[attr="class","limes"]

[attr="class","margie"]

[attr="class","tequilas"]#27 | bird on a wire

[attr="class","margiewrites"]"On the count of three, yah? I know you can count to three."

Ori nodded, staring straight ahead at the canvas wall of the tent, too drab to be anything showed to those who paid to see the Show. His left hand gripped at the fabric of his pants, a feeble effort to keep himself sitting still. His right... well. His right fidgeted too, even as it sent twinges of pain up to his dislocated shoulder. It was all he could do to keep himself from thinking about how sick and sweaty and gross and awful and useless he felt. He resisted the urge to look at it; he'd already been told how bad and weird it looked.

Another small shift and a hand smacked his head hard enough to make him yelp. Ori blinked up at Ciri with wide, watering eyes, meeting her frustrated expression. Frustrated, and worried, which he could understand. "And better not to move, or I'll mess it up worse than it is." A warning touch settled onto his throbbing shoulder and Ori nodded again, more vigorously this time, tears prickling at his eyes.

"Yes'm. Yeah. I'll be good. Promise."

It was such a shame, though, that it had happened like this. His most special friend was gonna come see him. She had promised to come see him, to see him perform, and he'd so been looking forward to it. It was so rare, after all, that he had anyone coming just for him. Never living anywhere for long, never being allowed out, it was hard to make those connections. His friends were with the Spectacle. His family too. They didn't have to put in any effort to come see him. For them it wasn't special. It would have been special for her. It would have meant something for her to come see.

No wonder he'd always been told he was unlucky. Because this sure felt like unluckiness. It was random, always, when his vertigo decided to affect him, as random as when his magic pulled at his senses. Perhaps if he was smarter, or better, it would be easier to predict. But he wasn't. So he hadn't been ready to be struck with the intense feeling of dizziness while balancing on a wire during the practice before the show. No one had been ready to catch him as he fell to the ground below, landing hard and bad on his shoulder.

Ciri had peeled him off the floor and brought him back to the tent they shared with Mena and Fen. The other two had quickly fluttered in to peek and make sure he was still alive, but too soon they had to leave or risk reprimand from their betters. So it now it was just him at Ciri's mercy, waiting helplessly for her to push his shoulder back into place. No surgeons, no menders, just a friend trying to do her best for him.

"On three." Ori nodded and did his best to relax, even as he knew how much it would hurt and that she wouldn't wait until three to fix him. "One." It would be on two, he was sure. She always tried to trick him, but it never worked. "Two." His stomach lurched at the sudden swell of pain, the scrape of bone on bone making him nauseous. Ori whimpered, dropping his head onto Ciri's shoulder as she held him still. "Breathe, it's okay. You're okay. Okay?"

Ori nodded again, letting himself collapse for just a moment. Too soon she'd force him up, put him in a sling, and get him back to the tents do something. Anything. There wasn't the option to sit idle under the great and terrifying Ringmaster. He couldn't perform like this, but he'd better make himself useful, or suffer worse consequences.

[attr="class","merrily"]MADE BY MERRI

[newclass=.merrily]background-color: #ffffffbf;font-family: open sans;font-size: 9.5px;text-align: end;color: #a1acacc9;margin-top: -15px;margin-left: 458px;width: 77px;padding: 4px;[/newclass]
[newclass=.merrily a]color:#b28798d6;font-size:9px;[/newclass]

[googlefont=open sans]