Pain Reflex

Log Info

• Title: Pain Reflex
• Emitter: Schara
• Characters: Schara, Skielstregar, Verna
• Place: Lower Markets
• Time: December 26th, 2022
• Summary: Schara catches Skielstregar in the evening at the markets, them running off to offer apple based treats in return for a request. That being: what does a makari in pain look like? Skiel is befuddled by the request and digs deeper for a reason why, before he complies. They both get into a philosophical disagreement, one that Verna chimes in on before that matter is set aside and apple delights are enjoyed.

Alexandria Market District, late afternoon.

With the chill of winter in the air and only getting worse the later in the day it got, the majority of people were finishing their errands much earlier than usual, leaving much of the markets empty, save for those bundled up enough to make the journey. Many stalls were closed as well, to keep cold sensitive wares safe.

One such soul who was braving the district was covered nearly entirely in bronze, with a large fur lined cloak resting on their shoulders. The artificer in question was at an alchemist's stall, speaking with the elven man in charge. Coin changed hands, and the alchemist busied themself with preparing various vials, while Schara took a look out over the streets while they waited.

A massive, shiny figure who's not dressed for the chill and cold at all is equipped with a number of massive weapons strapped to their back. One hand using a shiny halberd as a walking stick, the other holding a sack over one shoulder, it half full of some kind of supplies. Seemed like they were on the last of their trip, as they were making a lazy line towards the Fernwood pub.

And there was a pep to their step, a deep, happy rumble in their chest listlessly humming away, and the armor and their tail quietly clacking as it sways to and fro.

They pass Schara, not really paying much attention.

Schara looks up when they see Skielstregar passing, and they look back to the alchemist's shop. "I will be back to pick up my order in a bit, I promise." They state to the shopkeeper, waiting for an answer before jogging up to the sith-makar. "Hello, mister Skielstregar, and, I'm not sure how to address them, but hello Malefic! It is good to see you, I hope you are doing well." They ask, having to crane their helmeted head up somewhat to see them. "Do you have a moment? I need to go get a few things, that is all."

The sound of jogging- especially one made mostly of metal- catches the silverscaled makari's attention easily. Dead silver eyes glancing over their shoulder. "Hmmm?"

He turns. Blinks. Then- "Ah! Uh... Sc... Schara? Yesss? Peassse on your nessst. Thisss one isss well." A glance to Malefic. "Thisss one thinksss Malefic issss doing well as well. And Malefic isss fine to addresss them that way."

The query makes him shift the bag on his shoulder down to the ground. It softly clanks of wood and leather. "Thisss one hasss many momentssss. They can wait for several. Isss something remissss?"

"Well, I think that if Malefic is a sentient weapon, then it is important to address them kindly and create a decent rapport with them at some point, so that is good if you think it works for them." The artificer nods quickly to the sith-makar. "And no, nothing is remiss that I am aware of, but I was looking for you for some time, but I ended up having to go get some things for myself, which is when I ran into you. Which is unfortunate since it left me without my things. But that's okay! I just need a few minutes to go and gather my things from my room at the fernwood, then I'll be right back."

The artificer waits for a response, before quickly running off in the direction of the pub.

"Well, that iss why they treat them like a perssson and not just an object," Skielstregar elucidates. "Until they can tell thisss one otherwissse."

He blinks. "Oh. Well, thisss one isss headed that waysss anywaysss, so they can...-"

Schara runs off. "-... follow you there."

A sigh leaves him as he picks up his bag and slowly ambles in the direction the Fernwood, to cut the return trip distance down.

The artificer was moving quite quickly, not wanting to keep Skielstregar waiting to show up at the exact same place. They were in quite the hurry, it seemed, and several minutes passed before Schara was spotted returning, surrounded by a small cloud of fog.

They caught sight of Skielstregar again, and up close they seemed to have two small sacks, one in hand, the other in a hook as they were running closer. Only when they were a few feet away did the bronze figure stop, and double over completely as the armor gave a few hisses of steam, before stopping completely as the metal plates all over the armor shifted back into place.

"Sorry, just a moment." Schara half wheezes, taking a minute to catch their breath before continuing. "I need to do more tests to account for ambient temperature it seems, but no matter. I was hoping you could help me with something, and, I brought a few gifts, as show of thanks potentially in advance. You do not need to help if you do not wish to though, and you can still have what I brought regardless."

Skiel was ambling back towards the Fern at a leisurely pace, but Schara's franticness upon returnal makes him dumbly blink. "Wh-Whaa...? Schara, sssslow down," he rumbles worriedly, holding up a hand as if that would placate them. "There isss no need to russsh."

