearing on his face. ]
[But in how many places and how badly -- well, that is harder to tell from the surface alone. It takes effort, but he eventually manages to pull the bracelet off with a flinch as it jostles his arm.
He was hit with enough force to knock him into the wall, and so he would not be surprised if it was worse than it seemed on the surface. He is currently attempting to figure out how to get Anduin a better look at his upper arm without doing further damage.]
[ He reaches instinctively to try to mitigate the movement of his arm as much as possible, as the bracelet is jerked loose. A difficult prospect, indeed. ]
...we can try taking the shirt off, carefully. Or, if you're not terribly attached it it, we can try splitting the sleeve open.
[The idea of trying to pretzel his way out of his shirt is weirdly humiliating and he will have no part of it -- attachment to the shirt aside.
He could rip it pretty easily, with help. His teeth were sharp enough -- there was also his sword, in the corner of the room. Anduin was likely strong enough to do it himself. The material was thin, after all, and if the old pain in his jaw was anything to measure by then he was more than capable of ripping through.]
[ They also happen to be in the kitchen. Trying to tear the fabric could just jostle his arm around further, and Anduin scans quickly for a small knife among the utensils present.
There's still the question of how this happened. What struck him that could have wounded him this badly. But one thing at a time. Focus.
His hands are steady as he focuses on slipping the blade under the cuff of the sleeve, pinching the fabric to pull without too much pressure, and the thin fabric frays and splits quickly enough. Enough that he can gently tug it open, a bit at a time, up the inner seam and peeling it away from Wrathion's swollen arm gradually. ]
[In his continued effort to appear aloof and unaffected my his own mortality staring him in the face, Wrathion glances away from Anduin's handiwork with an expression that might almost appear bored. At least he was kind enough to split it along the seam. He could repair it later that way, if he so desired.
When he guesses that Anduin has nearly finished, he turns to glance back, making a face when he spots just how swollen his arm has become in just the span of a few hours. His skin around the area where he was punched is swollen and sitting at an angle that is not quite natural.
Ramir was going to pay for that -- one way or another.]
[ That he's been carrying on like this all this while, with an injury this severe...Anduin has to take a moment to close his eyes, take a steadying breath, then focus in earnest on the damage done. ]
Definitely broken. But it doesn't look like the skin was punctured.
[ Small favors. After a moment more of study, Anduin's gaze lifts to meet the dragon's, his expression grim. ]
I can help, but healing broken bones isn't easy. And this will hurt. You may want to sit for this.
[Wrathion's displeasure is palpable, enough that it leaks through upon his expression. Wordlessly, he picks his glass of tea up off the counter and turns to move toward the bed in compliance.
He might have been recalcitrant toward seeming weak, but there was no use in arguing with someone who new more than him in particular about physical ailments.
Besides, it already hurts.]
I'm sure it won't be that bad. Your assistance is appreciated.
[ With that, his eyes close, the words forming and reaching out, and the Light answering as it always did. Stirring around him, before being focused down through the palms of his hands.
Broken bones have to be set. There's no other way for them to heal.
It's all he can do to try to mitigate that initial pain, the glow brighter than before, brow furrowed in focus. ]
[Wrathion almost tells him not to apologize. It is written upon his face, that he doesn't want or need the pity. But -- he does not have the energy for it. And, perhaps, the pity isn't so bad. It is certainly better than anger.
...
Yeah, that definitely hurts. Wrathion does not have the fortitude not to flinch, though he manages to bury any outcry under a prolonged, pained grunt and gritted teeth. It sounds more frustrated than pained.
That was it, really -- he'd done a great job of suppressing his frustration with the city, the things it made him and those he'd called friends do. And yes, the city hadn't made Ramir do this -- but it was born out of anger with him. For the city forcing him into causing her pain.
This flirtation with the Light was not the same as the last time Anduin had healed him. That had been almost pleasant, if uncomfortable and foreign. This not only was foreign, but it burned as his bones pinched back together amidst damaged tissue.
He should have grabbed something to bite. That would have probably helped.]
[ He remember what it felt like, when the Light reforged bones that had forgotten their shape. The saving grace is that the break is relatively simple, and it's obvious even under the skin when that strange distortion smooths out again, looking much more like an arm ought to.
He could stop there. He doesn't, not when there was more he could do to ease the pain.
So Anduin presses on, pouring more of the Light into the healing limb, mending tissue back together, concentrating on mitigating the swelling as Wrathion's body had tried to mend itself so admirably. ]
[The pain is slow to subside, but it does begin to do so after the worst of the damage is done and once Anduin has moved onto reducing the swelling. It is only then that he finally starts to relax, and he recognizes a straight pain in his jaw where he had been clenching it. That too eventually melts away into the embrace of the Light.
