Snippet #1160720

Kit smiled to herself as the little boy led her as gently as possible down the street. In reality, her other senses were good enough that she required little assistance, but she had a feeling that having something to do would put his mind at ease, and s she allowed him to tug her along gently. In truth, she hadn't ever interacted much with small children, and so she was a bit out of her depth. Still, kindness and the desire to help were as much a part of her nature and the way she had been raised as anything else, and she was going to do whatever she could think of to help Amunet take care of him.

When the three reached the mansion, Kit kept the other two company as Derris ate, retreating to her room when Amunet expressed the wish to get him cleaned up. This one was going to be a bit harder; she had very few articles of clothing within her reach that would suit a young boy. Maybe some of her cousin's old things would work? Where were those, anyway?

Kit's father only had one sibling, and her mother had been an only child. As a result, Kit only had three cousins, all of whom were a good deal older than her. The clothes, which she remembered were most likely in the attic, had been passed to the family in the event anyone had a boy. That was the thing about the Wilsons: they were wealthy, but not wastefully so. Hoping that for once her father's thrifty attitude might come in useful, Kit climbed the balustrade stairs up to the sixth floor, the attic. Upon reaching it, she sneezed several times in succession, sniffling a bit. Hardly anyone ever came up here; the only things around were old clothes and the occasional picture, saved from Kit and Liz's childhood efforts at art or something similar.

With no way to differentiate between the boxes, Kit had to open several before she came across something that seemed right. A pair of jeans, maybe a bit big for Derris, since everyone in Kit's family besides herself had been a good deal taller than average. Still, they might work. A long-sleeved shirt was the next article she laid hands on, and she decided that given the early stage of spring, it shouldn't be too warm yet. Everything else was simply too large, anyway. They would hopefully get the chance to purchase something else eventually, and she would be sure to do some laundry soon, but this should work for now.

Closing the box back up, she slowly felt her way down the stairs, leaving the clothes outside Amunet's room much as she had the night before. For now, she'd give them both some space. It was surely difficult enough dealing with the new surroundings; she didn't want to overwhelm Derris or anything. With this in mind, Kit returned to the living room and laid herself out on the couch, smiling when Bastet moved to lay on her stomach. The day had been an eventful one already, and it had only just passed noon.

**

Norman had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the initial comment. The young always seemed to think they knew best about everything. He was certainly glad Miss Katherine was not like that, and it did not seem that Miss Amunet was either. He considered once again just leaving and pretending he'd never been here, but the sullen young man gave a lurch as he tried to stand before falling forward, apparently unconscious.

Surprisingly strong arms caught him as he fell, and Norman sighed to himself, pulling back the youth's eyelids to discover that he was, indeed, unconscious. Shifting his grip so that he was performing a fireman's carry, Norman observed that he was also far too light to be healthy, leading him to believe that starvation was not far off. What do I know about your benefit, indeed. Apparently far more than you, my boy, he thought with a tinge of sarcasm. Well, there was no way he was getting out of this now. He'd have to take the young man back to the rendezvous point and see what it was that Miss Katherine wished to do with him, though he suspected he already knew what the answer would be.

He's starving, Norman, we can't just leave him. It was rather odd, how the voice in his head that he identified with his conscience was beginning to sound like her soft soprano, down to the gentleness in it. either that, or he was going soft.

The thought was disconcerting, and he did his best to ignore it as he approached the meeting-place. With some trepidation, he observed the note on the ground. Had they walked all the way back? What would have prompted such a thing? His first suspicion was a trick, but in the end he discarded it. Nobody who would have wished them harm could have known about the rendezvous point; he had been sure there was no one within earshot (including an enhanced one).

Perhaps he would pass them on his way, he mused as he placed his burden in the back seat. But it was not until he reached the mansion itself that he saw or heard any sign of them. Someone was running water, but as he entered the foyer he could easily discern that both Miss Katherine and the cat were in the living room.

She apparently heard him, too, for it was not long before she poked her head out the door and addressed him. "Norman?" she called, curiosity evident in her tone. "What's going on?"

