It isn't easy to sleep for long on the commandeered airship, especially once the exhaustion part wears off. Doubly so when there's a lot of stomping around, shouting and other voice-related noises that the thin walls of the small cabin fail to keep out. The unsteadiness of the deck doesn't help either.
"Oh for the love of all," Willow complains as she works on getting up to her, well, hooves, then stumbles towards the door. Fumbling, she tries to open the door to complain about the noise!
The door opens inward a bit too easily, and Willow nearly gets knocked over by Mr. Cottonmouth, the tiger Khatta, who was either leaning back against it to nap or was leaning back against it to make sure nobody tried to open. To his credit, he doesn't hiss when he can't recover in time.
"Yike!" goes Willow when stripes go past, then she's scrambling to try and catch him so he doesn't hit the ground too hard!
"Uuurgh, I wasn't sleeping!" He claims, half-cradled in Willow's grip. "I was just sitting down. This boat is swaying like a drunk Rakhtor. You don't want to be on any end of a drunk Rakhtor."
"Are you going to vomit?" Willow asks rather bluntly. But really, wouldn't you want to know in time to dodge? "What is going on out there?"
"I haven't eaten anything worth vomiting," the big cat claims, and tries to get back to his feet. "Out there? The boat is overloaded, and we're huggin' the landscape. The Rakhtor's pulling us keep rising up or diving and that's jerking one side up versus the other."
"Is the ship going to survive this?" Willow asks as she helps the cat back to his feet. "Are there many people hurt?"
"I think the little guys are extra queasy," the tiger claims. "The Eeee can just take off and come back at least. A few tried to hang from the netting but kept getting bounced against the envelope. Nobody's fall overboard yet.. I think. Razor is tied to the mainmast, and in a very foul mood. Uh.. Sackcloth was tending to Bright in the kitchen, I think."
"How bad is Bright hurt?" Willow asks as she dusts the cat off, "And which way is the kitchen from here?"
"He's got his arm wrapped up so I don't know how bad off he is," Cottonmouth says, then blinks. "But.. Aeonians are immune to poison and booze right? So.. I guess that would cover painkillers too?" He steps back out, to make sure there's room. "It's in the.. back part. We're in the something-castle. I'll take you there."
"Probably a good idea, since I think I am the only woman here, and men might be feeling desperate," Willow agrees as she offers her arm to the cat. "Is Stitch behaving himself, I hope?"
"He's.. trying to wrangle the Rakhtors," Cottonmouth says, stepping aside for Willow. "He doesn't want to be near his brother right now."
"Why?" Willow asks, "Feeling guilty, or something else?"
"Probably trying to avoid extra stress?" the cat guesses. Now that he's moved, Willow can see the the main deck. Men are scattered about - some flat to the wood, some clutching the railing. The ropes are full of Eeee.. most of home seem to be paired up, but that could be Raiders guarding crew that need to actually work. There's a wide space around the main mast though, where Razor is bound tight. He's also muzzled, and has things on the ends of his talons. Even though he can't slash or kick (even his tail is tied to the post), he glares bloody murder. That glare is on Willow right now.
And Willow, of course, can't help but smile sweetly at Razor, and wiggle her fingertips to him. Then to add to it, she blows him a kiss. After that, she's just looking around the deck again, and feels calmer; people are too busy or panicky to be looking to grab a girl, so she should be safe. "This can't be over soon enough," she remarks to the cat.
"Half of me hopes we'll crash just to end the swaying," Cottonmouth claims. He does keep a steadying arm available for Willow, and tries to move so that he's always between her and Razor. Of the big men, Mr. Slither appears to be having the easiest time of it; he's coiled around one of the spars, and might be asleep. Mr. Straw is sitting with his back to the wall of the rear superstructure, as close to the center of the ship as possible. There's no sign of Mr. Velvet, but Mr. Sprocket is at the main wheel above. Although it isn't clear just how he'd be steering in all this.
