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entrancelogs2006-11-15 02:32 am
falltheseventh.livejournal.com) wrote in entrancelogs2006-11-15 02:32 am
[saix and vexen; complete]
Who: Saix ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
falltheseventh and Vexen cyrophilia
Where: By the staircase.
When: Evening, November 13; after this.
Rating: PG-13 for DEEEAATH.
Summary: Saix is paranoid and guilt-tripped. Vexen is just in general pain.
the Story:
At first, Saix honestly isn't entirely sure what to think.
The very idea that any of them become injured without... some kind of aid in return, without some idea of the cause, is a tad bit frightening. On one hand, this might be an assault on the Organization -- or someone intends to wind Saix's nerves. Quite frankly, with all that's happening with Elphaba, he's not shocked about that. After all, she's quite aware of his chosen master, and now he's taking it as quite a mistake of ever admitting it to her.
Well. He supposes he should have considered the fact that Luxord and Elphaba wouldn't have been together very long, at any rate. Lacking a heart will do that.
The berserker hasn't paused a moment since he's been asked for by Vexen; he hurries down the hallway until the staircase is in view.
"Vexen!" he shouts for the other Nobody, though Saix is well aware he can find him.
Panic rarely puts in for an intelligent action.
There is, unsurprisingly enough, no response.
For one thing, Vexen isn't in much of a state to give it.
Hauling himself over to a terminal long enough to hack up a call for his delinquent and ornery aide is as much effort as he's willing to exert for the moment-- in fact, the only effort he's been capable of at all. It's a bit pathetic, honestly, and he cringes to think of it; he can imagine that his diction is beyond redemption in that particular entry. It's not, however, as if he has much choice in the matter: he's half-blind with sheer pain, and it is, really, all he can do not to simply keel over and commit himself to oblivion.
At the moment, he's dragged himself back out of whatever room he used a terminal from and resorted to slumping against a wall, holding both hands to his ribs. His face is pulled into a highly uncomfortable grimace, and his face is pale, even for him.
Doubtless, he hears Saix. But he gives no acknowledgment of it.
There's no response -- and really, no need for it.
Saix can spot him easily enough, with both scent and listening. Quickly, he hurries over, giving IV a glance over. His hands constrict to fists for a moment; to himself, he winces, for a different reason. There are no sympathy pains, but...
Well. Whatever may be bothering him, it doesn't last long.
"Here. Lay down." He sets a hand to Vexen's shoulder to help as something to lean against. "On your back."
Beyond the shallow breathing and the distinctly ruffled appearance, there's nothing obviously wrong with Vexen, save for the unmistakably pained expression on his face. His eyes don't fully open even when the berserker touches him, and even so, they're half-glazed.
It's testament enough to how far removed from his normal composure Vexen is that when he's taken by the shoulder and told to lay down, he does nothing but obey, shaking a little from the strain. He does not remove his hands from his torso.
"Bones broken," he mumbles, slurring faintly. "Ribs. Should--" An interesting expression crosses his face as he spasms faintly, wincing.
He remembers orders, very clearly.
Don't touch me unless I give you permission to, or unless I'm not in a position to tell you so.
"All right. Don't speak; let me handle this. ...Please."
Saix is hardly a doctor, but he knows survival techniques. Broken ribs are, however, much more difficult to deal with than a broken limb, but he'll have to manage it. He reaches over, touching Vexen's arm. "Take your hands away, or I can't do anything." Should he not move them, the berserker will coax them off.
Vexen wrinkles his nose, shuts his eyes tight. He's not exactly capable of thinking much beyond the awful pain in his chest-- he knows, intellectually, that it must be a fairly minor injury, all things concerned. He's not coughing up blood, or trying to breathe with a collapsed lung.
That doesn't mean it hurts any less.
"Fine," he manages at last-- at all the berserker's requests, apparently; he doesn't see a need to clarify which. His hands don't quite drop away, because he's been using them to clumsily brace his ribs. Simply yanking them off would not, he suspects, be a good idea.
He keeps his breathing shallow and his blind gaze averted, as if he can't stand to be reminded any further of how purely aggravating this situations is-- and he probably can't, at that.
