*QUARTERS*<br/><br/>Fen, stripping to her shirt, meticulously hangs her clothes on a peg next to her armor and hazards an over-the-shoulder glance at the goings-on.  It's difficult to say if the hard-hearted elven girl is, in any way, impressed by what she sees or disgusted by it, only that she seems to stare a little longer than her typical, aloof gaze normally requires, and just maybe she's a little intrigued.  But by whom?  Difficult to say.<br/><br/>The sallow light of the stove is invitingly warm, so she pulls out a brown bottle from the chest at the foot of her bunk.  She takes a couple steps toward the wash basin next to where Malia is bathing, looks her over, then sticks her hand into the copper tub.  She lifts a a small, white-surfaced stone within, bringing it to the surface but not breaching the water's surface.  A few tiny flecks like obsidian snowflakes appear on the rock's surface. "S'fine," she says under her breath, "plenty left," and takes a long pull from the bottle, looking to Mialia.  "This is where you need to be.  No drinking with the purification stone.  Just wastes the whiskey."<br/><br/>She turns back to the fighter, noting how he seems utterly relaxed now that he's no longer facing some lingering pain that was hitching his gait.  She sweeps her gaze over him, from feet to eyes, then lifts the bottle toward him.  "Rye," she says bluntly, not seeming the least bit off-put-- nor alarmed-- by his impressive physique or bare member swinging free.  She likewise offers the bottle to Mina after taking a long, long pull herself, and regardless of their acceptance leaves it standing on an unclaimed trunk.<br/><br/>"Get it out of your systems if you're gonna," she says, her thin lips almost curling to a smile as her penetrating eyes glint with frank humor.  "God knows I could use a bit of strange soon.  But... I think I'll just drink.  Just don't break anythin'."<br/><br/>*INFIRMARY*<br/><br/>The rafters above Cris slowly come into focus, looking familiar like the ribs of a great, mummified beast, seeping with creaking wind and rustling, ever-so-faintly, with some beast or specter unseen.  A heaving breeze rustles the shutters and spills a flicker of moonlight across the room, illuminating carvings in the redwood headboard above her... some elaborately hand-carved antique, worm-gnawed and faded to many shades, depicting a great battle between god-like beasts and creatures of many heads and claws.  Their shapes arc and swirl with her fever-dream, seeming to leap from the woodwork, snap at each other, writhe and wriggle in hunger and desperation.<br/><br/>Wool and cotton layer upon her bare form, heavy like a blanket of leather and chain heated by fireside.  Ribbons of smoke curl from a cluster of incense beside the bed, snaking from several thin sticks, rounded thimbles of myrrh and sandalwood chips, jasmine and smoldering rose-petals in oil.  A humming sound pervades the room, the bloodflow in her ears giving way to its awareness.  Something pulses, some dome of warmth and peace.  It's almost sickening, making her want water and poison at once.<br/><br/><i>Help&lt;/i,&gt; her mind calls, and somehow her voice echoes that desperation, gives it voice.  There's movement, a stirring in the corner of the room.  Her eyes seek it out by reflex, though they ache to do so.  This plane of material is full of superficial pains.<br/><br/>A silhouetted form finds the amber glow of light that pervades her.  Dark skin, cool silvery-blue eyes, white hair like a hood shrouding the temples and ears.  Penetrating stare, curiosity.  A child examining the bug it has affixed to a board by a pin.  "Shhhh," it speaks simply, a honey-thick voice purling to her ear.  "You've had enough tonight, Cris."  Long fingers find her arm, touch her pulse.  She can feel her sweat against those fingertips, checking her pulse.  It's like they're carved from obsidian, and her pulse thrums in response.  "No worse for you yet, child.  You're at Ravenhurst.  You're safe for now."<br/><br/>Those strong, cool fingers trace up her arm, trail the inside of her elbow, draw whorls on her shoulder in ancient scripts forgotten.  "Forget much, accept all, child.  This is your home now."  A clay cup of water lifted to her lips, another strong hand under her head and lifting it like a doll's, positioning her for a sip.  "You brave little bobcat, you ate a viper this night.  Let its venom run its course and grow strong again."  The face that leans close to her is like a black angel, delicately handsome, fiercely beautiful.  "We have much to teach you."  The cup lifts away, but before her head rests again, she can smell the sweet leathery oil of his skin as he nestles his nose into her hair.  That purling sound once more.  "Shh... rest."<br/><br/>When her head meets the pillow again, he remains there.  <br/><br/>"Your technique, I understand, is... enthusiastic.  Like a dog in heat."  He chuckles, the sound amused and honey-thick like a beast.  Those glinting eyes shine in the glimmer, and smoke wafts around his face.  "Tell me a good memory, hm?"</i>;