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 Posted: Tue Jul 14, 2009 3:24 pm
That's Not A Fruit The sign on the front door window was turned over until it read 'Closed'. It was midday, the sun was summertime oppressive, and Rail was headed to market for his much needed shopping trip. His list was tucked safely into his right front pocket; the paper folded over crisp handwriting that detailed what he would be purchasing on this outing. No herbs, he grew those himself and was proud of it, but food instead - fresh fruits, vegetables, fish pulled out of the ocean early that morning or late last evening, and maybe some beef, lamb, or poultry if the price was right. Oh, and bread. He was out of bread, much to his disbelief when he went to make toast for breakfast this morning.
Rail stopped by the gate that would lead him into the backyard. From here he could see the top of the stable that was home to his buckskin gelding. He then shook his head and started off down the dirt and cobblestone. It was too hot to make the animal carry its master around and the market was probably going to be packed with merchants, vending farmers and fisherman, as well as the avid shoppers who all had an odd pack-like mentality when it came to hunting the elusive bargain prices. Adding a horse to the mix might end badly, especially the feisty gelding who would probably dislike the bumping and shoving that came with close-knit crowds.
"Best to leave you out in pasture, Shady Boy." Rail dragged his feet along, the heat beating on his dark hair and plaid-clad back. Any patch of shade was a blessing he could pause in, and a long row of reaching trees on his side of the road was an Aevah-send. Invisible bugs and frogs turned their voice volume up as the heat would spike, making the thirty year old flinch now and again. Noisy bastards, though he could sympathize with them. This heat made him want to shout out about it too if doing so wouldn't make him exert himself more. Ah well, once he got to the farmer's market he would sit himself down in the nearest patch of shade, rest a bit, then set about his business after purchasing a glass of water or lemonade from one of the stands.
---
Over an hour longer than it would take him riding there on Shady Boy the market finally came into view. Like he guessed, it was packed. People of all lines were mulling about stands, pushing past one another in the roads, pausing in the middle of said roads to chat with their neighbors (he hated that), all while merchants, farmers, fishermen, and other traffickers called, bought, sold, traded, and bartered their wares away. Rail found himself a nice crop of trees at the base of a hill to sit under, relaxing his sweat-soaked back against the dry, papery bark. The man found himself shredding fallen leaves between his calloused fingers as he watched the people that wandered past. Children, apparently oblivious or immune to the heat that was sapping their parent's strength and patience away, ran by whooping and jeering at the tops of their lungs at the newest - and soon to be forgotten - toy their relation had bought for them. The apothecary smiled as the loudest of the bunch was soon forgotten or ignored by his pack, who were drawn to a child who just appeared with a shinier trinket. The abandoned one looked betrayed but, like his peers, he too was soon in the group that surrounded Kid Shiny, trying to get said child to let him see the object for 'just a minute'.
Even after resting for fifteen to twenty minutes Rail still felt sticky, and knew he'd be better off getting his groceries now and getting home to a cold shower, rather than staying beneath the trees with the air getting heavier by the minute. He stretched, pops from his joints and back hitting his ears, before setting out to become one with the shifting crowd. If he was uncomfortably hot in the shade of the trees, he was unbearably so in here. Sticky humid air above him, dry, dusty earth below, and sweaty heated bodies all around him - this market was its own circle of hell. Rail couldn't stop to get his list or else he'd be pushed from behind to keep on moving forward. He could see a sign up ahead for produce and angled himself in the stream to break free once he got closer to it. He almost didn't make it as an elderly woman elbowed him out of the way to get herself into the mass. His feet entangled and he almost fell, but a shove from behind sent him out and into the dust right next to the produce stand.
"Need a hand?" Rail looked up to see the stand's attendant, a wizened old farmer in a straw hat, reaching a browned hand down at him. The apothecary gave a sheepish grin with a nod and accepted. The farmer was stronger than he appeared and Rail was yanked to his feet. "They get testy 'round this hour, ya know?"
"Yeah, but can you blame them? The heat's killer today." Rail wiped the dust from his rear as best he could, though most of it stayed on thanks to the sweat.
"Welcome to summah." Was the reply. It made the apothecary grin at his overall wearing savior, who moved slowly back behind his stand. With age or with heat induced slowness, Rail couldn't say. Definitely wasn't arthritis though. Once the farmer was standing in the shade of his makeshift store, he looked out at Rail from under his hat brim.
