evowhisperer | IC Voicemail

*Cesar's nose has dribbled blood down to his chin, and his hands tell a similar story. Cesar wipes his mouth, realizes he's just making more of a mess, and then stops.*

{No, it can't.}

*No sugar-coating. With the state they're both in, there's no point. L looks as though a strong breeze could knock him out of his chair, and the despair in his tone is worrying.*

{Are you alright?}

[L glances slowly aside to read the signs, and then his eyes widen; he's noticed, for the first time, that Cesar's bleeding, and he's noticeably alarmed, even if a powerful reaction isn't within his ability to convey.

He stands, tottering but adapting and regaining something like a set of bearings as he goes to the room's small closet and pulls out a simple, clean t-shirt. He pushes it into Cesar's hands.]

There's a bathroom down the hall, and I keep a first-aid kit there. Come on... I'll help you clean up.

[Staying close to the walls to steady himself, he starts toward the door, trusting Cesar to follow.]

*Cesar hesitates at first, turning the shirt around in his hands. Then he blots his hands on it, and pinches his nose to catch any further blood. It keeps his hands busy and prevents him from signing, but the fact that he follows is answer enough.*

*He's really not liking the way L is tottering on his feet. With both hands wrapped up in the shirt and an air of distance, Cesar somehow manages to hover from a distance, eyes watching dully for signs of an actual impending fall.*

[L moves like someone who's dizzy and can't quite feel his feet. He picks his way along the hallway, hands grasping along the wall to keep him steady and moving in a straight line, and he stays up. The bathroom isn't far, just a few doors down, and he pushes open the door and flicks on the light. Fortunately, his doppel didn't come here, so they're alone.

The fixtures are old and it's slightly drafty, with a window propped open on the opposite wall. There's a row of sinks and a cupboards for linens and medicine, and he swings one of these open and removes a very high-quality and complete first-aid kit and several washcloths, setting them on the nearby counter as he goes to the sink and splashes his face with cold water, rubbing vigorously, doing whatever he can to shake the lingering effects of the drugs.

Still dripping, he beckons Cesar over, wetting a washcloth with warmer water and wringing it out.]

Edited 2015-04-04 06:47 (UTC)

*Cesar can see himself in the mirror, now, and he's more of a mess than he realized. Dark spots pepper his shirt below his face, and his hands are covered in bright red lines that have dripped and smeared, making it look significantly worse than it really is.*

*L beckons him over with a washcloth. Cesar nods and steps close, reaching for it automatically. He knows L might want to scrub his face, but attempts to establish his own independence have become automatic over the last two weeks, and it occurs to him too late that L isn't going to insist, and that he won't get a second chance to consider.*

[Cesar does look pretty alarming, and whether it's because he's still too doped up on anti-anxiety drugs to get worked up or because he's trying to remain calm for the other man's sake, Lazarus is doing a fairly good job composing himself. When Cesar's nearby, he automatically starts raising the washcloth toward his face, but then the towel's being pulled from his grasp, leaving him empty-handed.

No matter. He reaches for a second towel, running it under the warm water until it's saturated and beginning to wring out that one too, glancing aside as Cesar starts to clean himself off.]

I wasn't... really there, so I don't know, but... my impression is that you might have saved my life a little while ago. Thank you for that.

{It was nothing.}

*No, it wasn't, but his gut clenches at the memory of L's feeble struggles, and it occurs to him that there's a frantic, jibbering creature in his ribcage that's just waiting for the reality of the situation to sink in before it rears its ugly head.*

*He plans to delay this as long as possible. He's almost done scrubbing his hands with adrenaline-sharp motions, and it occurs to him that if he didn't have this, they'd be shaking.*

{Are you ok?} *As though he hadn't just asked that minutes ago.* {You should sit.}

No, it wasn't nothing. It was everything, because that's what I stood to lose.

[He squints, half-remembering trying to wake up and breathe.]

I'll sit, but... for now, I'm trying to stay awake until it's out of my system. You can attest to the fact that I have a very good reason for not wanting to pass out at this time.

[He glances at Cesar's tense scrubbing, then moves to tug the washcloth out of his hands.]

Do you want to have any skin left...? Careful...

[He drapes the wetted washcloth over his forearm and grasps the first aid kit, and uses his other hand to turn Cesar by his shoulder.]

Bench.

[Short, crisp instructions, and a nudge in that direction.]

