Re: The Gradual Massacre (GBS2G4) [Round 4: Misty Swamp]
12-27-2011, 08:27 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.
“Come in,” the Sage shouted, but the knocking persisted.
The Sage swiveled around to face the door, and noticed for the first time in a very long while exactly how cluttered his room was. For some reason, it irked him today. Drearily, as if his visitor shook him from his sleep, he stumbled through the mess. Halfway there, he tried again: “You can come in!”
Still knocking. Was this guy deaf or what? The man churred, or made such a sound, at least. He reached for the handle, not quite expecting a familiar face. “For goodness' sake, are you deaf or wh....”
Acacia was left wondering why the Sage was in a particularily gruff mood (even more than usual) but she couldn't follow his lips from the start, and figured it'd be best just to smile and nod. Acacia had a smile so laden with emotions that you could do naught but feel sorry for her. The Sage dusted himself off – useless, since he'd be wading his way back to his desk soon – and apologised sheepishly for his inconsiderate remark. “I'm... out of it today.”
“I couldn't read it very well. What were you saying?”
“Oh. Nevermind it. Please, come in!”
The Sage stomped and huffed his way back to his desk, while Acacia trailed the walls and cabins – he had told her to have a seat, but must of the seats in the room were cluttered with trinkets and vials and a book or two.
“So tell me, Acacia, what ails you.”
“Oh, nothing. Well, something, but I'm not here as a patient if that's what you're asking. I never got to thank you for saving my life. Quad was... It used to be so much of me.”
The Sage stayed silent, he wasn't a man to boast, but he at least admitted to himself that getting some gratitude felt pretty dang satisfying.
“...But I also have a favor to ask you. I think I told you once that I used to be a botanist? Ever since I arrived in Hearth I'd taken up gardening as a pastime, but I want to do more than that for this city.” She stroked the shelves, trailing the shapes of bottles inside them with her fingers, playing with their size and weight. “I want to know what all these herbs are. I could grow them, cultivate them so you'd never run out. I want to help in your research for the next way to cure the fog's effects. Sage, this is the only way I know I'd be able to repay Hearth.”
The Sage shivered, as if his heart froze over. “No. I have tons of work to do, and you wouldn't be able to make heads or tails out of this mess. Thanks for the offer.”
“But... why not?”
“I'm sorry. It just doesn't work like that. Please, leave me be.”
Acacia had been smiling so faintly up until then, but now she was boiling. Her hand clenched the bottle so tight she could have broken it. She was about to do something, but whatever it would have been she got interrupted.
“Sage, quickly! Some guy just got brought in and he's flipping out!”
The Sage spun out of his office, past stalwart Acacia. He grabbed a bottle from the cabin beside the door on his way out, almost at random, and made haste to Hearth's main hall. Acacia followed, maybe out of sheer spite.
“S-Sis... She... she is...”
Algernon laid slumped against the wooden bark wall, his body and face contracted into straining agony. His clothes were hot and wet all over, sweat and tears and drool and muck becoming one indiscernible sludge that had wrung itself all over him. His parasite stood as straight as a pin, gnawing on his forehead so tightly he was almost bleeding. Purple gas had condensed on his clothes into droplets and stains, and his ever rising fever made it cling to him like a second skin.
The moment Sage laid eyes on him, he went all pale.
“Doc, what's the matter? Help him!”
“I... I'm sorry, but... I can't. He's... We'll have to wait.” The Sage hung his head low. “Please excuse me.”
“Why isn't he doing anything?” “The poor kid... I hope he'll be alright.” “I wish I could help him!” “Mom, is this dying?” “Sono otoko warui deshou ka?” “Lousy no good quack acting so important last meeting – ”
Sage carried Algernon into his room, lying him down on the bed after clearing some flasks off of it, and got him out of his stained clothes. He was carrying a locker, which Sage had enough mind to keep on his person instead of throwing it onto a pile in the corner. He felt his head (apprehensive not to get bitten by the... by that) and concluded the fever was only getting worse.
“It's about time you explained your schtick to me, doctor.”