"Did you know in the sky islands there are amusement park rides like this?" Willow remarks idly, "And people pay to get bucked around like this? Bizarre, isn't it?" She's also swishing her butt at Razor as they walk way from him; probably to rub it all in.
There are two doors, one to either side of Mr. Straw, but Cottonmouth takes Willow to an open hatchway with a ladder-stair going down into the hull. "This is the tricky part. You have to hold on, not lose your footing when the ship bucks, and also not hit the side of the wall. Want me to go down first? Not so I can look at your butt, but so I don't have to worry about getting impaled on your horn."
Willow makes a face. "Go ahead in whatever way you feel most comfortable," she remarks and gestures. Nevermind cats and Vartans and such all have more pointy bits than she does!
So Cottonmouth heads down first. It isn't clear when he reaches the bottom, because his ears are still stick up through the hatchway. Then he bends down a bit to actually fit into the gangway below. "All clear," he calls up. Of course that's when there's a loud avian scream and the Rakhtors try to pull the ship in two different directions at once. Willow can see the tops of trees over the railing, so they must be just skimming above them.
Willow tumbles then grabs onto the frame for balance! "Best to not look over the rails," she mutters, "Just ... imagine you're really drunk and it isn't the ship about to crash and kill you..." She takes a breath then starts down the odd ladder ... very, very, slowly. She also starts to wonder if Stich is doing this on purpose out of being mad about being made to help the escape.
Cottonmouth is ready in case Willow slips. Cloven hooves are a lot better at climbing with than single-toe versions, however. The notion of unicorns gamboling and frolicking on the sides of cliffs doesn't really seem fitting though. "It's further back," the tiger says. With the walls closer, the jerking of the ship seems worse below-decks.
Willow spreads her arms so hands are on both walls, and starts to walk like that. Wings would be handy here, but ... one-horned mules don't have wings, much to her dismay. "I am glad I do not get airsick," she claims.
"Would be interesting to see you do this topless though," the cat admits, even though he's not even looking back at Willow. He's having to use his own hands to negotiate the cramped (for him) gangway. Willow just needs to keep her head down enough to avoid getting her horn stuck in the ceiling. She can also smell blood ahead, and the kitchen appears to be on the far end of the galley, which seems standard for airships. The galley itself is full of the former hostages, along with anyone that didn't want to be in the open air, including Mr. Puff and Mr. Fingers.
"I smell blood," Willow claims, wincing. That is not a good scent, not for down here. Was he hurt worse than she knew? "And contrary to what you may be thinking, breasts bouncing is rather uncomfortable, thank you," she tells the cat.
"Most things bouncing is uncomfortable," Cottonmouth notes, weaving between the galley tables. "But sometimes it can bring comfort to those watching," he admits. Then he has to squeeze to one side so Willow can get past to the kitchen. "I smell it too, very annoying. Hopefully the hunting party will bring back something."
"That is not a pleasant thought," Willow remarks to the cat, then squeezes past him to try and now enter the kitchen. "Is everyone in here okay?" she asks.
There's a bowl of bloody water in Mr. Bright's lap, and a piece of leather in his mouth as Sackcloth tries to splint his arm. The blood is probably from draining the massive black bruise that surrounds the break.
Willow rubs her face. "That looks bad," she admits, "Even splinted, unless treated soon ... you're going to lose that arm. You have a bleeding vein or artery in there, which means the rest of your arm won't be getting enough blood."
"Ir nt mmm 'ting rm," Bright replies through the leather bit in his mouth. This releases a lot of backed-up drool apparently.
"He says: It's not my writing arm," Sackcloth translates. "Once I get the break set, I'll go in after the vein. Without effective painkillers, of course."
"Oh shut up and quit trying to be so stoic. That has to hurt like hell," Willow says, remaining disturbingly calm in it all. "You're not going to lose your arm if I have anything to say about it. Thankfully, that mage gave me something that might help with this, if I can channel it right. And if you trust me and don't fight me." She then nudges Sackcloth, asking, "Please, stand aside?"