Now there was a worthwhile question. "Ive... found an injured person. Kitty, I need you to boil some water and make some soup as well. Can you do that for me? I'll be taking him to the third floor; the room next to mine."

Bless her heart, Katherine asked no more questions, but simply nodded. "I will." She headed off immediately for the kitchen, a black ball of fuzz trailing after her. Norman sighed with relief, adjusting his burden a bit before trudging heavily up the stairs. He really was getting too old for this. he'd once lived in the servant's quarters, which were in this case just slightly-less-fancy versions of the guest rooms, but Master Wilson had long since required he move upstairs. The floor had been his alone for quite some years, though he shared it with some security equipment and a few guest rooms. Katherine and Elizabeth had claimed the second floor, and the fourth belonged to the master and mistress of the house. The fifth had offices, exercise equipment, and a few other assorted things. The sixth was storage and the attic.

The room next to his was dark in coloration, the walls a deep red, the carpet a complimentary shade of gray. With an exhalation of relief, Norman at last laid the youth down atop the four-poster bed, relieved to note that his breathing at least was still regular. He set about opening the long-closed blinds and generally trying to prepare the room for occupation. he was unsure how long this particular guest would be staying, but it never hurt to be prepared.

It wasn't long before Kit appeared, and Norman moved to relieve her of the soup, hot water, and medicine she seemed to have added to the order of her own volition, but the girl shook her head. "Allow me, Norman. You should rest." For once, her tone was firm, and he could tell that this was simply one of those things she was going to be stubborn about.

"Very well, Miss Katherine. Don't try to force him to eat; it will do little good. If the fever gets any worse, let me know." He might have said more, but his young employer just smiled and shook her head. She would know all of this, of course, and probably had been able to guess the appropriate medicine with healing even better than his. She seemed to be able to do that, to read vital signs with a surprising accuracy. He wondered what application it had, but this was something for another time, perhaps.

Norman left Kit to her task, and settled himself in the living room. the running water had stopped by now; he wondered if Amunet would have any news of what she had found. He certainly had a few things he might share regarding the source of the disease, though how much would depend on what she herself had come across.

**

Kit regarded her patient curiously. The same senses that allowed her to guess at emotion were informing her that this person's metabolic processes were quite slow and weak- a bit like Derris's were, though apparently it had been a bit longer since this one had eaten. Still, it would do best to break that fever first. To this end, she wetted a washcloth and placed it on his forehead. The medicine she'd brought up included a fever-reducer, but it might be difficult to get him to take it.

When it came time to try and get him to intake some of her broth, Kit realized she had a problem. This would have been much easier to do if she could see. For a moment, she considered asking one of the others to help her, but somehow she rebelled against the notion. She wanted to be able to do this herself. She was not the sort who wanted to remain dependent on others, even though she appreciated their help. Now, here was someone who was depending on her, and she wasn't going to let them down, not if she could help it.

Judging from his breaths, she could guess quite closely at the location of his nose, and that was where she'd start. Tentatively, she leaned in until she was sure she had it, then swallowed her polite instinct to keep her distance and gently touched his face with one hand, finding his mouth as quickly as possible before replacing her fingertips with the bowl of soup.

That was well enough, but he wasn't swallowing. Remembering a trick Norman had used on her when she'd refused to take medicine as a child, she set the bowl aside and ran a hand down his throat, smiling to herself when he swallowed reflexively. There. You're going to eat, whether you like it or not.

But something was getting to her. Norman had asked her to boil water, obviously not for the fever. she thought about it for a minute before she recognized the metallic smell that had been hitting her nose this entire time. Blood. He was bleeding, somewhere. Oh, how much easier this would have been with sight!

Still, she couldn't ask for things that were not there, and her nose could help anyway. It wasn't long before she located the wound on his arm, peeling back the bandages carefully. The smell got a great deal worse, and Kit flinched. She hadn't liked blood before, now ti felt like the very substance assaulted her in some way. Holding her breath, she dabbed gently at the wound with a hot cloth, and then quickly fumbled around in the medicine cabinet for more bandages, which she used to redress the wound.

"There," she said out loud, using an arm to wipe a small bit of sweat from her brow. "You have no excuse not to get better now."