“...I wanted to keep this a secret for as long as possible, Acacia, but your persistence leaves me no choice.” This time, The Sage seemed to have a much better idea of what bottle he needed than any other time. Shoving aside an icebox of vials in front of a small cabin, he rummaged in the bottom shelf for a tiny beaker, sealed off with some flimsy film. It contained brilliant blue crystals that seemed to change shape from the angle you looked at them. “This is a substance I discovered in an old magic book. The ancient recipe calls it “Panacea Placebo,” or something like that. I dubbed it thaumice. This miracle cure can heal any illness or wound, no matter how bad, but only as long as the patient believes in it.”
Theatrically, he waved towards the rest of the room, like the perfect actor. “All of these “potions” are just ordinary herbs, or salt, or water, all mixed with a bit of thaumice. They're all for show, only to make people think I have an array of tinctures and ointments for every little qualm. I could throw all of this away and still cure people if only they'd buy it.”
He showed her the stacks of books on his desk. Names and species of all of Hearth's citizens, some simply labeled 'one-of,' and endless lists of illnesses they'd had and what The Sage prescribed them. “I have to keep track of everything I allocate to which disease, and for which species, just too keep good faith. I definitely wasn't happy when my medicine didn't just cure your mist-related symptoms, but also your Quad addiction. I had Raeves in my office only a day after you told someone about it to hear if it'd be able to help him quit woodpecking.
“It's all fake, Acacia. That's why I've been walking around with a hacking cough, I can't cure myself because I know that. That's why I didn't want you as an assistant, because then I wouldn't be able to cure you either. As for your friend, he's out cold, so he can't believe much of anything. I'll have to wait until he wakes up.
“Acacia, since the secret's out anyway for you, could you watch your friend for a while? I think I have an apology to make, and I need to get my thoughts straightened out before I say anything on the matter. Lying is a second nature to me, so don't expect me to be gone long. If he starts shivering, that's normal. It'll take a while for him to sweat out all the fever and the fog, so just leave him be. Whatever you do, don't cover him up. It'll only make things more tedious. The moment he wakes up, just give him anything you think he could swallow. I worked with red leaves for most mist incidents so far so look for something like that if you want to stick to my story.”
“Come in,” the Sage shouted, but the knocking persisted.
The Sage swiveled around to face the door, and noticed for the first time in a very long while exactly how cluttered his room was. For some reason, it irked him today. Drearily, as if his visitor shook him from his sleep, he stumbled through the mess. Halfway there, he tried again: “You can come in!”
Still knocking. Was this guy deaf or what? The man churred, or made such a sound, at least. He reached for the handle, not quite expecting a familiar face. “For goodness' sake, are you deaf or wh....”
Acacia was left wondering why the Sage was in a particularily gruff mood (even more than usual) but she couldn't follow his lips from the start, and figured it'd be best just to smile and nod. Acacia had a smile so laden with emotions that you could do naught but feel sorry for her. The Sage dusted himself off – useless, since he'd be wading his way back to his desk soon – and apologised sheepishly for his inconsiderate remark. “I'm... out of it today.”
“I couldn't read it very well. What were you saying?”
“Oh. Nevermind it. Please, come in!”
The Sage stomped and huffed his way back to his desk, while Acacia trailed the walls and cabins – he had told her to have a seat, but must of the seats in the room were cluttered with trinkets and vials and a book or two.
“So tell me, Acacia, what ails you.”
“Oh, nothing. Well, something, but I'm not here as a patient if that's what you're asking. I never got to thank you for saving my life. Quad was... It used to be so much of me.”
The Sage stayed silent, he wasn't a man to boast, but he at least admitted to himself that getting some gratitude felt pretty dang satisfying.
“...But I also have a favor to ask you. I think I told you once that I used to be a botanist? Ever since I arrived in Hearth I'd taken up gardening as a pastime, but I want to do more than that for this city.” She stroked the shelves, trailing the shapes of bottles inside them with her fingers, playing with their size and weight. “I want to know what all these herbs are. I could grow them, cultivate them so you'd never run out. I want to help in your research for the next way to cure the fog's effects. Sage, this is the only way I know I'd be able to repay Hearth.”
