Sunday, 30 November 2008

Love hurts

I will endeavour now to catch up on more recent events, events that have flowed fast since the night of the bonfire almost a month ago.

I had fallen soundly asleep on my bed, fully clothed and unbathed, an event so rare it is noteworthy in and of itself. I awoke, however, as if from a terrible dream, perspiration soaked the bedding and I was shaking like a leaf in the bitter cold autumnal wind. It was perhaps mid-morning, quite late by my standards and forgetting myself briefly, I attempted to sit up. My arm shot bolts of pain, deep into my mind and body, causing me to cry out. I looked down to examine the damage, the nights assault returning to my mind, a strangely calming feeling, a realisation that the half remembered dream had seemed so real because it had not been a dream at all. Cold comfort perhaps.

Looking more closely at my arm it was clear how lucky I had been, I had chosen attire that would suit my night's schedule, some leather gloves lest we should bear burning torches as has happened in the past, long sleeves to stave off the chill. My leather glove was ruined scored deeply, almost but not quite torn through, by those dread claws. At first tugging gently at the fingers, I attempted to remove the glove, but it proved impossible and I had to resort finally to cutting it off with dress making scissors. The reason for the tight fit was then apparent, my hand and wrist were grossly swollen but thankfully with no broken skin.

Pressing gingerly around the discoloured skin I concluded that it was more likely a sprain than a break and proceeded to construct a sling to take the weight of the arm and ensure that the damaged wrist got all the rest it needed. I drifted around the house in somewhat of a shocked daze for the next few hours, not really knowing what to do, but worrying just the same for the welfare of Patch and even it has to be said for Monte. The cure of the Lycan is a cruel one for and adult to bear but in one so young it is crueller still. As a werewolf Monte will be despised, and as a human he will retain his present form not noticeably aging, leaving him stuck in the confusion of adolescence for eternity. I have assumed until now that he has not long been changing but I realise as I write this that he could have lived for so much longer.

It was late afternoon when I heard an almighty thumping upon the front door. I ventured a glance out of the music room window to find that Monte, in wolf form still, was pounding his head against it, and then I saw poor Patch slumped against the wall, bleeding profusely. I grabbed my derringer and ran down to the door not quite knowing what to expect. Sliping the gun into my boot, I opened the door with my good arm only to have the wolf barge past me, Patch, half carried half dragged at the wolf's shoulder. He lay the boy on the floor, looking up at me with big dark eyes and whimpering like a puppy. I looked at the boy and then to my arm. I had no choice.

"Monte, if you can understand me, I need you to take Patch upstairs, quick", I cried, "the bedroom!". I ran ahead, guiding them up the stairs.

The boy, Patch, had clearly beenn badly mauled and keeping one eye on the large beast moping by the bedside I proceeded to examine him as best I could. I sought some water and a cloth from the bathroom and proceeded to bathe the wounds to the back of his neck and each of his shoulders. I said nothing but the location of the wounds seemed inappropriate. My exposure to beast attacks is minimal but it is my understanding that a dog typically goes for the throat, shaking the victim to break the neck. I presumed that the wounds must therefore have been the result of the manner of the boys carriage to my house.

By this time I was pretty certain that the intentions of the wolf Monte were to save his friend from whatever wounds had been inflicted presumably in a moment of, now regretted, anger but at least some of these wounds must have been inflicted before bring him, and the manner and reason of their creation seemed beyond my grasp. As I finished tending the wounds on
his back and sought to move Patch to ascertain the damage on his front side, he began to stir and moan. Between us we managed to roll Patch onto his back to reveal further gouges and bites to his upper torso.

I had done all I could do, I needed to get more experienced help, an untreated wound could go septic, and I feared worse of an untreated lycan wound.

“Monte, listen to me, do not move Patch, you will have to trust me now or he will die. I do not know what you have done here, but I cannot deal with this alone. I am going to go now and seek the assistance of a medical doctor I just hope that there is one about.”

I left the house, and travelling as fast as one can with one arm intent on sending shivers of pain through ones body with every heavy step, I cam to the square and knocked at the door of Mr Holmes and his colleague Dr. Watson who while trained as a physician had not my knowledge practised medicine in Babbage. It was my best hope given the recent loss of Mr Whitfield's surgery in Loner Lane.

Mr. Holmes appeared and immediately assessing my state of mind from my composure or lack thereof called upon the doctor. Their immediate thought, in part at the sight of my own bandages, was that I needed treatment, but quickly I told them that I had a more pressing need of their services back at my house, apologising for  the intrusion upon their time I led them both hurriedly back to my house and up to the bedroom where Patch and Monte awaited us.

I will not dwell upon the treatment, it was conducted with bravery and a bedside manner that would have been appropriate to the gentry. On a number of occasions the treatment caused pain to Patch and the wolf felt some anger at this, threatening our own safety but the brave doctor never flinched form his task. Dr. Watson and Mr Holmes have my eternal admiration for this. I am glad I had not the occasion to do so but , if necesary I would have taken the life of Monte in defence of the others present but his rage at the pain of Patch's treatment did not anger me so much as cause me to pity him, the feelings that had to belie the behaviour, the anger targetted inward at his actions, the fact of his betrayal laid out before him and his complete lack of power over the events that would follow. I knew those deep and painful feelings and at once I recognised the love that they had, as unexpected and out of place as it seemed, that was the bindign that held them. So clearly now the actions of the preceding days, actions that had confused me, the tempestuous, volatile association, stood out with clarity, in the realisation that Monte and Patch were in love, but did they realise?

My realisation of this connection, struck deep at my own regrets. A hint now of anger at how close Monte had come to killing Patch, could he understand how much pain lies down that path? I resolved to keep him from this hurt, to save them this pain. I would need to find a solution to this dilemma, to fail would surely condemn one or both to death, and I pity the one left behind. In the coming days preparations were made to this end. Rip worked with Dr. Dayafter to arrange for Monte to understand what help can be made available. I furnished my own basement with a lockable cage and mattresses so that the boys could be safe even during a transform.

Perhaps through the emotional weakness of the after effects of the attacks I spoke of my past to Patch and Monte, just enough to help them understand why they had forced me to tears. I think for a time at least it may have helped, perhaps they did see some parallels? But boys will be boys and it was not more than a few days more before they were once again up to their necks in trouble.

((I've agonised ove posting this blog, so much good and enjoyable RP went into it that is simply not reflected adequately, Patch and Monte, Mr Holmes and the doctor so enjoyable to "watch", and yet to have a gap in Beq's diary seems less justified still, so I present here what should have been a more intense emotionally for Beq, and altogether darker darker but which time has stripped the impact from))

1 comment:

Dr. Augustus Dayafter said...

I do hope to work with Monte quite soon. I had the chance to speak with him and to show him that one could, in fact, control the transformation. Of course, he saw it as an offense to his territory. Luckily for him, this old Lycan does not have need of territorial fights. He will have a lot of hard work ahead of him with his hot little temper and brash reactions holding him back. I am no miracle worker, but I believe that between he and I, we will be able to help him control the beast that stirs within him.