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The chill afternoon lay heavy on Trisica, sleepy with the coming rain. Wind snaked around stone corners and crept into window cracks and under doors. Humidity clung to skin, leaving an uncomfortable stickiness down spines and across temples. Through her open door, Jannisari could hear the irritated grumble of clammy students as they shuffled to and fro. It was a day for huddling in bed or manual labor - for sweating and muscle-stretching in what little sunlight still shone. However, Helminha Jannisari was, for better or worse, not a woman prone to either.

Instead, she sat behind her desk, papers arranged in a neat semicircle in front of her. Possible Methods of Contagion, Corpse Disposal, The Merits of Cleanliness in a Time of Disease, among others: these were her cautionary notes, neatly written, lying in wait for a certain emissary. Dr. Jannasari's skin tingled; Prince Absalom had sent the representative and the Council had sent him to her. It was a fantastic honor and the pleased feeling within her grew. It had been a long time since she had spoken face-to-face with someone from Helios and she confessed (to herself only) curiosity.

Regardless, it was unlikely they would have time to chat about anything beyond business. Her fingers drummed on the smooth wood. Someone was supposed to guide the emissary to her office; a stunted perhaps, Jannisari thought idly. She never employed them, but they had uses. It still sent a shiver of unease down her spine all the way into her toes. Such unnatural creatures. Speaking of unnatural... Dr. Jannisari pulled a clean sheet of paper towards her and began to scribble out bits of observations and the possibilities of her laurels.

Almost reluctantly, Dr. Jannisari looked up from her page as a young man announced Sir Clement Delacroix. At least the representative had not been lead in by a Plague. Would it have been politically insulting to have a Plague take care of such matters? Jannisari knew the Council had encountered some difficulties with Helios. Her lack of remembrance was another reminder to try to keep more abreast of things beyond her research. How many missed opportunities had flown past her unaware?

Sighing inaudibly, she stood, robes whispering against the stone floor, and bowed politely. The guide was a bit too hasty, she thought, and frowned slightly. Perhaps they needed to retrain some of the messengers in proper etiquette concerning important personages. Quickly and thoroughly, her sharp eyes assessed Sir Delacroix. He was stiff and had an odd countenance. With that middling reddish-brown hair and slender stature, he would have been a nondescript man, if not for the expression fixed on his face. It was regrettable, she mused, but she had never known anyone from a Delacroix family. Startled slightly by his brusque speech, she raised one superlicious brow.

She briefly considered letting the silence drag between them, a game of chicken. "Please, Sir Delacroix, have a seat." Gesturing to the two seat pulled up near her desk, she sat back down, steepling her fingers. "You are correct in that I am a Grimm, although the name does not sit well with me.  I am a doctor, and the addition of a Plague simply means I now have extra materials for my research." A note of excitement crept in her otherwise dry voice, her words coming faster as she continued to speak. Sometimes, she felt the possibilities well up over her and overwhelm.

"As of now, it is still in the first stages of infection; that is, the disease is still bound to an item. A set of golden laurels. Are you a student of plagueology, Sir Delacroix?"

Dr. Jannisari waited until Sir Delacroix wound down. His face was mostly unmoving, difficult to read, but she passively noted the flicker of his eyes. Thoughts whirled through her mind and she tidied her already neat  papers before responding, a long hmmm sighing out of her mouth.

"Personally, I am not so sure of the possibility of a servos. Laurels were used to crown a victor in sports or war, it is true. For a while, they were even symbols of scholastic merits, indicating a victory over knowledge. Although those uses indeed seem pure and refined, gilded laurels were an emperor's crown, to show their elevation to be equal or greater than divinity. While it may be a symbol of high status, the purity is compromised." Dr. Jannisari's hands moved as she spoke, the aborted and staccato nature caused by her desk. Her long fingers moved towards and away from Sir Delacroix, always coming to rest back in a steepled position near her chest.

"They are an object of conceit and greed. These particular ones were made of a grandiose sense of pride. Thusly, I do not trust them or any Plague, servos or no. Plagues are embodiments of disease and death and I believe in general people are too quick to welcome them lightly." One thin finger tapped her desk gently. She was lost in thought, about the 'human'-like nature of Plagues, learned traits and behaviors, the possibilities between full intelligence or that of a domesticated animal. She looked up at Sir Delacroix and her eyes sharpened.

