RE: THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED [S!1][ROUND THREE: PORT CERIDWEN]
09-21-2016, 12:57 AM
Aaron jolted up in complete darkness, aching and sweating all over. He struggled to untangle himself. Clatter. Shuffle. A sound of a dropped magazine. He soon found nose-to-nose with an elfin woman who was wearing something along the lines of an old-timey nurse outfit. She frowned.
“Aaron Abstract,” She said rather peevishly, not exactly appreciative of closeness. “You’ll be able to visit the patients in fifteen minutes.”
Then she left in a huff, not even giving the Aurumancer enough time to apologize. Aaron stood in awkward silence before realizing (to his relief) he was not the only person inside of the waiting room. Two figures sat across from him. Shapiro was nervously bouncing a knee. Tschichold was a bit more cavalier. He waved.
“Hey.”
Hey, hey, hey. Aaron started blurting out everything that happened since they last met. The artist seemed to take it in stride, though there was a great degree of flustered embarrassment when Aaron talked about his fucked-up mural in explicit, panicky detail. Aaron’s speed slowed when he got to the recollection that Change, well, changed. Should he tell him about that? Yes? No…Maybe? Let’s delay that with a question. Hey, hey Tschic. How do you do? What you been doing?
“I feel great!” Tschichold beamed. The fanged rictus of his grin said otherwise. “I sold my soul to a strobe light.”
Yeah. Maybe not. Aaron mentally backpedaled and put on his best Aaron-y impression, which lied somewhere between intense apathy and mild concern. “Why did you do that.”
Silence. The lackadaisical attitude drained from Tschichold and for once, he looked very tired. This lasted for about five seconds. “W-well, I’m pretty vain. Sometimes you just want to look mediocrely handsome for once, you know?”
“No, really.” Aaron furrowed his brow. “Why did you do that.”
A profound, merciless silence filled the waiting room. Tschichold looked a bit taken aback as though he was shanked in the gut. He was still trying to look casual, but that conceit was slowly slipping away with each second. Tschichold looked like a wild animal backed into a corner with nowhere to go. Aaron looked coldly at the artist.
“I. I did it,” Tschichold swallowed. “Because—”
“-Master Aaron Abstract,” the nurse seemed to materialize out of nowhere, pointedly ignoring the emotional fracas in the room. “As I said before, are you very much ready to see the patients?”
“Yes, yes,” Aaron waved away the nurse, who clucked in disapproval. “I’m ready. And can I ask you a favor?”
Files were signed and guest-passes were doled out. Aaron and his informal entourage made their way into the bowels of the hospital. He glanced back at Tschichold, who slunk behind at the back in immense shame. The Aurumancer felt a bit sorry for him, but it was sorry born of sympathy. Sorry, Tschic Aaron mulled.
I’m the liar around here.
---
“We are so happy to receive you, Master Abstract. It has been while we have received a proper wizard.”
The senior physician toothily smiled, which did not give Aaron much confidence. She led the group down a hallway into the emergency department. The state of the patients was…best left unstated, to say the least. The wizard felt a lump in his throat. Guilt was a bitter pill to swallow, after all.
Shapiro looked as though he was about to faint. Meanwhile, Tschic leaned over a particularly florid-looking patient. He looked this-way and that, going about that for a few seconds, before flashing a grin at Aaron. “Very aesthetic.”
Aaron frowned, eliciting a wounded expression from the artist. “…Just a joke,” he mumbled. “Can’t take it I guess.”
Tschichold then proceeded to sulk away, presumably to look at the state of other patients. Aaron was not really quite sure why he was doing that (artistic inspiration?) or even why he was allowing him to indulge in his morbid curiosity. Tschic was a bit too mercurial for the wizard’s tastes but he was harmless. Mostly. Aaron felt okay with leaving him to his own devices, eliciting a mortified what-the-hell expression from Shapiro.
“Strange man,” the physician unhelpfully observed.
“Mm. How are the patients?”
“Bad. Twenty require inpatient care. Ten are in critical condition. Five are dead.” There was an uncomfortable pause as she let the sordid facts sink into everyone’s mind. “Worrisome but interesting. Very interesting. We had not seen these sort of injuries for decades.”
“Interesting!? How can you find any of this interesting?”
“Well, these injuries and residual symptoms are obviously from nightmares. Mildly concerning considering nightmare attacks are as rare as the hair on Braud’s head but it is not what I consider out of place. Nightmare related injures tend to rise and fall over time, after all. However, one of own — yours truly — had a clever idea to look further.”