"Thank you," is said briefly but politely enough before Saix gets to work.
VII unzips the academic's coat, pushing it open to look over the broken ribs. It's almost even easy to see, what with how thin Vexen is, but he simply nods to himself before he turns his head and raises his own arm, biting into his sleeve with his canines, tearing at it until he can yank off his sleeve. He tries to be quick, tearing his sleeve apart into strips. It's not as if he has anything else at the moment, after all.
"Brace yourself," he mutters, before he starts to wrap the strips around Vexen's ribcage.
Vexen has an absent moment to think that he should have probably told the berserker to bring bandages.
That idea is immediately superseded by the thought that he should have told him to bring painkillers.
He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he currently lacks the air to properly yelp as Saix begins to doctor him. It just comes out as a sort of hiss.
"Sorry," he mutters, scowling as he tightens the bandages. As much as he dislikes having to cause pain, he does not hold back. It'll constrict Vexen's breathing, but it must be done.
"I'll... manage something better for you, when I get you back to your room." There, it'll probably have actual bandages. This'll have to be it for now.
The berserker crouches closer. "Put your arms around my neck. Lean your injured side towards me. We'll walk slowly."
"....S'fine," Vexen mutters, voice strained with the effort of trying not to simply yelp. The strips of cloth wound around his chest do help, somewhat; if nothing else, they keep him from breathing too deeply-- as he's inclined to-- and expanding his ribs outward again.
As to the rest, he simply nods, expression still pinched. He won't be able to manage much else for a small while. When the request comes for him to use Saix for support comes, however, he nearly chuckles dryly-- although he knows, he'll certainly regret it. The academic is quick enough to follow the instructions given to him, moving gingerly.
"Feels like all sides of me're injured," he mumbles, as he stiffly wraps his arms around the berserker's neck.
"Broken ribs will do that," Saix mutters. "Come on, then."
The berserker keeps a hand to Vexen's wrist, the other arm wrapped around his waist and fingers curled at the hip. Standing up slowly, VII starts to guide the way back to IV's room, taking on most of the weight.
"I apologize," he says quietly, though he doesn't elaborate on what.
IV shakes his head, though whether in exasperation or denial is hard to tell. He lets much of his-- admittedly insignificant-- weight lean against the diviner, and for a moment, it seems like he can't even take a step forward with the support before he painstakingly rights himself.
"M'tired," is all he mutters in return. "Take m'back, 'anna sleep."
"All right. ... Should you require anything else, do be sure to inform me, Vexen."
He continues on his way. Eventually, as Saix patiently helps the academic down the hallway and back to his room, they arrive; without hesitation, he helps IV to bed. Soon after, he takes the other Nobody's jacket off, neatly folding it and setting it aside.
Maybe with a bit of paranoia, he locks the door, but even that doesn't settle his nerves.
Maybe it's exhaustion that makes Vexen so ready to simply accede to the berserker's orders; it's almost a relief to no longer have to think on his feet, and frankly, he's too exhausted to maintain any semblance of aloofness. Perhaps he balks a little when his jacket is slipped off, but he's in no condition to protest it much.
Once he's in bed, he does nothing but lie there for nearly half an hour, letting his nerves settle-- and then eventually, the desire to simply shut down forces him into sleep.
He can trust the berserker, at least, won't take horrible advantage of his unconscious state.
The very last thing that Saix would even consider is taking advantage of the scientist -- whether or not he'd even want to.
Once he's sure that Vexen is unconscious, the berserker lets himself sigh heavily and sit down by the bed, leaning down as he puts his head in his hands. There's been a grave mistake on his part, obviously. Something happened to Vexen and he wasn't there to prevent it. Whether or not it was an attack or an accident, Saix was not there.
Really. When Xemnas was his master, he can't recall screwing up so badly. Not that much of anything could catch the Superior off guard.
For the most part, he -- for simple wording -- sulks.
He supposes that perhaps Vexen is right and that's generally been useless. That hasn't changed much.
Although he's asleep, Vexen doesn't seem to be resting well; unsurprising, really, given his condition. Fortunately, he doesn't move enough to jar his ribs further; the only indication of his discomfort is the twitching of his facial muscles as he works his way through some awful vision or another.
