bess d. fawcett (bestzeller) wrote in valesco,
@ 2013-03-16 17:02:00

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Drystan!
It had been difficult to smuggle decent food into St. Mungo's during the first days of Penelope's admittance, but it seemed that the welcome witch and the healers had grown progressively uncaring of what Bess hid under her cloak. They especially didn't seem to mind when she brought enough food to share, and she was glad to be of some sort of assistance. Since Penny had fallen ill, she had felt nothing but useless. Even her own children had been sent away to stay with her parents, a somewhat safe zone being in a muggle area. As she waited for the lift to stop, Bess tried to figure out when the last time she had been in her own home. Her cooking was done on her mother's stove, she'd been sleeping in the guest room with the children it...it was quite some time.

The doors opened and she stepped out. The visitor's lounge was only a short walk from the lift and Bess let out a silent sigh of relief at the sight of very few people milling around. It was late, nearing midnight, and while in the beginning the lounge would be packed with worried families, the numbers had been slowly dwindling. Some patients were sent home while others...

Bess sat beside her husband, unsure how he was awake. It felt like she never saw him sleeping.

"I brought your favorite," she whispered. They were basically alone save for a sleeping pair in the far corner of the room, but she still felt the need for soft tones. Bess kissed the side of Drystan's head before moving to unwrap her one-person care package.

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brythonichero
2013-03-21 01:50 am UTC (link)

He wasn't sure what to make of the time now that he knew what it was. Making conversation, he supposed. Except for the Healers and the occasional babbling to Penelope she normally couldn't reciprocate to, he rarely spoke unless Bess was with him. And even then… Nodding his thanks, Drystan knew he would be surprised if he managed more than a bite or two. For more weeks than he cared to remember, Drystan hadn't eaten for any other reason besides necessity, and had tasted less than that. He chalked the ashy, vaguely burnt flavor all food currently had to the effort of suppressing the mind-numbing terror he constantly faced, that at any moment he would relive something similar to that horrific night three years past.

Desperate to rid himself of such thoughts, he asked, "All well?" shifting slightly in his seat. "Your parents? Children behaving?" Though he had a feeling they were—troublemakers though his spawn were, their destruction and reign of terror had an unmistakable impact on the adults around them. They were all bright, though, and however much he hated that they had to be exposed to this epidemic, the children knew how to handle themselves. It was Stephen that broke his heart most, the idea of that stoic four-year-old waiting with unwavering patience and faith for his Auntie Ducks to get better, and Drystan being wholly unable to promise she would.

Bracing his hands on his thighs, he looked towards the bed briefly before glancing his bed away. "It's been a quiet day here."

'Quiet day' being the only euphemism he could allow himself for another day that passed without improvement. No worsening, but… no improvement, either.

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bestzeller
2013-03-24 04:30 pm UTC (link)

Bess responded to the questions with simple nods, more focused on the exhaustion on her husband's face. She hated as much as she adored the way he always took things to heart, that the whole weight of the world rested on Drystan Fawcett's shoulders. It cost him so much energy and in turn she felt all the weariness he did. She wasn't a healer, she couldn't do anything about Penelope's condition, though Bess had complete fate in her sister-in-law. If Penny hadn't succumbed to the virus then nothing was going to take her away from them.

It's been a quiet day here. Her thoughts and Drystan's words sparked a simple idea. With her baskets full of treats for the hospital staff, Bess had managed to wander the halls without much trouble and---she shook her head, deciding not to think too much. She grabbed hold of Drystan's hand and stood, fruitlessly tugging at her husband's near dead weight before he obliged.

"Come, just a minute," she promised, knowing that going too far away from Penny might be too much. Bess left their belongings on the seats and led Drystan a little bit down the hallway. With only a quick glance about to make sure they hadn't been followed, she opened up a supply closet and pulled her husband inside. Shutting the door behind her, Bess flipped out her wand and performed a quick silencing spell on the room, one she had perfected a long time ago.

"When Sadie was little," she said, moving her wand around the edge of the doorway, "and I couldn't calm her, or get her to stop crying, I'd----" Bess shook her head lightly, knowing that Drystan wouldn't judge her, even if she still severely judged herself, "I'd lock myself in the closet and put a silencing spell on the room to---get a moment."

Sure that the spell was secure in place, Bess lit up her wand and placed it between herself and Drystan. She smiled gently up at him, feeling sad that she couldn't think of anything else to do for him.

"A moment to---think, to scream," she said loudly to demonstrate her point. The healers or patients would not be able to hear anything with how secure her spell work was. Bess shrugged, "And---I know it's not much, but you don't have to be quiet here. You don't have to---think, or we can sit here or---whatever you want. I can't do much else for you and I'm sorry for that but---here's some solitude."

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brythonichero
2013-04-01 12:18 am UTC (link)

He looked about the small cupboard uncertainly after she spoke, hesitant in his movements as he ran his hand along the frame of the door.

Drystan had always been quiet. He didn't know why that was, but that's how it had always been. When something, when life, got to be too much, he used that quiet as his weapon. Memories of Sorcha came easily to him then, how she would get so furious during their fights when he'd grow deliberate more silent as she raged louder and louder. She accused him of using logic like a sucker punch and quiet like a left jab, which was an accurate statement on his preferred method of arguing. His temper was explosive, but Drystan was not.

That tendency, he thought, was another fundamental difference between him and Bess, that she opened herself up in such a way, and he closed in. He marvelled that they could be so unlike in so many ways yet still be together, still need each other in all the ways that they did.

Family never ceased to amaze, mystify, or terrify him.

He simply didn't know how to be loud, but the gesture touched him more than words could say anyway. The cramped space brought another kind of comfort, the tightly safe spaces he sought out as a child and the ones he resisted hiding in as a grown man faced with more sadness than he reasonably knew how to handle. The ones the pale, fragile looking girl asleep on the cot in the room down the hall could so often be found in.

Though his throat closed, Drystan managed the few simple, necessary words. ""Thank you," he said, laying his hand on her shoulder.

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