She gave Aaron a document as dense as the councilors of Citadel. Aaron quickly leafed through the papers. Divination results, he recognized, identifying the residual auras of patient injuries. Aurumancy came up with alarming frequency.
“M-hmm. Mm.” Aaron muttered, trying not to have a meltdown on the spot. “And this says what about our situation.”
“The nightmares are using spells.”
“And?”
“Nightmares do not use spells unless empowered by an outside force. These nightmare attacks are deliberate. They are searching for something. Perhaps, someone. And that is what I find interesting.”
She smiled, not that Aaron saw in his guilt-induced stupor. He found it hard to concede the fact the spectral wad of cash was also the malevolent force currently eroding at the integrity of Ceridwen. Change was his familiar, his…friend. He could not be it, could he? Could he? This was too absurd to be true. Horrified laughter started to spill out of his mouth. Haha ha ha…ha…
“Is there something funny, Master Abstract?”
Yes. “…No. No!” Aaron made his point really clear. He pulled himself together. “When was the last time the nightmares were empowered with such intensity?”
“Well, decades ago,” the physician sheepishly said, barely hiding her glee about her secret side hobby. “Something about an egg. Not sure if a literal egg or just a symbol for the cycle of death and rebirth—”
Egg. Right. Good enough. “Thankyoumadam and goodbye.”
Much to the senior physician’s disappointment, Aaron proceeded to stomp out of the hospital, cheeks red with guilt. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he inadvertently ran into Tschic, who had apparently finished making his round of observations on the patients. Aaron expected some non-sequitur critique on the hospital wallpaper, but the artist seem to be rather deep in thought.
“Tschic.”
“Aaron.” A pause. “There is something weird about the patients.”
Aaron opened and closed his mouth, not really sure what to say.
“All of them have brown hair, grey eyes, and blue clothes.”
Oh my gods, Aaron thought. I have brown hair, grey eyes, and blue clothes.
“In fact, they almost look like you—”
Aaron knew Tschic was trying to be helpful but the wizard had enough serious revelations for the day. He proceeded to trap the artist into an awkward headlock — a task surprisingly harder than he thought — and proceeded to drag him kicking and screaming out of the hospital. Shapiro scuttled behind, still wondering why his superior turned uncharacteristically for the belligerent. Not that he minded, of course.
“Aaron Abstract,” She said rather peevishly, not exactly appreciative of closeness. “You’ll be able to visit the patients in fifteen minutes.”
Then she left in a huff, not even giving the Aurumancer enough time to apologize. Aaron stood in awkward silence before realizing (to his relief) he was not the only person inside of the waiting room. Two figures sat across from him. Shapiro was nervously bouncing a knee. Tschichold was a bit more cavalier. He waved.
“Hey.”
Hey, hey, hey. Aaron started blurting out everything that happened since they last met. The artist seemed to take it in stride, though there was a great degree of flustered embarrassment when Aaron talked about his fucked-up mural in explicit, panicky detail. Aaron’s speed slowed when he got to the recollection that Change, well, changed. Should he tell him about that? Yes? No…Maybe? Let’s delay that with a question. Hey, hey Tschic. How do you do? What you been doing?
“I feel great!” Tschichold beamed. The fanged rictus of his grin said otherwise. “I sold my soul to a strobe light.”
Yeah. Maybe not. Aaron mentally backpedaled and put on his best Aaron-y impression, which lied somewhere between intense apathy and mild concern. “Why did you do that.”
Silence. The lackadaisical attitude drained from Tschichold and for once, he looked very tired. This lasted for about five seconds. “W-well, I’m pretty vain. Sometimes you just want to look mediocrely handsome for once, you know?”
“No, really.” Aaron furrowed his brow. “Why did you do that.”
A profound, merciless silence filled the waiting room. Tschichold looked a bit taken aback as though he was shanked in the gut. He was still trying to look casual, but that conceit was slowly slipping away with each second. Tschichold looked like a wild animal backed into a corner with nowhere to go. Aaron looked coldly at the artist.
“I. I did it,” Tschichold swallowed. “Because—”
“-Master Aaron Abstract,” the nurse seemed to materialize out of nowhere, pointedly ignoring the emotional fracas in the room. “As I said before, are you very much ready to see the patients?”
