|Give Me More|
|Summary:||Jacsen summons Pyrs to the Roof Terrace to demand more Milk of the Poppy, but the Maester is reluctant. Lucienne learns a fun fact about her doped up brother!|
|Roof Terrace - Four Eagles Tower|
|This is open to the air except for the rookery at the opposite end of the open walkway. Parapets and crenellations are about.|
|Wed Jun 06, 289|
It's an overcast day, though the clouds don't threaten rains, and Jacsen sits up on the parapets looking down from on high. The cane is idly tapped against the stones, marking out an erratic rhythm as he passes the time. The Maester has been summoned and he waits for the man to arrive, trying to take his mind off the pain with the tapping which grows increasingly agitated over time, becoming faster and faster, until finally he grits his teeth and hurls it against the floor with a loud crack. "Not my brightest moment," he sighs to himself, eyeing it where it lands some six feet away.
Lucienne arrives first, right in time to witness the loud snap of wood upon stone as her brother throws his crutch. "Not at all," she murmurs, low and amused, picking up the staff on her way over and offering it back to her brother. "A lucky son, aren't you?"
"Am I?" Jacsen snaps, pursing his lips with a sour expression. "Some days, I'm not so sure." The expression softens when the cane is offered back to him. Averting his eyes back downward, his hand hovers over it before he takes it back. "I could have gotten it, Luci," he says, which isn't his usual style of thank-you. He's nowhere near the same man she saw in her chambers.
Emerging onto the roof's terrace, opposite of the rookery, Maester Pyrs' arrival could be noted by the tinkering sounds of chains rattling against his chest coupled with the heavy sound of a booted step. Arriving once summoned the elder male's aged eyes glance between the pair of siblings, "M'lady Lucienne." And then to the seated one, "Lord Jascen," A greeting followed by an unchecked, "We are on our feet now hmm?"
"Of course you could have," Lucienne agrees, smiling down gently as she hands the cane over. "But then I'd feel useless, and where's the chilvalry in that?" She shrugs, relieved of his walking stick, and moves to stand closer by her brother. "A dismal day, isn't — Maester." She dips into a practiced, straight-backed curtsy, glancing between the older man and younger.
"Were I on my feet, I'd not have called for you, Maester Pyrs," Jacsen says, the cane laid across his lap. His right hand continues to press and rub over his wound as his left fiddles with his crutch, giving him the air of restlessness. "The pain is getting worse," he says after a pause, glancing over to Lucienne, then to Pyrs. "It woke me in the night, even with the Milk of the Poppy you gave me beforehand."
"Hmmm." A trademark sound was made from his thinly pressed lips. Pyrs stepped a bit closer while his eyes narrowed on Jascen's hand movements. "You're disturbing the wound Lord Jascen." He said, tongued with disapproval. "The dosage I have already given you was quite strong." How the pain managed to over power it had baffled the man though he wouldn't let that been seen across his features. "And you have not been able to return to sleep?"
Lucienne listens, her features twisting with concern as the conversation develops between Young Lord and Maester. "Years ago, I used to massage the twisted muscles," she tells the latter, in case it might help - it seemed to, back then. She folds her arms across her chest and settles her gaze upon her brother, waiting.
Jacsen waves a dismissing hand when Pyrs comments on his wound-rubbing. It's not just a light rub, either, he's digging right in there with the heel of his palm like he's trying to massage the pain away. "The dosage wasn't strong enough, Maester," he proclaims, his voice taking on an almost sneering, lordly tone. "And the massaging helps," he confirms, nodding to Lucienne, his features softening for a moment when he looks her way. "For a time, it was the only thing that did." The fiddling hand leaves off the cane and comes up to his hair, alternating at random between raking his fingers through it and grabbing fistfuls of it. "I was unable to sleep again, no," he says pointedly, as though it is wholly Pyrs' fault. "I need more. More Milk of the Poppy."
Pyrs's head cants a touch as his thick grey eyebrows sank lowly. In his simple surface examinations the man maintains a composed demeanor. "If the massaging helps." He resigns, shifting his eyes over to Luci, "Perhaps your sister may wish to aid your discomfort until I am able to prepare a proper aid for your pain m'lord."
