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I'll be at the forge until dusk.

[It's been a while. He wouldn't even know where to make a house call if he was so inclined to pack up his tools and head out. It'll be easier to get what he needs at the forge anyway.]

[As close to dusk as possible, using the cover of at least some darkness to his advantage, L arrives with his coat wrapped tightly around his bony frame and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. While someone has been caring for him since his brush with Niles, a Dorchacht refugee hired by Myr, whatever happened has eaten at him in ways that leave him looking paler, gaunter, a little more harrowed. Which is a feat, considering what L started with.

L makes his way back to the forge's work area, and the moment he spots Hiccup, he uncrosses his arms, revealing a clear pane of glass he's kept tucked safely against his chest on the way here. One corner seems to be a hollow pocket, filled with deep crimson fluid; while L's incantation and tactile magic are crippled by Niles' strategic attack, his blood magic, at least, is still a reliable (if taxing) method for him to practice as a Witch.

Red letters appear on the pane, held between two palms that are indeed fingerless. They remain long enough to read before fading away.]

My tongue was damaged in the attack, as well. It's mending, but I hope you'll believe this is much easier to understand at the moment.

[A tongue torn in half from the back of his throat has resulted in a slow healing process... and a significant impediment when he does attempt speech. Cruelly, his communication with his blind Bonded has suffered the most.]

[He's a little impatient the later it gets, tidying a few things up around the forge, paper and charcoal and measuring implements laid out neatly on the workbench. It is very nearly dusk and he does want to go home and see his boyfriend at some point, having already missed dinner.

Sharpshot heralds Linden's arrival from a high perch near the door, squawking loudly and flapping his little green wings. Toothless is the next to notice from where he's waiting for Hiccup, but he only watches, rumbling lowly.

The annoyance bleeds out of Hiccup when he spots the man, though. He truly looks terrible, and he only exhales heavily, eyes flicking reluctantly down to the glass pane. He frowns.]

Who did you piss off? [Injuries like these are not an accident. The city has been relatively safe, so how else could he have found this much trouble?] Come over to the workbench and lay a palm down on the paper, I'll start... taking some measurements. [Granted, he thought there would be another set of fingers to go off of, so this might be tricky.]

[It took a lot for L to ask for help from his own Bonded, and even then it was less explicit, more a desperate and obvious implication. He has no fingers, he has no tongue, of course he needs help... but expressing as much directly is always fraught. It's been roughly a month since the incident that maimed him, and it's absolutely taken him this long to consider approaching Hiccup as a possible solution. Now that he's here, and Hiccup's willing? His hesitation doesn't make much rational sense.

Then again, he hasn't been in the most rational state of mind since the occurrence. Letters appear again on the pane of glass.]

A Chimera called Niles. He seems to have been killed shortly after this happened.

[It's not technically a lie. Niles did seem to have been killed; L knows that he wasn't due to stumbling upon him while dreamwalking, but he feels owed. Niles can be his secret, his plaything, an outlet for his bitter malice for just a little while longer.

He complies, setting the glass down on the tabletop and taking a stiff and nervous seat by the workbench. He's skittish, considering the last time someone paid close attention to his hands, and mind over matter can only override the feeling so much.

He rests what's left of his right hand on the paper, and at his side, more letters appear after the old ones have faded away.]

I expected something simpler, like a leather strap modified to hold a utensil.

[Percy and Hiccup have really pushed the boundaries of prosthetics, if one of them is making an entire hand. He's impressed and even, for the first time since realizing Niles was still breathing, kind of hopeful.]

I see. [The name doesn't ring a bell, so he doesn't ask any further, accepting the explanation that the man is dead now. He doesn't ask who killed him either. Hiccup is not as naive or sheltered as some imagine him to be, with his sunny smiles and helpful disposition. He's a Chief and a viking.] Hopefully you told the City Guard. In case the mirrors bring him back.

[He doesn't shy away from amputations. Back on Berk they even have a holiday for those who sacrificed their own limbs to ensure the village's safety, it's not an uncommon sight. One he is sympathetic to, but not squeamish of.

Hiccup starts working as he talks, taking a tracing of his palm, jotting down dimensions, ratios. He adds fingers to the drawing, about the size he thinks would be proportional - skinny, long. Like the rest of Linden.] Why? You wouldn't have much functionality. What would be the point? Maybe a shop in town could get you something like that in the interim, but Percy and I do much better work here.