"To address your other points: while the research we do is indeed dangerous, it is a calculated risk we take in the hopes of one day reaching a solution, an antidote to this plague. A servos would not necessarily benefit us, either. I have had some intelligence that a servos may not heal indiscriminately, much the pity. I will be testing this should the laurels birth a servos. However, there are other precautions and procedures we can follow to ensure a greater degree of safety." Pausing, she pulled out a particular sheet of paper on quarantines.

"May I ask what sort of procedures concerning the plague are currently followed?"

At his words, Jannisari paused. She had blundered a bit, too overzealous in her distasteful thoughts to consider her conversational opponent. Sir Delacroix was too disarming for her peace of mind, or perhaps, Jannisari was too easily disarmed. Equal possibilities, she thought. Her lips parted, a small movement, to speak, to push the topic and badger it down, but she remained silent and her finger simply tapped, once, twice, on the papers in front of her. Better to let the subject pass unchallenged. Sir Delacroix was far sharper than his blunt exterior suggested, and she should watch herself. Oddly enough, she found she liked that about him. Quick people had always appealed to her.

He spoke and Jannisari watched him, the curl of his lip, the way he opened his own notes, and did not miss his jab at her earlier slip-up. At his first mention of burning corpses, Jannisari could feel her brows itching to rise up into her hairline and her eyes flickered sharply towards his bland face. With so many turning to religion in this time of death, how did this man not have riots on his hands? In the absence of a corpse, the final rites could not be given and their souls not absolved and laid to rest. In a devout's eyes, he was dooming the diseased to eternal damnation. It was ruthlessly efficient, but not feasible in a larger community. But she schooled her face into passive, polite interest, only moving her eyes until he was finished. Jannisari organized her thoughts like her papers, a semi-circle of point to point to point within her head and in her hands. She tapped her thumbs together: one. "Efficient as burning may seem, Sir Delacroix, it does not allow for religious rites to be performed upon the corpses. Even a man of science must attest to the power religion holds and inspires among others." Her eyes slanted to look at him. "I confess I wonder how you achieved such burnings without riots. But as to the matter at hand-" Her index fingers pressed each other briefly: two.

"When considering this disease we must keep in mind the seeds of that disease. Our research thus far has suggested they are instrumental in its spread." She deftly slid one paper to the forefront of her stack. The notes and pages were there not because she needed them, but because they provided her hands with things to do. Jannisari's hands were skittish creatures, prone to sweeping about in search of a flourish for her words. They gestured and supplicated and fidgeted unless she gave them something to do. She laid them flat on her desk. "The three seeds are the beginnings of a disease and, in the city, you must start at the root. Until such time as we are proven otherwise, we must treat the plague as though it infects in any manner it can: human contact, indirect contact, which is to say through objects, and through the air and water. These are the seeds of the plague and if you can prevent the disease from taking hold wherever possible, there will be less containment issues and less clean-up." As she spoke, Jannisari's hands crept up and steepled underneath her chin. Her fingers slid down, interlacing, the middle ones first, a slow, certain motion: three.

"In Gadu, sometimes rather than leaving the plagued to fester in their homes, we pull them out and transport them to communities in the wilds. Of course, some of the ill expire during transit, but they are no longer in our city. We also employ the beneficial Plagues to heal some of our populace." It was unspoken, but obvious, the ones healed would be those rich enough or influential enough to warrant such efforts. There was no possible way for all the infected to be healed through the odd methods of the Plagues. One day, the council would arrive at a cure for this vile disease, but that day was not close. Until then, management of the plague was all that could be hoped for. "In these communities, the afflicted are tended mostly by Grimms, to minimize spread. Upon death, we have established mass grave sites for corpse disposal. The main principle is to remove the sick from our city. When they are not removed, they are safely quarantined until the sick have been buried. The remaining houses are left empty and combed over for any Plague-bearing items. Occasionally, items are put to torch, but we dare not set house aflame. After some time standing empty, however, it appears the disease shrivels yup and infects no more. The exact time-frame is unknown but we estimate it to be a month without the presence of living hosts."