The question of asking to help with something makes him perk up. "Of course, thisss one will help," he accepts immediately, before the offer of gifts could even be brought up. "What isss it that you need aid with?"

"I do not, I don't want you waiting overly long if you are offering to listen and help." The artificer half wheezes, half sighs, as they finally get back to standing upright. Schara coughs, and nods. "You are willing to help? That is wonderful to hear, the other two sith-makar I spoke to stated that you needed to be more familiar to ask questions, so I thought that a gesture of good intent would be needed perhaps. I have one apple pie, thirteen apple turnovers, one liter of pressed apple cider, a jar of apple butter, and a pouch of dried apple rings. I don't know how to cook many things, but I thought these are usually popular, and would be seen as an adequate gift."

"As for what I need help with-" They continue, looking up at the silver makari and down again. "I was told I need to make my intention more clear, but, I need to see what a sith-makari looks like when they are in pain, and I'm not asking you to get hurt or anything like that, I just need to understand and be able to visualize the response, since your facial structures are so much different compared to most races."

Skielstregar is a simple man. He hears about food? Especially so much good food?

Some drool drips from his maw off to the side, only to quickly freeze into an icicle. Which he promptly rubs and breaks off with a rumble. "That isss many delicacies. Perhapsss we can ssshare them? They wouldn't want to horde ssssuch a gift."

The tip of his tail does a little flick-flick. He'd be okay scarfing all that down.

... he blinks. "What." Then rubs at the side of his maw. "... sssoftskinsss alwaysss have hard time knowing makari expresssionss. Mossst emotionsss are portrayed through sssscent. But thisss one hass been with sssoftksinss for a long time. Ssso they are a better about it. Erm, do you jussst want thisss one to... pretend to be in pain? They are usssed to getting injured."

The artificer tilts their head once. "The external temperatures are not cold enough to cause liquid to freeze so quickly. Is it something unique to sith-makari physiology? That is curious, but not relevant to the moment." They ramble to themselves, shaking away the errant train of thought. "I do not think it is too much, but you are welcome to share. I was helping an orchard near the city prepare for overwintering their trees, and they gifted them to me. If you do not want them all, then, perhaps that is alright."

"Again though, back to what I needed help with, I am sorry, I know it is strange. But to put it simply, I met another sith-makari, but they were a cleric of Daeus, and they were missing both a leg and an arm, but they were completely replaced by a crystalline structure that seemed to have a full range of motion." They elaborate further, taking a notepad out of their armor and holding it at the top with one of the hooks on their left hand against their chest, accompanied by a pen in their right, humanoid looking hand. "I would like to take some reference sketches and notes, if that is alright. Is there any way to describe the scents if I am not able to recognize them? The cleric in question said they had a lot of discomfort, and I wanted to determine if it was physical or psychological in nature. It wouldn't do for a gift from the gods to be unnecessarily harmful to the user like that."

"... thisss one isss sssilverblooded," Skiel mentions in regards to the freezing, as if that would explain everything. "Thisss one will ssshare. It doess not feel right to not ssshare such a bounty."

The description of the makari makes the silverscale perk up. "Ah. Sssshaman Zeke," he reverently hums, tail thudding once against they ground. "They know of them."

A curious, overlong glance is taken at the hook hand before looking back up slightly to Schara's face mask. His brows knit in confusion. "...it sssmellss like pain?" he tries to explain. "You are not makari, it doesss not transsslate."

There's a long, quiet, contemplative stare. "Thisss one thinksss there would be dissscomfort of sssomething not made of flessh and blood regardlesss. A gift isss a gift. Bessst to not overthink it."

He has not made any indication he's emulating 'pain'.

"Yes, Zeke, shaman? I thought they were a cleric of Daeus. What is a shaman?" Schara asks as they jot down a few notes, flipping the pad over as they go. "There will always be some discomfort, that is the nature of it, and I don't know if a solution will be found. But if pain could be minimized, if their limbs don't cause them pain with movements or exhaustion, then I would like to understand them better, if that makes sense. But I do not want to think about such things at the moment."

The artificer stares for a moment, waiting for some sort of discernible reaction.

"Ssshamansss are harborsss of wissdom. Be it of Ea itsssself, the godsss, or the sssea of mana. They are guidesss," Skielstregar explains of makari culture. But he listens for a moment, then visibly frowns. "Thisss one thinksss you ssshould get to know the ssshaman more before doing all thisss for their limbsss without asssking. Not all problemsss need be ssolved. Esspecially onesss that aren't yoursss without asssking."