When he wakes up, however, he seems marginally more alert than before, eyes fully open now and true cognizance in his green-eyed stare.
He looks around for a moment, a bit bewildered and uncertain of where he is until recognition dawns and he cants his head faintly. "Nnh. What time is it?" A better question to ask might be how long he's been asleep, but that doesn't occur to him now as he lifts a hand up to his eyes, rubbing them clear of grime.
The berserker lifts his head, a little alarmed to see the scientist awake. He doesn't immediately respond, but eventually he stands to look over Vexen, at least as professionally as he can manage it. "About ten in the evening. Don't move much."
"Do you remember what happened?" So that, perhaps, Saix can find who is responsible and be sure to take care of them properly.
His expression is probably slipping by him without his notice. His brows are knitted tightly, obviously one with worry as he inspects the other Nobody's condition. Which is, suffice to say, quite odd for the berserker, who tries to keep his face very plain.
An experimental flex of his arm, done while Saix is speaking, prompts a spark of pain to shoot down Vexen's side again, a fairly convincing deterrent against any further movement of the same sort. He winces, letting himself lie back against the pillows again. He won't be trying that anytime soon.
"I'm not entirely sure," he answers to the second. "I was climbing the stairs when-- I think-- something knocked into me. It upset my balance." Not that that's a surprise; Vexen's body is hardly the prime example of perfect equilibrium at the best of times. "I fell; something broke." Almost unconsciously, a hand rises to the nape of his neck, and he looks briefly distracted. "However, that's as best as I can recall."
The amount of expression on Saix's face is fascinating, even for the distractions he has to occupy his attention, and Vexen finds himself blinking, watching the unusual openness to the berserker's expression now.
"Well, of course something broke," Saix grumbles. "What do you think this is, mild bruising? Hmph. Something knocked into you -- if it was Luxord's Heartless, I'm going to have a word with him, that's for--"
He stops himself, as he notes Vexen staring at him. VII almost asks what's so interesting, before he realizes it himself, the way he frowns and his lip sticks out a little, not quite pouting, but certainly a concerned expression.
Almost too quickly, he pulls away and turns around, as if something else has his attention.
"...At any case. You'll be bedridden for awhile. ... Like it or not, I'm going to stay here and assist you in whatever you need."
"More than ribs," Vexen scowls back. "I almost thought..." He frowns, shakes his head as if to clear it. "It wasn't big, whatever it was. I didn't get a chance to see it coming, and I certainly didn't get a chance to see it. Felt a bit like being kicked in the stomach."
When Saix turns away, Vexen can only sigh at this back.
"Very well." He settles into the mattress grudgingly, but with suprisingly little in the way of further vocal protest. "I don't have much of a choice, in any case."
"...What else, do you think you broke? It would be best if I made sure everything is set." Saix turns back around, his face forced back to its blank state, with only the faintest hint of a frown. "Do be careful. Perhaps there are still others here bitter with the Organization."
Paranoia never quite leaves.
"Good. Should you need anything, do inform me."
The hand is still on his nape, and coupled with the way Vexen blinks up at Saix now, the overall effect is to make him appear ridiculously young. "My neck," he says, slowly, rubbing gingerly at his own flesh. "I'm almost certain I broke my neck, but it appears rather well now, so I'm not ... sure." He lets his hand drop, and manages a half-hearted snort as he follows the change in topic. "You don't need to tell me that, certainly."
In spite of Vexen's affirmation that his neck is, of course, hardly broken, Saix approaches, leaning close as he touches the scientist's neck, trailing his thumbs over his skin. He narrows his eyes faintly, then shakes his head. No, nothing; not broken, certainly. He doesn't even feel anything torn or bruised.
"Your neck is fine," he mutters. "Likely, you were confused at the time." Understandable, after being shoved down the stairs.
He shrugs at IV's last words, taking his seat by the bed again as he folds his arms, leaning back comfortably enough while... still somehow maintaining discomfort.
For a moment, Vexen has to still and hold his breath, the instinct of cornered animals everywhere. He can't help it; Saix is a predator, no matter how he looks as it, and it's all just... part of who he is, really. And whatever instinct's left in him responds to that. Still, he doesn't move or tremble, and the skin beneath Saix's thumbs is cool and smooth.
