The faint impression of Campion's voice prattled on in Abeline's skull, having taken up residence at a small tea table somewhere in an avant-garde, if dilapidated, neighborhood of her civilized mind. There, he droned on in an affable manner, reciting the written words she had committed to memory.

Naturally, the physical body of his letter had been disposed of, and the only remaining evidence of its existence was a nondescript pile of ash in her fireplace. As a healer, she took confidentiality, and thus his request for discretion, very seriously.

She also took cleanliness seriously, and, as she padded down a cramped corridor into the passive dormitory, she grew disconcerted with the dingy state of affairs. Strange, she began to think, that the people tasked with cleaning the rest of the school do not care for their own space with the same diligence.

Yet, on second glance, the halls were not quite as shabby as they first appeared. Instead, the illusion of grime seemed to originate from the damp, musty chill that permeated the walls. No scrubbing could defeat that oppressive odor, she surmised, not unless the stone walls were scrubbed to dust. And that wouldn't do -- Brunnhold, like an aged elephant, would collapse on top of the ambitious scrubber (and many hapless others).

Mind thus gloomily employed, the healer came to the door she hoped was Triston's, and knocked the quiet, stately knock of a preoccupied galdor.

Aurelie was tired. Not merely sleepy, but bone-weary to the point where she found it hard to stir herself once she'd laid her body down after work these days. More and more she found herself grateful for the small incongruities in her schedule and Triston's. Her worry exhausted her. Triston was making things out of sandwiches, things not at all edible. This, clearly, was a sign that she had every right to be concerned.

Sometimes she contemplated ripping that jacket from her and throwing it into the oven. It was only the thought that such actions wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as having the real thing right there in front of her that kept her from doing it, she told herself. (Though truthfully she didn't want to cause Triston any further pain, either. Burning the jacket she wore like a second skin would most assuredly not help the issue.)

The knock stirred her from a sort of drifting half-sleep. Who could that possibly be? Triston had gotten over her knocking habit, as had Aurelie herself. No one else would bother, except possibly Champion Luckless, and he was far, far away from Brunnhold. More's the pity.

Perhaps it was Triston after all. She had been acting quite strangely. With a little sigh Aurelie picked herself up from her narrow little bunk and went to the door, opening it a crack. "Triston, really, I thought we'd-- Oh." Aurelie's face went slack with surprise at the sight of the bespectacled galdori woman who had been doing the knocking. Must there be a sudden rash of polite gollies in her life? That was entirely not what she had expected to see, and there were a few long moments of her blinking and gawping like a fish before she managed to pull herself together.

"Oh! H-How can I help you, ma'am?" Aurelie tried for a bow but managed to knock her head against the door frame instead.

Oh. It wasn't Triston.

Abe had been expecting to see the diminutive form of the one passive she had grown to.. well, know wasn't entirely the right word, considering how little the girl had said around her, but the healer did recognize Triston, which was better than she could do for most other passives. Such as the one in front of her.

"Would you be Aur.. uh.." Despite Abe's efforts at memorization, her tiny, channeled Campion went silent with a mischievous and altogether inappropriate wink. "Triston's... Is she in?"

Meeting new people was never her forte.

Aurelie's fingers twitched at her skirts as she resisted the urge to rub at her forehead.

"No ma'am, not as yet." Aurelie kept her tone deferential, though her curiousity was immediately piqued. That a galdor should ask after Triston by name was a rare event, indeed. Even Luckless hadn't really asked after any of them so much as turned up quite a lot. What was it this woman wanted? Maybe she could leave a message and go away. "Was there something I might be able to help you with, ma'am...?" Her voice was hopeful.

Triston was tired.

Granted, that's how most passives felt after a day of work, but this was different. All day, all she could think about was going back to sleep. Triston thought it was definitely possible she was sick. She didn't know much about illness, other then that it made one uncomfortable and you could get it from other people. That being said, she was most certainly uncomfortable. Between harsh stomach aches and feeling like she was about to collapse from an abnormal amount of fatigue, the girl was a mess.