"Lookin' for anything in particula'? Least ya could do for ya savior is buy somethin' he's sellin'."
"Oh! Uhh..." Rail's hand dove into his pant's pocket and the look on his face made the old farmer chuckle.
"Sweat got to ya list, huh?" Rail nodded and pulled out his now damp square of paper. Even though it was folded into fourths he could see that the ink had smeared and started to bleed.
"Well s**t." He gingerly unfolded it and saw that most of his neat handwriting was illegible. "I can remember most of what was on there at least."
"Bettah than nothin'. Hopefully ya lookin' for somethin' I have with me." An arm swept over the wooden stands where most of the produce in them was loose; not boxed and easily picked up from their show case. One gnarled finger pointed to another stand of the same height spaced just away to make a doorway. "Stuff ovah there is mine too, as well as the veggies kept in here. Scale is next to me, so if ya wanna weigh for price, feel free. Careful not to drop anythin' though. No one likes a bruised fruit."
Rail nodded at the direction and discretion, crumpling his list up and tossing it to the ground next to him. No use now, he'd just have to remember all the things he needed as they came to him. All the produce the farmer was offering looked amazingly fresh, unlike the other places he had seen as he was pushed around and near them. The old man seemed to take notice of Rail's surprise and piped up as he filled his pipe with smoking tobacco.
"Trick is, I nevah put or keep stuff out for long. Them cabbages were just put out five minutes ago and I'll switch 'em out for ones that are kept in here after anotha' five. Keeps 'em from wiltin' in the sun, ya know?"
"That's...A great business ploy." Rail picked up a cabbage, judging the weight with his hands. "I'll take one of these then and ah..." He made his way to the opposite stand, where there were boxes of mixed citrus fruits lined up on one row. With his free hand he pointed at one box.
"And how much for these?"
"Ya can eitha buy a crate of 'em mixed like tha' or ya can take a paper bag, fill it, and stick it on the scale. Ya choice, boy. I dun mind either way." The farmer held out an average sized brown bag and Rail took it. Better to just buy one or two of each fruit rather than buy the entire box and have most of them rot. The apothecary set about hand weighing each fruit he picked up, eyeballing for any imperfections, and putting the test-aced fruit into the paper bag. Rail looked over to the old man, but saw that he was chatting to some women who appeared to be interested in the tomatoes he was starting to switch out.
While he was distracted, Rail's hand was continuing to dig through the baskets; fingers brushing lightly against porous skins off all different colors. He was beginning to zone out in the heat, but came back to reality as his nails raked against something that was decidedly not fruit. With his brows knit Rail put his bag on the ground, the cabbage having been put on the same stand he was at before, and he started searching the wooden boxes. With his searching hand still on the cool, featureless object, his other moved and shifted limes, lemons, oranges, and grapefruit out of the way. When the last fruit was moved, it revealed an orange-yellow knob that was surrounded by more limes and lemons. Perplexed, Rail pulled and it came free, taking the rest of a short, circular bottle with it.
His brows raised as he held the object in his hands, like the stopper it was cool to the touch but unlike that knob it was all different colors; shifting from yellow to green to orange with a black strip running all over it. Now that it was free the tangy scent of citrus, all scents of all kinds, was even more immediate. Rail turned it in his hands, amazed by the simple beauty and craftsmanship.
"What is it?" It was strange, he could almost see runes and something else inside the glass, but it was hard to tell with the mingling colors. He breathed in awe at it, the scent of sweet oranges taking over and for some reason making him smile.
"Find somethin' ya like boy?" Rail jumped and turned around, the old farmer was behind him and had appeared so suddenly it was spooky. "Well now...What ya got there?"
Rail stammered like a man being interrogated by the most terrible police officer ever but held the glass out. The farmer eyed it, picked the bottle up, spun it between his dry hands, then handed it back. "Dunno what that is or how it got in there, ain't never seen it before." A frown set on his lined face and Rail stopped trying to string a sentence together.
