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 Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2011 4:00 pm
It was time, really. Past time.
For the second time in as many days, Malodore was nervous, pacing around its room, practically wringing its eyePhone in its claws. The screen blinked as its claws scraped over it, indicating that the last call it had ended had been with Riley.
The plague doctor's room wasn't in any better shape than it had been before - the walls were still covered in wing diagrams, and there were still scraps of metal here and there, shaped into rough approximations of feathers. New notes had been added from its studies with Jericho, and it had been practicing exercises as per Riley's instructions; its back and shoulders twinged slightly with the effort.
Yes, it was making progress. Yes, this was the 'science and research' phase, and therefore more fun than the 'emotional communication' phase of the exercise... but it had come to realize that it hadn't been as done with Phase One as it had thought. At least, not when it came to Riley.
She had to understand. Properly. It was very, very important that she understand. She had to know, and she had to see, and she had to agr-
No. She didn't have to. If it was forced, there would be no merit in the opinion. The plague doctor hoped that she would agree, and help soothe the twist in its stomach. For all that said stomach was undead, and therefore less cantankerous than living gastro-intestinal systems, it was still vulnerable to certain emotional cues. Anxiety and the vague sense that it was being a very very bad plagueling threatened to overwhelm logic and rational thought.
And its stomach.
She would be here soon. She was never late.
Malodore executed a perfect pivot on one heel and paced back the other direction. Waiting.
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Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2011 6:34 pm
For all of Riley's ability to sense the emotions of people's thought, she was actually quite lacking in true empathy. Yet, even she could have told by the sound of Malodore's voice that something was wrong. It worried at her heart even as she strolled to the undead dorms, and as she stood in front of the door.
It had been working on something glorious, a final flip off to the tyrants who had tried to hold it back from potential and glory, and she knew it was excited. But excitement was not the emotion she heard in it's voice today, and it troubled her.
She reached out and knocked on the door gently - she could have opened it herself, but her instincts forced her to hold back. She didn't want to catch it by surprise, not when something was so heavily on it's mind.
Her brow furrowed as she felt the twist of pain in her heart, and her hand brushed down the door after her knock.
Something was wrong, and all she wanted to do was magically have the power to simply make everything right for it again.
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Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2011 7:15 pm
The door was opened hurriedly, before Riley's fingers could complete their downward motion - and Malodore stood in front of her, its backblades betraying the tension in it even if Riley hadn't been able to sense the emotion through other means.
"Grazie," it said, its voice weary and grating all at once. "Please, come in... I need to talk to you. I need... I need you to listen."
It took a few steps into the room, backing up, keeping its eyes on hers; if it had been physically possible for it to do so, its eyes would have been wide as saucers in sheer... fear, was it? No, not exactly, though it was an element.
"I need you to listen, and tell me that what I am doing is... permissible. That it is right." It held up one hand, as if to forestall an inevitable protest. "And you need to hear to understand. You need to know what it is I am doing, what taboos I am breaking. It is not enough for you to tell me all is well simply because you care for me..."
Its words hitched in its throat. -love me-
It stared at her in mute desperation. Per favore?
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Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2011 8:18 pm
Her heart hitched in her throat the moment the door swung open, and her senses were assaulted with every indication that she was right to be worried. Something was, indeed, wrong.
She took a step inside and closed the door behind her, following Malodore carefully with her eyes. She made no move to protest, if only because her dread for the situation at hand had silenced her completely. The hand that had held up to stop what would have normally been a clear interrupt, was suddenly surrounded by her own. And still, she listened.
Until she heard those hitched words. Her hand tugged, pulling Malodore firmly into her arms. She wrapped her arms around it's waist, lifted it up against her, and carried it to the bed. There, she sat down, and sat the plague doctor astride on her lap.
I will listen. She murmured with a deep, penetrating thought. And I will try to understand. But if my judgement is not to be impaired by my all-encompassing love for you, then I refuse to let you out of my arms as you tell me. Physically, I will love you as strongly as I do. Mentally, I will try to remain unbiased for you.
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Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2011 11:04 pm
"Grazie," Malodore managed. Emotional distress was... well, not new to it. It had been distressed before, and would be again. But opening up about such personal matters was very much new.
It nestled into her arms as best it could; the bed rustled a bit as Luce jumped up, laying down against both Riley and her master in silence. Apparently she could sense the tension as well. Of Dolce there was no sign. "Imagine - you will be the first illithid to know the secrets of the Casa Cirurgien," it said, with a nervous chuckle.
It swallowed, then let its head rest against her shoulder. "I will open my memory to you, and show you... this should be possible, yes? Then you will be able to see what I saw..."
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Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2011 11:16 pm
Riley wished that she was better at hiding her true feelings, around Malodore. She didn't mean to thrill so excitedly at the idea of being the first Illithid to be presented with this knowledge. Knowledge that would have escaped them for their entire existence. If only her kind could understand the wealth of knowledge they would be exposed to by allowing themselves to make connections, real emotional connections, with other species.
They were blindsided by their own prejudice. Just as the plague doctors were, by their determination to never evolve their ancient ways.
Malodore and Riley were pioneers. She pushed back a snicker at the thought.
We can walk through your memories together, yes. Come, hold my hand and show me what you will.
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Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2011 11:31 pm
It took one of her hands in both of its own and opened its beak in a shaky, yet genuine smile.
