[ open; ]

[amonfire]

Characters: Amon, Various, and OPEN
Date: April 22nd
Location: WA-3A: Amon's apartment & Free clinic in the Earth Sector
Situation: Amon takes an apprentice, and hears a rumour about Charter magic spreading.
Warnings/Rating: Apprehensive no

Earth Sector:

[ Amon suspected his cheekbone had nearly been broken during arrest; he hadn't been able to wear his mask since without dull yet constant pain. It made interacting with others in person...a task, to say the least. ]

A Marius Pontmercy, and a gentlemen who answers to Javert; I don't want the letters sent close to each other.

[ Amon slipped a few extra juulan in the kedan woman's hand to compensate for the eccentric request tagged onto the end. Kedan displayed a willingness to work with Amon once he immersed himself in the poorest district of the Earth sector at the clinic, and knew when and where his juulan would serve his interests.

Neither of the two missives were personal or even very interesting; he never did enjoy writing letters. To Marius he wrote a simple thank you letter for his actions on the stockade that then bluntly shifted to comment on his difficulties in finding employment, and his readiness to return a favour. The letter to Javert was far more terse to the point of almost being inimical. There were oblique hopes that their last...encounter didn't sour any impressions and well-wishes that the last few days treated him kindly. With little preamble it broke into a strong wish to see him after hearing about 'a girl with bells throwing water at people.'

Missives sent and Amon disappeared back into his clinic, alone. The wind chime the hung outside on the sandstone window frames was quiet in the still and stifling afternoon air. Amon took it as a sign he should close the doors and trap whatever cool breeze was left before going back to his desk. They were low on antibiotics and fresh frozen plasma. They were low on a lot of things. The only thing he wished to be short of was visitors. ]


Water Sector: Closed to Sabriel


[ That night he left for his apartment when he stopped and disappeared into the wrong alley way. Armed with a hunch that had put through the rumour mill one too many times, he ended up at the front door to Sabriel's suite. He knocked only once. ]

Comments

[amonfire]

[ The windchime rattles in the wake of what sounds like chair being toppled over. The slow and heavy sound of footsteps with a mismatched rhythm follow after.

Amon is leaning heavily against the doorway; his face covered in yellowing bruises in lieu of a mask. Still he smiles with all the dispassion as the one carved into favoured white wood.

I was afraid relying on the kedan to translate my missive would have left you at a loss. I'm happy to see that isn't the case. [ He steps with a slight limp out of the threshold to allow Javert to duck in. ]

Abounding traffic in and out of the clinic all day made coming to you in person and impossibility. Hang your hat by the door; we have plenty to talk about.

[inseine]

[Javert's pupils silently dance over the yellowed patterns etched into Amon's face. From his attempted revolt in Atam? The politician brother may have spoken some truth.

The morbid humor of Amon's injury does not escape Javert: now he has a temporary disfigurement with which to cover with a mask. It occurs to him also that he does not look quite as bad as Javert did when he first arrived, with his own ugly purples and reds and yellows slathered across his jaw and throat. But that is no wonder. Fisticuffs in the street are no match for a broken neck and a river-battered face.

Javert's face does not reveal his thoughts in the slightest. He murmurs blandly,] All I need for a translation is a clever lad and a bit of coin. It is a half hour of legwork. That is no trouble.

[Javert grants Amon an abrupt, acknowledging nod and slips into the threshold. He pauses there to carefully remove his hat and, with a moment's hesitation, his coat, to hang at the prescribed hooks by the door. His long and rather lean shape might come as a surprise to his tentative acquaintance. With only a waistcoat-and-shirtsleeves ensemble, he lacked the sheer bulk and heft given to him by his thickly padded shoulders. No longer was he a black bear. Now he more closely resembled the wiry strength of a leopard, cold and calculating.

Javert quickly finger-combs his hair back into place and faces Amon properly.]

Where is your office, your sitting room? Lead on and talk.

[amonfire]

I'm giving the office to my new assignment, but it will be mine for the evening.

[ Amon leaned heavily against the back of his desk chair as he watched Javert go through the motions like a rolling storm on graceful cat feet. He found it a sight to see him in such a state with exposed shirtsleeves- it was almost indecent for such a controlled man, and he had seen the man three sheets to the wind. ]

We had a saying in Republic City: There are two people in your life your should never change, your doctor and your lawyer. Apparently the kedan subscribe to similar adages and my profession fortunately lies somewhere in the former category.

[ Pulling the chair around the desk, Amon straddled it and propped his elbows over the back. ]

I wouldn't call it amicable, but they trust me not to ask them for anything that might negatively impact their already strenuous lives. A few who live close to me in the Water sector were even kind enough to be my eyes when I need them to be.

May I see your forehead?

[inseine]

[Javert silently lowers his chin into his primly buttoned collar and paces in a lazy circle around the center of the room while Amon speaks. He listens with an intensity disguised by his wandering gaze. The man is a dark detective by nature, and he lets his exacting eye snap to each fixture, paper, and knick knack of interest that he could find. He thoroughly commits the whole scene to his memory, knowing that Amon is a force to be reckoned with and a mystery to crack, and knowing as well that everything he sees has the potential to clue him in on his character and capabilities. The only clear indication that he is indeed listening to Amon's droning speech is a clipped nod at the bit about kedan and earning their trust.

Javert does not quit his plodding tread until Amon's direct request. He stops abruptly, a shot to the breast that does not quite fell him, and he raises his head to search Amon's battered face. A small grimace pinches his jaw.]

A doctor. [Wry.] Fine.

[The tone could not be any more unreadable. His arms unravel and lift away the bangs away from his forehead. His brow floats up, but his eyes pierce. Amon intrigues him -- earnestly intrigues him. And if this bloodbending ability is as formidable as he has heard, there is perhaps something that could come of this visit.]

So what can the doctor do for this that the quack priestess could not?