Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Xana]

---

No matter where Xana placed herself in the bedroom, it seemed the walking stick mocked her. She could see it in her peripheral vision, in the mirror of the vanity, everywhere, and was slowly becoming convinced she could see it even with her eyes closed. The damnable thing sat there in its easy to reach place, taunting her by bringing thoughts of all she could not do.

Refreshing the injury by way of her own stubborn behavior was bad enough. What was worse was this quiet and equally obstinate sentinel to her poor choice. The days wore on like miniature eternities.

The day came that Xana could no longer ignore the truth: she needed the walking stick. Though it still pained her to bear weight on the foot, and she disliked feeling muddled in the head from the potions and powders left by the medical man brought in for her care, she realized another truth: she would have to swallow some of those medicines along with her pride if she were to accomplish her goal of getting up and about.

Mumbling a colorful string of gypsy curses under her breath, she gulped down the foul tasting elixir. Not long after, she felt mildly giddy and realized the throb in her lower leg was of no great import. She grabbed the walking stick in her right hand and cautiously ambulated around the bedroom.

Success! A smile spread over her face, a dark smile that greatly resembled one often worn by her lost twin and would have horrified her to know as much. Over to the teleporter she went, and found herself on the ground floor of the house.

For the first time in many long weeks, Xana went outside and carefully sat at the water's edge. Up to the sun, she turned her face and swore she could feel some of the built up inner tensions melting away. Into the water she tossed a pebble that lay in the grass. All the little things she did were typically taken for granted, until the small pleasures were denied a person.

The water was more beautiful than she remembered as she stared out at the ripples and reflections of the light. The feeling of peace continued to wash over her, and it would have shocked her had somebody told her that the euphoria was caused by the elixir...and not her own gladness.
_________________
An artist is a creature driven by demons ~Faulkner

[Roger de Clare]

---

Roger spent more time away from their home because, frankly, Xana told him she'd hurt him if he didn't stop constantly looking after her. After this blatant expression of exasperation, not so much at him as at herself for being housebound, he thought it wise to take her advice and leave her alone at least part of the day.

He returned each evening. He'd say something about his day, usually fighting somewhere. She'd tell him about her day, usually about being bored to tears. She terribly missed hunting and taming and riding her horse Jackson.

This evening he came home to find her outside by the seashore. They both loved the view and often sat and watched the sun set from their balcony.

Here she was outside though, sitting on the grass. He grinned happily to see Xana finally out of the house. He grew happier to see her smiling happily. He knelt beside her, kissed her, sat down with an arm about her. She pratically babbled with happiness.

Then he realized she didn't just "practically" babble...she did babble. He looked closer at her dear face and thought, "Uh oh, we've got to adjust her meds!"