“Yes, yes,” Aaron waved away the nurse, who clucked in disapproval. “I’m ready. And can I ask you a favor?”
Files were signed and guest-passes were doled out. Aaron and his informal entourage made their way into the bowels of the hospital. He glanced back at Tschichold, who slunk behind at the back in immense shame. The Aurumancer felt a bit sorry for him, but it was sorry born of sympathy. Sorry, Tschic Aaron mulled.
I’m the liar around here.
---
“We are so happy to receive you, Master Abstract. It has been while we have received a proper wizard.”
The senior physician toothily smiled, which did not give Aaron much confidence. She led the group down a hallway into the emergency department. The state of the patients was…best left unstated, to say the least. The wizard felt a lump in his throat. Guilt was a bitter pill to swallow, after all.
Shapiro looked as though he was about to faint. Meanwhile, Tschic leaned over a particularly florid-looking patient. He looked this-way and that, going about that for a few seconds, before flashing a grin at Aaron. “Very aesthetic.”
Aaron frowned, eliciting a wounded expression from the artist. “…Just a joke,” he mumbled. “Can’t take it I guess.”
Tschichold then proceeded to sulk away, presumably to look at the state of other patients. Aaron was not really quite sure why he was doing that (artistic inspiration?) or even why he was allowing him to indulge in his morbid curiosity. Tschic was a bit too mercurial for the wizard’s tastes but he was harmless. Mostly. Aaron felt okay with leaving him to his own devices, eliciting a mortified what-the-hell expression from Shapiro.
“Strange man,” the physician unhelpfully observed.
“Mm. How are the patients?”
“Bad. Twenty require inpatient care. Ten are in critical condition. Five are dead.” There was an uncomfortable pause as she let the sordid facts sink into everyone’s mind. “Worrisome but interesting. Very interesting. We had not seen these sort of injuries for decades.”
“Interesting!? How can you find any of this interesting?”
“Well, these injuries and residual symptoms are obviously from nightmares. Mildly concerning considering nightmare attacks are as rare as the hair on Braud’s head but it is not what I consider out of place. Nightmare related injures tend to rise and fall over time, after all. However, one of own — yours truly — had a clever idea to look further.”
She gave Aaron a document as dense as the councilors of Citadel. Aaron quickly leafed through the papers. Divination results, he recognized, identifying the residual auras of patient injuries. Aurumancy came up with alarming frequency.
“M-hmm. Mm.” Aaron muttered, trying not to have a meltdown on the spot. “And this says what about our situation.”
“The nightmares are using spells.”
“And?”
“Nightmares do not use spells unless empowered by an outside force. These nightmare attacks are deliberate. They are searching for something. Perhaps, someone. And that is what I find interesting.”
She smiled, not that Aaron saw in his guilt-induced stupor. He found it hard to concede the fact the spectral wad of cash was also the malevolent force currently eroding at the integrity of Ceridwen. Change was his familiar, his…friend. He could not be it, could he? Could he? This was too absurd to be true. Horrified laughter started to spill out of his mouth. Haha ha ha…ha…
“Is there something funny, Master Abstract?”
Yes. “…No. No!” Aaron made his point really clear. He pulled himself together. “When was the last time the nightmares were empowered with such intensity?”
“Well, decades ago,” the physician sheepishly said, barely hiding her glee about her secret side hobby. “Something about an egg. Not sure if a literal egg or just a symbol for the cycle of death and rebirth—”
Egg. Right. Good enough. “Thankyoumadam and goodbye.”
Much to the senior physician’s disappointment, Aaron proceeded to stomp out of the hospital, cheeks red with guilt. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he inadvertently ran into Tschic, who had apparently finished making his round of observations on the patients. Aaron expected some non-sequitur critique on the hospital wallpaper, but the artist seem to be rather deep in thought.
“Tschic.”
“Aaron.” A pause. “There is something weird about the patients.”
Aaron opened and closed his mouth, not really sure what to say.
“All of them have brown hair, grey eyes, and blue clothes.”
Oh my gods, Aaron thought. I have brown hair, grey eyes, and blue clothes.
“In fact, they almost look like you—”
Aaron knew Tschic was trying to be helpful but the wizard had enough serious revelations for the day. He proceeded to trap the artist into an awkward headlock — a task surprisingly harder than he thought — and proceeded to drag him kicking and screaming out of the hospital. Shapiro scuttled behind, still wondering why his superior turned uncharacteristically for the belligerent. Not that he minded, of course.