He stares at them.

Awkward silence.

"... thisss one isss less inclined to assist you unlesss you promissse to be more mindful."

"So they are not all clerics, it is a much broader umbrella. That's good, I think." The artificer sighs as they jot down a few more notes. They look to the frown, and roughly sketch a bit more, before looking up.

"Oh, that wasn't a response of pain. I, you know, it's not his fault, but, it is immensely frustrating, I guess?" Schara responds, finding a seat on a nearby bench on the side of the road. "Why does Daeus go and give them a pair of functioning limbs, but can't give their other clerics a shred of decency?"

They huff once, and nod. "I won't take out my frustrations with any other clerics or the gods trying to prove a point, I promise."

There is a certain sort of pensiveness that crosses Skielstregar's features. A mix of thoughtfulness, confusion, a touch of frustration as well as a pinch of sadness. "We do not know why the godsss work they way they do. The godsss cannot save everyone all the time from every misssfortune," he intones, a hand reaching up to wrap around a symbol of the Dragonfather that dangles from his neck. "We do not know Ssshaman Zeke'sss circumstancesss. You do not know thisss one's circumssstancesss."

A sigh leaves him. One that make spills out a plume of frozen air to roll across the ground. His symbol is released. "Regardless. Other makari may be more ssstone faced than thisss one, but you wished to sssee pain."

Skiel looks around. Down. Kneels. Then punches the cobblestone with a dull /thud/. A sharp inhale fills his chest.

The makari rises. Maw slightly curled back in a grimace, eyes lightly squinting. Nostrils flaring. And a low, deep, rumble drums in his chest.

"No, we don't know how the gods work, at least not entirely." Schara nods once. "All I know is that just because someone is a cleric, it has no correlation with being a good person. Zeke probably is, though."

The artificer looks up once, tilts their head, and realizes what the makari was doing, followed up by furious sketchwork from Schara for several minutes until they were finished. Again,the artificer sighs, and rests the side of their face on their hand. "Those all make sense in regards to pain, I would say. Which leaves two likely results, either Zeke was not in physical pain, or he was, and is good at hiding it. I do not particularly know which is worse, though. That the gods are capable of providing perfectly fuctional limbs, or that not even they have found to make them function without pain."

The grimace of pain doesn't last long, Skielstregar letting that thread stay there for a moment overlong before he huffs once and shakes his hand off, getting over the smarting feeling. "Thisss one thinksss he hass gotten ussed to the feeling after having sssuch limbss for so long."

He stares more. "... Schara. Like thisss one ssaid, we do not know hisss circumstancesss." A chuff leaves him, fingers wrapping around Malefic tighter. "Thisss one feelsss you are being dissrespectful to sssomething that should be consssidered a good thing. It isss asss if recieving a gift and looking for itsss flawsss."

"I don't want you to be right, Skielstregar, but both theories do not sound ideal. And no, I am not going to bother him with anything I've potentially figured out, here." The artificer answers. "I'm not looking for fault with Zeke, either, I'm just trying to understand it, which is inherently selfish. I want to understand because if there's anything that can be learned, I would want nothing more than to be able to function without constant pain. If that was possible, I'd even be willing to accept some form of aid from Daeus, even if it's his follower's fault in the first place."

Skielstregar rubs at his face. A light growl in his chest. "There are sssome painsss you have to live with, Schara," he grumbles, rubbing his palming against his breastplate. "While it isss well to find sssome relief for that pain, you can do ssso in a manner that doesssn't ssseem like you are usssing sssomeone for their limbsss. Thisss one hasss had people ussse them for their other half more often than once."

That bit about Daeus's follower makes him quirk his head to the side, squinting. "... it mattersss who not the follower follows. But the action itssself and the perssson that carriess it out isss at fault. Thisss one too hasss ssseen some Daeussitesss perform quessstionable deedssss."

"I know, I'm just trying to find excuses for my actions, at the end of all of this. I think I just wanted to use the guise of helping someone as an excuse to prove that I could do better than Daeus did. Otherwise, I could learn from it, since I still feel like Daeus owes me for something." Schara huffs. "It does matter, though. If that person wasn't stripped of their powers by the gods, or their position by the other clerics, then what's the point of it?"

Skielstregar's tail sways in wide arcs behind him, it twitching intermittently along its path. He's frowning again. "Daeusss owesss you nothing. The one that harmed you, they owe you sssomething. You cannot blame a blacksssmith for the sssword a murderer usesss. The sssame appliesss here."