"Can't rightly make ya pay for somethin' I don't own, so ya can go on ahead an take that lil' bottle. Ya probably have some bettah use for it than I could, plus it seems to like ya. Smelled like sour lemons when I took it from ya, did ya notice?" Rail shook his head, he didn't notice, but now that the bottle was back in his hands he could really smell the oranges.
"Are you...Are you sure? I mean, I found it in your fruit crate and--"
"I'm eighty-seven, of course I'm sure boy. It ain't mine and it ain't dutiful to make someone pay for somethin' that ain't your own. Besides, that's not a fruit, and I sell produce for a livin'. Just pay for ya bag an' cabbage an' be on ya way. It's too hot to be meanderin'."
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Posted: Tue Aug 18, 2009 3:35 pm
Aromatherapy It had been just over a month since the shopping trip that had lead to the discovery of the bottle and each day without fail the apothecary still found himself marveling over the stout, colorful glassware. Since that trip Rail kept the bottle on the nightstand right next to his bed so that when he woke up in the morning the scent of limes or oranges would greet him, the sun would strike the bottle just right, and he'd have his breath snatched away yet again. Today was no exception.
Like every morning, once the sleep was rubbed from his eyes and his hair finger-combed while the blanket was kept over his thighs, he'd reach out and take it in both of his rough hands. By the touch alone, the scent wafting off the bottle would become more noticeable and turn sweeter, making his face break out in a lazy smile as he turned the colorful object around in his palms. Even in the shade of his hands the colors were bright; oranges, greens, yellows, and even faint traces of pink around that thin, swirling black strip. In a single word it was beautiful.
After he had his time to marvel, the bottle would go right back where it was and Rail would start his morning routine - bathroom, hair, shower, clothes - before heading out to the kitchen for breakfast then downstairs for another day's work. Before he would even head near the door down he'd return to his room, one hand raised up in a greeting as well as a goodbye to the bottle sitting almost happily in a sunbeam.
"I'll be just downstairs again today, okay?" As if it could hear, though there was something in his mind telling him that it could. There would be no response, obviously, but Rail could swear once or twice he saw something in the bottle spark off. Trick of the light perhaps.
After shaking his head if the bottle did randomly sparkle, he'd leave it in his room, not because he wanted to, but because he noticed that the cool darkness of his self-run business seemed to have a negative effect on it. Rail had brought the bottle down with him the day after the finding, and at first it was okay, but soon he had begun to notice the scent slowly disappearing and the colors rapidly fading. The moment he had a chance to he brought the bottle right back upstairs and set it on the kitchen counter. In the sun soaked, faintly humid second floor the bottle livened right back up; scent wafting bitter grapefruit at first before slowly changing over to sweet oranges.
Since that day Rail has kept the bottle in his room, but he always left it with an assurance that he'd be right downstairs. He knew he probably sounded crazy for talking to an inanimate object, but he felt strangely compelled to. Like it was listening and, hell, even growing with just his attention and words.
"Strange..." He finally made his way downstairs; the cool, dry darkness a huge contrast of his upstairs abode. Rail shivered a little as he made his way to the door at the back that lead outside. Before he opened shop there was Shady Boy to take care of, the horse still in his stable since he was put there last night. Once he was out there, the dark haired man fed, watered, and quickly groomed his mount before leading the gelding to the second gate at the far corner of the yard. Once the horse was in the pasture Rail mucked his stall, washed his now sweaty face, neck, and hands with a bucket of hand pumped water, and returned inside.
"Coming, coming!" It wasn't even eight-thirty yet and already he was getting knocks on his door. He swept between two tall shelves of herbs and bottled things, nabbing his apron and putting it on before turning the window sign from 'Closed' to 'Open' and unlocking the door to let the customer in. "Good morning Mrs. Tybalt! Here for another prescription fill?"
"Yes." Short replies with this woman, as she only spoke the one word before thrusting a folded sheet of paper at him. Rail took it with grace, gesturing the elderly woman to sit down before edging back behind the counter.
"So I see Dr. Montgomery has upped your dosage." There was some clattering as Rail got his needed equipment out from under the counter, all while eyeballing the sheet of paper still in his hand. "I'm going to have to give you a single large bottle rather than several small ones. Is that alright with you?"
"Yes." She was slowly swinging her feet under the chair she had picked out, eyes kept on the hands folded in her lap just over her cane. Rail only nodded to himself, drawing out his mortar and pestle and setting that on the counter. He excused himself before turning toward his shelves, strolling down the first aisle for some of the medicine's ingredients.
