[ The alarm that rattled up like static electricity doesn't diffuse with the plea against alarm. If anything, it charges a little stronger. His response is quick, but measured: ]
...Okay. You said you're at home? What are you doing at home, are you sitting up?
I wished to clean the injury before returning to the moot hall. [and change his clothes, which were soaked in blood; scalp injuries bleed prolifically. but to Jin Guangyao's concussed brain, the alternative to going home is clearly going back to work, rather than the clinic. (actually, that would probably remain true even without the concussion.)
another breath; it takes effort to mask his pain.] I didn't return to work. I'm in bed, lying down. Sitting up is--[nausea-inducing?]--uncomfortable.
Alright, well, I'll get word to Mateus that you're not coming in. You can take a half-day, if he complains, tell him I held you down. Sitting up is bad--how is walking? Unsteady?
[it is absolutely not fine, to Jin Guangyao, but given the world is already swimming before his eyes, the likelihood of him getting out of bed at all is quite remote. reluctantly, he lays back down and tries to wait out the wave of nausea.
his response is delayed, and deeply embarrassed.] ...I don't think I can walk without risking another fall.
Yeah, I don't want the guy who can't sit up or walk handling my legal documents. Works out well. Jesus, A-Yao, what were you even doing there? I thought you moved out!
[it is a blur; who had lashed out in violence first? it is such a simple detail, yet a crucial one, and he can't recall it no matter how hard he tries. in frustration, he balls one fist in the bedsheets.]
--I can't remember. I remember our argument, and then when I came to, I was on the ground. Perhaps I struck him first, but I... I truly can't remember.
[ At least he got home. At least they didn't decide to take whatever price they wanted from the Void-touched out of Jin Guangyao. He tuts to himself, going for the shop side of the apothecary for something for the pain. ]
[a spike of panic as he belatedly makes a connection his unconcussed brain would have clocked immediately: that Quentin will have to venture out into the streets to get to his house by the moot hall.]
It isn't safe. Quentin, I will be fine; please don't worry about me.
[the sharp response silences him abruptly, but his instinctive withdrawal from Quentin's anger is short-lived. there's no threat in it; quite the opposite, in fact. tentatively, he extends his awareness out to Quentin's mind again, a delicate touch.]
Very well. [soft,] Avoid any crowds on your way, and please don't go near the boarding house.
Nothing's gonna happen to me. I'll be careful. [ At least, as long as he has someone relying on him on the other side. ] Just--take it easy till I get there. It's gonna be okay.
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i never switched formats, don't worry abt it
...Okay. You said you're at home? What are you doing at home, are you sitting up?
djkaf i didn't even notice whoops
another breath; it takes effort to mask his pain.] I didn't return to work. I'm in bed, lying down. Sitting up is--[nausea-inducing?]--uncomfortable.
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[he is definitely trying to sit up, Quentin, sorry. standing is next, probably.]
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his response is delayed, and deeply embarrassed.] ...I don't think I can walk without risking another fall.
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[a beat, and his sluggish mind recalls he hasn't specified who he's talking about.] Vladislav-xiansheng. He started the fire.
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[it is a blur; who had lashed out in violence first? it is such a simple detail, yet a crucial one, and he can't recall it no matter how hard he tries. in frustration, he balls one fist in the bedsheets.]
--I can't remember. I remember our argument, and then when I came to, I was on the ground. Perhaps I struck him first, but I... I truly can't remember.
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I'm coming.
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It isn't safe. Quentin, I will be fine; please don't worry about me.
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Very well. [soft,] Avoid any crowds on your way, and please don't go near the boarding house.
🎀