*The cloth is tugged free of his hands, and he finds himself walking away as though he'd been given orders from god directly. This isn't any sort of time where he wants to think this reaction through, so he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. It puts his hands where he can study them, and--... Well, the doppelganger did a number on them, that's for certain.*

*He keeps his head down while he signs.*

{He did this to get to me. If he hadn't wanted time alone, he wouldn't have done any of this.}

*His hands are shaking. He folds them into fists, and then re-extends the fingers slowly. It doesn't help.*

Edited 2015-04-05 01:33 (UTC)

[L's movements are slow, still on the tail-end of drugged. He sits beside Cesar, shoulder-to-shoulder with the other man, surveying the damage done to the skin of his hands. His face is a little more difficult to see, considering it's bent and bowed over his open knees.

L's voice is slow, firm and clear when he speaks.]

This isn't your fault. I thought I could watch him every second, and... clearly I was wrong. I am so sorry this happened, and you were put in that kind of position.

[He gingerly nudges at Cesar's forehead with his knuckles, trying to get him to raise his face; it's a far cry from the grasping, bold advances of his doppelganger, handling Cesar like a possession with rampant entitlement. He dabs at some of the blood on his face, focusing on what's crusted around his nose. The skin is changing colors, already beginning to bruise.]

*The sign for 'it's nothing' is simple and without hesitation. Him lifting his head is a little less so, but when he turns to let L dab the blood away, well, there's not much consideration to that at all. He licks the corner of his mouth, and then just presses his lips closed altogether: the towel won't help where the inside of his lip is bleeding, and he knows now that the blood on his lip isn't from that.*

{It's ok.}

*It's as though he's amending his previous 'nothing' comment, knowing that he'd sounded dismissive.*

*The nose looks bruised, but there's no major deformity or interference with his breathing.*

Edited 2015-04-05 02:56 (UTC)

[His motions slow slightly at that sign, which really does look a little bit dismissive. The amendment is an enormous relief; it actually kind of shocks him how much of one it is.]

Is it OK?

[He tips Cesar's face up a little more, squinting, examining the bleeding. For such a notorious germaphobe, Lazarus is surprisingly good with dealing with injuries. Goodness knows he's had enough of his own.]

I mean... can you...?

[It's truncated. He glances down at Cesar's hands, taking the wrist of his less-injured one and raising it toward his face.]

Hold this here. I'm just going to the sink to wash my hands before getting some Neosporin on these scratches.

[He stands, starting toward the row of sinks.]

*Cesar looks surprised, but he inclines his head forward, keeping his hand where it's been put. Why did L ask him to do this? There's no medical reason why holding this here and not the other would help, is there?*

*Suspecting that L cut himself off but not confident enough to call him out on it, Cesar waits for L to come back, watching him.*

[L glances back at him in the mirror.]

You're nose, where it was bleeding? Hold the cloth there, in case it starts again.

[Even if Cesar's shirt is kind of a lost cause, at this point.

He finishes and returns, uncapping the generously-sized bottle of Neosporin and starting to carefully apply it to the cuts on Cesar's other hand, the one not holding the washcloth.]

Edited 2015-04-05 05:24 (UTC)

*Cesar winces, but quickly complies. He discreetly wipes his mouth on the cloth while he's at it, but otherwise takes care not to jostle anything too much.*

*The Neosporin is cold on his hand, but L's touch isn't enough to disturb the cuts themselves. It's more skill than he'd expected. He keeps both hands still, switching out if asked.*

Edited 2015-04-05 22:46 (UTC)

[Lazarus has a light, delicate touch, and always has; a five-year period of most of his fingers essentially atrophying doubtless contributes to this, but so does his nature. He's gentle, methodical, and patient. He gets along well with animals and children. Despite seeming dishearteningly frail in a lot of ways, he has a manner of strength, and he's drawing from it now.]

Can you look at me? Without seeing him, I mean. After all that, did he erase everything that came before?

*The surprise is palpable, and his breath changes pace like someone stepping farther to avoid a crack. He pulls his hands away to sign.*

{No, of course he didn't.}

{You can't erase something like that in just two weeks.}

*... Whatever 'something like that' really was. Prying questions that tried to dig into his life like persistent roots? One drunk night on a couch? He's too tired and still too close to whatever anger drove him to slam the copy's head against the table to get him to stop moving to want to soul-search deeply right now, even if he's replying the way he is.*

Edited 2015-04-06 16:39 (UTC)

[L glances up, then down again quickly as soon as he's registered and read the signs. He doesn't know if he's being humored or if Cesar's being wholly sincere; what he does know is that the man has been significantly shaken and that anything he says is something he might want to take back later.