"What are you going to do?" the nurse asks, not moving very far aside.
"Fix it," Willow says flatly and puts one hand over the bruised area, and the other just below it. "Now, I need you to relax. No fighting. If you relax, you'll feel no pain. If you fight, it'll hurt like hell," she tells Mr. Bright. "Also, close your eyes."
Given the way the unicorn's body goes taut when Willow grabs those spots, relaxing may be an issue. But Bright does close his eyes at least. Very tightly.
"Just breathe," Willow asks, as her eyes tend to now go unfocused. Her focus goes inward, to her palms, and the soft feeling of the shadow flowing from her hands and into his arm. Also, so that Sackcloth can't really see what she's doing! First thing is to inspect the real damage ... then find a way to quiet the pain briefly while she uses the shadow to straighten and pull the bone back into place. Then if that all works, it's slowly just feeding the remains of Bucket into the flesh and encouraging it to heal.
The break is not a clean one, with torn muscle and tissue surrounding it. Did Razor do this with a blow, or did he actually grab it on either and side try to rip it off? Then again, some of the damage is almost certainly from Bright running about instead of getting it tended to right away. There doesn't seem to be any severe nerve damage, at least.
"You made a mess of your arm," Willow chides, "But ... the damage should not be permanent if repaired right. This may feel weird, like worms under your skin. Don't right it, just relax. Also, tell me when the pain seems to stop?"
"Hrr?" the Aeonian responds through the leather bit. But he's clever, so should be able to indicate the end of pain as requested.
Willow spends time concentrating, trying to find the 'hot spots' within the arm, where the pain likely is. Then it's a careful matter of soothing those areas to sleep, quieting them enough so that she can move the bone back into place without even more immense pain.
There is a lot of inflammation.. but stemming the pain signals just means working a bit upstream. Since things tend to go numb anyway under the influence of the shadow, it isn't difficult. Keeping it all 'under the skin' is - this usually how kenning works, not repair. Although it would have helped to have a healthy image to work from in this case.
"I am going to move the bone back into place now. You may feel some stretching, as I need to pull the bones apart here to line up the break," Willow says ... and then it's a creative use of the shadow to wrap each end of that bone on shadow ... then push at them with the shadow in opposite directions to 'open' up the break so she can then bring it back into alignment. It's probably also disturbing that she's staring blankly over at a wall, since her focus is all inside on how things feel.
There's a grunt from Bright. Since the pain has been dulled, but the arm isn't numb, he must be feeling most of what's happening. "This Life Mage who trained you worked in physical transformation magic, I imagine," Sackcloth notes.
"What I know, or don't know, is my business," Willow remarks, rather distractedly. The movement is slow, so as to keep the pain dull and avoid large spikes of discomfort. Once things are reasonably separated, it's the matter of lining up the break lines and spurs, so that it 'slots' back together. "But if you must know, I wasn't taught by a life mage, but by an ancient monster."
"I suppose that is a properly Sylvanian education then," Sackcloth says. Bright clearly winces at the contact when the bone is put back in place. There are a lot of sub-fractures along it as well - but luckily unicorns don't have hollow bones, even they are a bit more 'fragile' than a Rhian or Cervani.
"I think I have it lined up right. Now comes the complicated part of making your arm heal itself," Willow tells Mr. Bright. "It shouldn't hurt, but it might itch." And that's the part where she feeds in what remains from Bucket into Mr. Bright's arm, to coax the flesh to heal, and to draw together any torn veins and the like too, so they grow back together. This is the slow part, as too much energy can't be pushed all at once to heal it right."
The man's left hoof starts tapping a bit, the only indication that whatever he feels is enough to make him twitch. But the slow feed is important - without fully engulfing the flesh with the shadow, there's no easy way to deal with the heat generated by the accelerated metabolic activity. Otherwise it would just be about rearranging things to be not-broken, instead of actually healing it.