"Lasciate che vi racconti una storia ..."
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Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2011 11:57 pm
The Casa Cirurgien was a vast, crumbling heap of a building, at least twice as big as its inhabitants strictly needed. It sat on the edge of a swamp, stone fighting against muck for dominance. Vines and slime climbed up the walls closest to the water, and towers tilted at mad angles as the swamp threatened to reclaim its own. On the whole, the structure did a fair impression of a labyrinth, though it was too damp for any minotaur's taste. The dehumidifier spells built into the walls had been slowly failing for decades, along with almost everything else.
The growing damp was, in fact, nearly too much for plague doctors - except that this was their Casa, and tradition had to be upheld at all costs.
The most treasured chambers in the honeycomb of rotting rooms were the operating theaters - theaters in the old sense, which meant a flat semicircle staging area for the operations themselves, surrounded by the slow rise of stone benches for observers. A few older (though not elder) plague doctors watched over an excited group of plaguelings, who clacked their beaks and rustled their backblades in excitement as they waited for that afternoon's lesson to begin.
The door to one side of the staging area creaked open, the hinges heavy with rust. Near-complete silence fell instantly; the plaguelings leaned forward as the swamp-oil spotlights above the operating table were lit. Two of the elders had come, their metallic feathers chiming against each other as they moved - and one of them had a plaguelet cradled in its arms.
"Pay attention," one of the plagueling-supervisors admonished them - speaking in Italian, naturally. "From this state you all came, and to it you may return if you are wicked." The word was sharp, clipped; this was not the wickedness to outsiders and human-things that all plaguelings aspired to, but wickedness directed at the elders, and therefore taboo. The threat was dire, and real.
Below them, one of the elders laid the plaguelet down on the table. The young plague doctor was, to all appearances, a faceless blob wrapped in bandages - its long neck arced up from the shoulders and ended in a bulbous head. The only visible features were ear holes in either side of the head, and a black hole gaping in the front of the 'face'. Faint, inarticulate noises issued from the maw every so often. It was too little to understand that it lacked sight, taste, and smell, let alone the capacity for speech. It was just barely large enough such that it could provide the raw material for its own mask.
The plaguelet-master had dressed the child in traditional ritual attire: soft black cloth looped around its body, pinning its legs together while leaving its nearly skeletal arms free. Its wings were visible as well, incongruously feathered in dappled gray and black. They were small and clearly inferior to the silver spars the elders bore on their own backs, even as the grasping bone claws were clearly inferior to the metallic hands reaching out to the plaguelet.
"Don't close your eyes," the supervisor said, calmly.
Bone cracked, and the plaguelet screamed, an unearthly keen rising from its jawless, lipless mouth. The plaguelings watched, their own silver claws tightening as they fought to keep their eyes open. Their instinct was to look away from such pain, but that was something a true doctor must never, ever do... so they watched.
They watched as the elders methodically snapped the plaguelet's arms at the elbow, bending back the joint until it shattered, peeling away any errant tendons or muscle fibers that clung to the bone. The keening rose into a constant shriek, and the mangled arms waved as the plagueling thrashed in agony. Scalpels flashed as the wings, too, were removed, the wounds quickly staunched even as blood splattered the elders' clothing. One of the elders held the screaming plaguelet down as the other stripped feather, skin, and other extraneous materials from the precious wing bones.
"Don't close your eyes!"
When all the bone had been harvested and cleaned, the elder with said bones cupped them all in its hands, then leaned forward with the lot of them. The soft glow of magic and FEAR began to envelop the bones, and with a start a shock of the plaguelet's own FEAR leapt outward to join with the former parts of its own body. As one, the watching plaguelings swallowed the bile that had risen during the procedure and leaned forward. This was the part they had come to see and understand.
The rest had been the warning.
The bones were now glowing strongly enough that the actual objects were no longer visible. Both elders were using their power now, and the plaguelet's screaming had gurgled to a halt. Silently, the elders placed the mass of bone onto the plaguelet's face, sweeping their claws upward. Outlining lenses, sides, strap, beak-
And then, with a flash, it was done. The elders stepped back as the light faded, revealing the bone mask; the beak gaped open for the first time, and a splutter of sound emerged, much more coherent with beak and tongue to form it. Eyes fluttered open next, and the plaguelet stiffened under the sudden deluge of senses gained, groping fruitlessly for its face with hands it no longer had.
The words were intoned with utmost solemnity, echoing over the silent crowd. "With this mask you are made whole. It was given by our hands; by our hands can it be taken away. Heed this lesson, plaguelet child, and grow well in the ways of our Casa."
It was at that point that the supervisors herded the plaguelings out, quelling all objections with quiet hisses. They could see the implantation of backblades and granting of hands another time, perhaps. For now, this was enough, and they must leave, silently, and go to the play-rooms to practice proper amputation techniques, and wouldn't that be fun?
Still, Loreto - who would, one day, be called Malodore - hung back, trailing at the very end of the group, turning its head around nearly backwards to watch the elders take out the bloodmetal, begin the second FEAR-infusion as the plaguelet chattered in a mixture of fear, pain, and wonder...
"Get moving!" the supervisor hissed, and swatted it on its bony behind.
Some things, at least, are constant.
