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a little mermaid in a fantasy larp school
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Cyllene uncurls slightly and - okay yes this object is made of layers and can unfold, that's so clever - oh now she sees, it's a lot like a sail (only soooo soooooft).

One not-sail goes around her shoulders and the other one goes over her knees and she curls all up again.

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"Can you write?" the Preceptor asks her.

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Blink blink.

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...he will try handing her a scrap of paper and a pencil from his coat hem anyway.

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She investigates the pencil, and investigates the paper, and fails to experience any enlightenment about what she might be supposed to do with either.

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"You can hear, right?"

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Yes, Preceptor.

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"...okay. I'm not actually good at reading lips, can you just nod and shake your head when you're answering yes-or-no questions?"

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- Nod nod nod!

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"Great. Do you need me to call you an ambulance or are you warming up all right?"

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. . . Probably humans - or, people who have been humans longer than her - know more about how their bodies are supposed to work than she does.  She extends a foot out from under the blanket for him to investigate.

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He looks at her foot. "Okay, I don't think you're obviously frostbitten... do your toes hurt?"

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She nods, but just once.

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"...I'll get the school apothecary to have a look at you, wait here." Off he goes.

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She's capable of waiting here!  There's architecture and miscellaneous objects around her to admire so it isn't remotely boring.

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There are posters on the wall and the floor tiles are many-colored and form interesting patterns. A blue dog with a duster attached to its tail walks through the room and dusts a set of cubbies that hold various objects like hoods and lunchboxes and books. The wind clatters a treebranch against a window.

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What a strange creature!!!  She stays put, though, except that she startles enough at the clatter to fall off the bench, spilling her cider in the process.

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The dog sniffs the cider and sets about licking it all off the floor.

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- Oh that's very close to her, and all of the ways her body has changed are in the direction of making her smaller and weaker and softer.  But she can still haul herself back up on the bench and press herself against the wall, away from the dog.  And in the process she notices that her skin is stinging a lot less now; that's nice.

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The dog cleans up all the apple juice and then goes to the next room, duster wagging.

The Preceptor is back a moment later with a short plump woman in a different colored uniform accompanying him. She's carrying a bag. "Let me see that foot of yours," says the woman.

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Foot: procure!

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The apothecary takes firm hold of the foot and inspects the toes. "I believe you'll be quite all right," she says, "but here." She pulls out some chemical handwarmers and gives them a shake apiece before handing them to Cyllene. "And here's an infirmary gown to wear, it's hardly appropriate for the weather but should be better than nothing once you've called a ride to pick you up."

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Oh, cool magic.  Waaaaarm.  There are several probably-important words she's missing concepts for but that doesn't prevent her from accepting these objects.

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The apothecary puts more of the warmers on Cyllene's toes, feels her ears and deems them acceptable, and bustles off, leaving the Preceptor to demonstrate the hospital gown's workings and then try to convince Cyllene to wear it.

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She's perfectly exuberant about putting on the gown, although her attempt at doing so demonstrates a frankly shocking level of incompetence.

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