As the passive approached her abode, she gaped. Healer Ixbridge, standing at the door, right when Triston needed her. The gods didn't hate her as much as she thought! Even if it was that evil healer, a chance was a chance. This was a chance to get some information, and possibly, a cure.

"Hello Healer Ixbridge." Triston said, bowing as carefully as she could so as not to aggravate the already sharp pain in her abdomen.

The presumed Aurelie Steerpike kept calling her ma'am, and at the end of every sentence, too. Needlessly servile of her, but the healer could understand, in a way. Abe had, after all, the bizarre tendency to extend the formal to damn near anyone -- even when they wouldn't normally merit it, even when they didn't want it, and even when they expressly discouraged it (although that may be a special case brought on by confoundedly fervent respect).

She preferred to leave passives alone. She really did. They were always so nervous when she spoke to them, though that was probably because she was a galdor... Or, perhaps, because she was a healer, which strangely seemed to put even high-class socialites slightly off-kilter... Or, most likely, because she was, as an individual, obnoxiously nervous. She imagined there existed somewhere in the world a colony of headless chickens more collected than her.

"A-ah. Triston. There you are." Her glass-guarded eyes flicked to the blonde passive, and, paying attention for once, took in the girl's listless movements and weary pallor. "I've been looking for you. Professor Moore noticed you were looking a bit, ah, peaky, in his words, so I thought I'd.. what with your caring for the baby.. we wouldn't want Horation to fall ill, you know, if that were a possibility."

Yes, she was skirting around the truth of her genuine concern, and, yes, certain cartoonists were omitted from her exposition, and--yes--there was an actual lie in there, but it easily could have been true. Well.. until one remembered that Harper had a hard enough time noticing bottom steps and the tops of door frames. His sensitivity to the conditions of the people he saw on a daily basis was about as accurate as a barometer that had been dropped repeatedly as a baby.

Adorable of him, really, but that was beside the issue, and she tried to banish from her psyche images of the blithe professor tripping over his svelte delectable own legs.

Ah ha. There it was, that name again, that Professor Moore. A golly who made the acquaintance of passive girls like Triston, someone Triston defended quite adamantly when Luckless had maligned his name. Aurelie's mouth pulled into a tight line of displeasure, briefly, before she let it go slack again and did her best to chase the disapproval from her features. It wouldn't do any good to anyone for her to let these two people know how she felt about this particular issue. Both Triston and the galdori woman seemed to be on familiar terms with him, after all.

At the mention of illness Aurelie turned a sharp eye to her bunkmate. It was true, her face was wan and she moved without her usual energy. But it was difficult, now, for Aurelie to tell the difference between true illness and this strange sort of brokenness that clung to the blonde girl like a shroud. Like a coat.

It hadn't escaped her notice that this woman, this Healer Ixbridge as Triston had called her, had yet to express any actual concern for Triston's welfare, so much as the possibility of her being catching. Unsurprising.

What had escaped her notice was any nervousness from the healer-- after all, what reason could a galdor have for feeling nervous when talking to passives? The balance of power was in their favour. Whatever strange inclination would lead to speaking to passives didn't change the fact that they were in a position of advantage.

So she didn't even think that Ixbridge might have omitted any genuine concern for Triston out of awkwardness, rather than a lack of care. She didn't like this conversation already. Her inclination to retreat back to her bunk and sleep was held at bay; someone had to be there to keep an eye on Triston, after all.

"Oh, of course." Triston replied weakly. Now that the Galdor stood before her, she felt her nerves slip away. Would healer Ixbridge be offended? Surely it wouldn't be too bad? Nothing ventured nothing gained right?

Questions, questions, questions, and only one answer.

"If...if it isn't to much trouble, do you think-" Oh no, what was it? D-d...D something. Diagoos?...Daganus?

