OOM: Treating Sinric

[cook_the_rude]

When Sinric follows Dr. Lecter to his office upstairs, he will find it's near the library, in an area of the non-linear rooms section that feels more business-like because of that location and the presence of the indoor chapel that had been used before Javert's church was finished.

It is small but functional, with clean-lined modernist furniture made of pale wood contrasting with the 18th and 19th century prints of Istanbul cityscapes and 'Turkish' harem scenes that were quite the fashion at the rococo period in ornate frames that adorn the walls. There are two comfortable chairs with end-tables, a small book-case, and a pale leather couch. There is a small drawing table with two straight-backed chairs that, at this moment, holds nothing but a flower arrangement. There are two doors, one slightly ajar to reveal a tiny pantry kitchen, the other firmly closed, with a covered lock that clearly labels it a bathroom door, lockable from the inside.

There are two floor-length windows obscured by pale, gauzy blinds, at the bottom of which a balcony is visible, and beyond its grate, the lake area, with a view to the stables, the garden, and the forge.

Dr. Lecter puts down his bag of medical supplies and gestures towards the couch.

Comments

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric is drawn to the images of his city, recognising part or not all of the changed view. But out of respect for Dr. Lecter and his space, he moves to the couch as directed. He sits with great care, tucking a slender leg under himself to alleviate the pressure on his injured rear.

[cook_the_rude]

"Do feel free to look around," Dr. Lecter says as he brings a small side table over to the couch and starts laying out his instruments. "I will be a moment or two."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric nods and goes back to the art on the wall, drawn in by the cityscape. "May I ask when this was done? I recognise the Monastery of Stoudios and the Hagia Sophia but not these building here."

[cook_the_rude]

"In the 1750s," the doctor says, bent over his tools. "Which is over 250 years before my time."

[thewidewideworld]

"And a thousand after mine. And yet the noble city still stands." There's a note of awe and joy in his voice. "Constantine's city prospers."

[cook_the_rude]

"No longer his, I sincerely regret to say," the doctor says.

[thewidewideworld]

"It fell?" He asks in horror. "To whom? Can you tell me, sir?"

[cook_the_rude]

"To the Turks," the doctor says, "a roving people of Islamic conquerors from the steppes of Inner Asia."

A long pause, while he sets out little balls of gauze, on beside the other, very neatly.

"And then it rose again, more splendid and vibrant than ever before. It is called Istanbul now, a Turkish mangling of the Greek eis ten polis, and still one of the most fascinating and most visited cities in the world. Perhaps I should go there next."

[thewidewideworld]

"But the city endures." He smiles sadly, "Even if the Empire has fallen to marauders, at least the city endures. I hope if you travel there, you find it as beautiful as it was in my time."

He returns to the couch, kneeling politely. "I put myself in your hands, sir."

[cook_the_rude]

"Please remove your clothes and sit on the paper towel I have put on the couch," the doctor says.

[thewidewideworld]

He strips with care, moving stiffly. Beneath the cloak, he's dressed in linen pants and tunic, clearly made for a larger man.

His body is soft and lean, his chest curved with small breasts. Gelded at a young age, his penis is very small. Much of his body is bruised by larger hands - his nipples swollen and abused, his lower back and buttocks marked from the application of a whip or fine belt. His upper thigh had been bandaged but the shadow of blood is visible through the cloth on the inner curve.

He lowers himself onto the couch with care, his eyes lowered.

[cook_the_rude]

The doctor watches him, nodding from time to time as if checking an internal list.

"You are a eunuch," he states. "We don't see those any more in my time, except in India; and it's debatable if the hijra are eunuchs or a third sex. How old were you when the procedure was done?"

[thewidewideworld]

"I am, sir." He keeps his eyes low. "It is common knowledge throughout the Empire that most palace servants are. It is odd to me when people are surprised by my nature. I was gelded very young, before I was six."

[cook_the_rude]

The doctor nods.

"Do you remember at all?"

He pours a sharp-smelling clear liquid onto a piece of folded gauze.

[thewidewideworld]

He wrinkles his nose at the smell but doesn't turn away. "Not the cut itself. We are fed strong wine and willowbark beforehand, until we're insensible. But afterwards, I fell into a fever. It has been known to happen, if the wound festers. Many die from it."

A small smile crosses his features. "He came to me; my Emperor. I had never seen him before that night. He sat by my bedside and washed my brow with cool water. He told me I should fight to live, that I would be cared for and protected but that I must fight. He stayed with me until the fever broke."

[cook_the_rude]

"Why did he do that?" the doctor says. "If he hadn't even seen you before?"

He takes one of Sinric's wrists in his hand and starts cleaning the injuries with the soaked gauze.

"This will sting, but it means it cleans out the dirt in your injuries."

[thewidewideworld]

He flinches minutely at the sting of if but manages to keep the hiss of pain from escaping.

"He was on campaign when I was bought for the palace and for more than the first year I was there. When he returned, he came to inspect the new slaves and found me ill." A little smile pulls at his lips. "When I was well again, I was told I had been selected to be one of his personal slaves, his little birds. I'd never been so happy."

[cook_the_rude]

"And did it turn out as well as you had hoped?" the doctor asks, still daubing at Sinric's injuries with that stinging solutions, discarding each bit of gauze after cleaning yet another cut or scratch.

[thewidewideworld]

"It did. The first time I was sent to him, I was afraid. I had heard stories of what men wanted from boys like me. I was afraid I was wrong about him. But he was my Emperor and I had been sent for."

"When I entered his rooms I was shaking like a leaf. He was so gentle. He picked me up and rocked me like a babe, soothing my fears and calming me down. He wanted to see my body but only to see that I had healed. After that he bade me dress and sit with him. We talked for many hours, until I started to nod with sleep. He put me in his own bed and held me through the night. I had never felt so safe, so protected."

[cook_the_rude]

The doctor picks up another ball of gauze and starts cleaning out a longish cut.

"But later?"

[thewidewideworld]

"He was always good to me, as he has been with all his birds. When he discovered I wanted to read, he would sit me on his knee to teach me, letting me learn from his own correspondence."

"It was not for some time that I grew bold enough to ask for the kisses the older boys spoke of. Only when I showed my desire did he teach me the ways of pleasure."

[cook_the_rude]

"Can you even feel that pleasure?" the doctor asks, his curiosity seeming entirely cool and medical.

[thewidewideworld]

"There are many pleasures I can feel. Parts of my body are very sensitive to touch even if the peak other men feel is not-" he breaks off there, still confused by the pleasures others have brought out in him of late.

"And there is pleasure in bring satisfaction, in giving pleasure to another when there is shared desire." Certainly not in being used as rough and recklessly as he has been.

[cook_the_rude]

"Have you ever reached completion?" the doctor asks. "In my time, with no living eunuchs left, there is dissent about that part."

Pause, as he changes to the next ball of gauze.

"The operatic castrati of 18th century Italy were quite popular, on the sly, for pleasing both men and women, while being arguably the most amazing singers in the history of classical western music. But we have no surviving records about what they felt, themselves."

[thewidewideworld]

Here his reasonably steady voice falters at this. "I have. Twice but only in the last week. It is still... a very new sensation to me." His cheeks colour softly as he ducks his head. "I had not thought it possible."

But he smiles. "I am very fond of singing. I am told my voice is very pleasing." There's a note of pride in his tone, even if muffled by the swelling in his throat.