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(no subject)

Who: Altaïr and Sylvain
When: Some point in January
Where: Andromeda Bay
What: Quest McQuesting
Warnings: Nah

Altaïr doesn't consider himself much of an animal lover. He's not blind to the beauty found in nature, of course, and he values some creatures for the services they can perform and the sustenance they provde, but he's not a sentimental sort.

Watching the beached sea jelly nearly changes that. Certainly it stirs something in his heart, though little of it shows on his face. There are no eyes to look into, and he has no idea how intelligent the thing may be, but there is undoubtedly something pathetically sad about its presence.

He came here for exploration, coin, and a change of pace, not especially to help. He finds himself striding forward anyway. He can do something, so he will. It's as simple as that in the end.

It's not just a job for one person, though, or even a few. Spotting a familiar face amongst those gathered here, Altaïr strides toward Sylvain, nodding in greeting when he catches the other man's eye.

"I think the creature's survival is more likely if the people here make an effort in teams," he says. "Care to work together?"

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He takes the gloves and starts putting them on, even as he surveys the massive task - literally - before them.

"Honestly, it wouldn't be the first time. But would you rather push or throw water around? Or some combination of both?"

Altaïr crouches by the creature's side for a moment, drawing dangerously close to getting a shock out of the way. If he were slightly more foolish, he'd attempt to give it a comforting pat.

"If we stick to one at the expense of the other, I'm not sure it will be able to swim away once it's in the water," he says, looking up. "I'm no animal expert. But a combination would probably be safest."

Sylvain's probably foolish enough for both of them, so it may still happen.

But for the moment, he's still surveying the project set out before them, brain working quickly on the best way to do this. Teach's lessons on tactics at their finest, clearly.

"We should alternate then, maybe. Work towards getting some of it onto the canvas but taking frequent breaks to keep it hydrated. Our muscles would probably thank us for that, too. It looks heavy."

Altaïr nods. It's sound, tactical thinking, though this is a far different situation than those to which he typically needs to apply tactics.

"Let's get to it then. Do our part to try and save it."

Not something he's accustomed to doing, but he supposes there's a first time for most things. He pushes himself to his feet and goes for one of the buckets first — it may not matter how they start, but he'd like to see the thing a little more comfortable before they start hefting it around.

Yeah, he can't say anything like this was ever covered in their tactics lessons, either, but eh. The Professor did teach them how to improvise, so he supposes in a way, this still counts.

Finishing with his own gloves, Sylvain moves to echo him, stabbing his spear in the ground upright to keep it in place for the moment - and handy to use for leverage later. Grabbing a bucket, he moves to one of the tentacles closest to them and one that seems to be in a good place to work on moving. Eyeing it skeptically a moment, he leans over it to pour water out in increments so he can spread it out. And hopefully not focus enough in any one spot to get himself zapped.

Although he might jump backwards a little when the tentacle twitches and shifts when splashed with the water. He totally didn't make that sound you just heard. You just imagined that.

The required actions are simple enough. Take a bucket, fill it, empty it. It would be hard to fail. Yet Altaïr can immediately understand the need for many helpers — water is heavy, and the repetition will be monotonous. Funny to think about the act of saving a life in such terms.

(He graciously ignores the startled-looking jump. There's a time and a place.)

Keeping one eye on Sylvain, Altaïr moves to pour his bucket out in similar increments. No sense in wasting a drop.

"Have you cared for animals before? Not like this, obviously." They've already established that neither of them is familiar with this particular process, but then he'd be shocked if anyone was.

(He appreciates your discretion.)

He loses himself in the work beside Altaïr, assisting where he can and getting out of the way when he can't. At the question, he glances over curiously, before giving a quiet hum.

"Yeah, although I'm way more used to the ones on four feet. I worked in the stables a lot, growing up, and later, too." It was part of the Professor's intention to teach them responsibility and he much preferred working in the stables to having to work in the gardens or the other chores she set out for them. "I spent a lot of time on horseback, too, so I'm the most familiar with them. But there were always lots of cats and dogs around the Monastery where I grew up, too."

He smiles at the thought. It's small but noticeable despite the naturally stern look he gets when focused. Also at other times.

"I've spent time caring for horses. Out of practicality more than sentimentality, but when you spend that much time in the saddle, it's hard not to grow fond of one's mount."

Some more than others. Altaïr can recall a few ill-tempered nags he'd as soon not ride even one more time around the stables. Others had been better comfort when traveling through lonely lands.

"I think it was a mix of both for me."

Sylvain chuckles faintly as he moves to refill his bucket, wanting to make sure they'd gotten it wet enough to be comfortable a while longer. Or, as comfortable as it was likely to get while stranded on the beach.

"Practicality came first, because I was trained as a mounted fighter for a big chunk of my training. Sentimentality kinda came hand in hand with that, though. Hard not to get attached when you spend every day together."

There was a reason both of his favorite mounts had been recreated in his stables in the Horizon.