"So, now that it doesn't matter, what are your real names?" Willow asks both Sackcloth and Mr. Bright absently as she focuses on the repair first and foremost.
"That is a very good question," Mr. Sackcloth says. "Now that I don't have to keep it hidden.. I find that I can't remember it. That could just be me though."
"And you're not just lying because I'm a scary witch?" Willow asks, rather honestly.
"Hmm, I don't think so," Sackcloth claims, sounding a bit unnerved now. "I.. honestly can't remember. I know I have a name. I know that using Sackcloth was to hide it.. but.. why did we all follow that rule?" he wonders.
"Well, in some mythos, real names hold power over the person," Willow points out.
"I'm more concerned about magic being used on us," Sackcloth admits. "With all that was done to the Raiders, I assumed that since the rest of weren't saved from the noose, or similar, that we were untouched. But if our names have been blocked out.. then anything could have been changed."
"Most of you were touched by magic. I've known that for a while," Willow comments, "I'm surprised you did not." Her focus shifts back heavily to the arm and how it is healing up. "How are you feeling?" she asks Mr. Bright.
With his free hand, Bright removes the bit from his mouth. "Strange," he then replies. "I don't know if I've ever broken anything before. Will I still need to wear the splint?" he asks, as he flexes the thick fingers of his left hand to see how the muscles feel.
"No, but you won't want to strain it for a good while," Willow comments as she's still trying to coax the muscles and such to heal. "And now I suppose I should tell you this is probably the only good thing Bucket ever did. It is the remains of his life that are healing your arm."
There's a definite look of worry that crosses Bright's otherwise perpetually-neutral expression. "It isn't going to try and strangle me or anything, is it?" he asks.
"Not if you tell me your real name," Willow jokes.
"Hmm, it is not a very inspiring name," Mr. Bright admits. "And I cannot be certain it is even my original one. It's easy to lose track of such things over time."
Willow actually starts making Mr. Bright's hand twitch through her connection. "Best tell me soon, your hand is getting twitchy," she warns.
"I'm fairly certain it is Alois," Bright claims. "That's as much as I recall. Apparently I never thought keeping memoirs was worthwhile."
"Actually, that is a nice name. Far more regal than 'Willow' is," Willow points out, and stops making his hand twitch. She also starts the slow disconnect of the shadow internally. "Tell me if it starts hurting bad again; I think I fixed everything major."
"How bad is bad?" Bright asks. "And is Willow your original name, or just the one you most recently chose?"
"Excruciatingly painful, or unable to move properly," Willow explains, "Sore is to be expected. And no, it is not my original name."
"I suppose Melanie would be too on the nose," Sackcloth jokes.
"Eh? No, not even close," Willow claims.
"I may keep Bright for awhile," Bright says. "I do think I enjoy being called mister."
"Alois is a nicer name," Willow tells Mr. Bright. "I prefer it, but as you like."
"It isn't a particularly shiny name," the unicorn notes. "I think I stopped using it.. sometime after Gallis did something disagreeable. I may have lived there for a time."
"Then you haven't used it in a very long time. Centuries, at least," Willow claims, then shrugs a little. "So, how is your arm feeling?" she asks, "And please don't tell anyone what I did. The guild still hunts and burns witches, so to speak."
The man flexes the arm carefully. "Sore, and I still get twinges of sharper pain when I move it. Hopefully those will pass as it finishes healing. Thank you, Willow."
"Do you have full motion? Fingers work?" Willow asks next as she peers at him.
This takes a bit more testing. Since it was the upper arm that was broken, there doesn't seem to be many issues below the elbow. But Bright does wince as he tries to reach upwards over his head. "Some issues," he admits. "I'm not afraid to use a stepping stool, however."