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Posted: Tue Jul 12, 2011 8:57 pm
The plagueling brood trailed obediently out of the operating theater, hooves clacking on stone as they shuffled down the hall after their minders. None of the little ones dared talk to each other, but their eyes were bright under their lenses, and every step towards their classroom brought a palpable increase in excitement.
The classroom was, fortunately, not too far away, down one floor and along a slightly skewed corridor with a few loose flagstones. One of the adult retinue opened the door, holding it open for the brood to file in; by this point, little tails were swishing with barely-contained eagerness.
The sound of the door clicking shut was the signal they'd been waiting for. A dozen beaks opened at once; in the sudden cacophony, only a few individual voices managed to distinguish themselves from the din.
"Did that really happen to me? I don't 'member that happening to me!" One plagueling jumped up and down, waving both hands over its head.
"I want wings! Why'd they take them off?" Another hunched dramatically, rippling its backblades.
"Zia Celeste! Zia Celeste!" Still another plagueling tugged at one of the older plague doctors. "Can plaguelets fly?"
"Why can't we watch more? I want to see!" Loreto protested again, folding its arms over its chest and pouting.
"My wings were prettier than yours!" Yet another plagueling shoved at the one who'd mentioned wings first.
"Were not!" The shove was returned.
"Were too-"
Laughing, Zia Celeste caught the last little one before he could start a small classroom war. "Shhh, shhh... quiet down, my noisy little buzzards! Listen to your Zia Celeste, hmm? Come, sit down. I will answer all your questions."
Thus placated, the plagueling brood followed Zia Celeste over to one corner of the room, where rugs covered the stone floor and a single wooden chair held pride of place. The older plague doctor seated herself as the plaguelings flopped down on the floor, some sitting, some lying on their bellies. One tried to stand on its head, fruitlessly.
"Now, one question at a time," Zia Celeste began, pointing at each plagueling in turn. "Masking happens to all of us; otherwise, you would not have a mask right now. The wings must be removed because there is not enough bone in your forearms to make the mask without them. Plaguelings cannot fly, and you can't see more because I said so, Loreto." She opened her beak in a smile. "And Renata, Ettore, there is no point in fighting over something you no longer have. Become elders and fight over your wings then, if you like."
"I want wings now," Ettore said, sighing dreamily. "Why do we have to wait?"
"You have to earn your wings, just like everyone else," Zia Celeste replied, her tone firm but not unkind. "You must be very good, and very obedient, and do your part for the Casa. Then, perhaps the elders will make wings for you."
"Why don't you and Zia Agostino have wings?" Loreto asked, tilting its head to one side. "You work really hard."
Zia Celeste stilled. "Zia Agostino is a bit too young yet. It will be offered its wings in time, I am sure."
"But what about y-"
Loreto blinked and clacked its beak shut as Zia Celeste loudly cleared her throat. "Enough about me, now. Let us move on to our next lesson." She hurriedly reached into one sleeve and produced a small sheaf of envelopes, some of which were marked in unusual colors. A murmur of interest rose from the brood. "Even though you must remain at the Casa, there is no reason why you shouldn't learn a bit about the rest of Halloween. Therefore, the elders have permitted us to begin a pen-pal program." She held the letters out to the gathered plaguelings. "Each of you take one."
There was a quick flurry of movement as the plaguelings descended, and the letters were distributed with only a little bit of pushing and shoving. "Now, then. You will exchange letters with the scareling you picked," Zia Celeste continued. "This assignment will last six months, though you may continue your correspondence after that if you wish. Do you all understand?"
"Yes, Zia Celeste," the plaguelings chorused.
Loreto studied the envelope in its claws. It was pink, and patterned with a soft, swirling design that reminded the plagueling of moving water. Here and there, a small hand poked out of the ripples, as if someone was drowning under the surface. The overall effect was charming, and Loreto approved.
The letter inside was similarly patterned, with handwriting in darker pink ink, but Loreto was distracted by a smaller, thicker bit of paper tumbling out. It bent to retrieve the scrap, then stared at it. It was a painting... but a beautiful, tiny painting! So realistic! It couldn't even see the brush strokes!
The other plaguelings had, apparently, discovered that their letters also held tiny paintings, and were exclaiming excitedly to each other about them. Loreto studied its own more carefully, looking behind its wonder at the craftsmanship to the image itself. Pictured was a young female with green skin and a pinkish face - and she had a beak too, just barely open in a shy but hopeful smile. Her green hair was ornamented with pink bows.
Hasuko Mizuchi, Kappa.
Someone crashed into Loreto's side, making it nearly drop both letter and painting. "What'd you get?" Ettore asked, the other plagueling holding out his own letter. "I got a werewolf!"
"I got a swamp monster," Renata said, grumpily. "Boring!"
"Kappa," Loreto replied, holding up the tiny image. The three plaguelings passed their letters and paintings around, studying them and passing judgement. The general verdict was that kappas were interesting, werewolves were more interesting, and that swamp monsters were very dull, given that the Casa was already at the edge of a swamp.
"That's enough, plaguelings," Zia Celeste called out, putting an end to their conversation. "Please, return to your desks and begin writing your replies."