Lucienne shrugs toward the Maester, unwilling to presume to know more than the learned man, and yet… she takes another step, bridging the distance between herself and her brother and settling a hand upon his shoulder. "Of course, Maester. My lord's Dornish retainer had many a salve to ease his pain, too, perhaps you know something of the sort? Avinashi used peppers, maybe… something hot to prick the muscles. Most of all, his lordship needs his sleep."
"You already have a proper aid for my pain, and it works, I just need more - " Jacsen stops what is sure to have been an incensed tirade, his anger diffusing with his sister's touch - and perhaps also the mention of Avinashi. Or at least, he's subdued enough that he speaks with a more calm and measured voice, though his hand remains tightly balled around a fistful of shaggy hair. "Yes, sleep," he agrees wearily. "For months, I had it in excess. Now I feel its lack."
"Peppers." Hrmph. "I've heard of such a trial used m'lady and while it may be useful for minor ailments as we can see," hand gesture to the suffering and irritated, "We are beyond those measures." While in the company of kin he has no need to temper his words, some of them. "I lessened your quality young lord, the Milk of the Poppy is not to be abused and given in excess may cause some detrimental effects. This pain I suspect is out of habit, not need." Pyrs clears his throat a little as a hand shifts inside the pockets of his robe. "Are you sweating? Feeling a heat stirring within? The inability to think in one solid direction?"
Lucienne arches a brow as the Maester speaks on pepper salves, quickly schooling her expression back within the realms of neutral. She squeezes her hand upon Jacsen's shoulder, meant to comfort. There may be a slight flush to her cheeks as his symptoms are questioned, but the lady ducks her head, making a study of the stone underfoot as her brother answers.
"Yes. Yes. Yes, yes, yes," Jacsen answers impatiently. "Sweating, shivering, heat, cold, unable to think in one direction, only able to think in one direction. It comes and goes, Maester, at its own whim. Insensibly, at that - amplifying my desires but leaving me unable to f - " He pauses, having forgotten that Lucienne was standing there even with her hand right on his shoulder. "Find what I… need," he finishes.
Pyrs nods, "This will be a long road Young Lord but one I have no doubt you may pass through successfully." He could imagine what other sort of short comings had disgruntled the young man. "Begin with a bath tempered to your choosing and after a meal is settled in you I will have a potion ready to aid your sleep."
If Lucienne was blushing before, she's bright red now, her grip on Jacsen's shoulder renounced right as he threatens her delicate ears with such an improper phrase. "Perhaps I could see to the bathwater," she mumbles lowly, dragging slippered feet a step backward across the stone.
"You have no doubt I may pass through successfully?" Jacsen repeats, his voice indicating that his fuse is quickly shortening. His head snaps up when Lucienne releases his shoulder. "I don't - " Gritting his teeth again, he lets out a long and drawn out sigh. "Fine. I will play your game, Maester. For now." He comes to his feet, cane-arm shaking as it supports his weight. "I'll be down shortly," he says to Lucienne, watching her back away.
He'll need to move the opiate jars before the young man gets wiser. Satisfied that reason is still possible Pyrs, once again, nods his head. "That would be wise m'lady." He tells Luci without hinting to more than necessary. "I shall take my leave to see the potion is prepared." The Maester turns and begins returning back inside the keep without hurrying his steps.
As Jacsen's temper flares, Luci lifts her chin, her blush dissipating as she hangs a chiding look upon her brother. "I'll warn the maids," she says, a smile crooking on her lips. "Brother, maester." She'll follow Pyrs out, no doubt at a faster pace than Jacsen can keep with his cane.
"Yes… you do that," Jacsen mutters to himself as the Maester takes his leave, and Luci's chiding look is returned with a smouldering glare. He watches his sister leave, his expression as clouded as the skies. Once he's confident that they both have gone down, he picks up his cane and strikes it against the parapets, this time smart enough not to throw it, and keeps beating on the innocent stone until his good leg threatens to give out. Then he takes a breath, composes himself, and begins the laborious journey down.