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xxxxxxxxxxxPAGE CONTENTS
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xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - Nocturnal Wanderer
xxxxxxxx »[PRP] - Secret Paths
xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - Counting Diseased Sheep
xxxxxxxx »[MRP] - An Issue of Contagion
xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - An Intriguing Offer
xxxxxxxx »[PRP] - Peppermint, Camphor, and Laurel Leaves
xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - Daily Correspondence
xxxxxxxx »[PRP] - A Scientific Questioning
xxxxxxxx »[PRP] - Plagues & Pages
xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - Word Watcher
xxxxxxxx »[PRP] - invaghito di qualcuno
xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - Washed Clean

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xxxxxxxxxxxNOCTURNAL WANDERER
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xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - Jannisari decides to do some late-night research



She did not often dream. So, when it came, it was visceral and real and painful and she awoke disoriented, fingers distractedly pulling at the old scars crisscrossing her abdomen. They were twisted and lightly ridged, reminders of long-ago illness. Chest heaving, she half expected to feel sharp claws pressing outward, tearing skin. Moonlight flickered across her rumpled bed, making it a luminous pale and casting blue shadows of nightmares over her eyelids. Slowly, she willed her breath to slow to a normal pace, half-formed terrors lingering like smoke from a dying fire. The dream remained elusive, only fragments of fear. Sighing deeply, she sat up slowly, her thin coverlet sliding to pool at her waist. After that, there was no possibility of returning to sleep so she rose, restless feet twitching. In the half-light, she began to dress; her Trisica robes fell thick and muffled her movements.

The streets were quiet in the pre-dawn; it was the space between drunkards stumbling home and laborers awakening. She walked briskly, with long strides from long legs. Although the distance was short, in the twilight it seemed fatalistically long, as if she could walk for ages and yet never reach her destination. Shadows stretched out thin arms in an odd welcome and the chill wind caressed her sides, wound around her own arms like a lover's embrace. Her mind, fully awake, whirled and ran with thoughts and ideas. Unfortunately, her research mostly lived in Trisica, her eventual goal. Huffing, she sped up, determined to shorten an already brief walk.

In the hallways of Trisica, cool moonlight filtered down, bathing the stone in blues and greys. During the day, spring was in full form, flirting with young emotions by dressing in her finest floral gown. The sun shone hot everyday, the wind blew cold and the shadows were the fading winter's last hiding spots. But at night, in the twilight darkness, everything was shade and shadow and the cold stones burned the thin soles of her shoes. She grumbled, the little sound of disquiet joining the faint whisper of her robes against the stone. Thin fingers stretched and touched walls; she guided herself by slivers of light and half-touches and wondered at the sparsity of torches. Shivering lightly, she pressed against the heavy wooden door. For a second, the door seemed to press back, resisting her intrusion, but it gave way with a small groan. Jannisari stepped into the dark room and rubbed her palms against her thighs.

Briefly, she thought of only grabbing what she needed and heading downward to her lab. It was larger than this, more open, but she didn't need space for her plans. She had this room memorized; it was more familiar to her than the bed she had vacated. Silently, she moved among chairs, stacks of books, all dark and waiting for someone to crash into them. The center of the room was dominated by a heavy desk, the wood scarred and pitted on the top from the idle scratchings of past owners. Hands slid into drawers that whispered out, searching for a bit of candle. snick The flint she'd fumbled out sparked and her tiny candle caught flame. She blinked owlishly into the sudden light, then strode purposefully towards the heavy curtains blocking the moon. Soon, the room fairly blazed with the combined light of candles and the moon. Her lips curved slightly in anticipation as she opened the cabinet along the wall. Her goal lay inside a locked drawer, wrapped over and over with folds of cloth to protect unwary hands. Dr. Jannisari carefully lifted the bundle out, touching it as little as possible. She was not immune to the plague that darkened the laurels, and she hated touching it. Slowly, she laid it down on her work table, the white fabric muffling the softest clink of metal. Pulling on gloves, she began to unwrap her subject. Her fingers tingled in revulsion even as her spine tingled in excitement. Winking faintly, the golden laurels seemed to lounge indolently in the mess of moonlit fabric, their shimmer marred by black spots and the vague stench of disease.

The laurels represented a breakthrough, of sorts, a way for grant money to flow to her, to her works on contagion and preventative disease. They were an opportunity in guise of shimmering gold. If she could find something revolutionary, something useful using this odd bauble... If she could survive them. Even if the laurels proved of no eventual use to her, they could help further her other pursuits. For to some, none could know as much about disease as one who had walked with it, held disease in their hand, spoke to it, owned it. Jannisari had worked hard to rise as a doctor and she recognized the laurels' potential. As such, even if nothing came of them, she owed her full attention to the gold. She would be utterly thorough and leave no question unanswered... within reason, of course. They were an experiment and opportunity, but also cold and alien and disease.