Loreto obediently retrieved its own letter and painting, then padded back to its desk. Like almost everything in the classroom, the desk was made of polished wood smoothed and worn from long years of use. The desk's lid creaked as Loreto pulled out its ink-pot, quill, and paper. In a few moments the room was filled with the sound of pens scratching.
Dear Signorina Hasuko,
My name is Loreto Cirurgien...
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Posted: Fri Jul 15, 2011 12:15 am
Memory shifted and skipped with the sense of time passing, blurred with age and forgetfulness. Even subconsciously, not all moments are remembered. Classrooms, learning, playing. Letters being written, sent, and received. Several flickers of brief yet sharp clarity - playing a game in class. Falling down the stairs by mistake. Passing an exam with flying colors. And, for some reason, the taste of eye scream.
In the end, everything converged into a single, familiar scene, the same one Riley had been shown a few days prior. That circular room again, now easily recognizable as an operating theater, much larger than the one used in the ritual of masking. The plague doctors gathered here were of all ages, from freshly-masked plaguelets to adults and elders, the latter standing in the back somberly, their metal wings shadowing the proceedings. Nearly all the family were in this one room, over a hundred plague doctors observing in silence.
There was an adult plague doctor laid out on the slab this time; four elders surrounded it, wielding FEAR and bloodmetal in their claws. The subject's back was laid bare, bandages cut away to reveal muscle beneath, and more than that; muscle itself was delicately flayed and untwisted, ready to receive the elders' gift.
Loreto swallowed against the sound of screams. For all that the granting of wings was a great and most desired honor, it was tradition that the procedure be performed without submitting to anesthetic agents. The subject's cries had an odd, gasping quality to them, stuck somewhere between agony and ecstasy. It was uncomfortable to hear, and to watch. But they all had to bear witness.
Two of the elders lifted up metallic spars, the structure of the new wings. Feathers shaped of thinnest metal hung from them, chiming brightly against each other in odd contrast to the sounds of pain. One of the remaining elders dipped its head to speak into the ear of the subject on the table, far too quietly to be overheard, but the subject braced itself visibly, beak grinding in anticipation of pain-
Loreto closed its eyes. It hadn't meant to, really, but nobody was telling it to keep its eyes open this time. It flinched as the next scream came, accompanied by a series of unpleasantly organic noises. Squishy, grindy, bloody noises. The most basic explanation of the procedure looked so neat on paper, talking in clipped, clinical terms about fusing bloodmetal to bone and using FEAR to hook the new appendages into the musculature, returning and re-activating the anatomical wing-structure that had always been present in plague doctor anatomy.
The reality was... messy.
The plagueling only opened its eyes when the screams had faded to ragged gasps. The subject lay prone, exhausted, its limbs splayed, but from its back arced shining wings, and its beak was open in a smile...
"What was taken is now returned," one of the elders intoned. "A gift well earned by faithful and worthy service to the Casa. Heal and fly well, Agostino Cirurgien."
As one, the gathered plague doctors bowed their heads.
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Posted: Fri Jul 15, 2011 12:16 am
"I don't know if I could do that," Ettore said, afterwards, walking alongside Loreto as the two plaguelings left the operating theater. "It hurts... ugh!"
"It only hurts for a little bit, and then you have wings forever," Loreto pointed out, though its backblades lifted slightly in an instinctive movement. "So it's worth it, right?"
Ettore grinned. "Yeah, I guess. And then you can fly! Woosh! Zip! Zoom!" The plagueling spread his arms, nearly tripping another plague doctor, then darted ahead, making 'flying' noises. Loreto followed, spreading its own arms a little bit.
"Wooooooooooosh!" Ettore proclaimed as he pushed open the door to the classroom. "I'm flying, Zia Celeste!"
"Woosh," Loreto agreed, opening its beak in a smile.
Zia Celeste smiled back, though the expression was small and slow. She was the only one in the room, other than the leeches in their tanks and the plague-scrags in their enclosure - pets were not allowed in the operating theaters, so Loreto assumed she'd stayed behind to watch them. "Did you... enjoy it?" she asked, quietly.
"It hurt," Loreto replied, dropping its own voice to a whisper. "But then you get wings, so..."
"Wooooooooooosh!" Ettore shouted, then sat down with a thump, laughing. "Loreto's right! I'll get wings someday! I'm not scared of screaming!"
"Me too, Zia Celeste," Loreto assured her, then padded over to the plague-scrags. The enclosure was filled with small, furry bodies tumbling over and over as they played and tussled. It picked out its own pet easily, thanks to the distinctive orange stripes on her back. Parassiti squeaked as she was pulled away, then dug her claws into Loreto's sleeves and ran up to perch on its shoulder. "Thank you for taking good care of Parassiti," it added, politely.
"Ah... yes, of course. You are welcome," Zia Celeste replied.
The rest of the plaguelings were filtering into the classroom now, several of them retrieving their own pets. Zia Celeste stood up and moved to stand behind her desk, tapping the wood with her knuckles to get their attention. "Class, class - settle down, please. I think we need some quiet time after all that excitement-" She held up one hand to forestall the inevitable wail of protest. "Please pull out your writing projects. We'll work for half an hour."
Loreto raised its hand. "Zia Celeste, can we work on letters...?"
"Yes, of course. Spelling, grammar, letters if you're still corresponding with your pen pal, or you may write in your journals. As long as you write."