The Sage shivered, as if his heart froze over. “No. I have tons of work to do, and you wouldn't be able to make heads or tails out of this mess. Thanks for the offer.”
“But... why not?”
“I'm sorry. It just doesn't work like that. Please, leave me be.”
Acacia had been smiling so faintly up until then, but now she was boiling. Her hand clenched the bottle so tight she could have broken it. She was about to do something, but whatever it would have been she got interrupted.
“Sage, quickly! Some guy just got brought in and he's flipping out!”
The Sage spun out of his office, past stalwart Acacia. He grabbed a bottle from the cabin beside the door on his way out, almost at random, and made haste to Hearth's main hall. Acacia followed, maybe out of sheer spite.
“S-Sis... She... she is...”
Algernon laid slumped against the wooden bark wall, his body and face contracted into straining agony. His clothes were hot and wet all over, sweat and tears and drool and muck becoming one indiscernible sludge that had wrung itself all over him. His parasite stood as straight as a pin, gnawing on his forehead so tightly he was almost bleeding. Purple gas had condensed on his clothes into droplets and stains, and his ever rising fever made it cling to him like a second skin.
The moment Sage laid eyes on him, he went all pale.
“Doc, what's the matter? Help him!”
“I... I'm sorry, but... I can't. He's... We'll have to wait.” The Sage hung his head low. “Please excuse me.”
“Why isn't he doing anything?” “The poor kid... I hope he'll be alright.” “I wish I could help him!” “Mom, is this dying?” “Sono otoko warui deshou ka?” “Lousy no good quack acting so important last meeting – ”
Sage carried Algernon into his room, lying him down on the bed after clearing some flasks off of it, and got him out of his stained clothes. He was carrying a locker, which Sage had enough mind to keep on his person instead of throwing it onto a pile in the corner. He felt his head (apprehensive not to get bitten by the... by that) and concluded the fever was only getting worse.
“It's about time you explained your schtick to me, doctor.”
“...I wanted to keep this a secret for as long as possible, Acacia, but your persistence leaves me no choice.” This time, The Sage seemed to have a much better idea of what bottle he needed than any other time. Shoving aside an icebox of vials in front of a small cabin, he rummaged in the bottom shelf for a tiny beaker, sealed off with some flimsy film. It contained brilliant blue crystals that seemed to change shape from the angle you looked at them. “This is a substance I discovered in an old magic book. The ancient recipe calls it “Panacea Placebo,” or something like that. I dubbed it thaumice. This miracle cure can heal any illness or wound, no matter how bad, but only as long as the patient believes in it.”
Theatrically, he waved towards the rest of the room, like the perfect actor. “All of these “potions” are just ordinary herbs, or salt, or water, all mixed with a bit of thaumice. They're all for show, only to make people think I have an array of tinctures and ointments for every little qualm. I could throw all of this away and still cure people if only they'd buy it.”
He showed her the stacks of books on his desk. Names and species of all of Hearth's citizens, some simply labeled 'one-of,' and endless lists of illnesses they'd had and what The Sage prescribed them. “I have to keep track of everything I allocate to which disease, and for which species, just too keep good faith. I definitely wasn't happy when my medicine didn't just cure your mist-related symptoms, but also your Quad addiction. I had Raeves in my office only a day after you told someone about it to hear if it'd be able to help him quit woodpecking.
“It's all fake, Acacia. That's why I've been walking around with a hacking cough, I can't cure myself because I know that. That's why I didn't want you as an assistant, because then I wouldn't be able to cure you either. As for your friend, he's out cold, so he can't believe much of anything. I'll have to wait until he wakes up.
“Acacia, since the secret's out anyway for you, could you watch your friend for a while? I think I have an apology to make, and I need to get my thoughts straightened out before I say anything on the matter. Lying is a second nature to me, so don't expect me to be gone long. If he starts shivering, that's normal. It'll take a while for him to sweat out all the fever and the fog, so just leave him be. Whatever you do, don't cover him up. It'll only make things more tedious. The moment he wakes up, just give him anything you think he could swallow. I worked with red leaves for most mist incidents so far so look for something like that if you want to stick to my story.”
quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.