The sound of his name ricocheting off the walls of the infirmary jolted Ber from something between sleep and wakefulness, and heart racing with the immediate adrenaline rush, he jerked partially upright before the pain in his sides reminded him why that was a bad idea. Looking around, he quickly found Othello by the door holding a single flower that drooped rather pathetically in his hand. In spite of everything, the sight had a small smile ghosting across the soldier’s face. After pushing himself up into a proper sitting position, he waved the arm that wasn’t in a sling to get the Gifted man’s attention. “Othello!” In contrast to the Champion’s voice, Ber’s voice didn’t boom across the room, but he hoped the movement at least would catch Othello’s eye.

Given what Ber had spat at Regan at the , he was surprised that the man who had spent the last couple seasons attached to her side still wanted to talk to him. But maybe Othello just didn’t know exactly what had happened a few days ago.

Othello saw the little soft faced guy as soon as he raised his arm and called his name, everyone had been staring at the loud mouth but slowly parted as he beelined for Ber. As soon as he looked at his hairless friend Othello let out a very dramatic scoff and cupped a hand over his forehead, "You're a cripple now aren't you?" he then pounded a fist against the wall, "that thing reaaaaaalllllly," he only mouthed 'fucked', "you up didn't it? You can't just change like that can you? Here I got you this, a cripple flower for the broken winged boy," Othello sat the...flower thing...on a table near Ber.

Ber hadn’t spent much time outside of the infirmary, but already he could sense that very little, whether tangible or intangible, seemed to have survived the events of the ball perfectly intact. The apparently-a-cripple himself certainly hadn’t, in multiple ways. Othello, however, was as the young soldier remembered him, and while his antics usually sparked some sort of baffled amusement, today they were a welcome breath of normalcy in a world that had suffered an unexpected shifting of its foundations.

“I am,” He confirmed, nodding soberly as he performed his best impression of Woodwick to keep his face straight. With his free hand, he gestured at his other arm, which looked healthy despite the sling and some bandages covering where the werewolf’s claws had grabbed him. “They’re saying it’ll fall off any day now, but I appreciate the cripple flower.” Thought his gratitude was genuine, he broke character with a snort at the last two words, and his gaze followed it to the table before returning to Othello.

He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed, addressing now the other questions. “Yes, it did. I would not recommend the experience. You didn’t get hurt, did you?” Ber glanced over him, but Othello had a rugged toughness to him that he suspected would let him easily conceal any injury. And although he didn’t remember seeing him in the infirmary at all, he had spent the first day mostly out of it.

The subsequent question had him pausing. They weren’t supposed to tell anyone about the werewolf curse - Ber hadn’t even told Zevran - but he thought the cat was probably out of the bag now. “Um, no, not exactly. Did anyone tell you about, um, why he changed?”

Othello plopped down in a chair and threw his big booted feet on the other end of Ber's cot/bed/whatever and laced his hands behind his head as he nodded to the young man's question, "Oh I heard, the Drooler fellow told me when I was detained with the rest of the twats. A curse. I always figured the men here to just be bland and primarily powerless," he lifted his shoulders into a shrug, "Now I know it's just what half? Certain individuals...whatever....I could have killed that boy last night so...so...so easily. They want me to assimilate in your culture and world but so so many secrets and who gives a witches tit about us outsiders," his voice was low but serious and angry, "shoved into my room without a clue where Regan was or how she is. I'm starting to figure I'm just here to be a trained weapon huh?"

Entirely unaware of the curse Shannon had cast on Abbott or, indeed, of the way her behavior had cut short her military career, Ber had no idea who the Drooler fellow was, but that question was soon forgotten in the wake of everything else Othello told him. At least Ber didn’t have to be the one to try to explain what had happened; he thought he was in enough trouble as it was, without adding the unauthorized distribution of state secrets to the list.

“All of the men under a certain age,” He confirmed, though he wasn’t sure how much Othello really cared for the specifics. “Something like twenty-nine? Thirty?” The quiet anger and frustration in the Gifted man’s tone did not escape him - he understood it very well - but the captain commander’s warning rang in his ears just as loudly. He didn’t know what to say.

Zevran, who had received permission to attend the ball and was rightfully angry when they unexpectedly revoked it for no reason, would be dealt with. If Othello had killed Wulfbrand to stop the rampage, Ber knew they would have blamed him rather than recognized that it was ultimately their own actions that would have led to such an outcome. Those with the most power, money, and influence were untouchable, so the consequences of disaster inevitably fell upon those who weren’t.

“I get it. It’s not fair,” He said finally, keeping his volume low as he tried to sort through the tangled mess of what he felt, what he’d been told, and most importantly, what he could afford to voice. “None of it is. No one cares about the outsiders.” Until they didn’t listen, then they cared a lot about putting them back in their place. Ber knew he’d been out of line when he’d shouted at Regan, but after his meeting with the captain commander, it had become evident that the bigger problem had been his friendship with Zevran. He didn’t quite know how to feel about that. “But I don’t know if that’s something that will ever change.” A pause.

“It’s really shitty no one’s told you anything about Regan.” He shook his head, though his disapproval wasn’t directed at Othello. He would have thought it obvious that Othello cared as much about Regan as Ber did for Temperance and Zevran, yet no one else seemed to realize this. Or if they did, no one seemed to care. Or maybe it was simply that no one had anything to share - Ber certainly knew nothing - but if Temperance had been injured, he would have considered even an admittance of ignorance better than complete silence. “They should have. And I don’t know how they see you, but they’re missing a lot if it’s just as a trained weapon.”