Loreto grinned, then opened its desk; as it did so, Parassiti ran back down its arm to curl up inside the interior compartment. It skritched the top of her head affectionately before retrieving ink-pot, quill, and paper. The last pink-tinted letter from Hasu-chan had arrived two days earlier, and it had ever so much to tell her!
Dear Hasu-chan, it began, doing its best not to drip ink; Hasu-chan dripped ink all the time, big dark splots that covered up some of her words, but it liked her letters anyway. Today we saw a really important thing! Plague doctors get their wings when they work really hard and do a really good job for a really long time. Zia Agostino teaches us, and does a lot of other things, so it got its wings today. It won't be able to teach us for a few weeks though, since it has to get better. It screamed a lot.
It tilted its head at 'it screamed a lot', then scratched it out. That sounded kind of scary out of context.
It screamed a lot. It was hard but I think it's worth it to have wings, right? Is swimming like flying at all? There's nowhere to swim inside the Casa and the water I see outside the windows looks all smelly and muddy. I don't think plague doctors are good at swimming anyway, not like kappas...
Letter-writing absorbed it happily, and Loreto filled an entire sheet of paper, front and back, before a sudden noise tore its attention away. Zia Celeste was standing a few desks ahead of it, next to Ettore's desk, holding up the plagueling's paper as though said paper were something foul.
"What is this?" she demanded.
Ettore lifted his beak and met her gaze directly, or as directly as he could given her height. "It's for my pen-pal. Lucille likes my drawin-"
"I keep telling you," Zia Celeste said, shaking the paper at Ettore - Loreto could now see that the paper was covered not with words but with sketches, some depicting the ceremony they'd just witnessed, while others appeared to be pictures of Ettore himself winged and flying in the sky. "If you wish to illustrate diagrams, anatomy, and other such things from life - that, Ettore, you may do. But these ridiculous flights of fancy..." Her beak clacked shut, and she shook her head.
Then she crumpled the paper in her hand.
"Hey!" Ettore protested, but Zia Celeste swished her tail warningly.
"Write, Ettore. Or draw your werewolf friend a picture of what you really saw. But none of this daydreaming foolishness. It is not the proper outlet for your... talents." Her voice was low, but not dangerous; instead, it sounded oddly weary, and a little sad.
"Y-yes, Zia Celeste," Ettore mumbled, drooping. He ducked his head and pulled out another piece of paper, staring at it blankly for a long moment before beginning to write. Zia Celeste watched him until she was satisfied, then moved away with a stiff, measured tread.
Loreto put its quill down and tried to ignore the thick, twisting feeling in its stomach. It didn't feel like writing any more.
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Posted: Sat Jul 16, 2011 10:06 pm
The flow of memory moved forward, but only slighty - a week or so, if that. The sound of plagueling laughter ringing against stone, the scent of mildew and rot, and dampness in the air...
"Come on, Loreto!" Ettore giggled, holding his hand out. The plagueling was standing over a soft-edged hole in the wooden floor - Loreto's ceiling - looking down at his friend below. "It's safe, I promise!"
Loreto swallowed, wobbling a bit atop the slanting tower of old furniture the two of them had piled up. This wing of the Casa was abandoned, filled with old forgotten things and things nobody had wanted to save. It would be very easy to break a bone and not be found for days...
"Come on!"
Loreto took a deep breath, for the calming effect, then stretched up and grabbed Ettore's hand. The other plagueling hauled upwards, creaking with the effort, and Loreto scrabbled at the edge of the hole with its free hand. After a moment of kicking and pulling, Ettore pulled it over the edge and into the room above.
"There! That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Loreto glared at its friend, but it couldn't quite manage genuine irritation. They'd made it! Exploration successful! The warm glow of victory easily chased away the ache in its arms. "Where are we?" it asked as it got to its feet.
"The attic," Ettore declared, gesturing grandly. Indeed, the space they were in was triangular, a sliver of room between ceiling and roof. It smelled of dust and good old wood slowly decaying. "Nobody's been up here in ages! Look at our hoofprints!" Indeed, the floor was practically caked with dust, and the only marks visible in it were the ones the plaguelings themselves had made. "That means... it's our secret, right?"
"Our secret," Loreto agreed, reaching up to tap at the slanting roof. There were skitter-webs everywhere, draping silver over the rafters and abandoned boxes scattered here and there. Plague doctor living was fairly communal, so the thought of having a place all its own...
Well, its and Ettore's. The other plagueling was grinning broadly, beak open so wide that Loreto could practically see down his throat. "This is even better than the other places we found! The wards are even still up!"
Loreto sniffed at the air. "Only a little, though." The air here was a bit damper than in the main living areas, though not as humid as the swamp breezes in the courtyards. The wards, spells of protection, maintenance, and comfort, were definitely weaker here... but they weren't gone. Still, that explained why this wing had been abandoned.
"It's enough." Ettore's eyes were sparkling under his lenses, and he sat down with a thump, a cloud of dust rising around him. That looked like fun, so Loreto followed suit, giggling - and then coughing - as it created its own dusty plume.
The two were silent for a moment. "Hey, Loreto?" Ettore said, finally, leaning forward and swishing one claw through a patch of previously undisturbed dust. "What do you want to do?"
"What, right now?" Loreto tilted its head to one side.