Plagues were disgusting, even frightening. An unnatural perversion of some item, the plague got into the item and gave it life. It in a weird way, it was a mockery of god, Jannisari supposed. Regardless of her personal thoughts and reservations, research must be done, observations made in order to find a cure. Briefly, Diefendorf and his questionable experiments crossed her mind. What had it cost them to stop him? And how far should a scientist go in pursuit of true knowledge? Shaking her head, she reached back into the cabinet, where she had held a small vial of acid, among other things. Jannisari had decided more tests were needed on the general makeup of her laurels. Until such time as they changed, she must gather as much data as possible, regardless of assumed usefulness. She scraped one of the chairs over to her side table. Her eyes narrowed as she stared as her notes. The volume displacement suggested the laurels were gold throughout, as did its lack of magnetic properties.

Gently, she picked up a file and scraped along the surface of one blackened berry. The laurels winked merrily, bouncing light into her eyes and across her hair, burnishing the loose strands and creating a small illusion of sunlight. The taint appeared to have sunk throughout the golden berries, rather than simply coating the top in a layer of filth. Well, if the plague had been as easy to get rid of as regular dirt, it would have been conquered long ago, she mused unsmiling. Each flake of blackened gold seemed to increase the pungent tang of death and disease. Briefly, she debated simply cutting off a whole berry and leaf. Setting her file down with a small clink, she reached for her paper and charcoal, almost upsetting the vial of acid. The Taint does not dissipate from small separations of the main item. Although the disease is still present, it is almost entirely certain such small samples will not mature into an excito. However, it is unknown if the separations of taint can still transmit the disease.

With her left hand, she swept the small curls into a pile on a glass platter. Although the material was black with plague, she had a suspicion it was still inherently gold. Frowning slightly in concentration, Jannisari delicately dripped the acid on the gold shavings, watching for any reaction at all. Milky for silver, green for other metals, but gold, gold showed no reaction or surrender to this type of acid. Her movements were unhurried and precise. After all, the day was at it's youngest and she had many ideas.

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xxxxxxxxxxxCOUNTING DISEASED SHEEP
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xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - Do Plagues dream of diseased sheep?

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xxxxxxxxxxxAN INTRIGUING OFFER
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xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - Sir Delacroix leaves quite the impression

RESERVED

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xxxxxxxxxxxTHE DAILY CORRESPONDENCE
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xxxxxxxx »[SOLO] - Jannisari has a secret passion for letter writing



At the podium, Jannisari stacked her papers carefully, tapping them against the pitted wood to straighten them. She hissed lightly as an errant page cut her index finger. The students, though she hesitated to call such dunderheads that, had filed out minutes ago. There had been maybe one bright one in the lot, and he had been a theology student. Dr. Jannisari didn't know why he had decided to attend a lecture on the basic humors of the body, but maybe she could persuade him into a life of science instead of religion. Sweeping out of the room, she recalled some of the truly banal questions they had asked. But what does 'imbalance' mean? Why is bloodletting harmful again? Why is blood hot? Simpletons.

Clouds ran across the sun in packs, their loping shadows filling the corridors with an odd sort of gloom: perfect for her irritable mood. Jannisari scowled and lengthened her strides, robes catching about her legs. She was overdue to reorganize her data concerning odors and their possible effects on bodily humors. If any of it proved conclusive, she would be free to continue with the contagion aspect. Her thoughts whirled around her and narrowed her vision so that she walked three doors past her office without realizing it. Once inside, she plopped gracelessly in a sparsely padded chair. Just as she began shuffling through the stack of paper on her desk, their dry rustling like whispering leaves, a loud knock interrupted her.

"Enter." Another distraction in a fruitless day, she groused inwardly. The man who skittered in was timid-looking, small and pale with a slight build and apple-round eyes. His mien reeked of an uncomfortable nervousness, though the cause was not apparent. Jannisari arched on eyebrow. Surely, she wasn't that scary. She supposed rumor had gone round that she was exacting; she requested that, when possible, all errands pertaining to her be carried out by humans. Couldn't have the disease taking yet another job from human hands, after all. Although the messenger's manner was hesitant, his speech was clipped and precise.

"Dr. Jannisari. You have received correspondence. We have notice that you wish it to be hand delivered to you as soon as possible." With that, the young man laid a plain envelope on her desk, bowed stiffly, and fairly ran out, homespun clothing flapping behind him. Jannisari winced as the door clattered shut in his wake. A faint smile stretched her lips and roses bloomed in her cheeks as she slit open the letter. Correspondence was a beautiful thing: a string of words linking two people no matter how far apart they were. There's was something dreadfully romantic about it, even if it was just a letter from her sister. The cloyingly sweet scent of Othilia's perfume swirled around her as she began to read.

