I Hope You're Dying {Open}

[Lancelot du Lac]

Lance grunted as he carefully pulled up some plants. With a surgeon's skill, he extracted his hand from the medical cabinet, careful not to knock aside the medicine. He peered within, taking stock, reaching one hand in to look at a few vials. For some reason, a larger amount of their supplies happened to be intact. They'd still lost quite a bit: medical supplies really ran sour after a month or so, let alone the years. But quite a few appeared to have been protected, probably by the school's ambient magic.

By this point, Lance had spent a few hours working in the infirmary, though it hardly looked like it. A clean path led from the door to a chair and to a bed. The bed looked made, but also like someone was possibly sleeping in it. The chair was probably the cleanest thing in the room, outside of the medical supplies. A few vials and bits of necessary first aid equipment lines shelves. Two cabinets were wide open, the smell of heavy cleaner drifting from them. And standing just to the right of that, checking a vial, was Lancelot himself.

He reached over for a checklist, made a quick note, and turned just in time to see the door open. He could almost tell just by the way it opened what was going to happen, and, even as he turned to look at whomever came in, was already saying: "I hope you're dying, because otherwise this is probably the worst place you could be."

[Cazaril]

"Dying isn't the word I was looking for."

He'd got himself back here to Tintagel's safer streets quietly and quickly, after waking up in a heap on the floor. He couldn't remember what happened, but he had hit his head quite hard when he'd fallen to the ground, blood freshly oozed from the side of his head.

But it wasn't that. He felt different, something had happened and he couldn't really place what. He was wobbly on his knees, and though he didn't quite realise it, his body had dramatically aged twenty years since he'd last been in the school, and his mind was still catching up with that fact.

He reached forward, giving the young man, whom he didn't quite recognise an apologetic look.

"Would you mind....giving me a hand? I---think----I might have a concussion."

[Lancelot du Lac]

The groaning voice caught Lance's attention. He looked, and froze for a moment. Because he'd been expecting a student, or one of his fellows, his peers. He certainly hadn't expected someone who looked nearly old enough to be his father, standing there grasping his head and clearly in need of help. Even stranger: this man looked familiar, like someone that Lance had seen or at least heard of.

"Concussion," repeated Lance, nodding. He gestured toward the cleared chair. "Sit there for now," he said, moving briskly. "You look a little old to be getting into brawls," Lance said, grabbing pain relievers and a little pin light. He slid the light into his pocket, nodded, and moved to fully help the man get settled into the seat properly.

"You're going to need to hold still. Relax," ordered Lance. "And I'm going to need some basics. This is the hard part," he was already getting the light ready, "because I need you to tell me your name and where you are." which people here seemed to forget anyway. Gotta love first aid at Tintagel.

[Cazaril]

The older man was relieved for Lance, not having to just collapse in a chair and treat himself. Still, as he stepped into the chair and his eyes close.

"It wasn't a brawl. It's --- I was trying to look inside a building and---something just hurled at me ---"

He went to touch his head where the pain was coming from, a thumping under his skin. Once pressed, his scarlet imprinted on his fingers, and then he finally got to look at his fingers, and finally let Lance's words catch up.

"It's just the beard, I'm not --- actually that old."

He blinked a few times but he was struggling to keep focus. Everything about tonight seemed a blur, like someone had had blasted through his mind and wrecked it's contents. It was getting very hard to relax, but on his orders, he was trying.

"Yes...yes I'm Cazaril...Lype Dy Cazaril."

[Lancelot du Lac]

Something just hurled at him? "Bad luck it hit your head, then," said Lance. He'd take the other man at his word, at least for now, though part of him had to wonder. The school did have magic about it, and there were God knows what living around the area. But at the same time, that excuse is precisely what Lance would expect to hear out of someone attempting to shield someone else from wrath or punishment.

Once Cazaril had settled, Lance would be over to check the wound out. He waved Caz's hands away so he could get a good look. He thought he'd seen some bleeding, and head wounds were known to all but gush. Lance noticed the blinking as he resettled.