Jannisari supposed that Sir Delacroix had a point. As long as his methods appeased the general public, there was little to be said against them unless that person were of a religious bent. Dr. Jannisari did not think of religion often, although her sister was devout. She wondered idly if he followed any religion. As he spoke, she murmured assent, a delicate sound, like the idle noise of a faraway stream. A chill wind snaked around her temples, bringing with it the scent of rain.

At his question, her hands came down flat against the desk, the papers and pitted wood full of familiar textures. From the back of her throat, a small sound escaped, the birth of a sigh, caught back and swallowed behind a small, professional smile. "The seeds of disease cannot be truly eliminated, so much as limited. The issue of prevention is one the council holds very close to its heart. Currently, we have several scientists, myself included, working to develop ever more ways to combat this foul plague. And I must beg to differ on stopping the plague with money," she chuckled slightly here, but it was a mirthless sound, punctuation only. "For I have seen more research done with money than without, in truth." Her long fingers paged through the small circle of materials on her desk and pulled to the forefront a packet of three pages, filled with small, even hand writing. This she passed to him, saying, "I had this scribed for you. A listing of several preventative measures that may alter the tide in a city when followed vigorously."

Despite having handed him such a paper, she continued to speak, touching upon, expanding. "This disease spreads like an insidious lie. The first layer of protection is cleanliness. Plague spreads easiest in filth -- evidenced by the more rampant destruction it has caused among those not prone to daily ablutions. The moment the contagion comes in contact with us but is not yet inside us is critical. It is important to not only be clean of body, but of a like mind and surroundings as well." She paused, expressive hands ducking into her desk, hunters pinpointing their prey. A white cloth fluttered onto the papers, dangled. "A method I am quite fond of: a covering for the face, to prevent any of the seeds of disease to take root in the lungs. While I do not believe the smoke of plagued fire to be harmful, this pathogen may travel from the breath of one unwary person to another. Any precaution must be taken. The cloth is doused with essential oils and then tied about the nostril and mouth. The objective is to breathe in the heavy natural scents instead of death. It is currently in development as to which distillment is most effective."

Sir Delacroix's writing was precise, from what she could discern, and carried no excessive flourishes. She wondered that he had brought no aide with him. "The time frame may vary if there exist unclean things such as vermin within the house. The property can sometimes be dissembled, but it tends to remain empty, superstition staying many hands." Jannisari tapped her finger against the desk. "Any Grimm who is near this pestilence is a danger, yes. However, we require stringent procedures for safety. Most stay in the communities for which they work or simply travel betwixt there and here. However, if the plague was catching off of Grimms, it would be a danger to even meet with me, Sir Delacroix. My research sends me into close contact with our disease." The professional smile was back, the tiniest stretch of lips across teeth. Outside, the sky grew cloudier. "If you would like, I can arrange a meeting with one of the transporters, of course." Said person would have to be chosen carefully, coached on correct answers and comportment, she knew.

"Ah, now I hear you clear, Sir Delacroix. I apologize for the miscommunication." She nodded in agreement. "If only," she murmured, thinking of ceasing any and all contact betwixt people - a utopia. "Thus far, the plague has seemed to spread in all avenues we have given it, unfortunately. It is a highly contagious beast. The seeds of this disease are the starting points of contagion and miasma. We know for certain is it spread through human contact. It is, quite possibly, the most volatile disease I have encountered. The very beginning of this plague may stem from some heretofore undiscovered pocket of vapours within the earth that have leaked out to infect us. I would say that through the air and contact with people are things and other people plagued. There have been no instances of already diseased water, rather water that has been in contact with an afflicted person. But people and air travel everywhere, so it is scarcely more easy to contain." She sighed gently, her hands falling once more to her desk, fingers tangled in the white cloth. The scent of camphor, roses, cloves drifted out.

"The council of course appreciates any funding that may wind its way to us. It certainly eases the way to a cure, does it not? Monetary allocation is not something I am overly familiar with, although I share your base concerns." She waved her hand a bit, an elegant movement to signify that the matter was of little import. Jannisari glanced once more at his writing, so precise and efficient. One corner of her mouth quirked down. "It appears that oils of a menthol nature seems to be most effective for ridding the nostrils and lungs of disease-ridden air. Camphor and mint both cause an increase in mucous from the nose, cleansing the flesh of any unsavory contagion lodged within. Other alternatives include ambergris and rose. I typically use camphor and rose together. If such scents lay heavy within you, there is less room for a plague to take root."