"Could you diagnis why I'm sick?" Triston grinned in triumph as she finally rolled the stubborn verb off her tongue. I bet she's surprised I know such a doctor'y word.

((Had a bad week, super sorry for small/late post I'm a jerk sorry sorry sorry))

Abe resisted a pedantic urge to correct-- surely a passive would think it condescending-- but her natural inclinations won out.

"Diagnose."

Education accomplished, she clasped her hands behind her back, gazing for a moment at a haze somewhere between propriety and frankness. Galdori healers danced a rather fine line. While imminently respectable in public, they could, in private and with no consequences to their reputation, tell a Headmaster to drop his pants and bend over.

Context was the key, and context of place, especially.

"Shall we step in here?" Healer Ixbridge motioned to the passives' bedchamber, as comfortably and confidently as if it were an examination room back in her infirmary. An old habit. The affected confidence fizzled on her peering into the room, so small and dark and dreary. It was smaller than an examination room, even.. yet this was the closest thing the two girls had to a home. Surely they'd be protective of it.

"Ah, only if you don't mind my intrusion, madams."

Aurelie opened her mouth to say yes, she did mind, rather a lot thank you very much, but remembered that it was Triston who had asked the healer to look after her in the first place. Her jaw shut with an almost audible snap.

"Of course not," resisting the urge to a "ma'am" to the end. She didn't like that automatically subservient response in her, but it was habit by now. However, since Triston wasn't speaking to this woman in that manner, she felt a little more entitled to do the same.

Aurelie opened the door all the way and made a sort of vague gesture inside. She then moved to take a very stiff, straight-backed seat on her own bed. This proved to be mildly difficult as there was not actually very much <i>space</i> between the bottom bunk and the top, but she managed all the same. She wasn't letting Healer Ixbridge out of her sight for even a moment.

This made her blush fiercely.



She walked inside silently, leaning against the damp stone wall opposite her bunk. Seeing Aura sit down tempted her to do the same, standing was getting to be unbearable. Despite that, she was still aware they were in the presence of a galdor. Both of them sitting might come across as rude, especially since there was no place for the healer to sit. Well there was the floor. Triston felt the floor looked very inviting.

"Sorry, there's not much room." She commented.

Abeline followed behind like a mother hen -- watchful, but rather far from leering. For some reason, younger women tended to trigger a protective instinct within the healer. She did still feel for older women and younger men, of course, and certainly for older men (well, one in particular-- but let's not digress). She couldn't quite identify what caused the bias in her shielding mechanism, and that usually irritated her rational sensibilities.

However, not this time. For these two girls, she allowed special dispensation. They were passives, after all. Normally, they'd be unlikely to receive routine medical attention. A simple cough could turn to pneumonia in these overworked halls.

"Hmm," was all the healer said at first. She closed the door behind her, very gently. Her eyes glazed for a moment as medical possibilities mobbed the front desk of her brain. There was nothing for it. They'd have to take numbers and sit in the waiting room like well-mannered prognostications.

"It could be the flu that's been going around.. but I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself. What sort of symptoms have you been experiencing?"

Why was Triston not sitting? It's customary that a patient-- Passive.

"Please, feel free to sit. This is.. um.." She glanced about the room. Rather small. While it might make a nice pantry, it was not a what she would consider a living space. "Your.. um.. home. After all."

Aurelie turned red to the roots of her hair. It wasn't much, this little closet of a space they were crammed into. She knew that. They all knew that. It wasn't that she was proud of it, precisely, so much as she was insulted by the hesitation in Abeline's voice. Her hands bunched into fists on her lap, but since she was offering to take medical care of Triston, she bit her tongue down hard on the comment she wanted to make.

It really was more like a walk-in closet, anyway.

Triston slid down to the floor before answering, sighing in relief as her feet were relieved of weight the first time that day. For cold, hard, slightly damp stone, the ground was rather comfortable.

