You don't have to act like you're headed to the gallows, he could say. Punishment's over.
But is it.
While Jopson does as was asked, Crozier follows suit halfway; just his shirtsleeves and the knit over it, he undoes his cuffs, rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. At least the air is warm in the cabin, between the two of them milling about and the bed warmer. He doesn't gasp or wince at the sight of his back— that would be precious of him, and he's just not that way. Pain is pain, as he said, and they just get on with it.
Crozier sits, then, so he's speaking to Jopson's back. Brief, potentially mysterious noises occur. A scrape of metal over wood, the rustle of fabric as he picks something up.
"What are your siblings' names?"
An uninspired question, but he hopes to distract Jopson from tense anticipation at least a hair, because he knows the shock of application will be almost painful: he places a wet, cold cloth over part of his back, shoulder to rib.
no subject
You don't have to act like you're headed to the gallows, he could say. Punishment's over.
But is it.
While Jopson does as was asked, Crozier follows suit halfway; just his shirtsleeves and the knit over it, he undoes his cuffs, rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. At least the air is warm in the cabin, between the two of them milling about and the bed warmer. He doesn't gasp or wince at the sight of his back— that would be precious of him, and he's just not that way. Pain is pain, as he said, and they just get on with it.
Crozier sits, then, so he's speaking to Jopson's back. Brief, potentially mysterious noises occur. A scrape of metal over wood, the rustle of fabric as he picks something up.
"What are your siblings' names?"
An uninspired question, but he hopes to distract Jopson from tense anticipation at least a hair, because he knows the shock of application will be almost painful: he places a wet, cold cloth over part of his back, shoulder to rib.