"It is what it is, what would regan do, I call my thought process these days," Othello grumbled and shrugged, "think before I speak. Which is good, I got a lot to always say," he was staring at Ber's arm, "do you think she's alright?" the rough edges of Othello were softening and his stare carried worry, "I mean look at what happened to you at the hands of that creature...for the King to rush off with her...I didn't even get to see if she was in one piece."

“It is what it is,” Ber repeated with a sigh. “Yeah, guess that’s always true.” He couldn’t say for sure whether he knew Regan well enough to know what she would do, but since she’d made it to becoming the Huntsman, she must have known how to do something right. It was probably good advice for Othello. At one point, he might have thought that he and Regan would have had similar instincts given their backgrounds, but hers had evidently led her upward while his had earned him staff duty for the foreseeable future.

He ran a hand over his face. “I hope so.” The words were genuine, and he briefly followed Othello’s gaze to his arm before looking back at the man. “I mean, I think we would’ve heard by now if she’d died, right?” The realization came to him as he spoke it. “They told everyone pretty quickly about that other soldier.” Not that Ber had been coherent enough to appreciate the first round of announcements anyway. “And if the King had her…” He lifted his good shoulder in a shrug. “If anyone could help her, I guess it would be him.” It paid to have friends in high places.

Othello unlaced his hands to scratch his neck around the collar, "Must be nice to have such high and mighty friends, but I hope she's fine because just after the tournament she told me the King has granted me permission to find Benji and myself a home to live in and I don't know a fucking thing about this place....how to buy things...cooking....and I have a kid. I don't know how to adult properly like civilized folk, I've just always did my own thing ya know?"

Ber wondered then how much Regan had told Othello about her past. Instinctively, he knew she kept the truth of her origins close to her chest like she did, but sometimes clues slipped out for the particularly astute to notice. They had never talked about it, but he had a feeling Temperance knew more than he had told her because Thom had a similar story. And with him and the Huntsman, like had recognized like through fighting styles and the biggest giveaway of all for those in the know: their last names. But maybe Othello didn’t know all that if he thought Regan was the one to show him how to adult properly like civilized folk.

Unless such wisdom came with age and rank, Ber suspected that she was much the same as him. They had both moved from the streets to the castle, after all, and had never lived on their own.

“It’ll be nice having your own space,” He said, before nodding his agreement. “But I know what you mean.” A shrug. “I do my own thing, too, just here.” He gestured vaguely around him in reference to the castle. “Haven’t had a place of my own. I know someone who’s good at stuff like that though, owning a home and everything. You ever meet Lieutenant Towers? She’s her sister.”

He didn't and his face said as much, "I don't but I'll look into it," he added and stored away the information and waved it off, "I'll figure everything out, you see us Allmeades are survivors...we adapt and we survive...I never really had a home. My Mom wasn't Gifted but my two Uncles were, so when she slept with some schmuck, scandal followed because he was married and in the upper echelon of society so that was strike three. My uncle's banished her as soon as I was born and kept me, Uncle Bayard eventually went...here... following then Prince Julius...being as rambunctious as my Ma and a late bloomer I left Uncle Marek and sought the seas...I survived Cambria... Lorendale... Coheed....so I'll survive here."

He didn't realize he had been droning on but conversation with a two year old was always one sided, "trauma dumping, sorry, misses Mittermite said I have that problem when I'm stressed....I call it lore, but whose keeping track? When can you fly this coop?"

Ber didn’t mind listening to Othello talk. Sometimes the soldier found he didn’t have much to say, so conversing with someone who did was never much of a hardship. Besides, it was always interesting listening to Othello talk about his life because he’d experienced so much more of it than Ber. The names meant nothing, though he recognized Prince Julius as the Rainecourt who usurped the Ellis throne. Cambria, Lorendale, Coheed, and now Nevermere - Othello was more well-traveled than Ber could ever hope to be.

When the Gifted man broke off with an apology, the soldier shook his head. “No, it’s fine,” He was quick to reassure him. “I don’t mind listening. Your… lore’s a whole lot more interesting than mine anyway.” It was followed by a shrug. “I don’t know. I think they want to keep me around for a few more days, make sure my shoulder’s okay.” He paused. ”What are they having you do with this whole new training regimen? Are you joining everyone else or staying with Regan?”

Ber was a good one, Othello just felt that down to his core so like he did with Regan the Gifted man had decided this man would be his friend from now until his death day. Could he possibly adopt all of these people? In his little thawing heart he believed he could: Regan, Tor, and now little Ber.

"Well according to the Commander, I'm going to be more involved with regular training and I have to continue to listen to those in charge," he sighed and a small sadness filled his eyes despite the smile on his face, "he seemed to imply though I'm not longer under Regan, our time had been well spent."

“Oh, you talked to him, too?” The words slipped out before he could stop them. He carried on. “I guess that makes sense, involving you more with what everyone else is doing.” The second half of that statement had a small smile flickering across Ber’s face as he nodded. “But yeah, they like it when you listen to whoever’s in charge.”

It faded a little as Othello continued. “You’ll still get to see her though, right? I mean, you’ll both still be around.”