Name did sound familiar, as the man said it. Lance nodded. "Right, Cazaril," he said, shifting to hold the light up. "I'm going to need you to follow the light with your eyes. Got to check your pupils and all," he started slowly moving. "Can you remember anything else? How old you are, where you're from, where are you." Had to check the patient's mental condition, after all. Thank God the guy only had a light head wound; Lance didn't have the equipment or medicine to handle much worse.

[Cazaril]

Dazed, confused, he sat as stably as he could, but his eyes were already focusing on his hands. These were not the hands he'd gone into town with. These were far more lined, more like an old man's hands. He twisted said hands to look at the back, as the knotted way his veins were displayed, still heavily blinking.

It wasn't until Lancelot asked those questions that he started to go through them. Doing as he was told.

"Right, right okay..."

He took a breath. "I'm from Chalion. Now I'm Tintagel Academy...infirmary." Blinking again. "I'm almost thirty eight.....I was out in town, scouting for trouble...and...."

Mordred. Morgana. My boy's dead. My fiancee was right there, and I've lost her she's gone.

"I was just....attacked, I can't remember what happened. I can't...." He looked at his hands again.

He met Lance's face with worry growing in his new older features. "This....might sound like a strange request, but could --- I have a mirror?"

[Lancelot du Lac]

The pupils didn't look too bad, and he had some memory, which were both good signs. Odder still was his age: he looked significantly older than thirty-eight. That was only a handful of years older than Lance, but this guy looked like he'd been through the wringer. Then again, Lance could recall some people from home that looked about like that. Chalion: was that somewhere near Camelot? Question for later, perhaps.

"Could have been Trenale itself. Magic," Lance moved to examining the wound, studying it from a distance for now. He turned, moving to look for some pain killer. He was scrounging when Cazaril made his other request. "A mirror?" Lance repeated. "Forget what you looked like?" He was mostly joking, but he found one easily enough. It helped to have a hand mirror on hand for some of his work: different angles and all that. He grabbed it, shifting his grip on it to get a good handle.

Lance stepped toward Cazaril, handing it over. "There you go. I'm going to get some pain killers ready. Got to take a close look at your head too: see if we need stitches or anything major." He turned back, pulling out what pain killers he could. The studying would come next.

[Cazaril]

Caz was relieved that here, in a more modern society pain killers were a thing. The relief that he didn't have to have some vial of potion that may or may not do him any good and pay quite a bit of gold for it was not that problematic here. Still he gave the young man a kind smile on face, despite the pain, feeling more settled now with company even though the lack of memory of the event was concerning.

"Not exactly the narcissistic type, I'm just following a hunch..."

Cazaril winced at the sound of stitches, he'd had worse, but still. His fingers grasped the mirror, and took a good look at the blooded face that Lancelot is dealing with. It wasn't one he stared at this morning. He passed the mirror back.

"The last time I came to here, a spell was cast on me and I was given my youth back. It appears, whatever happened tonight took it away."

[Lancelot du Lac]

A hunch? Lance said nothing more to that, just handed over the mirror and went to work getting the pain reliever. While Cazaril studied himself, Lance got the drugs out and got a cup of water ready. He had everything ready as Cazaril handed the mirror back over.

"Yeah, magic can mess with a person like that," agreed Lance. He held out the drugs and the water. "So, are you made that you lost your new youth, or happy to be back to who you really are?" Lance gave him a sympathetic look. He knew full well what losing some part of yourself to magic could be like: he'd had his identity swapped a few times, and that wasn't even considering the fact that he was now back in what was increasingly feeling like his personal hell (and he didn't want to think about how that could be worse).

Still, it was very much something for every man to decide for himself.

[Cazaril]

Cazaril was still looking at himself, taking it all in when Lance asked the question. He also noticed, with some surprise, that his left hand, mangled as it had always been before the spell.

It helped him answer part of his question, with an obvious wince. "Youth has been....helpful, but not what I wanted. Reliving your early adulthood when you've been there isn't as fun as it sounds. This old face, I think I've missed it, but time will tell. It always does."

The older man sighed, taking the cup and tablets with a relieved smile, before looking to Lance and holding out his right hand to shake.

"I'm sorry we met under such circumstances, I haven't even asked your name..."