Let's see...St. John's wort for the inflammation... A box slid open and Rail pulled out two stalks of dried yellow blossoms. He inspected them for imperfections, deemed them well, and carried on. As he rounded the corner he noticed he had left the door at the top of the stairs open a bit. It was no matter, maybe the air downstairs would draft inside and cool the kitchen down. After making a couple more stops in the aisles he had all he needed and returned to the front, setting all the medicinal herbs down and grouping them into separate piles.
"I apologize for the wait Mrs. Tybalt." He set about working; cutting, dicing, grinding, plucking, stripping, and mixing the dry goods together in a large bowl. There were several vials of room temperature water sitting off to the side and Rail measured that out before pouring it in. Once the water was in some of the herbs began to react with one another, giving off a pungent smell similar to onions. Rail dabbed his eyes with the back of his wrist as the tears came, mixing the ingredients together with a fork.
". . . ." While Rail was preoccupied, Mrs. Tybalt blinked at the sudden scent. Not the medicine, no, she was used to that, but something new. Sweeter, but with hints of sour and bitterness too. "Fruity."
"Hmm? What was that?" Rail looked up, blue eyes turned towards the old woman who was now staring down the aisle in front of her.
"Fruit. Don't you smell it?" There was a frown on her wrinkled face. Rail stepped away from the bowl and took a deep inhale. She was right.
"Oh! Yes, I do." The bottle? It was all the way up in his room, but maybe there was a breeze. He couldn't just say 'don't worry, it's just the little bottle I found in a produce seller's box at the market last month. I keep it in my room and I talk to it every day'. He'd probably sound like a nut. Mrs. Tybalt was looking at him with one of those 'well, what is it?' expressions. "I'm trying something new in the ways of herbal help, you see. It's..." What was the word? "Ah-Ah-Aromatherapy! Citrus scent to...Invigorate the spirit. Do you like it?"
"...Yes." She went back to looking at her hands and Rail sort of mentally sighed in relief. When he got the chance he would tip toe up the stairs and shut the door. That should effectively cut off the smell. Rail finished mixing, fetched a short slip of wax paper, spread the now-paste onto it, and rolled it up into a cylinder shape.
"I'm afraid I added a little too much water, so the paste will take longer to dry before I can cut it. If you like, you can go ahead and go about your business and come back later. I'll have your prescription ready and waiting by then ma'am." He gave his best smile, making more paste and wax paper rolls before setting them off to the side to dry. The old woman said nothing but got up and walked to the door. Rail came around and opened it for her, watching as she was helped into her buggy. Once she was gone, he went to the back and up the stairs, shutting the door without even looking inside. He wasn't even halfway back down again before the chimes in the front sounded multiple times and several sets of footsteps were heard on the floor.
---
The day went by slowly and there were more customers than he had predicted, each with a prescription for something complicated when they were suffering from something simple. To those people, the doctors were right and Rail, being the man he was, didn't have it in him to argue their confidence. By midday he found himself rubbing his forehead in pain while those in the waiting room just in front of the counter commented on the lovely scent that seemingly came from nowhere. The apothecary couldn't figure it out, the door was shut, so why was the scent still lingering and with more force then ever. Yes it was nice, but by now it was giving him a headache of the worst variety.
"Here you are Simon, tell her two before bed..." He handed a small brown bag to a tawny haired teen with glasses, smiling as best he could though it seemed like moving any muscle in his face made his head ache worse. The teen was the last person to leave, but Rail still had a small tray filled with orders to do. The cuckoo clock on his left chimed the hour and his stomach lurched in hunger and illness as a fresh wave of citrus came over. Before anyone else could possibly come in and stack another on top of the pile, Rail went to the door and turned the sign back over. Now to find out what was with the scent.
I shut that door. I'm positive I did.
One hand was on his brow as he approached the stairs. Gingerly he craned his head and looked. Lo and behold the door was shut and yet -
It's so strong. Rail took the stairs two at a time, the scent becoming almost nauseating the higher he went. By the time he had his hand on the door, the one on his brow was pinching his nose shut. He went into his home and was greeted with a wave of citrus scent that nearly knocked him on his a**. The air sort of shimmered, not with heat, but with a sticky haze that stuck to his hair, clothes, and skin. He had to squint, the air was stinging his eyes and his pinched nose, but on the plus side it tasted pretty good on his tongue.