"Merely a thought," he murmurs, once the berserker has pulled away. "I've heard others mentioning drowning and the like without any ill effects, and I'm beginning to wonder if something similar happened in my own case." He shrugs, again. Now that he's in a proper bed, being talkative comes rather easily.
"I suppose it may be possible," he mutters. "I recall... Ansem, the Heartless. He said you can't kill the dead here, or something like that. But if the same applies to the living... then this simply adds more of a mystery with this mansion. But then, it seems quite ridiculous that your neck is healed but your ribs are not," Saix adds, wryly. "Either way, who truly knows?"
"The mansion," Vexen grumbles with no small irritation, "Is a sadist." Once, he might have said the same of Xemnas, but the sentiment feels appropriate for this occasion. With a muffled groan, he lets himself relax further into the mattress, wincing. "Whatever the case, I feel as though I've been put through a meat grinder. Ugh."
"Exaggerative as always, I see. You would be in much more pain," Saix remarks without humor. "That aside, you should rest. There's nothing else you really can do. In the meantime, I shall be sure to see if I can find you some painkillers. Would you like anything else?"
"Some people," the academic says, almost with feeling, "Simply happen to have a far lower pain tolerance than others." That's all there is to it: the range of sensation Vexen's experienced, no doubt, hold nothing to Saix's own. The offer of painkillers prompts a sigh of relief, as to the other, he has to tilfe his head to the side for a moment, thinking. "Something to eat. For both of us. Whichever menu you prefer."
"Obviously," Saix snorts, but he leaves the subject be. After all, he's certainly well aware of pain, of all things. "Very well. I will return with dinner. I will be back soon. Do be careful while I'm gone." Not that Vexen is going anywhere, but... his mind can create a lot of scenarios, should anyone actually be after the Organization.
From where he is on the bed, Vexen does nothing more than flap a hand tiredly in Saix's direction, not bothering to look up. "As you will, then; carry on. Jolly good, and all that rubbish." He almost grumbles about what there even is to be cautious of, but knows such sentiments are best left unvoiced in Saix's general vicinity. He's likely to take offense, after all.
falltheseventh and Vexen cyrophiliaWhere: By the staircase.
When: Evening, November 13; after this.
Rating: PG-13 for DEEEAATH.
Summary: Saix is paranoid and guilt-tripped. Vexen is just in general pain.
the Story:
At first, Saix honestly isn't entirely sure what to think.
The very idea that any of them become injured without... some kind of aid in return, without some idea of the cause, is a tad bit frightening. On one hand, this might be an assault on the Organization -- or someone intends to wind Saix's nerves. Quite frankly, with all that's happening with Elphaba, he's not shocked about that. After all, she's quite aware of his chosen master, and now he's taking it as quite a mistake of ever admitting it to her.
Well. He supposes he should have considered the fact that Luxord and Elphaba wouldn't have been together very long, at any rate. Lacking a heart will do that.
The berserker hasn't paused a moment since he's been asked for by Vexen; he hurries down the hallway until the staircase is in view.
"Vexen!" he shouts for the other Nobody, though Saix is well aware he can find him.
Panic rarely puts in for an intelligent action.
There is, unsurprisingly enough, no response.
For one thing, Vexen isn't in much of a state to give it.
Hauling himself over to a terminal long enough to hack up a call for his delinquent and ornery aide is as much effort as he's willing to exert for the moment-- in fact, the only effort he's been capable of at all. It's a bit pathetic, honestly, and he cringes to think of it; he can imagine that his diction is beyond redemption in that particular entry. It's not, however, as if he has much choice in the matter: he's half-blind with sheer pain, and it is, really, all he can do not to simply keel over and commit himself to oblivion.
At the moment, he's dragged himself back out of whatever room he used a terminal from and resorted to slumping against a wall, holding both hands to his ribs. His face is pulled into a highly uncomfortable grimace, and his face is pale, even for him.
Doubtless, he hears Saix. But he gives no acknowledgment of it.
There's no response -- and really, no need for it.
