Jackaby's Accidental Home for Tragic and Nefarious Fellows

2/4 Slow and steady

Abigail's enthusiasm following Thistle's gradual awakening was not shared by her employer. Admittedly, he was not entirely sure what he had been hoping for when the elf returned to the wakeful world, some fleeting flush of colour to his aura perhaps, some clue to the riddle that lay before him on his couch - a couch that had been given to him after assisting a sweet old couple carry in their replacement, though perhaps it was less a gift and more a convenient way to get rid of it without wasting it - but instead he received a frustrating amount of nothing. That said, the frustrating nothing that Jackaby was able to receive was nearabouts the same amount of, well, anything that Thistle could get so perhaps they were equals in their inconvenience. 

After several long minutes crept by at about the same speed that several minutes were supposed to be creeping, Abigail realised the intensity of the Seer's gaze probably was not the most reassuring thing to see upon first awakening. A fact she knew from firsthand experience, having had her employer wake her from her slumber on more than one occasion, briefly alarming her at least half the time. So, she gently nudged the man out of the way a little to try and not frighten the elf. Not that he appeared to be particularly bothered, but she wasn't sure if there were any hidden subtleties to trying to interpret elven emotional responses. Because of course she didn't, she'd lived a previously very human-centric life until comparatively recent times. 

"Are you hurt anywhere?"  asked she, trying very hard to sound as comforting as she possibly could.

This received precisely no response at all. The only way she could tell that he was alive and not some very haunted victorian doll with the ghost of some tragic child inside was the gentle rising and falling of his chest with every breath. She hoped this was a safe way to judge things, she didn't like the idea of haunted dolls breathing at the best of times, and she couldn't imagine it would be any better if she also had to change a measure that she was using if she stumbled upon one.

"Can you hear me?" pressed she.

While it technically was not a response, he did blink a slow blink so he was at least a little functional. Or was, at least, for it was not very long before he started to slip back into a shaky sleep once again. 

"Hey wait! Don't-" she exclaimed before turning her attention back to her employer, "Sir? What do we do?" 

"I suppose we ought to get him somewhere a little more comfortable. And also slightly less likely for him to be sat on, just in case. From that, I suppose we'd best keep an eye on him and all that, if he seems worse we might have to see if Ms. O'Connor is around. I think she's forgiven me for-"

"For being extraordinarily annoying and obnoxious, sir?"

"Yes, that was what she said, wasn't it?" said he with a shrug, not particularly concerned about the fact he'd annoyed a friend of his, "But anyhow, she's very competent as a doctor so I can imagine she'd know what to do if necessary."

There was precisely one spare room in the house that continued to be empty enough to be considered spare, rather than preoccupied by preposterous peculiarities, and even that room was not what anybody would consider tidy. Seventeen almost identical picture frames occupied the corner of the room furthest from the door, its twin corner had several little succulents hanging from a neat wire frame which was, in turn, hanging from the ceiling, the whole contraption sat above a little box of soil to catch the water that came through the pots' drainage points. The bed itself was remarkably not being used to store anything on top - beneath was a different question, but we can forgive them for it - and had a charming abstract pink and dusty blue pattern decorating the bedspread, smelling pleasantly of chamomile, roses and lavender. 

The bed seemed almost too large when the little elf was placed upon it, buried within the sheets, swimming within a sea of cotton and wool. 

It was only then that Thistle gave anything even remotely close to a reaction, for just as Jackaby made his way out of the room after depositing him there, the elf turned his head just enough to be able follow him out with his gaze.