Out With It

Title: Out With It
Time Period: October 121, A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: After a slip the night before, Arthur entreats his sister to come clean about her true nature.



"Oh, bloody hell!"The sound of glass shattering isn't an entirely foreign one these days, but it's not usually coming from within the Banes household. Usually from outside either because of some sort of accident, or somebody has gotten upset at someone because of some rubbish and decided to do it themselves. It isn't unusual, however, for Arthur Banes to somehow be attached to that noise - either dropping something when coming into the home from work, or getting accosted by someone out on the street that he's done wrong in the past.

In this case, it's neither."Fucking hell," is muttered as Arthur pulls himself back from a broken window - the pile of stuff strewn about the floor would indicate he's tripped, and in the most unfortunately awkward fashion put his hand through the back door window. A few drops of blood mark his way from that spot over to a counter, where he looks for a rag with his bloodied hand while preparing some water to wash with the other. "Patience!" is yelled back into the house, echoing off walls. "I could use a little help!"

Footsteps sound heavier in the hurried pace on the floorboards overhead, then in the stairwell. Patience comes racing into the kitchen in her stockinged feet, sliding on the polished floors and only coming to a stop when her freshly skinned knees connect with one of the chairs at the table, prompting a howl of pain. Hissing in a breath through her teeth, she steadies herself with her hands on the back of the chair and lifts her blonde head to regard her brother. "What's happened?" she asks in a panic.

The howl of pain gets a bit of a look from Arthur back over his shoulder, but by and large he's too busy going about and cleaning the gash across the side of his hand. "Tripped over- I dunno, I think dad dropped something this morning and didn't think to pick it up for whatever stupid reason," is hissed out. Luckily, there doesn't seem to be any glass in the wound. "Put my hand through the glass pane on accident. Not as bad as it looked at least." Well, he doesn't think so. But the several inches long gash and other small cuts on his knuckles certainly don't look good.

Patience scurries over, eyes wide and full of worry as she reaches out to take her brother's wrist so she can turn his hands over for her own inspection. "Remember that summer you grew like half a foot and you were tripping all over everything? Mum said it's 'cause your legs grew too fast." Which sounds like it's missing what's your excuse now after all that. Or it could be that the words just bubble up and out because of her nervousness.

"If you go sit at the table, I'll wrap it up for you. I think Mum's got some alcohol in the cupboard. If… If you want it." Patience hesitates, knowing too well how bad alcohol stings. "Maybe you don't need it? But I don't want you to get an infection…" Her lips purse up small, deferring to Arthur's judgement on the matter.

"Wrap it up? That's your best suggestion?" Arthur inquires, looking back at her again with a cocked, expectant eyebrow. His gaze lingers for several moments before he goes back to washing off the wound. "If you can't think of anything better, than go get the alcohol." Rag is applied to cut, and older brother turns to watch younger sister carefully, though he doesn't move from his spot. "Alcohol does sting quite a bit, though. I'd rather not have to deal with it if it can be helped."

The girl's brows furrow in confusion at his request for her aid, above and beyond what she's already offered. "I… This is how Mum always does for me. It's the only way I know. Un- Unless you know something better?" She doesn't wait for an answer, shaking her head and hurrying out of the room to rummage through the appropriate cupboard to retrieve the bottle of alcohol. The levels are getting low; she used some to dab at the cuts on her knees from the fall the other night. Not that anyone can tell she took that tumble at all.

"Got it!" she cries triumphantly before reappearing in the room once more. "You better sit down. You're acting a little weird and I'm worried you're lightheaded," she diagnoses so seriously.

When Patience arrives, Arthur's leaning against the counter as if nothing is really wrong at all, watching Patience as she comes back in. "You don't get lightheaded that quickly unless you hit your head," Arthur remarks, knocking his uninjured hand against his skull. "See, all fine." His hand's been wrapped in the rag to make for a temporary bandage, Arthur watching his sister for several moments without moving to sit as requested. Sighing, he shakes his head, and looks her square in the eye.

"Alright, out with it."

Patience rocks back a half step when her brother calls her out. "Out with what?" It would help if she realised what she was being called out about. She sets the bottle of alcohol on the table and crosses her arms over her chest. "You're acting weird, Arthur. Even for a boy."

"It," Arthur replies quickly, a bit impatiently, as he offers his hand forward. "I talked to Fake," he relates, unwrapping the rag from around his hand. "He told me how you made your wound heal up and go away." He smirks a bit, looking down at his hand. "So come on. Show me! I'm so mad you didn't tell me sooner. I can't believe I didn't realise it sooner."

"Fake said what?!" The girl's face goes so very pale, and for a moment she looks ill. "I'm going to pluck every one of his feathers out," she threatens sourly. "He's got it wrong. I'm not a healer. He was seeing things." That's even mostly the truth. "You didn't realise it, because there's nothing to realise."

"The sparrowhawk was seeing things? Oh, come off it," Arthur replies with a roll of his eyes. "Explains a lot, you know. All those times you said the boys were being mean and rough to you but you never showed it. And that cat, the one you keep telling me about?" He looks over to the window, looking for Fake - to no avail, the sparrowhawk is elsewhere. "Sounds a lot like someone we both know. Come on, Patience. You don't have to lie to me." Wiping away some of the blood, he moves to sit, just in case his sister really refuses to fess up.

"I'm not a healer." Which is not the same as saying she isn't a mage. After Arthur sits down, Patience gathers up a clean towel so she can dampen it with the alcohol. She isn't ginger about it when she presses it to the gash on his hand. "Fake is lying to you. Having a laugh. If I were a healer, I wouldn't sit and watch you bleed like this."

Then she looks down at what she's doing and pulls the towel away, realising the cruelty of her administration. "I don't like seeing you hurt," Patience says quietly, unable to lift her gaze. "If I could make it better, I would."