Saix can spot him easily enough, with both scent and listening. Quickly, he hurries over, giving IV a glance over. His hands constrict to fists for a moment; to himself, he winces, for a different reason. There are no sympathy pains, but...
Well. Whatever may be bothering him, it doesn't last long.
"Here. Lay down." He sets a hand to Vexen's shoulder to help as something to lean against. "On your back."
Beyond the shallow breathing and the distinctly ruffled appearance, there's nothing obviously wrong with Vexen, save for the unmistakably pained expression on his face. His eyes don't fully open even when the berserker touches him, and even so, they're half-glazed.
It's testament enough to how far removed from his normal composure Vexen is that when he's taken by the shoulder and told to lay down, he does nothing but obey, shaking a little from the strain. He does not remove his hands from his torso.
"Bones broken," he mumbles, slurring faintly. "Ribs. Should--" An interesting expression crosses his face as he spasms faintly, wincing.
He remembers orders, very clearly.
Don't touch me unless I give you permission to, or unless I'm not in a position to tell you so.
"All right. Don't speak; let me handle this. ...Please."
Saix is hardly a doctor, but he knows survival techniques. Broken ribs are, however, much more difficult to deal with than a broken limb, but he'll have to manage it. He reaches over, touching Vexen's arm. "Take your hands away, or I can't do anything." Should he not move them, the berserker will coax them off.
Vexen wrinkles his nose, shuts his eyes tight. He's not exactly capable of thinking much beyond the awful pain in his chest-- he knows, intellectually, that it must be a fairly minor injury, all things concerned. He's not coughing up blood, or trying to breathe with a collapsed lung.
That doesn't mean it hurts any less.
"Fine," he manages at last-- at all the berserker's requests, apparently; he doesn't see a need to clarify which. His hands don't quite drop away, because he's been using them to clumsily brace his ribs. Simply yanking them off would not, he suspects, be a good idea.
He keeps his breathing shallow and his blind gaze averted, as if he can't stand to be reminded any further of how purely aggravating this situations is-- and he probably can't, at that.
"Thank you," is said briefly but politely enough before Saix gets to work.
VII unzips the academic's coat, pushing it open to look over the broken ribs. It's almost even easy to see, what with how thin Vexen is, but he simply nods to himself before he turns his head and raises his own arm, biting into his sleeve with his canines, tearing at it until he can yank off his sleeve. He tries to be quick, tearing his sleeve apart into strips. It's not as if he has anything else at the moment, after all.
"Brace yourself," he mutters, before he starts to wrap the strips around Vexen's ribcage.
Vexen has an absent moment to think that he should have probably told the berserker to bring bandages.
That idea is immediately superseded by the thought that he should have told him to bring painkillers.
He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he currently lacks the air to properly yelp as Saix begins to doctor him. It just comes out as a sort of hiss.
"Sorry," he mutters, scowling as he tightens the bandages. As much as he dislikes having to cause pain, he does not hold back. It'll constrict Vexen's breathing, but it must be done.
"I'll... manage something better for you, when I get you back to your room." There, it'll probably have actual bandages. This'll have to be it for now.
The berserker crouches closer. "Put your arms around my neck. Lean your injured side towards me. We'll walk slowly."
"....S'fine," Vexen mutters, voice strained with the effort of trying not to simply yelp. The strips of cloth wound around his chest do help, somewhat; if nothing else, they keep him from breathing too deeply-- as he's inclined to-- and expanding his ribs outward again.
As to the rest, he simply nods, expression still pinched. He won't be able to manage much else for a small while. When the request comes for him to use Saix for support comes, however, he nearly chuckles dryly-- although he knows, he'll certainly regret it. The academic is quick enough to follow the instructions given to him, moving gingerly.
"Feels like all sides of me're injured," he mumbles, as he stiffly wraps his arms around the berserker's neck.
"Broken ribs will do that," Saix mutters. "Come on, then."
The berserker keeps a hand to Vexen's wrist, the other arm wrapped around his waist and fingers curled at the hip. Standing up slowly, VII starts to guide the way back to IV's room, taking on most of the weight.
"I apologize," he says quietly, though he doesn't elaborate on what.