"No, dummy! Like... in life, I guess! To earn your wings! 'Cause we gotta do something really big. Something really great!" Ettore nodded seriously.
"Umm..." Loreto thought for a moment. "I want to... be a doctor? But not just any doctor! I want to learn all kinds of things! Everything there is to know!" Its eyes brightened as it spoke, excitement picking up in its voice. "I want to heal all kinds of creatures, and fix things even the elders can't. And then they'll have to give me my wings!"
Ettore nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! You wanna... you wanna know what I'm gonna do?" His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm... gonna be a great artist."
Loreto stared. "What?"
"I can do it, Loreto! I can paint, I can draw..." He gestured to the dust he had been fiddling with, and Loreto realized that Ettore had been drawing there, too, sketching out a beautiful little swamp-owl in the dust with neat sweeps of his claws. "I know Zia Celeste doesn't want me to 'daydream' and stuff, but... I'll be good. The best! And when they see how good I am, they'll be on my side! I know they will." Its beak opened in a wide smile. "I'll draw hearts and guts and bones AND birds and moons and scary things - anything I want. Anything!"
Ettore ran out of words, then, and closed his beak with a clack. "U-um. You think I can do it?"
"I know you can do it," Loreto said, awed. "You're amazing, Ettore." Its own dream seemed so... prosaic and normal next to that.
"Thanks," Ettore replied, ducking his head bashfully. "Maybe I could practice up here. It's mostly dry, and nobody comes here, so I could paint and draw without Zia Celeste stopping me..."
"That's a great idea!" Loreto agreed, enthusiastically.
"So it's decided! You'll be a great doctor, and I'll be a great artist. Let's fly together someday, okay?" He grinned and held out one hand.
"Someday!" Loreto grabbed Ettore's hand and squeezed.
"It's a promise," they said, in unison, then fell backwards in a rising cloud of dust, laughter, and - eventually - coughing.
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Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 7:24 pm
True to its word, Zia Agostino returned a few weeks after getting its wings, to great acclaim from the plagueling brood; it allowed them to press their palms against the cool, smooth surface of its flight feathers, and fielded a few questions before calling them to order.
"Yes, yes, flying is splendid," it chuckled, raising its hands to calm the eager brood. "But there will be time for that later. Neither I nor my wings are going anywhere, and I have a lesson to get through. Now. Who can tell me the four humours?"
A dozen hands shot up into the air; the elder plague doctor looked over the class before pointing at Renata. "Um... blood, black bile, yellow bile, and phlegm?" she said, hopefully.
It nodded at her, and she opened her beak in a smile. "Very good. Someone else: how are leeches are used in medical practice?" It pointed at another plagueling.
"They process blood?"
"Broadly correct," Zia Agostino replied, nodding again. "Blood and its variants is common in monsters, reapers, and demons, though the physical properties of the substance may vary wildly by species. Both terms are used as a catch-all for any circulating substance without which an animate body may either cease to function or have its function severely impaired. Ectoplasm is considered analogous for ghosts. Undead are harder to categorize; while plague doctors possess blood, for example, it neither circulates nor coagulates. The other three humours have even stranger and more varied analogues in other species. Fortunately, using leechcraft in tandem with FEAR, we can treat and balance all four humours in whatever forms they manifest."
There were an array of leech-jars sitting on top of the desk; as Zia Agostino spoke, it moved its hand from jar to jar, indicating the contents in turn. "Standard swamp-leeches, good for treating 'ordinary' blood, such as that possessed by reapers, certain monsters, and some undead. Acid-tolerant leeches, for treating those with highly acidic blood - again, certain monsters, and several demonic species. Undead leeches, for treating other undead; some variants process embalming fluids..."
Loreto wrote down each leech-type faithfully; the acid-tolerant leech was large and violently green, while the undead leeches were shriveled like dried fruit. "The variation is nearly endless, largely due to our Casa's extensive knowledge and skill in leechcraft," Zia Agostino continued, a note of pride entering its voice. "Nearly any citizen of Halloween may come to the Casa and find us prepared to treat them with a leech type specially bred to tend to their needs. Leechcraft is the pride and tradition of our Casa."
As the lecture went on, the elder plague doctor took out a mawbbit, the creature already disoriented and dazed. It demonstrated proper leech placement - using the standard leeches, naturally - and how to integrate one's FEAR with the leeches to affect the humour in question. At the end of the demonstration, it produced a crate from which odd squishy noises issued.
"Now. These frogs have been poisoned for you already - I want you each to lay your dropcloths over your desks, then come up and take a frog and a bottle of leeches. Practice with them, and try to work with the leeches and your own FEAR to purify the frog's blood."
As one, the class followed instructions; it wasn't long before the plaguelings were back at their desks, frogs and small leech-bottle laid out carefully on the dropcloths. Loreto poked at its frog with one claw; the frog gave it a bulbous glare despite its lethargy.
Loreto took out each leech one at a time, placing them on the frog's body with great care, holding each leech in place until it had latched on to the flesh. Once it was satisfied, it fanned its fingers out over the frog, letting its eyes close as it concentrated on its own meager FEAR...
Zia Agostino's FEAR had felt like a precisely-controlled torrent; its own FEAR, in comparison, was a pale, sloppy trickle that refused to go where Loreto wanted. All plaguelings were given their own leeches at a young age and taught the basics of FEAR-manipulation within the scope of leechcraft, so Loreto was at least able to produce a bit of FEAR, but... well.