Rail first went to the kitchen-slash-dining room area and opened the windows, trying to draw it out of his house. In each room curtains were drawn back and windows opened as far as they could go. Once that was done and the scent was somewhat lessened, he went down the hallway to his bedroom, where the culprit would be sitting looking plenty innocent. What he saw made him stop.
The bottle was still there, yes, but changing before his eyes. The glassy surface was peeling like a thick skin in places, and when it fell off it fizzled and disintegrated into a spray of citrus juice and smell. What remained on was lazily spinning around the bottle, which underneath had changed as well. The new surface underneath looked improperly glazed - almost mimicking the skin of a citrus fruit. The colors had morphed, the greens taking over while the oranges and yellows fused and mixed. There was even a heavy spotted glow of orange and yellow lighting up the back of the bottle.
The apothecary stood just inside his room in stunned silence. His hand had dropped from his nose and his mouth was once again nearly on the floor. Inside the bottle there were sparks going off like lightning bugs in June. Seeing what he was, he now believed that all those times before weren't tricks of the light.
"Oh sweet Aevah! What is it?" His exclamation made another wave of scent lift off the bottle; orange, as though it was happy to see him. Rail was lost, there was nothing normal about this now and he had no idea where to begin searching. He knew he couldn't stay or leave it here though. Like a first time criminal he ran to it, snatched it off the wooden surface and ran to the door. He'd ride all throughout the streets of Aimes if he had to, he just had to do something with this bottle and now.
"Someone's gotta know. Someone..." Down the stairs and out the back like this morning, though he wasn't so hungry then and the bottle was oddly mouthwatering despite his headache and being freaked out by it's sudden change. He left it on the stall as he ran to the pasture, whistling for his horse. "C'mon, c'mon!"
After being dragged back, saddled, and mounted horse, rider, and bottle were off down the street, all headed toward the city. Rail threw only one glance back at his shop. All those prescriptions; they could wait. Right?
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Posted: Wed Aug 19, 2009 12:33 pm
Questions and Answers Link
Participants: Oxiin, Rail
Status: [PRP], Complete Rail heads into the Aimes city limits to find out more about his bottle's sudden change. A collision almost happens and the apothecary finds himself burdened with a run off horse, a stolen bottle, and a stubborn yet crafty kid who demands a lift home before he hands over the goods.
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Posted: Wed Aug 19, 2009 12:35 pm
A Surprise In Store Coming Soon, after the PRP
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Posted: Mon Sep 28, 2009 10:46 am
Bug troubles!
(Dust Spin --> Child Quest*)
Don't you just hate it when there's a fly buzzing around you? Small and quick enough to enough swatting but persistent and annoying as it makes that irritating whine in your ears... However, normally after a few swipes with a rolled up newspaper that problem can be sorted... Rail on the other hand cannot sort a bug problem so easily. The bottle's contented sweet scent has been attracting all the wrong sorts of attention - mainly from the insect population. It seems every fly, every ant, every sweet toothed creepy crawly under the sun are congregating at his home! The air is near black with all the airborne nuisances and columns of hungry ants patrol the area with a near military vigilance... How does Rail cope with the insect invasion - what can one possibly do to fight an army of such tiny, yet annoying, critters?!
*Please note, there's a minimum word requirement of 500 words for this quest.
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Posted: Mon Sep 28, 2009 2:54 pm
Swarm (Quest Response) Even in the dead of night there was a constant droning hum outside. Some came in through cracks in Aevah-knows-where places, crawling along the walls, furniture, and skin while most hung in the air, waiting to be crushed with a rolled up copy of the Aimes Atlas. Thankfully though, the majority were outside but it was clear business, and Rail himself, was suffering because of it. Insects. Everywhere. The neighbors complained of course; the hum of bugs all joined around Rail's home and office was loud enough for those down the street to hear it. And not only that, there were plenty of frogs, birds, and bats hanging around making noise though their presence did nothing to deplete the buzzing masses.