IV shakes his head, though whether in exasperation or denial is hard to tell. He lets much of his-- admittedly insignificant-- weight lean against the diviner, and for a moment, it seems like he can't even take a step forward with the support before he painstakingly rights himself.
"M'tired," is all he mutters in return. "Take m'back, 'anna sleep."
"All right. ... Should you require anything else, do be sure to inform me, Vexen."
He continues on his way. Eventually, as Saix patiently helps the academic down the hallway and back to his room, they arrive; without hesitation, he helps IV to bed. Soon after, he takes the other Nobody's jacket off, neatly folding it and setting it aside.
Maybe with a bit of paranoia, he locks the door, but even that doesn't settle his nerves.
Maybe it's exhaustion that makes Vexen so ready to simply accede to the berserker's orders; it's almost a relief to no longer have to think on his feet, and frankly, he's too exhausted to maintain any semblance of aloofness. Perhaps he balks a little when his jacket is slipped off, but he's in no condition to protest it much.
Once he's in bed, he does nothing but lie there for nearly half an hour, letting his nerves settle-- and then eventually, the desire to simply shut down forces him into sleep.
He can trust the berserker, at least, won't take horrible advantage of his unconscious state.
The very last thing that Saix would even consider is taking advantage of the scientist -- whether or not he'd even want to.
Once he's sure that Vexen is unconscious, the berserker lets himself sigh heavily and sit down by the bed, leaning down as he puts his head in his hands. There's been a grave mistake on his part, obviously. Something happened to Vexen and he wasn't there to prevent it. Whether or not it was an attack or an accident, Saix was not there.
Really. When Xemnas was his master, he can't recall screwing up so badly. Not that much of anything could catch the Superior off guard.
For the most part, he -- for simple wording -- sulks.
He supposes that perhaps Vexen is right and that's generally been useless. That hasn't changed much.
Although he's asleep, Vexen doesn't seem to be resting well; unsurprising, really, given his condition. Fortunately, he doesn't move enough to jar his ribs further; the only indication of his discomfort is the twitching of his facial muscles as he works his way through some awful vision or another.
When he wakes up, however, he seems marginally more alert than before, eyes fully open now and true cognizance in his green-eyed stare.
He looks around for a moment, a bit bewildered and uncertain of where he is until recognition dawns and he cants his head faintly. "Nnh. What time is it?" A better question to ask might be how long he's been asleep, but that doesn't occur to him now as he lifts a hand up to his eyes, rubbing them clear of grime.
The berserker lifts his head, a little alarmed to see the scientist awake. He doesn't immediately respond, but eventually he stands to look over Vexen, at least as professionally as he can manage it. "About ten in the evening. Don't move much."
"Do you remember what happened?" So that, perhaps, Saix can find who is responsible and be sure to take care of them properly.
His expression is probably slipping by him without his notice. His brows are knitted tightly, obviously one with worry as he inspects the other Nobody's condition. Which is, suffice to say, quite odd for the berserker, who tries to keep his face very plain.
An experimental flex of his arm, done while Saix is speaking, prompts a spark of pain to shoot down Vexen's side again, a fairly convincing deterrent against any further movement of the same sort. He winces, letting himself lie back against the pillows again. He won't be trying that anytime soon.
"I'm not entirely sure," he answers to the second. "I was climbing the stairs when-- I think-- something knocked into me. It upset my balance." Not that that's a surprise; Vexen's body is hardly the prime example of perfect equilibrium at the best of times. "I fell; something broke." Almost unconsciously, a hand rises to the nape of his neck, and he looks briefly distracted. "However, that's as best as I can recall."
The amount of expression on Saix's face is fascinating, even for the distractions he has to occupy his attention, and Vexen finds himself blinking, watching the unusual openness to the berserker's expression now.
"Well, of course something broke," Saix grumbles. "What do you think this is, mild bruising? Hmph. Something knocked into you -- if it was Luxord's Heartless, I'm going to have a word with him, that's for--"
He stops himself, as he notes Vexen staring at him. VII almost asks what's so interesting, before he realizes it himself, the way he frowns and his lip sticks out a little, not quite pouting, but certainly a concerned expression.
Almost too quickly, he pulls away and turns around, as if something else has his attention.