It opened one eye and peered down at the frog. Neither amphibian nor leeches seemed particularly affected.
A sound called Loreto's attention to the side; Zia Agostino was standing over it, peering down at its project. "Try again. Remember, you are focusing your FEAR into the leeches."
Loreto tried to oblige, but there were five leeches on the frog, and it was hard to split its focus like that. Maybe if it only focused on one firs-
Splot.
Zia Agostino sighed and wiped leech-slime off of its coat. The leech Loreto had focused on was now a pile of goo."No, Loreto. Our leeches are highly FEAR-sensitive so that they might be receptive to our manipulations. Too much, and you will damage them. Try again."
Loreto sighed and spread its fingers out even further, in case that helped, shifting so it was covering all the leeches in the shadow of its hands. It kept its eyes open this time, trying to force the FEAR out at five points...
The leeches glowed slightly, then shuddered a bit. The frog grunted. "That's the way," Zia Agostino said, encouragingly. "Continue on like that."
"That's not easy," Loreto said, dropping its hands for a moment. "What are they poisoned with?"
"An herb, I believe," Zia Agostino said, tilting its head at the plagueling. "Why?"
"Can't we just un-poison them with a plant, too?"
The question was asked out of sheer innocent curiosity, but Zia Agostino reacted as if Loreto had insulted it personally. Its tone instantly went flat. "We are not hedge-witches or other such dabbling quacks, Loreto. We are plague doctors of the Casa Cirurgien. This manner of healing is our skill and craft. Such lazy shortcuts would never - will never - be tolerated in this Casa. Do you understand?"
Loreto stared, then bowed its head hurriedly. "Yes, Zia Agostino!"
"Good. Keep trying," Zia Agostino said, and moved on to the next desk.
Loreto poked at the frog; it wasn't looking so good. Enough time had passed that the poison was starting to do serious damage. The plagueling just wasn't fast enough to heal it properly! There had to be other, simpler ways to get the same results, surely...
But this was the lesson it was meant to learn. Loreto sighed quietly as it straightened and spread its fingers once more. It would try, at least. Maybe the whole thing would get easier with practice? Or it could figure out some other method, perhaps. Something it could perfect, and then show Zia Agostino later on... not with herbs, though. Not if that made the elder plague doctor so grumpy.
Still. There had to be a better way!
Underneath its outstretched claws, the frog shuddered, belched, and died.
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Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 7:25 pm
The library of the Casa Cirurgien was a huge, echoing room with bookshelves instead of proper walls. The wards here were perhaps the strongest of anywhere in the Casa, keeping damp and rot well away from the ancient tomes collected there, and Loreto felt a bit parched itself as it padded quietly down a row of bookcases. Still, it didn't mind the dryness too much. It was, after all, on a mission.
Its notebook was tucked under one arm as it searched the shelves. For all that the library itself was large, its contents weren't very diverse. The section on leechcraft was understandably massive; the section on leech-breeding was nearly as large. There were naturalist's tomes, categorizing the species of Halloween, both sentient and non. There were a very small number of books on herbcraft, kept in a locked bookcase. Tomes on surgical techniques were fairly plentiful, but they focused on physical work only, nothing integrating surgical exploration and FEAR-techniques... and absolutely nothing on FEAR-techniques outside of leechcraft, other than the room on the Human World that was locked up tight. While, naturally, the elders did go Scaring formally, most of the Casa's income came from healing those who came as patients.
All of the books were old, pages crackling and yellowing. Nothing Loreto could find had been published within the last two hundred years.
It sighed and sat down, flattening its backblades against the side of a bookshelf. Surely people had figured out some new things in the last two hundred years? If not... well, they were about due, weren't they? Maybe they were just waiting for a clever plagueling. Someone like itself...
It was a nice daydream. Loreto saw itself revolutionizing leechcraft, changing the way the plague doctors healed... it was standing over an operating slab, lecturing to a group of attentive plaguelings. It was being commended by the elders.
It was flying-
"Loreto?"
It jumped, backblades scraping harshly against the bookshelf, making it wince. "Z-zia?"
Zia Celeste came around the corner, tilting her head at it. "Ah, there you are. Ettore said you'd come here. Are you looking for anything in particular?"
"I guess not," Loreto admitted, getting to its feet. "It's all... really old. Isn't there anything new?"
"Our craft was honed to perfection long ago, Loreto," she said, gently. "What else could we possibly require?"
"I don't know," it mumbled. "Just thinking."
"I can tell." She sighed, then reached into one sleeve and pulled out an envelope. "I came to talk to you about this, actually..."
It was the latest letter it had written to Hasu-chan - and it had been opened, Loreto realized with a start. "Hey, that's mine!"
"Yes." She plucked the letter itself out of the envelope. "Loreto, you need to write something else. All of these questions... 'How do kappas heal other kappas?' 'What kinds of books are there? Can you tell me about them?' 'What do you know about medicine?'" she quoted, then shook her head. "These will never be answered."
"What do you mean? Hasu-chan always answers my letters."
She sighed again. "I am trying to save both you and your pen-pal a bit of trouble. Even if Hasu-chan answers these questions, you will never see them. Why trouble her to write down things you won't get to read? It's better for you both if you just write another letter. Forget the questions."