It didn't take long for the apothecary to figure out was attracting them, but he hadn't the foggiest idea of how to get rid of them. All the while the bottle sat innocently in its regular pool of light, wafting orange fragrance around and attracting more and more buzzing, biting, and more often than not stinging bugs. There was a loud 'whack' from the kitchen; Rail killing yet another wasp that had somehow gotten into his house. He was not in a good mood. The house was stifling and his wake up shower did nothing to cool him off. If anything it made him worse. Even the cooler recesses of his drug store one floor below didn't help and it was dark down there. He grumbled as he got up and wiped the side of the rolled up newspaper against the trash bin, smearing bug bits against the side of the can and his paper. He'd lost count as to how many he had killed but there were still several more wasps and an uncountable number of other things in his home right now. As he turned toward his seat again a large house fly landed in his bowl and started cleaning itself. That was it.
"Can't eat, can't work, can't even sleep!" He said out loud as he dumped the contents of his bowl, and the rest of his morning meal, into the garbage on top of the wasp corpse. He was tired, sore, and angered and he took the latter out on every insect that was in reach. Soon his kitchen-slash-dining area looked like a battlefield and Rail was its only pissed off survivor. He didn't even dare look down for the ants. Oh the ants. They were the first to arrive and invade his home in search of the sickeningly sweet bottle. The bottle didn't just let loose fragrance, it also leaked fruit juice everywhere. One ant must have found a puddle, gotten a taste, and told all its ant buddies about the party in the first one's mouth.
After them came the fruit flies. They don't even look like flies; more like tiny tomato seeds with wings. Somehow those got in through his sink drain and no matter how many kettles full of boiling hot water was poured down, even more kept coming up after. The apothecary had made traps for them. He took some empty glass jars, filled some with fruit, some with wine, and some with a mix, and then rolled up a sheet of paper and stuck it in the tops. The flies would be attracted to the scent, go down, feed, get stuck, and be too stupid to figure out how to get back out. Even some of the ants had gotten trapped in there, though all those traps were soon overwhelmed even before the wasps and other bees came.
Flies, ants, and other such harmless insects he could deal with, but for Rail, wasps were another story. Unlike honey bees - who can only sting once before dying because on the initial sting their insides are pulled out - wasps can sting multiple times and were generally more aggressive than honey or bumble bees. And when they found out about the bottle, through some sick insect communication network, they were ramming his windows day and night to get it. Every so often Rail could here multiple taps against the windows and when he looked there would be several (possibly hundred) black and yellow monsters trying to take down the window glass.
And all the while the bottle would sit there, the almost-peel curling around it lazily, like nothing was wrong.
Before the swarming had gotten to the point he couldn't see the treeline twenty yards away, Rail had ground several plants into a powder, added in a special solution, made a paste, and had taken the time to spread that on the windowsills and around the edges of his home. It was a recipe to keep insects away but looking out one of his windows now, it was like he hadn't spread anything. The peanut butter colored substance was still there but being ignored. It was like their determination to get into his house was making them oblivious to the thick anti-bug concoction that would normally keep them at bay. This half frustrated - half frightened him. Would they not rest until they got the bottle?
Rail shook his head and closed the curtains. The tapping and droning continued, but it was muffled somewhat now. He flopped down onto his couch which was just opposite to the table the bottle sat on. It was seated on a towel foremost, with a few others folded and bundled around the table legs, to soak up anything the one on top couldn't. Next to his seat was another table and out of the drawer he pulled his own self-made aspirin tablets. Two were taken dry and the rest were put back; Rail leaning his aching head in his right palm. He just watched the bottle. No movement other than the peel. A fly landed on the surface but he did nothing to swat it away. The glass item took care of it itself, spraying a sour lemon jet from under the fly, causing it to tumble off the surface.
If he were in a good mood that would have been amusing, especially because the fly was struggling to get airborne but, being coated by lemon juice, it was unable to do such a thing. Instead Rail merely scowled in the bottle's general direction. That man he met on the street on his way back from dropping off Oxiin had said he could expect an even bigger change in the bottle really soon. He didn't say what, wanting to screw with the apothecary or just tripping on some sort of weed, but he did say Rail would be quite surprised when it happened. Whatever. His research on the citrus bottle had come up bunk and if this was the surprise, a storm of bees and other things, it was a shitty one.