The makari's face hardens. "And what if a perssson is ssstripped of their powersss for no reassson? What if- what if- what if-" he repeats, as if filling more examples aimlessly- "The point is you either ssspend your time chasssing the passst in an endlesss loop, or embrace what you have now and accept the circumssstancesss. Thisss one didn't asssk to come back. To have thisss... taint and corruption. But they have masssetered it for what it isss."

The makari jabs a finger down to point at the hooked hand and arm of Schara. "You are not trying to prove to be better than Daeusss. You are trying to prove that whatever happened to you isssn't effecting you. Or that you can get passst it affecting you. You cannot skip acceptance."

The artificer looks up at Skielstregar, and after a moment, shakes their head. "Of course I would feel bad if they were removed with no reason. But if there was a reason, then I would feel okay, wouldn't I?"

After a moment Schara sighs and buries their head in their one hand it was resting against. "I know other people have it bad too. But I would ask you Skielstregar, if you spent several decades without the use of your arms because a cleric of Daues refused to heal your injuries, only to find out that the god themself granted someone a functional arm and leg, would you not feel frustrated?"

"It's not even like it was just a sudden request. My family couldn't afford the tithe that year due to a bad winter, and suddenly they acted like I wasn't their problem." The artificer continues. "Was I not pious enough that they would help with a replacement? Is that my fault for being frustrated?"

The lack of active snow, comparative warmth of the tiem of day, and the need for supplies all combine to make now a prime moment for acquisition as opposed to later. Verna moves through the market, a basket alongside for purchases. Her browsing is either extremely casual or extremely focused, as most stalls receive only a cursory glance before she continues on past.

Skielstregar huffs, a gout of frozen air jetting from his nostrils. "Thisss one would feel frustrated from the people that refusssed to help. Not about Daeusss. Like thisss one hasss sssaid again and again, we do not know the circumstancesss."

Something that Schara says makes Skiel's dead, silver eyes constrict into reptilian slits. He stiffens, and the grip on the bag of goodies grows taut. "... Schara. Lisssten here and lisssten well," he says evenly, despite the rolling rumble in his chest. "It isss not your fault. But even thossse they wield the power of the godsss can choossse to do ssselfisssh thingsss. Thisss one isss in the sssame posssition asss you. Daeusss's light once shone through thisss one. But then they grew corrupted, died, and now isss a half-dead amalgamation. Thisss one isss not frussstraed at Daeusss for leaving them. They are frussstrated at thossse that did thisss to them."

He himself is too focused on the discussion at hand that he doesn't notice the Mourner moving through the market, his bassy voice making this conversation easy to eavesdrop on.

"But I know my own circumstances, don't I? That's supposed to mean something, I guess. You say to be frustrated at those who refuse to help, but if Daeus was the one who refused to help the way they did for someone else, doesn't that mean I should be frustrated with them?" The artificer huffs once.

"I know you're probably right to some degree Skielstregar, and I had no idea you were dead or half dead or anything like that, it's probably worse than anything I've been through. You're probably a better person than I am to not find fault anywhere."

The low voice dies carry and, moreso, is known to the mourner. The context of Skielstregar's words also limits possibilities to one, so far as Verna is aware. The conversation draws her in that direction and, once near enough, she offers, "I ever considered you half-living, which is far more animate than many with whom I spend my days."

Skielstregar sighs, rubbing his face. "Yesss. You know your own circumstancesss. But like thisss one ssaid, you do not know shaman Zeke'sss circumstances to-"

He stops himself short. "Thisss conversation is circular, and it isss frustrating thisss one." There is a pause. And he gestures to his eyes. Faded, lacking life. "One cannot compare suffering to another, for it isss relative. Like your lack of aid from a cleric of Daus cannot be compared to Daeuss' aid with the ssshaman or lack of aid for thisss one."

Verna's appearance makes the makari jolt upright. "A-ack..!" He looks around, then down. Blinking once. Twic. Thrice. Then- "E-Erm, thisss one isss glad you think ssso, Deathsssinger."

"I am sorry it is frustrating to you, but it is frustrating to me." Schara huffs. "It's making me feel as if my own feelings are not relevant to the matter, and I should not let them guide everything I do, but that doesn't mean they mean nothing, either."

The artificer looks over and out of their hand, finding the cleric, and they nod. "Oh, hello miss Verna. I guess I hope you are doing alright today."

"Greetings to you both," Verna offers. "I am..." A pause. "A member of those frustrated, it appears, albeit that each is so for their own respective reasons. Still, it is pleasant to see you both this day."