A mounted fighter. That makes him sound like one of the Crusaders back in Altaïr's homeland, though it's difficult to imagine him as one of the Templars or a member of the associated army.

"I don't think the particular activity matters much," he says. "Whether it's fighting or traveling, working as a team with one's mount has an effect."

He eyes the beast as he finishes with his latest bucket. "I think we may want to try moving some of it now," he says once Sulvain has finished with his. "Are you ready?"

There's probably some similarities there with his role as paladin, but the religious differences sure would be a thing. Not that Sylvain was all that big on religion, despite having spent so many years in a Monastery. Worshiping a dragon goddess probably wouldn't have gone over well, however.

"I suppose that's true enough. But having a horse made it easier. I don't think it'd been the same if they'd mounted me on a wyvern. They always looked way too interested in taking a bite out of me."

Nothing out of the ordinary about riding wyverns into battle at all, nope.

Fixing his gaze on the creature now that they've thoroughly drenched the thing, Sylvain just nods in agreement. "Think we'll have an easier time pushing it as it is, or would having some leverage to lift it at the same time help? It looks heavy..."

...he's going to have to ask more about the wyverns later.

In the meantime, he focuses on the nearest section of the beast, evaluating and trying to do some vague mental math. "It might," he acknowledges. "It's worth attempting once, at least. What's on hand?"

And will it be enough? His mental calculations only go so far, but Altaïr imagines that if it were easy to shift the thing, it would be done already.

"Give me a moment."

Dropping his bucket back to the sand, he turns back up the beach a little ways where he'd left his belongings, secured away from the tide and against the metal shaft of his spear driven into the sand. Plucking it out, he carries it back, flipping it around until he can off the blunt end of it as an option.

"If we can find something to brace this on, it should be work. I think?"

"Nothing to do but find out."

Not quite accurate — they could take the less questionable, more cumbersome method, but he's never shied away from pushing himself and that applies as much to rescuing stranded beasts as it does perfecting combat techniques, apparently.

Altaïr spots one of the merchant ship crewmates standing around, watching impatiently, and moves to have a word with him. A couple of minutes later, he returns with the large man in tow, who's carrying an anchor — a smaller one, perhaps meant for a dinghy, but possibly enough for their purposes.

"Try this." Altaïr nods at it and helps the sailor set it in place, then passes him some coin. "It should work."

He has no idea if it will work.

His eyebrows wing upwards when he sees what they bring up and he glances between it, his spear, and the creature before him.

"It's worth a try. Prop it here, I'll see if I can get it lifted. Although you might want to get into position, I don't know how long I can hold it like that."

Fortunately, once he'd deposited the anchor, the sailor seems inclined to stay and help, seeing they might need an extra set of hands. He nods at Altaïr and moved to one side of one of the tentacles as Sylvain braces the blunt end of his spear against the creature and uses the anchor to leverage his strength.

Which really was needed, that thing was heavy.

It works...better than he'd feared. Not as well as it might have in their wildest dreams, but this is reality and "good enough" is good enough. If the blunt edge is painful for the creature, it doesn't show.

"Perfect." Ish. "Hold steady."

Once part of the jelly has been shifted from its inert position with the spear, it's not so hard for Altaïr to slide it onto the canvas. He can feel the current, humming like a sign of life different from a heartbeat or breath, but just as strong. A zap of unpleasant sensation cuts through him despite the gloves, and he hisses but hangs on. It doesn't take long, though this is still only part of the job of getting the jelly back where it belongs.

He's got all his weight on this end of the spear and can't move to help - he makes a mental note to thank Jayce again for making such awesome weapons.

But the sound of that soft hiss has him glancing to Altaïr with a worried glance.

"You okay?"

"A small shock."

He pulls his hand back as soon as the bulk of flesh is where it needs to be and shakes it, although the pain has gone, leaving only an echo behind in its place. He's felt worse.

"I understand why the gloves are so necessary," he says. "Without them, I expect we'd have to put the creature out of its misery."

Edited 2023-02-23 01:50 (UTC)

"It didn't leave a burn or anything, did it?"

The limb settles into place where they were aiming it, which means he can leave up on the leverage now. Withdrawing, he stabs his spear back into the sand once more as he rounds the anchor to make sure the other man was alright.

"I doubt it. The pain is already fading."

Has already faded. Altaïr straightens and joins Sylvain. The creature is somewhat better situated now, but there's still so more to do. It's not a task easily accomplished by one person, or even two.

"Do you think it will live?" he asks. "If we continue on and shift the rest of it."

Sylvain gives the thing a searching look a moment before answering.

"I think so. It's made it this far and there are plenty of others here helping to get it back where it belongs. It probably feels pretty terrible, but the only thing that's gonna make that better is getting it back in the water."

Which standing here talking about isn't going to make happen any faster.

He glances back to Altaïr again. "Should we tackle another one?"

It's sound logic. That doesn't always make the difference between life and death, but in this case, he hopes it turns out to be true.

"Yes," he says. "Let's do what we can for as long as we can."

And the rest will be up to the creature and its will to live.

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