Once all that is left is weariness and a dull buzz in the freshly healed arm, his free hand comes up to smear over his face. He's still angry -- still frustrated, even with the Light washing positive thoughts upon him. But it is lessened, much like the pain of bone regrowth.
What good was the power of the Titans if this body could still be broken so easily?]
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Despite the shooting pain there, he manages a very slight smile for the king upon greeting. The loose loungewear covers up the worst of his broken arm, but there is nothing to hide the way he favors the right side of his body.]
If only so many were to come so swiftly when I call.
[There is a slight wryness in his tone, but he sounds almost grateful.]
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[ Just as wry, as he steps inside to let the door shut behind him.
His eyes flicker downward briefly, to the notable way Wrathion's arms aren't moving. Generally as verbose in his gestures as he is with his tongue, it's telling all on its own. Anduin's brow furrows immediately. ]
What happened?
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A misunderstanding.
[That is the easiest way to summarize the conversation he'd had with Ramir.]
I have already settled the matter. It is not why I called you here.
[Not entirely, anyway. He shifts to invite Anduin further inside, though this time, he has to reach to keep his arm from moving too much when he does. Showing weakness in that way is better than reacting verbally.]
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'Settled' the matter?
[ That's almost as concerning as the injury itself.
Still, he did invite him here, rather than remain in isolation to lick his wounds as he might otherwise have done. That's something, isn't it? ]
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[It is clear he does not intend on elaborating. He had not, in fact, settled anything. He'd left out of anger, before he felt encouraged to settle the matter more finally. Anduin might have been proud of him for that -- but he is not particularly proud of it himself.
So he presses on with his original point as he turns, carefully, to consult his small collection of tea -- as if he did not have a broken arm to work around.]
Not long before your arrival, there was a bit of an incident at the establishment known as "The People Zoo". Perhaps you caught whispers of its occurance?
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[ His tongue presses thoughtfully to the inside of his cheek, watching the dragon continue about his way, with overt mention of his injury yet to be made.
Always with a penchant for the dramatic, even in pain. ]
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[It is easy enough for a dragon to boil a pot of water with one hand. He does not need to bother with a stove, after all. He sets one hand to the side of the pot, which glows a soft orange as he does so.
Thanks to their time in Pandaria, he already knows what sort of flavor Anduin prefers, so he does not bother to ask when he picks one to steep.]
I believe she may be the key to the spark of true continued showings of resistance here. From the submissive population, at least.
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Anduin shifts on his feet, eyes flickering over the kitchen, before spotting the appropriate cups and heading in that direction. Can't very well get them if he's busy heating the water, can he? ]
Which puts a target on her back.
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[Ah. Concern. That's not the word he really wanted to use there -- he is distracted by doing too many things at once. Briefly, a furrow in his brow appears before he continues.
This is Anduin he is talking to after all. He can trust him not to pick at his choice of words.]
Her resolve is quite strong, but I fear this city may rid her of it before she is able to gain any ground in her efforts. I thought perhaps you might be interested in meeting her -- as my resident expert on faith.
[He offers Anduin another wry grin as he picks his hand off the pot.]
If you do not already know her, of course. Her name is Rey.
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[ He frowns. A memory from his arrival comes back to him, a slight girl with dark eyes and a determined set to her shoulders. More than anything he remembers how absolutely dead set she was against giving even a single inch to those in charge.
That certainly seems the sort of woman who would lead a rebellion. ]
I think we might have met once, in passing.
[ Lips thinning, he sets the cups down in front of the other, staring at him flatly before reaching out a hand for the kettle.
It's not the tea he's concerned with. And he knows it. ]
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[Wrathion says this the way someone might announce disappointment with meal options on a menu -- expected, understandable, yet somehow still upsetting. If Anduin had met her for any stretch of time, this would likely not surprise him.
In response to that stare, he accepts the challenge of a one-handed pour into his own cup -- which he manages without much struggle -- if only to make the point that he is capable of it. Only then does he pass the kettle to Anduin.]
Little to do with me, and more to do with my status.
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Well now both of them have a disappointed look to them, as Anduin takes the kettle, shaking his head and pouring carefully, to avoid the rising steam. ]
I can't say I blame her. There are enough Dominants here willing to use their status as a weapon, without even considering the consequences for the people involved.
[ The kettle settles gently back into place. ]
Trust needs to be more than earned. It has to be shared.
[ Which would make trusting Wrathion a very difficult prospect for anyone, wouldn't it. ]
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I do not desire to see this city's ways tarnish her spirit. Perhaps we will get there.
[Or perhaps they won't! But that would certainly be a shame.