"My stomach really hurts," She started. "And I'm sleepy all day, and my back hurts too and my head sometimes."

She spoke without looking at Abe, focusing on a dust bunny in the corner. The passive imagined it hopping around and acting like a real bunny. Having a pet dust bunny would be nice. You wouldn't have to feed it, it'd just eat dirt and grime. And it would sleep in your bed with you and wake up with you and wait for you to come back from work and be there when you did. You wouldn't have to worry about it and it wouldn't have to worry about you and someday it would die but you wouldn't need to be sad because it never really felt anything at all.

And you wouldn't have to feed it.

Another analytical "hmm" came from the healer. She looked to the reclining blond, concern worrying her brow.

"How long has this persisted?" It occurred to her that the work regimen might be to blame, and that the girl only needed rest.. but she wasn't entirely sure what Triston actually did.

Ah, headaches. I know all about those.

"And.. could you describe the pain?"

True, there were quantitative spells at her disposal, but they weren't as much fun. She didn't like to be given answers. Still, if this went on for too long, she'd pose a few questions to the mona. She just had to find the right questions first.

Triston's face squinted in a show of deep thought.

"I...I don't know, maybe a week?" She decided.



"Sharp, and then not sharp but it still hurts," Triston answered lamely. "And I want to throw up sometimes." As if agitated by the talk, her stomach gurgled.

((SFSR))

Whole swaths of ideas were ejected from the healer's mental waiting room. Many still remained, but they were starting to have a form. Abdominal pain with nausea suggested some kind of blockage. Fatigue could be unrelated-- Were passives allowed to get enough sleep? Enough to eat? -- but then again it might be related. It all started about a week ago...

There were a few more tests she could try, but those required a physical examination. She shuddered to think of what a matron might do if she were caught lifting a passive's shirt. A cute passive, too.

Damned glasses get me every time.

The healer coughed quietly. "Ahem-- W-well, I'll need to use a quantitative spell to pinpoint the cause of all this." Sniffing, she added, "With your permission, of course."

Aurelie sat bolt upright at the mention of spells, promptly cracking the back of her neck against the bottom of the upper bunk. She scowled and rubbed the sore spot, shooting the healer a baleful glare (only because she was almost positive she wasn't being looked at).

Now there was nothing Aurelie could really say if Triston wanted this woman to cast magic at her, but that didn't stop her from feeling very put-out at the idea. She trusted the mona almost as much as she trusted the gollies who used it-- which was to say, very little. (After all, how much faith could one really place in something that subjected you to its whims with such startling irregularity that you were placed into institutionalized slavery just so you didn't go around randomly killing people?)

She settled for making annoyed noises.

Triston twiddled her thumbs. She fidgeted her fingers and rubbed her feet together. She bit her lip and scooted her bum a little to the left, then back. The small passive breathed in slowly before replying. "I don't mind." Even after she finished speaking her twitchy movements refused to halt.

Triston looked up at Abe. "Thank you for doing this," She said suddenly, still avoiding eye contact. "You must be busy, I'm sorry that this is taking up your time."

"It's no trouble." She glanced at the other passive. Aurelie. That was her name. Aurelie was probably just as exhausted as Triston.

Abe's thoughtful, concerned expression flickered an apology in Aurelie's direction. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to disturb the girls' rest for much longer.

"Alright," the healer said, smiling blandly. "This won't hurt a bit."

Silently, she gathered her field to prepare to cast. Monite, too, gathered in her head, and Abeline invoked a quantitative diagnosis. She took special care to ask the mona to check for inflammations, obstructions, and any other conditions of the abdomen.

Abeline's field buzzed pleasantly, the mona listening intently to her call. They responded in a slow, soothing touch that Triston could feel-- like warm fingers over her stomach-- and taste--like bread and wine.