"...At any case. You'll be bedridden for awhile. ... Like it or not, I'm going to stay here and assist you in whatever you need."
"More than ribs," Vexen scowls back. "I almost thought..." He frowns, shakes his head as if to clear it. "It wasn't big, whatever it was. I didn't get a chance to see it coming, and I certainly didn't get a chance to see it. Felt a bit like being kicked in the stomach."
When Saix turns away, Vexen can only sigh at this back.
"Very well." He settles into the mattress grudgingly, but with suprisingly little in the way of further vocal protest. "I don't have much of a choice, in any case."
"...What else, do you think you broke? It would be best if I made sure everything is set." Saix turns back around, his face forced back to its blank state, with only the faintest hint of a frown. "Do be careful. Perhaps there are still others here bitter with the Organization."
Paranoia never quite leaves.
"Good. Should you need anything, do inform me."
The hand is still on his nape, and coupled with the way Vexen blinks up at Saix now, the overall effect is to make him appear ridiculously young. "My neck," he says, slowly, rubbing gingerly at his own flesh. "I'm almost certain I broke my neck, but it appears rather well now, so I'm not ... sure." He lets his hand drop, and manages a half-hearted snort as he follows the change in topic. "You don't need to tell me that, certainly."
In spite of Vexen's affirmation that his neck is, of course, hardly broken, Saix approaches, leaning close as he touches the scientist's neck, trailing his thumbs over his skin. He narrows his eyes faintly, then shakes his head. No, nothing; not broken, certainly. He doesn't even feel anything torn or bruised.
"Your neck is fine," he mutters. "Likely, you were confused at the time." Understandable, after being shoved down the stairs.
He shrugs at IV's last words, taking his seat by the bed again as he folds his arms, leaning back comfortably enough while... still somehow maintaining discomfort.
For a moment, Vexen has to still and hold his breath, the instinct of cornered animals everywhere. He can't help it; Saix is a predator, no matter how he looks as it, and it's all just... part of who he is, really. And whatever instinct's left in him responds to that. Still, he doesn't move or tremble, and the skin beneath Saix's thumbs is cool and smooth.
"Merely a thought," he murmurs, once the berserker has pulled away. "I've heard others mentioning drowning and the like without any ill effects, and I'm beginning to wonder if something similar happened in my own case." He shrugs, again. Now that he's in a proper bed, being talkative comes rather easily.
"I suppose it may be possible," he mutters. "I recall... Ansem, the Heartless. He said you can't kill the dead here, or something like that. But if the same applies to the living... then this simply adds more of a mystery with this mansion. But then, it seems quite ridiculous that your neck is healed but your ribs are not," Saix adds, wryly. "Either way, who truly knows?"
"The mansion," Vexen grumbles with no small irritation, "Is a sadist." Once, he might have said the same of Xemnas, but the sentiment feels appropriate for this occasion. With a muffled groan, he lets himself relax further into the mattress, wincing. "Whatever the case, I feel as though I've been put through a meat grinder. Ugh."
"Exaggerative as always, I see. You would be in much more pain," Saix remarks without humor. "That aside, you should rest. There's nothing else you really can do. In the meantime, I shall be sure to see if I can find you some painkillers. Would you like anything else?"
"Some people," the academic says, almost with feeling, "Simply happen to have a far lower pain tolerance than others." That's all there is to it: the range of sensation Vexen's experienced, no doubt, hold nothing to Saix's own. The offer of painkillers prompts a sigh of relief, as to the other, he has to tilfe his head to the side for a moment, thinking. "Something to eat. For both of us. Whichever menu you prefer."
"Obviously," Saix snorts, but he leaves the subject be. After all, he's certainly well aware of pain, of all things. "Very well. I will return with dinner. I will be back soon. Do be careful while I'm gone." Not that Vexen is going anywhere, but... his mind can create a lot of scenarios, should anyone actually be after the Organization.
From where he is on the bed, Vexen does nothing more than flap a hand tiredly in Saix's direction, not bothering to look up. "As you will, then; carry on. Jolly good, and all that rubbish." He almost grumbles about what there even is to be cautious of, but knows such sentiments are best left unvoiced in Saix's general vicinity. He's likely to take offense, after all.
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