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Garnet Flourish Necklace

Apparel

A finely-wrought garnet necklace.

1400

White Aviator Scarf

Apparel

What differentiates this from a standard white scarf is a subtlety lost on most.

600

Black Aviator Coat

Apparel

Designed to keep a dragon warm during flight.

0

The fledgling physician.

| Quotes Wall |
"You have my deepest apologies. I was under the impression we were here to, oh, I don't know, make things better, not cause a civil war."

"Oh, my pin? It's the red cross; it... It means I'm here to help."

"Oh, yes, Arceus forbid anybody here have an appropriate level of caution when they come across something new and potentially dangerous! Couldn't very well
have that, now could we?!"

"One thing I've always marveled about humans, is how grotesquely they can undervalue just one person. For even one, single person, doing anything: existing, breathing, caring... It can make all the difference in the universe. Just one person caring can change everything."

"I pride myself on never saying things I don't mean. My words are the most powerful things I have; to dull them with insincerity would make a fool of me."

"Blye?"
"Yes, Sol?"
"I have successfully deduced what you are when talking to girls."
"... I don't think I wanna hear this..."
"Oh, I'm sure you don't, but I'm gonna tell you anyway! You, Bliant Iri Flemming, when speaking to the opposite gender, are an awkward potato!"
"... That really helped my self-esteem and boosted my confidence as a whole, knowing that. Thanks, Sis, from the bottom of my hearts - and count those."
"You're welcome, Big Bro! It's my job to do this sort of thing, you know."
"I had no idea one could gain employment for being irritating."
"You just hafta know where to look for these sorts of jobs."
"Riiight..."

But... Since it falls unto my lot,
That I should rise, and you should not...
I'll gently rise, and I'll softly call,
"Good night, and joy be with you all..."

| People Significant to Him |
| Delilah; mother | Cynthia; aunt | Sakura; oldest sister | Verity; older sister | Caelius; older brother |
| Soleona; younger sister |
| Leisa Reiter; a girl who loved him | Astraea Goldleaf; once a patient, who thought the world of him |

| Name Meaning |
Bliant = Healer, Iri = Fire, Light

| Nicknames |
Blye, Awkward Potato, Junior

| Themes |
Potato - Cheryl Wheeler | What Makes You Beautiful - One Direction
I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) - The Proclaimers [Sleeping at Last cover] | Photograph - Ed Sheeran [Sam Tsui and KHS cover]

| Misc. Info |
Despite his knowledge of the sweet being unhealthy to consume often, Bliant is a hopeless chocoholic like his mother. A bar or two of his preferred chocolate is always on his person at all times, and occasionally he will offer pieces as a calming remedy to those badly shaken.

If you are ever in need of a gift for Bliant, simply give him chocolate. He will love you forever. Unless it happens to be white chocolate you gift him, which would make him dislike you a small bit.

He finds that both men and women can be exceedingly attractive to him.

He has a female Thai cat, named Mae Thep, though he usually calls her simply Mae or Maneki. She's a rather snobbish feline, being very much a one-person cat, and rather territorial of Bliant.