Skielstregar sighs. "Your feelings are relevant, but thisss one feelsss asss if they are misssplaced, that isss all. Did you get your recordingssss that you wanted?"

The topic having been found to a stalemate, he shifts on his feet and moves the bag of goods from one shoulder to the other. "Peassse on your nessst, Deathsssinger. Thisss one isss sorry you have frussstrationsss asss well."

"Yes, I did get the sketches and notes, but now I don't know what to do with them." Schara answers with another sigh. "Just have them, I guess. Maybe some of it is misplaced, but that is several decades of frustration and resentment at odds with a singular conversation today, instigated by a response to said feelings."

"Well, Skielstregar being frustrated is my fault, but I can not speak for you, I hope you feel better if that is the case, Verna." They respond to the cleric.

Verna takes a slow inhalation followed by a relaxed exhalation. "All shall improve with effort, education, and/or time. As I believe is how all concerns and obstacles are overcome." She dips her head to Schara. "Your hopes are welcomed, and I wish the same for you both." Skielstregar is then included with a second nod. She only now notes the baked goods the Sith-makar carries, if perhaps mostly by aroma in the cold. "Did you recently purchase sweets, or do you sell your own at the market?"

"Perhapsss it can help ssserve you with recognizing thisss one'sss kin about their pain," Skiel offers with a light shrug. "Perhapsss that iss besssst left to introssspection now. It took ssseveral yearsss for this one to get over sssome asspectsss of ssself."

He blinks at Verna's observation. "A-ah, no, thisss one doess not bake. They do not think they would be well at it. Schara gave them to thiss one, erm-" he rifles around in the bag before he hands an apple fritter to the Mourner. "-would you like one?"

"Yes, it will help with that, if the need arises. Time may help, if there is enough of it, I guess. There might be, but that remains to be seen." Schara shrugs. "I made them for Skielstregar but he does not want to eat all of them, so you are welcome to have some if you wish."

Skielstregar hands the fritter off to the Mourner before turning to Schara, he himself fishing for another fritter and offering it to Schara. "Here," he rumbles, his mood a bit better now. "Thisss one apologizes for getting frustrated. Sssuch discussions regarding the Dragonfather isss hard to process for thisss one for various reasonsss."

Schara takes the offered fritter, and they look at it for a moment, before setting it down on their lap to fish out a kerchief out of one of the pockets of their armor to wrap it up with. "Thank you, I'll eat this later, when I am able to." They nod to the sith-makar. "That's alright, I won't pry into what you are feeling since at the end of the day I do not know you that well, and I am sorry for trying to push my own point of view so much."

Skiel hoists the bag up and over his shoulder, the halberd standing freely on its own briefly before he grabs it once more to lean against it. "You are forgiven," he waves a hand. "Underssstanding isss a gradual thing, thisss one hasss come to learn. While they are ssstill young, they feel asss if they have gone though a lifetime of troublesss to finally underssstand that."

He turns slightly towards the direction of the Fernwood. "Thiss one needs to begin to retire for the day. While the conversation wasss trying, they appreciate you seeking them for... sssomething. They have much to eat and isss willing to share," he smiles.

It's full of fangs and unsettling teeth.

"You're probably right, I'm not even used to being able to go out and do things on my own anymore, so I don't really have experience with much at the moment." Schara nods back, with a long sigh. "I guess I'm glad I could ask you for help as well, even if it was unpleasant. I should go back and make sure the order I placed at that alchemist is finished, if they don't have all the antiseptics I need I'll have to make plans for tomorrow."

The artificer leaves their seat, and looks at the teeth for a moment before nodding again. "Those teeth are very large, I don't cook a lot of meat but maybe that would have been a better gift."

Skielstregar takes a side glance at where they came from, it clear that the word 'antiseptic' didn't really comprehend in the sith-makari's brain. "Very well. Thisss one hopesss they have what you need."

At that, he manages a laugh. "Hah! Yesss, they are! Thisss one enjoysss meat, but they they will eat jussst about anything! These will be eaten with mosst enjoyment!" He rattles the bag.

With that, he steps off towards the Fernwood. "Peassse on your nessst Schara. May you find luck in your endeavorssss."

"I will keep it in mind if I ever need your help for anything more reasonable, or just in regards to giving a gift, then. If you enjoy that though, then that is good still, I'm much more comfortable cooking with apples than meat." Schara nods back, stowing their notepad back into the pocket it came from. "Antiseptic, things that can help with or stop infections, but that's not important. Nest? Well, good day to you, Skielstregar." They offer in return, before heading back the way they came.

-End Scene-