To Arthur's credit, he doesn't jerk back or make a sound at Patience's less than gentle handling of his wound. He does, however, grit and grind his teeth noticeably, glaring down at his younger sister. "Fake may tease and trick, but he doesn't lie to me. But alright. You're not a healer," he states, though he doesn't sound entirely convinced. "But I'm not an idiot, Patience. Unless I'm remarkably off base - and I doubt I am from everything you've said, you had a familiar. People don't have such things without good reason."

"I don't have a familiar," Patience insists. "I was a baby. The cat hung around, and I wanted a friend, so I made friends with a cat." More gently this time, she touches alcohol-soaked towel to wounds. "You said Fake can take care of himself. If I had a familiar, it should have been able to take care of itself, too."

She hopes that this (faulty) logic is enough to convince him that what she told him last night isn't exactly what it seems to be. She silently curses herself for telling him the whole tale. The reason behind her fits of hysteria at night. But that's not to say she wholly regrets having told him, either. "Fake's probably just jealous because you were so nice to me last night. He's filling you head with ideas that aren't true."

'"You really think that?" Arthur retorts, sounding exasperated. "I imagine a familiar is just like anything else. Things happen. But whatever." Bordering on angry, Arthur almost jerks his hand back so that he can dress the wound himself, but he knows better than to that while his sister's in the middle of wrapping it. "Maybe you take after me better than I thought. But either way, I'll figure this out." What she does, that is. If there's anything. The idea of Fake being jealous gets a bit of a scoff, but otherwise Arthur falls silent.

Patience still finds herself entirely unable to look up at Arthur. She can feel the tension in the muscles in his arm as she holds his wrist with one hand while finishing up with the alcohol. Setting the towel aside, she carefully wraps up his wounds. "That'd be nurture over nature, then?" she asks quietly, tying, then retying to make sure the dressing isn't too tight. "If I take after you, I mean."

Not that she has any idea precisely what he means when he suggest she takes after him.

"I guess?" Arthur rolls his shoulders in a shrug, whatever anger he felt seeming to have subsided at least a little bit now. "I don't really know. I don't really…" want you to isn't said, instead Arthur sighs a little and shakes his head. "I'm sorry. It's just, Fake doesn't lie, and he sounded pretty sure. You realise if you could… that'd be fine, right?"

She can't help it when her lips curl up into a a smile made tight by the way she's trying to suppress it. Without lifting her head, she looks up from under the hood of her brows. "His name is Fake, and you say he doesn't lie?" Come on.

Amusement is banished though, for a solemness. "If I could, I'd heal you. I promise." Then she dips her head down to drop a kiss over the new bandages. Because Mum says kisses make everything heal better.

"Not to me," Arthur emphasises. Not that Fake can really talk to any one else, but that is really beside the point, now isn't it? The kiss to the bandages gets a raising of his eyebrow, and he lets out a sigh. "I guess you would." That doesn't mean, however, that he thinks she isn't a mage at all. "But I still think…"

Patience rolls her eyes and reaches down to tug up the plain wool skirt she's wearing, until she can show off the scrapes on her knees. "You see? Fake's eyes are playing tricks on him." She lets the clothing fall back into place and then squints suspiciously at Arthur. "Did you put your hand through the window on purpose because you thought I'd panic and heal you?"

Uh oh. Caught. Not that Patience ever has to know that. "I'm willing to do a lot of things to prove a point. Hurting myself isn't one of them." He attempts to sound incredulous, like there's no possible way this could be true. He would even cross his arms if at the moment he could. But, there is the matter of something else he's noticed now that she's actually shown him the scrape that Fake had said she made vanish.

"Patience… did you scrape your leg like that last night when you fell?"

"Yeah," Patience admits. "It didn't look too bad right away, but it was real red when I woke up this morning." That's a lie, of course. Scrapes don't work that way. "It doesn't hurt too bad. Only if I touch it." She looks away then, suddenly self-conscious of her lying.

It's that look away that really clues Arthur in on there being something more to this than meets the eye. Well, more so than he was already sure of. "I don't remember seeing it last night when I carried you home, or at the pond," he notes with a noticeable determination in his voice. He doesn't press further; just enough to, if there's something Patience is hiding, let her know he's on to her.

"It was dark." The excuse seems convenient enough. "You weren't looking at my knees anyway, were you? That's weird." Patience shoots a look at Arthur and then sets about fetching a broom and dustpan from the pantry. "I'll go clean up what's left of the window, you klutz."

Arthur watches his sister with suspicion, careful, careful suspicion. "Don't be gross," Arthur replies with another roll of his shoulders. Not that he really expects Patience to know why that's gross, she probably had a different idea of weird than he does. "Yeah, alright. I guess. Be careful, don't cut yourself like I did."

"You're gross," Patience retorts, with absolutely no idea as to why he accused her of it in the first place. She tosses the broom upward so she can grab it lower on the handle and use the tip of it to poke Arthur in the ribs gently. "Put some tea on. I need some help with my numbers."

"What, put my hurt hand near flame? If you wanna scar me, we can just find another window." Dripping with sarcasm, Arthur slips down from his seat, still watching his sister carefully. "You'll have to come with me later to order a new pane. I wanna get it fixed before mum and dad get home."

"Oh, should I not trust you to be able to brew tea? Fine, I'll do it after we get back. But you still have to help me with my numbers. They're really hard." Patience withdraws the broom and shakes her head. "Go get my coat from upstairs. I'll have this cleaned up by the time you get back." At the back door, she stares out through the broken window for any signs of the traitorous familiar. Thank goodness he misinterpreted her little display the other night.

Fake won't be getting Patience's table scraps for a while, that's for sure.