He reaches toward Cesar's face, gently nudging the hand holding the washcloth against his nose squinting as he looks for injuries he can spread Neosporin on.]

Thank you for saying that, in spite of everything. For what it's worth, I agree.

*He lowers the cloth, and L can see that he's pulling his mouth up into a short, tight grin.*

*His nose is an angry pink from the forming bruise, but the only sign of blood is the steady trickle of blood from his nostrils. It's slow enough that it takes a few seconds to reach his lips, and by the time it passes them Cesar is blotting it away with the cloth.*

*His hands lower briefly.* {I don't think it's broken. Just bleeding.}

[L can't quite quell a wince when he sees Cesar's nose. The other man is handsome and anything interrupting the easy symmetry of his features is a bit jarring. He nevertheless returns the grin with a smaller, paler smile. Cesar's nose is still bleeding; maybe it's better to focus on his hand, and he does so after the signs and their dual meanings are revealed.

He laughs, a strained, unexpected sound.]

Thank goodness it'll heal.

[He's not looking forward to going and finding his doppelganger, who is, by this point judging from the dose and what L knows all to well it'll do to him, lying prone somewhere. They have time; for now, he likes this. It feels like the beginning of healing, and that extends, of course, to far more than a nose.]

*Cesar's smile is wan and half-obscured, but it's there.*

*The first-aid kit is across the room, and Cesar looks down at his hands, trying to gauge the scratch's bleeding. It doesn't look like anything that will need gauze; mere bandaids should do the trick, even of a few of them will need several in a row.*

*He doesn't stand to look for them, waiting for L to finish his own ministrations. He's still deeply hurt by this whole fiasco in ways he's not bringing to the surface, but L's attention is helping in ways that go far beyond disinfectant on bleeding cuts: Lazarus is paying attention to him. Not his dick, not any physical part of him that might lead to sex later... Cesar tells himself that he just doesn't want to make Lazarus feel unneeded, but the truth of the matter is he's soaking up the attention like a parched plant.*

[For most of his life, Lazarus has been unneeded. Chess prodigies are, in the grand scheme of things, superfluous, a curiosity that intrigues a niche crowd in a modern world, but is of little practical use elsewhere. A tyrannical, unscrupulous uncle had reminded him of it often enough, the fact that he was only anyone because he knew how to dance on black and white squares, and humanity was composed of more ambiguous shades of grey that denied a chessmaster any genuine access.

This is more than access, it's an invitation to go above and beyond and prove that he can move between those shadows he'd been warned away from as a child. He can be attentive, he can care, and he can put the needs of someone else first, even if this ranks up there among the very strangest days of his life. Besides, doesn't he owe Cesar for his monstrous doppelganger dragging him into this mess?]

Um... sit still, please. I'm going to get the bandages, now that you're all cleaned up...

[He says so after he's finished his careful, meticulous cleaning. Something he's always been good at, taking contaminated or sullied things and making them pure again. He stands and fetches the kit, bringing it back and starting to pick through and look for the best options to smear with neosporin.]

*Cesar is tilting his hands to try to keep the worst of the scratching from bleeding another trail down his hand so quickly. That's why when L brings the box back and begins to rummage, he doesn't immediately help.*

*He does eventually stretch out a single pinky, lifting the edge of a box of cold medicine, only to drop it back down when he realized the bandaid box beneath it was for tiny punctures, not for anything substantial.*

*He settles back down to wait, apparently content to not fight for involvement in this.*

[L glances up when he notices Cesar's fingers creeping toward the box to poke ineffectually at its contents. He offers him the damp cloth he'd used to clean his injuries.]

Don't trouble yourself. I've got this.

[He selects several larger bandaids, holding them at several angles to determine the best and most efficient way to cover the scratches. He uncaps the neosporin, putting a generous amount of the ointment on the soft, cottony part of the first bandait before carefully pressing it onto Cesar's hand. Silently, he starts on the second one.]

*He takes the cloth and holds his hands with it, and it seems to be enough. The rest of L's search is spent in quiet waiting.*

*So will the bandaging process itself, it seems: The first bandaid is pressed carefully across the edges of the worst scratch, and the next few have Cesar narrowing his eyes, but he doesn't jerk, or do much of anything besides frown darkly.*

*Lazarus finishes one hand. Cesar flexes the fingers carefully against the tug of tape and pain. He can't bend his hand completely in a certain direction, but it's just as well, and he leaves the injury alone to heal.*

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*YOUR nose, this is how I know I was too tired to write a tag

Hahaha

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