He sat that way for a long while, eyes shutting to ease the headache pain though he drifted into a doze. When Rail came to he was slumped to the side and the bottle appeared to be moving to the left. Odd, but impossible, and probably a trick of his sleep-filled eyes. He rubbed at his face; both it and his hand were sticky with the heavy airborn scent and sweat. When he looked again, the bottle still moved slowly to the left. Aware that it couldn't be a dream or sleep haze, Rail got up. Beneath the bottle was a large, moving brown spot that trailed down one of the legs. The black haired man crossed the space between his seat and the desk, pulling the bottle off the swarm of ants. Several clung on to the surface and he gladly squished each and every one with his thumb. The bottle in his hand was practically perspiring with citrus juice now and his already sticky hand was drenched shortly after grabbing it. Inside there were numerous sparks going off, but Rail paid them no mind. Instead, with his free hand, he grabbed the towel and its load of ants and made his way into the kitchen, then to the door downstairs. As far as he knew, insects hadn't swarmed the front doors and he could deposit the towel (and possibly the bottle because it was on his mind to) out there.
The first floor of the home, Rail's business, was cool and dark as usual. He passed through the aisles towards the front, preparing himself to just toss the towel and quickly slam the door shut. Really quick or he could be mobbed by a black cloud of bees, flies, and other winged insects.
"Maybe I should leave the bottle out there." He mused as he moved around the counter that served as his work area and storefront. "Maybe it'd keep the insects away from the home and once they've gotten their fill of the leaking juice, they'll leave me alone."
It seemed plausible to him and ants couldn't take it very far very fast, so if another group tried to take it he could get it himself. Rail peered through the front door curtains. There were bugs out here of course, but not as many as the ones that were ramming into his windows upstairs. He could actually see the street and his across-the-way neighbor's house. There was a twinge of hope and fear in him and Rail quickly grabbed the latch with two fingers. The door swung open and he bolted out, nearly tripping and going face forward off his steps as he feet got caught against a small wooden crate. The towel went flying out of his hand and fell ants side down on the sidewalk. The bottle nearly went too, but the apothecary managed to nab it. Orange oozed off its surface and the insects at the front of the house began to come down on it and the tall man. The actions of the bugs out here caught the attentions of the others around the house and soon Rail had to shut his eyes and lips tight or else they'd get in those orifices.
. . .! He could move, but he couldn't think past mental expletives. They were in his hair, on and trying to get under his clothes, but mostly on his right hand, ganging up on the bottle, which was now turning into a volatile mix of bitter and sour. Some bugs, the smell not appealing to them at all, flew away but the majority of the species stayed put. Rail stumbled, falling off the stairs and banging his knees pretty good as he did so. He got up fast and shook himself violently, raising a black cloud of tiny bodies off him. The wasps in that cloud did not take kindly to the upheaval and they stung what they could get of Rail angrily. He whined through his lips instead of screaming, turning towards his still open door and squinting to see.
What he had tripped over was a small crate of citrus fruit. While he couldn't read it from here, the note now lying off to the side was from the same neighbor across the street, saying the elderly man bought too many fruits at the market and decided to share with his whippersnapper of a neighbor. How kind. The box was being fairly ignored; the heavy skins of the fruit blocking their sweeter and more desirable insides from the insects' interests. It was getting hard to breathe as the insects swarmed him again with vigor and Rail was in so much pain. His only option was to leave the bottle to the winged monstrosities and flee back inside his house. All the energy he had in him was forced into his legs. Rail jumped the stairs, dropped the bug-laden bottle, shook once again, and booked inside. The door was grabbed and latched as he ran in. The apothecary's eyes remained shut again as he grabbed the nearest tome off his counter and started whipping it around his head and shouting at the top of his voice like he was having a fit. Any insects that were unable to get back outside found themselves being beaten to the floor then stomped on. After the buzzing left his ears Rail dropped the heavy book on the floor, collapsing down on top of it while gasping for breath.
After he managed to contain himself somewhat, Rail crawled to the doors and pressed his ear to the wood. The sound out front was like several thousand colonies of bees were put together in one small space, then pissed off beyond reasoning. He imagined his front steps and his neighbors good will service were covered in a carpet of tiny winged bodies, each one trying to force the others out of its way so it could get to the bottle. He only imagined, Rail didn't dare get up on his feet and peek out of the curtains.