Wrathion reaches for his cup to take a sip, but now that he isn't elevating his arm to take the weight off, gravity is really starting to take its toll on the broken bone. It has been like this for a few hours now, and what attempts to mitigate the pain have been all but exhausted.
He's made his point, with the tea. It would be foolish to exacerbate it much further, and risk permanent damage.]
Speaking of Rey's spirt -- perhaps you might consider assisting me with a more...immediate problem.
[He sets the cup back on the counter, carefully setting his fingers upon the dominant bracelet to steady the wave of nausea that hits him. He had been entertaining removing it, but his arm had swollen enough under the loose clothing that it would not slide off without more pain.]
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Completely on brand.
There's still a slight release of tension as he finally surrenders, and Anduin sighs before stepping closer. ]
Let me see. How bad is it?
[ The way he's been cradling it against his side says it's bad, but it's hard to tell under the loose clothing. One hand hovers just over where the fabric seems more taut, a thoughtful frown appearing on his face. ]
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[But in how many places and how badly -- well, that is harder to tell from the surface alone. It takes effort, but he eventually manages to pull the bracelet off with a flinch as it jostles his arm.
He was hit with enough force to knock him into the wall, and so he would not be surprised if it was worse than it seemed on the surface. He is currently attempting to figure out how to get Anduin a better look at his upper arm without doing further damage.]
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[ He reaches instinctively to try to mitigate the movement of his arm as much as possible, as the bracelet is jerked loose. A difficult prospect, indeed. ]
...we can try taking the shirt off, carefully. Or, if you're not terribly attached it it, we can try splitting the sleeve open.
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[The idea of trying to pretzel his way out of his shirt is weirdly humiliating and he will have no part of it -- attachment to the shirt aside.
He could rip it pretty easily, with help. His teeth were sharp enough -- there was also his sword, in the corner of the room. Anduin was likely strong enough to do it himself. The material was thin, after all, and if the old pain in his jaw was anything to measure by then he was more than capable of ripping through.]
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There's still the question of how this happened. What struck him that could have wounded him this badly. But one thing at a time. Focus.
His hands are steady as he focuses on slipping the blade under the cuff of the sleeve, pinching the fabric to pull without too much pressure, and the thin fabric frays and splits quickly enough. Enough that he can gently tug it open, a bit at a time, up the inner seam and peeling it away from Wrathion's swollen arm gradually. ]
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When he guesses that Anduin has nearly finished, he turns to glance back, making a face when he spots just how swollen his arm has become in just the span of a few hours. His skin around the area where he was punched is swollen and sitting at an angle that is not quite natural.
Ramir was going to pay for that -- one way or another.]
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Definitely broken. But it doesn't look like the skin was punctured.
[ Small favors. After a moment more of study, Anduin's gaze lifts to meet the dragon's, his expression grim. ]
I can help, but healing broken bones isn't easy. And this will hurt. You may want to sit for this.
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He might have been recalcitrant toward seeming weak, but there was no use in arguing with someone who new more than him in particular about physical ailments.
Besides, it already hurts.]
I'm sure it won't be that bad. Your assistance is appreciated.
[A forced smile quirks on his face.]
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[ With that, his eyes close, the words forming and reaching out, and the Light answering as it always did. Stirring around him, before being focused down through the palms of his hands.
Broken bones have to be set. There's no other way for them to heal.
It's all he can do to try to mitigate that initial pain, the glow brighter than before, brow furrowed in focus. ]
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...
Yeah, that definitely hurts. Wrathion does not have the fortitude not to flinch, though he manages to bury any outcry under a prolonged, pained grunt and gritted teeth. It sounds more frustrated than pained.
That was it, really -- he'd done a great job of suppressing his frustration with the city, the things it made him and those he'd called friends do. And yes, the city hadn't made Ramir do this -- but it was born out of anger with him. For the city forcing him into causing her pain.
This flirtation with the Light was not the same as the last time Anduin had healed him. That had been almost pleasant, if uncomfortable and foreign. This not only was foreign, but it burned as his bones pinched back together amidst damaged tissue.
He should have grabbed something to bite. That would have probably helped.]
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He could stop there. He doesn't, not when there was more he could do to ease the pain.
So Anduin presses on, pouring more of the Light into the healing limb, mending tissue back together, concentrating on mitigating the swelling as Wrathion's body had tried to mend itself so admirably. ]
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Once all that is left is weariness and a dull buzz in the freshly healed arm, his free hand comes up to smear over his face. He's still angry -- still frustrated, even with the Light washing positive thoughts upon him. But it is lessened, much like the pain of bone regrowth.
What good was the power of the Titans if this body could still be broken so easily?]
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