Abeline could feel the mona as if she were seeing a nurse in front of her, uttering statistics and shaking her head or nodding, no, no, no obstructions, bowels completely normal... a little too much salt in the diet perhaps, though the kidneys seem to be doing well enough... reproductive system is normal, lined, and--

Triston could feel a little trill down her spine, but that was all.

Abeline could feel the mona doing a small dance around a little bundle of cells implanted in the lining of her uterus. The baby's doing well...

The spell would continue feeding Abeline diagnostic bits and pieces until she cut it off. But in earnest, she knew all she needed to know.

The--

The ba--

...baby?

Healer Ixbridge stared at nothing in particular, not seeing anything, not aware of the mona's continued droning, not feeling the air pulled into her gaping mouth. She rocked back on her heels after a few moments, waving the spell away with a minute gesture.

"Triston," she breathed. "You're fine. But you're--" --going to be a mother? Not in Anaxas.

She shook her head and tried again. "But.. you're..."

Abe leaned back on the wall and slowly slid down. Sitting next to Triston, she nervously wrapped her arms around her trousered legs.

"Oh, dear," she said quietly to herself.

Triston looked down in confusion at her stomach, sure that there must be some physical manifestation of the comforting touch she felt. There was none. It wasn't right, wasn't natural. A sudden taste in her mouth was even more jarring, perhaps because it was a flavor she had not sampled in a while. The trill down her spine was almost lost amid her preoccupation with the sensation of warm hands and wine.

Shock could not easily describe the feeling Triston experienced when Abeline Ixbridge, a galdor and a healer, sank down next to her on the cold damp floor and mumbled "oh, dear," in a strange echo of what Harper once said at a time that seemed so long ago. Except this time, the healer's mind was not on somebody else. This could not be written off as a day dream mutter or whatever that had been. This was about Triston, and whatever it was wasn't good. Good things did not constitute an "oh dear." Good things were expressed using a "whee," or a "hurrah." Healer Ixbridge did not look ready to hurrah. Thus, bad things.

As per usual, when faced with bad things and the need to deal with them, Triston's mind fled to somewhere else. Her one safe place, ignorance.

Why did Abeline wear trousers? Were trousers comfortable? More or less then a dress was? If a woman could wear trousers, did that mean men could wear dresses? Men in dresses, really?

Triston almost spoke up to ask if men could wear dresses, but didn't. It wasn't the time. Instead, she asked a question much more relevant to the situation.

"Why 'oh dear'?"

Aura watched Healer Ixbridge sink to the floor and felt her stomach go along with her. It wasn't often that a healer felt the need to sit down, everything about her saying the diagnosis was grim, indeed.

She'd said Triston was fine.

Knuckles twisted in apron, a nervous gesture she'd never noticed before but somehow seemed important now. A nervous gesture, a nervous happening-- healers did not say "oh dear" to perfectly healthy patients. They just didn't. Granted she had seen precious little of them in her life, but she knew what happened in general, she knew how these things worked.

"Wha--" Her voice came out too quiet and strange. Triston was fine, her only friend in the world was just fine, the healer had said so. Healers didn't lie, did they?

"What is she?" There was as much calm as she could muster in her voice. Triston didn't seem terrible concerned herself. Aura would just have to worry about it for the both of them. "'Fine' and 'oh dear' don't--" She clamped her mouth shut. Instead, she stood and crossed to Triston's side, burying her fingers in the fabric of her dress at the shoulder, clenching, unclenching.

Abe watched Aurelie swoop in to comfort Triston. There was talking going on..? Aurelie had asked her a question.

I pulled a Harper, didn't I?

As she remembered that other day--just over a month ago, was it?-- she remembered being in a place equivalent to Aurelie's. Not the focus of attention, but still worried half to death.

There was something else tugging her thoughts toward Harper, but she ignored it. This wasn't the time.

The bespectacled healer cradled her forehead in one hand, biting her lip. There was no unawkward way to say this.

"Pregnant. You're pregnant, Triston."