Helminha,

It was nice to hear from you again, sister. I feel that if there is one thing I can count upon, it is the regularity of your letters! Perhaps you should put your pen towards writing some to Lienhart. Lately, he seems low in spirits and I cannot find out his reasoning. I know that recently he has been throwing himself into the Jannisari business without delegation, so I worry for his health, although I have no idea why he might suddenly be so adamant about bolstering the fabrics guild. Perhaps you could come to visit soon and see to his health? It has been many years since we have seen you.

In a turn of good news, Javier and I are expecting another child! I hope it's a girl, Helminha, although I am dreading the confinement. Javier would really like a son, of course, for inheritance purposes. I've never seen someone so bent on a patriarchal family! It seems narrow-minded to restrict such things to male these days, don't you think? A first-born is a first-born, and I'm sure Farah would be capable. Though I already have Farah, I still can't help but wish for another; I feel quite guilty for even thinking that. As for Farah, you have never met the child, even though she reaches four years soon. She is the light of my life! However, I admit she seems as clumsy with a loom as you once were. She is young yet, though. I shall have her try to weave you something for the next holy day. I hope you have some use of the handkerchief I sent last time. For some reason, I find myself embroidering more often than weaving. Perhaps it is the abundance of colored thread Javier lets lay around the house.

Speaking of household matters, we had to let go my personal maid just yesterday.She was caught stealing some of my scarves to sell! My stunted, spotty, was actually the one to first point it out to me. With that and the nursemaid's departure, we are short staffed. I do not mind spending the extra time with Farah, though. She does seem to have developed an odd breathing constriction. It is infrequent and so far, not serious, but I worry. Javier wants to hire extra doctors to come and look at her, but I remain nervous. I find I've grown distrustful of any physicians other that those that come from Trisica. It's your fault, you know! I am always sure no doctor could be quite as good as you.

Lienhart I believe still maintains you never should have left the main house, but he is always so overprotective. Did you know he visits me twice a month at the very least? He is truly a devoted brother, although he could use a wife. He isn't getting any younger. And you, have you thought about marriage? I know children are not a concern, but the companionship of a husband is something to be desired. I was lucky in my marriage to have Javier. But I worry about you, all alone in your cold stone laboratory or conservatory or whatever it is. If you're ever interested, I know a few gentlemen who would not mind having such a learned wife.

I nearly forgot! Aunt Landrys left some herbal anthologies in my care. They were not burned since she had no contact with them after becoming ill and I wondered if you might like me to send them to you. They are quite dense and I never did read them thoroughly, but perhaps you might find use in them?

I must go now as it's time to take Farah to the cobbler's. She is small but outgrows her shoes far too quickly, expensive girl. I look forward to your next letter, dear sister.


Always,
Othilia Lithglows


Othilia Lithglows was bright and bouncy and a boon to any man, but an insufferable, though sweet-tempered, nag. Jannisari sighed and decided how to word yet another refusal to visit Helios. Until she could be of true use to her family, she would not visit them in Helios. Lienhart had never really been happy about her scientific pursuits in particular and she saw no reason to antagonize him further with her presence. He was a workaholic, just like their mother, and rather unyielding. One corner of Jannisari's mouth quirked up as she remembered their fights as a child. Leinhart would never admit being in the wrong even when he knew he was wrong and she had been just as stubborn. There had been days where they refused to talk to each other over little things. How had her father ever put up with them?

Maybe, she tapped the feathered end of her quill against her cheek, maybe she would visit Helios when her disease matured. Just to her sister's, though. Othilia kept many stunted in her household as pets and lesser servants. Normally that alone would be enough to make Jannisari avoid the place, but, for research's sake, Jannisari was willing to do nearly anything. Sighing, she laid down her pen and opened one of her desk drawers. It stuck, and then squealed open, revealing a tidy pile of different colors of ribbons. Twelve colors, to be exact - one color for each month. Jannisari always sorted her letters this way: each ribbon color was the month in which the letter was received and on the tail on the ribbon, she would write the year carefully in thick ink. Green was this months, and she drew one ribbon out, the pale color shining in the fickle afternoon light. After bound with the appropriate color, the letter would go to rest, next to a multitude of other correspondence, in the heavy chest she kept in the corner of her office. Jannisari never threw away a letter.

She picked up her quill once more, scratching out her concern in words to her sister. After this, she should write again to her old professor. And probably to her friend in Helios. Today was turning into a day of correspondence, after all.

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xxxxxxxxxxxPLAGUES AND PAGES
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xxxxxxxx »[PRP] - A young girl seeks Jannisari's counsel
xxxxxxxx »[FEAT] - Dr. Jannisari, a worn copy of The Odyssey, and a Miss Petra Crake
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xxxxxxxxxxxINVAGHITO DI QUALCUNO
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xxxxxxxx »[PRP] - The love-letter falls for another lovely lady
xxxxxxxx »[FEAT] - Wallace and the shofar, Chayele with a sneaky appearance by Dr. Jannisari
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