[He slides one paper out of the way for another, dexterous fingers sketching out something like a glove, strap and buckle around the wrist, holes in the palm and back for grip, attached slender clockwork fingers taking shape under the charcoal.] It's still very experimental at this point. This will be even more so.

[He nods, a bit vaguely. He is aware that some of the guard were present for his retrieval, along with Myr. He hadn't been motivated to do much in the weeks that directly followed; Myr had been angry, Connor's investigation had turned up a corpse. By now, it would astonish him if awareness wasn't widespread for those in a position to protect the Mirrorbound and help enforce their affairs.

Niles is wise to lie low. It's probably for the best, at least until a particularly tenacious dreamwalker manages to drive him insane for lack of restful sleep.

L watches Hiccup's work with some interest and no small amount of envy. The sketches are accurate in size and shape; he'd had very long, thin, and dextrous fingers. They'd been indispensable for the brand of tactile magic he'd come to favor, along with his former profession of runetching in Aefenglom.]

It's been a matter of tempering expectations. I suppose I didn't want to hope for too much and experience disappointment as a result.

[It's the same fear that's probably kept him from reaching out to ask for help. If he never asked, the possibility was always glimmering somewhere in the distance; if he did, the matter was settled, one way or another.]

How long did it take to stop seeing the foot you lost when you dreamed?

[Or, rather, L wants to know how long it took before Hiccup accepted and was at peace with his loss.]

Edited 2020-06-04 05:39 (UTC)

[He jots down notes quickly with a sort of single-minded focus, but they're all in Norse runes, only readable to him. He'll copy them into a common written language later, to share with Percy, but he always defaults back to his mother alphabet. The sketches speak for themselves, though. Quick and a little messy, but showing different angles, different fittings for the mechanisms inside. He only glances up to look at the pane of glass.] I guess there's that. I hope I don't disappoint.

[Hiccup probably wouldn't understand. He's always gone for what he wanted, built things with his own two hands.

He looks up, frowning slightly, when Linden mentions his own.] I never had those dreams, honestly. [Then back down to the paper, the scratch of the charcoal.] Limb loss isn't all that uncommon on Berk. Or it wasn't, before we made peace with the dragons. I still get the ghost pains sometimes, and the stump aches when it's about to storm, but... it's just been part of me for 7 years now.

[L's a terrifically impressive polyglot, but it goes for modern languages, the ones most widely spoken and likely to be useful to him while solving cases and communicating indirectly with world leaders and police organizations. He gives the runes a cursory glance, but doesn't dwell, aside from recognizing them for what they probably are.

Doesn't matter. He's a layman, in this arena, and there's no shame in it. He only gives it thought at all because he's been reduced to a layman in areas he's not accustomed to, lately, or even less than.]

Given the new normal I was attempting to adjust to, I think any improvement would exceed expectations.

[To the point where coming up with a reciprocal gesture might be difficult and take some time. This is significant; it could change everything, especially if he can channel magic through the new fingers. Even if he can't, it would be a return to some of what passed for independence in his life.

Very different, certainly, from what passed for independence in Hiccup's. It's perhaps some much-needed perspective that L will endeavor to find useful, even if his injury is far more recent, interfering with almost every aspect of his functionality. He nods, opting not to distract Hiccup with more letters on his pane of glass while he works, instead watching the viking sketch and write with somber attentiveness.]

It will still take me a little while. I'm going to need to steal Percy for a bit to do some of this fine internal clockwork, but he's the one building Jin Guangyao's hand so I don't think it'll be an issue. The enchantment work will take longer. I'll need to lay the runes where they won't be rubbed away by friction over time, hm... [It's not like crafting a dagger or an axe, which Hiccup can do fairly quickly, all things considered. He just wants to set the time period expectation at something reasonable.] Middle of next month, maybe? Check in around then if I haven't contacted you earlier.

[He jots down a few more notes and sketches, spreading papers across the work table, charcoal smeared on his fingers and on his face when he scratches his cheek.]

Well. I think I've got everything I need on my end, at least for now. If you have any other specifics you want to be sure I remember, just let me know.

[Expectations can be managed far more easily than hope. L appreciates the specificity of the outline, the information presented without the need to pester or interrogate, the names he can always trace back to this just in case he wakes up tomorrow to find out that he was mistaken and it never actually happened.

He nods, trying to arrange his features in a way that approximates some measure of what he's feeling. It's difficult on a good day; the call for rapid improvement has been a demanding and exhausting one.

He withdraws one hand when Hiccup's finished, leaving the other resting at the corner of his pane of glass. The red letters are presented as earnestly as he is able.]

I can't thank you enough.

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