"What... Zia Celeste, what are you talking about?" Loreto looked up at her, eyes wide with confusion, a curl of dread creeping into its belly.
She did not meet its gaze. "All correspondence leaving or entering the Casa is screened, Loreto. A few of the elders read all of it. Anything inappropriate is removed."
Loreto stared. It remembered, with a sickening lurch, the inkblots that had peppered nearly every one of Hasu-chan's letters after the first one. It had thought the kappa just had slightly messy penmanship, but... "The... the black spots...?"
Zia Celeste nodded. "Yes. I... I am sorry, Loreto. Please, just write another letter to your friend." She reached out her free hand and patted the plagueling on the head, ruffling its hat slightly.
Then she turned, pivoting on one hoof, and was gone.
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Posted: Mon Jul 18, 2011 7:27 pm
"They were reading my letters, Ettore - this whole time, they were reading my letters!" Loreto felt sick. It was sitting in Ettore's attic - what the other plagueling called his 'atelier' - leaning against the wall, knees pulled up to its chest. "And yours, too! All of them! I don't even know what they took out, too... I feel like I don't even know Hasu-chan any more..."
Ettore sighed. The other plagueling was flopped on the floor, having left aside his latest painting project in favor of Loreto's tale. "She still wrote what she wrote, even though you didn't get to see all of it? Lucille's letters were the same way... I didn't realize either." He shook his head, then raised one hand to gesture at the attic. The dust that had coated it was gone entirely, revealing soft, golden wood below. Paints, papers, and other materials were neatly stacked, with Ettore's work nailed to the slanted roof here and there. "But I have this. They can't have it. It's mine."
"I don't have anything that's mine," Loreto mumbled, burying its beak against its knees. "Except maybe Parassiti. Not even Hasu-chan..."
"Then why don't we find something?" Ettore said, suddenly; Loreto looked up. "Something that can be yours? You want to try new things, right? Experiment?"
"Y-yeah?"
"Well! Let's find somewhere!" The other plagueling jumped to his feet, hooves clacking on the wooden floor. "Some place to be all your own. Your laboratory, just like my atelier. The Casa is so huge, there must be somewhere that would work!"
Loreto stayed very still for a moment. That daydream of its experiments, of forbidden knowledge and new discoveries opening before it like flowers... it was still there, in its mind, only a little flattened by what Zia Agostino and Zia Celeste had told it. But Ettore was defiant, even more deviant than itself... and so, so brave.
How could it be any less?
It reached out one hand; Ettore took it and hauled Loreto to its feet. "Yes. Let's find a place like that," it said, firmly, even though something in its stomach was shaking and scared.
Ettore opened his beak in a brilliant smile.
.................
The Casa Cirurgien had a hundred crumbling, unused rooms; entire wings had been abandoned. If there were any floorplans for the entire structure, they were either locked away or long since lost. It was possible for brave, adventurous plaguelings to run wild, delving into a labyrinth of empty rooms like miners exploring a new cave. Every plagueling did so - but most of them returned to the lighted halls sooner or later of their own accords.
Ettore and Loreto had explored further than most, and taken greater risks; today was not an exception, and the fire of their mission drove them to even greater lengths. The two plaguelings headed for the bit of the Casa that bordered on the swamp itself, where wings were slowly being eaten by muck and mud, walls smothered in vines. The wards in the foundations were no longer sound, and the floors tilted; the wards in the walls were barely present, and as the plaguelings inched along one unnaturally-angled hallway they slipped beyond those wards. It was like walking into a wall of heat and damp.
"Phew!" Ettore covered its nostrils with one hand. "Stinks, doesn't it? Careful, the floor might be rotting if it's this bad..."
Loreto wiped condensation from its lenses. The heat and damp was unpleasant, like taking a hot shower fully clothed and bandaged, but it was also something an adult plague doctor would think twice before entering. Furthermore, it could hear sounds through the broken windows they passed: water lapping at stone, buzzing insects, frogs. Test subjects it could acquire without going through official channels and raising questions.
The wing ended in a curving, crumbling wall that soared upwards - a tower, tilted at an angle, missing chunks of wall here and there but with enough plant growth on the remaining wall to show that it hadn't crumbled further in quite some time. It was likely stable now, or stable enough. The doorway - the door itself was gone, though rusted hinges protruded from the stone - opened onto a landing. Below, spiral stairs descended to a patch of dirt; a low, broken wall indicated where the tower's outer wall had once been. Beyond it was the open swamp. Between the dirt and the wall's curve was a still, shallow pond brimming with leaves and fright-lilies. As they watched, a frog leapt from lily-pad into the water.
The spiral stairway continued upwards as well, clinging to the wall; they climbed with care, holding hands, gingerly jumping the two-step gap halfway up the flight. The floor above was surprisingly flat, not tilted as madly as even the ceiling, and good solid stone. There was even a slab, covered with vines now but once smoothed for medical use. A few niches and shelves were carved into the walls.
Ettore turned to Loreto, his beak open wide with delight. "What do you think? Is it yours?"
The plagueling pulled a hunk of vines away from the slab, then ran its palm down the smooth stone. "I think it is," it said, quietly, its own beak opening in a slow smile.
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