[Lancelot du Lac]

Lance nodded his understanding as Caz outlined the situation. That's part of what he figured, and he was half tempted to outright admit that he wouldn't like being returned to his youth. Yes, it had been enjoyable, in its way, but it wasn't something he would relish reliving all over again. The cup passed, and Lance gestured toward the drugs as well.

"Lancelot," he offered, "technically Sir Lancelot du Lac, sworn knight of the Summer Country." He chuckled. "I'm Gwen's second, of sorts."

Which was certainly one way of putting it. But Lance figured that this man knew something of that country. Something in the way he acted, how casually he handled magic, even his name. Lance figured that by dropping the names, letting Caz know, he'd actually figure out the details, and right now, that's what he needed.

[Cazaril]

"Ahh, I remember the Summer Country...from when I had a stay in Camelot. I've heard good things about it...Guinevere mostly." He offers a smile, "Any second of Gwen's, is a friend of mine..."

He gosh to stand up, but he's still a bit worn from everything, so he decides, considering his body hasn't quite caught up, he'll rest in the chair a moment more. "I used to tutor Arthur, a long time ago, and was a teacher in Avalon. Perhaps our paths crossed then? My memory isn't what it used to be...."

He gave a pointless shrug.

"Though, I really do wish I knew what happened on my patrol. I --- It's really all a blank. Like almost nothing happened at all. I just remember being there, then waking up on the ground...It's all very odd..."

[Lancelot du Lac]

Lance nodded, smiling, if a little tightly. "That's why your name and demeanor seem so familiar," he allowed. "We probably crossed paths a few times. I was the medic here then, and a student for a while..." Technically most of them were, apparently even Cazaril himself. Lance looked around at the office he'd mostly won back from the creeping magic of this old place. Nothing was really what it used to be any more.

"That does make me concerned," admitted Lance, looking back at Cazaril. "If there's something else out there that's attacking us, then we should be wary. You might as well fill me in on what you remember. I'm going to want you to stick around for a while: observation from a head injury and all that crap," plus, Caz was better company than being alone, though Lance was loathe to admit it. There were times when he did want to be by himself, but having someone from Camelot, who knew the same people, well, that was slightly better.

Though Lance was still tempted to doublecheck the medicine while they spoke. But this story needed his full attention. If they needed to send someone skilled out to check the more dangerous parts...

[Cazaril]

Cazaril nodded back, "Ah. Quite. Sorry I didn't put the face to the name, I would blame the concussion, but I think it's something deeper."

He watched Lancelot carefully, he had heard of the name, but he couldn't put is finger on the reasons why. He was still dealing with new aches and pains that came with age. His eyes seeming to do most of the talking now, observing, not guarded, just concerned gazes at the knights direction.

"I went there with the purpose of hoping no portals had opened up there. Could you imagine a student arriving there? Lost in the dark?" He couldn't think of a worse way to arrive in Tintagel, terrified of it's dark corners. "Perhaps, a real scouting party should go....I'll talk to Merlin."

He gave a look at himself however, and the blood against his fingers. 

"When I've been allowed leave by my doctor of course."

[Lancelot du Lac]

Lance waved off the mention of identity. "I was enchanted. Went by Levi for a while. Though I was Lance before that..." he let out a wry chuckle. "Magic likes to mess with me," he leaned against a counter, arms folded across his chest, listening and studying Cazaril. This guy definitely seemed like an ally, at least someone he could trust. From the sounds of it, he knew and possibly trusted and was trusted by the same people that Lance knew. Nice to know that there were other people around who genuinely cared about students and their welfare.

"We'll need to send someone," Lance agreed, nodding. "Or more likely someones, but that can wait," he held up a hand, "you'll need at least an hour or two of rest." He gestured toward the chair. "Merlin's got enough on his plate right now anyway. We all do," he looked around the room, realizing the many hours of inventory he'd still have to do to get even this mostly put together room back together. He rubbed at his face. Leave it to this place to drop them in a pile of work.

"I'm with you though," he said, meeting Cazaril's gaze. "The more we help the students here, the easier we can make it for this next poor generation, the better off we'll all be."