Dr. Jannisari paused, a faint few wrinkles crinkling around her brow. "This method is something I advocate mainly to the students here. We have spoken to the people within our city, but the research involving scents is currently ongoing. I are attempting to gain more definite results. Wile camphor and mint seem to be the most effective, we wish to be relatively sure before implementing it citywide. An alternative to the masks, which many find cumbersome, is to smear some camphor directly onto the skin, atop the upper lip. However, excessive application has given some users an irritation of the skin there. Still, it is a small price to pay for prevention of a miasma taking you." Her narrow eyes slid to the window and the city beyond. "Despite land and space being in high demand, there are still houses that stand empty. A few souls have attempted living in such places: some have died, some have lived. While certain peoples had fled for the country-side, many yet have faith in the Council to provide a measure of curative." Where else would they find any cure? thought Jannisari acerbically. Fleeing for the countryside reduced contact to some extent, but also decreased a chance that a medical practitioner could help. No, she would take the city any day over the infested rural townships.

She absently drummed her fingers on the pitted desk, the reverberations causing the laurels to wink and glint in the hazy light. Outside, the sky began to drip, the gentle cascade of rain steaming the streets. "Yes, I have always been interested in the transmission of disease among people, Sir Delacroix. While it is true my research did not always include the Plague, I have studied it for some time before acquiring my item. And while I do look forward to the knowledge I may glean as it grows, this," she gestured to the black stained wreath. "is merely an opportunity. After all, what better way to learn of the plague than from Plague itself?"

"It is certainly a relief that some preventative measures are in place in Helios. For such a fair and important city, I am pleased at any safeguards. And although this disease is thus far not entirely preventable, clothing is a good measure. It harkens back to one of the most common points of contagion - touch. The more that is covered, the less flesh available for this plague to latch onto. If the covering fabric were to come into direct contact, however, I advise disposal by fire. A lacey or open-weave garment would provide little defense for the wearer. I would recommend this only be implemented with sturdier fabrics of a close weave." She idly fingered the fabric of her voluminous sleeve as she spoke, the weave tickling the pads of her fingertips. Dr. Jannisari paused, assessing Sir Delacroix's somber clothing.  An odd choice for a man of Helios, to be sure. The wind blew a spattering of rain against the shutter and she dropped the fabric.

"I would assume from your current dress that you would have no problem donning sturdy fabric. You seem a practical man, Sir Delacroix." She waved her hand dismissively. "The height of fashion in Helios is often impractical at best, even from an everyday view. As for the lesser potency of the plague in Shyregoed... it is a result of many factors, including the clothing choices. The harsh cold in the the north not only encourages an abundance of layers -leading to less exposed flesh, but slows down the disease itself. In the winter months, when the air freezes, both miasma and vapors are slowed. That is not to say that the disease itself suffers from lethargy, once infected, the plagued perish just as quickly. Instead the cold seems to affect only the seeds, the instances before it has contaminated a person." 

Jannisari resisted the urge to toy idly with the golden leaves. The faint tang of death drifted in the air and mixed with the heavy scent of rain. To her, it was utterly fascinating and utterly disgusting. If she stared long enough, the black of plague seemed to shift and move within the wreath. Pure foolishness. She shifted slightly, stacked her papers neatly, and did not look again at the putesco. At his comment of descending into hell, she looked up, steely eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. "How astute, Sir Delacroix. To be a plagueologist is to court death in the hopes that he may spill his secrets in intimacy. While I do find that most are in want of such a plagued item, nearly as many seem to enjoy dancing with death sans a handicap. It is perhaps foolhardy, although somewhat understandable." She twirled a quill in her fingers as she spoke, the short, simple feather bobbing up and down rhythmically. Jannasari's hands had difficulty staying still, always in movement, little fidgets or sweeping gestures. They were at odds with her often expressionless face.

"With or without grimmship, the plague holds danger for us all. However, I will confess that in this, I am glad of the possession. While I have made it my purpose to understand the nature of disease and am entirely used to the risks inherent, any advantage is not to be turned away. Indeed, it should be grudgingly embraced, if we are to defeat this malady. Regardless of what these laurels may be, I will make them suit my purpose." Her fingers steepled as she spoke and passionate determination flared in her eyes. There were no lengths she would not go to.