State of my head

[god_of_the_arena]

Gannicus knows that there are better ways to deal with stress, but he finds none so comforting as the ones he's accustomed to: drink, poor choices, fighting. After hearing of Porthos's returned memories, he dwells on some of his own. He doesn't like dwelling on memories, or much of anything if he can help it.

Thinking of Melitta, of Oenomaus, of Saxa and Sybil and all of his brothers. Nothing good came of that, and yet he could not push memories from mind. So he found distraction.

That distraction leaves him bruised and bleeding, but the other guy looked worse off at the end of it. Still, he'd felt his shoulder pop in a way it shouldn't toward the end of the fight, and though he is almost certain he could fix it on his own, perhaps it would be better to seek more experienced medical attention. Though Porthos could likely help, his mind turns toward another, likely closer.

He finds his way to Candlewood by memory - perhaps impressive, considering the last time he'd been there he'd had a head injury. The day is cold and snow blowing, but he did not the drive to put his coat back on - to do so would mean moving his shoulder more than he was willing to at the moment. It is one thing to push a body past reason in a fight to the death, but the contest had been for catharsis, and now that it was over he sees no need to push the joint beyond capacity.

Gannicus follows someone in, pausing to try to remember how many flights of steps they had gone up, where the door had been. Well, if he made a mistake he could recover. Surely no one here would have a lethal reaction to a knock at the wrong door.

He finds the one he remembers to be Hild's and knocks, hoping she is home.

Comments

[light_of_the_world]

She was cooking. It wasn't a common activity for her, not for king's kin. Brew mead, make cheese, churn butter, help with the harvest, yes. But before Darrow, she had rarely had to make a meal for herself. Now it was a comfort, a way to fill time that might otherwise be consumed with sorrow and worry for a lost friend. Hild could think back to watching the bakers kneed their bread, the cooks choose their spices and when to add them, and mimic their familiar actions.

The simmering stew filled her apartment with warmth and a savory smell that mingled with the usual earthy scent of dried flowers and roots. It was a good, comforting smell, a reassuring warmth. It made her feel that much more welcoming when she answered her door.

"Gannicus." She had a ready, delighted smile for him, pleasure from his unexpected visit obvious. It did not fade even when she noted, in a glance, the drying blood, the ripening bruises, the way he favored his shoulder. "What is all this from?"