| Story Snippet |
A hoarse cry flew free of a scarred throat, bringing with it the distinct metallic taste of crimson blood. A taste this particular young man was far too accustomed to.
As his form was wracked by a violent coughing fit, the scarlet droplets spattered down his shirt and across his bedspread, gleaming eerily in the dim lighting. He likened their faint sparkling to some form of mocking; they twinkled merrily without a care in the world, as he lay here in this gods-for-saken lint ball of a hospital, dying. From what, he didn't even know. He'd wanted, if he were met with death in the rat-infested country, to die valiantly among his fellow soldiers, and go down with a fight. He didn't want a gruesome death, but he didn't desire a pathetic one, either.
Unfortunately, as he sputtered up another bout of his own plasma, he thought morosely that fate was delivering him some sick combination of both. What did I do to deserve this? Oliver Cabello asked himself, tossing his head against his pillow in frustration, clenching his blankets hard in one hand in the meanwhile. Three days ago, during a march towards the front lines with his unit, he'd suddenly felt nauseous, doubled over, and began coughing so horribly he thought his lungs themselves might be jarred from their place in his chest. He spat up flecks of crimson soon after, and his commander ordered him to be taken to the nearest mobile hospital unit. Which he was swiftly delivered to, but not even the doctors had any idea what was wrong with him. His ailment - suddenly coughing profuse amounts of blood with no rhyme or reason, and feeling as though he could barely breath without hacking, and lacking any other symptoms - absolutely boggled them all. And no amount of staves or magically-potent healers could repair whatever had broken inside him.
Tears - not the first wept by the young man over the past days - trickled from the corners of his eyes, as he desperately didn't want to die. Especially to some stupid disease no one had ever seen before; the doctors were so baffled, they declared his illness, the 'Olea Disease'. Oliver had a family he needed to support back home, and he was sweet on a girl from his village - Kayra, her name was - he couldn't just die on them, without another word. That was... Inconceivably terrifying. Of course, one enlisted in the army, with the prospect of dying being a token standard of the occupation, but Oliver always thought, that it was always the person right ahead of you, or right next to you that was taken out. Never you. Always 'somebody else'.
With another hack and more blood, Oliver realized, his lips twisting into a grimace, that to everybody else, he was 'somebody else'.
The sick soldier wearily pulled his attention from his own dismal situation to his surroundings, when a knock at the door came as a welcome distraction. "Corporal Cabello?" the nurse leered warily into the man's dim chamber, "We've found someone who might be able to help you."
Oliver would've given a flippant, disbelieving remark if another round of coughing hadn't kept him from saying it.
Taking his lack of worded response as a sign to come in, the nurse opened the door further and stepped aside, allowing a tall, shadowed figure to stand menacingly in the doorway. For a moment, as all Oliver could discern was a black figure, he immediately thought with a rush of terrified adrenaline, he was further gone than he thought, and Death itself was standing only steps away from the foot of his bed. But after a moment of true inspection, the man relaxed, as he observed a peachy complexion beneath black and white robing, and a mop of wavy - just shy of curly - chocolate hair was planted atop the stranger's head. One lock of hair fell away from the rest, acting as a forelock that draped to newcomer's left eyebrow. Below that, warm brown eyes sparkled surprisingly brightly, despite the dim illumination within the room, but an expression displaying tentative worry framed those eyes.
The stranger was slim and very tall, dressed in a fine black tailcoat, clasped with silver buttons - shaped like the heads of... Unicorns? - with white pants and undershirt, and a ruffled cravat was tucked neatly into the top of his coat. At the neck of his cravat was a small, shining object Oliver couldn't quite identify, but he could discern it was silver and crimson in color.
Around one shoulder, the stranger had a black bag, with an insignia upon the front: what Oliver recognized thankfully as the red cross. "Ah, Mister Cabello?" the young man at the door - young, the soldier noticed, younger than he at twenty, certainly - asked hesitantly, grasping his medical bag nervously in a desperate bid to keep from wringing his hands.
"Yes?" Oliver asked feebly, quelling another hacking fit.
"My name is Bliant," the boy - yes, he had to be a boy, no more than seventeen at the most - bowed politely at the waist, "Bliant Flemming. I'm here to help."
"What can you do?" the soldier sputtered accusingly, voice contorting roughly as he coughed again. Oliver was suspect about a child knowing anything about a disease trained healers did not.
"Don't let my age fool you," Bliant pleaded hastily, almost reading the soldier's mind, "I know much more than my appearance will let on. I'm not from around here, and might just know what's wrong with you. But, you have to let me try, first."
Oliver narrowed his eyes faintly, scrutinizing the boy's nervous features, before daring hope overrode him and he croaked out a pitiful, "Please."
A smile that could light up a room broke out across Bliant's features at this, and thereafter, he crossed the room in a handful of strides, and stopped at the side of Oliver's bed. Gently, he tilted the man's head back and placed a hand to his throat, studying for any sign of disturbance in the natural anatomy. "Doc?" the boy clearly stiffened at being called such a title, "Am I gonna die?"
Bliant withdrew his hand, and looked Oliver in the eye, with an expression swelling with staggering courage and hope. "Not if I have anything to say about it."