"I'll check it in a day, or an actual Life mage will," Willow says, "Since I probably will never see either of you again."
"That isn't ominous," Sackcloth notes. "What do you think will happen to us in Babel? And.. probably best, for now, not to ask anyone else their real name."
"If I had to guess? You'll be examined by the Barsunala, most likely, and possibly one of his friends, like Mage Cyprian," Willow suggests and shrugs. She looks at Mr. Bright and observes, "I thought you would be ... more disappointed about not seeing me again."
"It's a matter of mobility," Bright notes, somewhat subdued. "In time, it should be a certainty that every surviving Aeonian would run into every other one, so long as they didn't all stay in one place. Granted, we probably wouldn't remember each other at that point. But while you know where you will be going after this brief diversion, I am at loose ends. I imagine the Yodhrephath will want more extensive interviews with me and my notes on how to beat them."
"Where do you want to go?" Willow asks Mr. Bright. "I doubt the Yodhrepath will do anything bad to you, or keep you that long."
"I don't know," Bright admits. "I'm currently a strategist. I'm uncertain how many callings there are for someone with that talent that do not involve unpleasant activities. I will probably remain in Babel for a time. I don't know if anyone has written a treatise on Babelite politics yet."
"You don't want to. The politics are depressing," Willow says. "You should do something fun."
"Fun. I think I've read about that," the unicorn notes.
"Mage Cyprian," Sackcloth interrupts. "A Mind Mage?" he asks.
Willow rubs her face. "Have you learned nothing from me?" she asks Mr. Bright. To Sackcloth, she answers, "Yes. One of the best I am told."
"Good to know," Sackcloth says. "And also frightening."
"Why?" Willow asks.
"Pleasure is also fun?" Bright asks, as if uncertain.
"Well, yes, that," Willow sighs to Mr. Bright. "You need to quit hiding in your hole and live. Explore, seek out your past."
"Why? Well.. on the one hand, he might be able to recover our memories," Sackcloth notes, actually holding up a hand. "On the other hand.. those memories may not be good. We may not be who we think we are at all."
"Both are true. But which is worth, being a fake person, or being the true person?" Willow has to ask, without sounding ironic about it at all.
"Without knowing the true person, I couldn't say," Sackcloth notes. "If my true self is bad, then if given a choice I'd let that way stay buried in favor of this one. If there's no way to know without losing the fake.. that is tricky. I'd risk the person I am now dying to become someone I don't know."
"Talk to the Mage about it. He may have a way to see the original without bringing them fully back, and tell you. Or merge them. I don't really know Mind Magic, so I couldn't say," Willow admits.
"I imagine it will depend on his generosity, given the sheer number of potential victims," Sackcloth notes. "Unless there's already a fund set aside for victims of Royal Babelite Mages."
"I have no idea," Willow admits and shrugs.
"Actually, none of us can be taken to the Mage's Guild, and he cannot be exposed to more than one of us at a time," Bright points out. "There is no certainty that it is only memory that has been altered. We could all be potential booby-traps."
"You don't have boobs," Willow points out with a straight face.
"That is something that may be beyond the ability of magical hypnosis to hide, true," Bright replies equally straight-faced. Unicorns are good at being straight-faced, even more so than Rhians.
"But not beyond life magic. You could all be women in reality," Willow points out.
"I'm not sure even yours could trap someone," Sackcloth notes. "Wouldn't you have detected something that extreme? And speaking of.." The stallion rummages through a cabinet to produce a pitcher. "We could use something to help keep the men calm during all this chaos," he notes. And sways as the ship lists to one side again.
Willow makes a face. "You aren't serious," she says, sounding exasperated.
"Well, there is always the direct method, but this seems a bit less onerous," Sackcloth notes. "I'm guessing you aren't up to it right now, however."
Willow rubs her face. "More it is degrading, but as you say, it may help so," she says, then sits on a table. "Go ahead," she grumbles.