He turned around and sat flat on his bottom, back pressed against the doors as though the bugs would rise up and try to come after him next. The midday light coming through the lightly covered window flickered as insects rose up and descended in what seemed like an agitated way. He was horribly shaken but a part of him was now holding a deeper respect for beekeepers. His arms, neck, hands, and face started to feel itchy but he didn't touch himself. Rail didn't even move, just kept guarding the doors.
What he imagined was true, his front steps were swamped with insects of all shapes, sizes, and colors. The crate, note, fallen fruit, and the bottle of course were just lumps in an otherwise flawless carpet of bodies. While the former items were still and unable to react, the bottle was a different story. The sparks within it fired off agitatedly and the citrus scent continued to sour heavily. The presence of citrus fruit, just like the ones it was found by Rail in, started a reaction within the bottle. It twitched on its own. The insects on top of it flew off in alarm, but came right back down, determined not to give up their places on the colorful bottle's surface. Again and again the bottle moved on its own and cracks started to form on its glossy but opaque outside. The sparks fired off more rapidly and soon there was so many of them at once light formed within.
As the cracks spider webbed across the bottle and soon were all interconnected, a final pungent mist was released and the light burst free. Shards of glass cut the peel apart, skewered several hundred bugs, and lodged in the doors. In a single wave all the insects lifted off the steps, darkening the window in front of the door. Inside, Rail saw the light vanish from his floor and he quickly moved to finally look out the window. Before his head even crested the lip of the window the insects that could sting and bite were diving down again. A growing fear of them made the man duck even though such an action was silly considering his position behind closed doors.
The humming grew in volume again but this time something was added to it. Soft at first but as the buzzing turned louder, so did it. A wail. Almost like a cat in a way, but as it too changed the apothecary realized that was no animal. He nearly took the left door down as he slammed against it, fumbling for the latch. When he finally got it open, his eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets. There was a child sitting on his step, screeching at the top of her voice. Her hair was soaking with what looked like water to Rail and was otherwise nude save for a thick coat of bees and other such creatures on her, which she was trying in vain to beat off of herself. This only angered the insects of course and they came at her with vigor. Rail had a brain delay, but when his mind finally got the words 'help her stupid' he grabbed her, dusted as many of the winged devils off as he could and brought her inside.
She continued wailing as the door slammed behind Rail, tears soaking her reddened face. In an instant his own shirt was off, using it to first swipe away any remaining bugs then draping it around her shoulders. Words weren't coming out of his mouth, sounds were. What skin he saw before she had been covered was prickled with stingers and small welts. Again she was grabbed and this time placed on the counter, Rail heaving himself over one handed and then ripping glass bottles off of the shelves nearby. Some shattered on the ground but he paid no mind. Long-grasping tweezers were pulled from a leather pouch and tossed on the counter as well. He wasn't in control of his hands and they promptly cupped the puffy face of the girl.
"C-C-Calm down. Calm. Down. It's okay. They can't get you in here." He made shushing noises, and pulled her to him, gingerly hugging her. The sobbing started to die down into whining and sniffles. "You're gonna be okay. It'll all be okay."
Questions like 'where did she come from' and 'who is she' didn't even begin to cross his mind as he rolled up one sleeve and carefully started pulling stingers out. He felt her eyes on him and looked up once, giving as encouraging a smile as he could. The girl-child wiped her nose on the other sleeve, lips slightly swollen and trembling. Compared to what happened outside, the feel of tweezers digging and pulling out tiny thorns was a cake walk. She watched him - not him working, just him - with rapt attention. Dark hair, concentrated blue eyes, and fear-paled skin - this was the first person she saw and the person who saved her from the tiny hurting terrors. There was no meekness or look of uncertainty when she finally gained her voice. Instead there was such an assurance that it made Rail pause and look at her again, eyes bulging from shock just as much as they had only minutes before.
"Meryl, papa."
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Posted: Sat Oct 17, 2009 6:30 pm
Two Week Disbelief ~Coming Soon~
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Posted: Wed Nov 04, 2009 4:39 pm
The Coming of the Dust Link
Participants: Meryl, Various Child and Teen Dusts
Status: [META], Ongoing ...
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