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Post by Viridis on Sept 10, 2007 3:43:21 GMT -5
Aetheris - Apothecary
You are met with a haze as you enter the Apothecary. Smoke and the incense detract from your senses of sight and smell. There is a strange tingling in your limbs, and you may find yourself pausing to consider whether you're dreaming or awake.
As the world around you begins to come into focus, you're met with the gaze of a thin, sallow looking man with keen and piercing red eyes. Both his skin and hair are white, as if the painter of this scene had run out of color and left nothing but an outline of his form on the paper. He regards you silently for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly in an admonitory gesture, then returns to his mortar and pestle, incremental pops and flashes coming from the grinding.
The albino man is standing behind a large wooden counter, its top littered with vials and beakers, all with their own array of colors and some with tiny flakes of unknown origin floating in them; shelves line the walls with other such curiosities -- bowls of powder, jars of herbs, and occasional animal parts... presumably. At least, most of them are recognizable as such; a crow's wing here, a snakeskin there. Dangling from the center of the room is a single spherical flask, its contents a luminescent green liquid that cast eerie shadows amongst the shop's artifacts, and is the only source of light.
[ Obvious Exits: <Out> or the Apothecary ]
[ Players: Fieldmouse ]
It's sometime before dawn, but in the frail constant glow of the apothecary, noon might as well be midnight. The room is settled into such a silence that even the footsteps of a mouse can be heard -- well, /she/ can hear them, at least. Having slipped in through a crack near the door, the little rodent pauses and sniffs, shivering at the bombardment of strange sights and smells. What a bizarre place! And what brings a humble fieldmouse to visit such an establishment? Not pleasure, certainly; the little creature looks far from pleased to be here. Huddling against the edge of the doorframe, she runs her paws over her whiskers, collecting her bearings and her courage as she plans her next maneuver.
The room may be silent, but it's far from inactive. The concoctions on the wooden countertop are simmering quietly, having evaporated away most of their dissolved gasses, but vapor still rises in waves, and the blue and orange burners beneath them burn on. A hanging series of baskets, like a large lopsided mobile, is spinning slowly from its hook in the ceiling; it's made of something like corrugated brown paper, and contains roots, spices, and shavings of who knows what. It's a warm room, but the one sound to be heard, aside from tender mouse footsteps, is the sad whimper of a huddled up creature on the back counter, not far from the mobile of baskets and the lone, covered window. Now he's silent--and now he's crying, or whining, or moaning again, and his plated body heaves up and down in the eerie light.
Now, what did that blasted marten tell her? He'd said it twice, and her memory was usually fine, but now her head is swimming. Maybe it's fear, or something about that strange smell in the air. She squints her eyes in concentration and peers up at the dizzyingly high shelves. Third shelf up, he'd said. On the left? Yes, that's right. She waits a moment to make sure the coast is clear and then scampers along the wall, across the door, taking shelter within a broken, overturned pot. She pauses again, whiskers twitching tremulously, then continues on to her chosen destination, a bundle of long sticks leaning conveniently against the lowest shelf. It's when she's halfway up that she first hears a whimper, and nearly loses her grip; she clings and stares towards the indistinct green-tinged figure for a moment, then scrambles up onto the lowest shelf, hiding between two fluid-filled beakers. There is something alive in here besides herself! She shivers again, and listens. Well, it doesn't sound like a cat, she has that much to be thankful for. After some hesitation, the mouse creeps along the shelf towards the back counter and, reaching her platform's edge, peers down towards the weeping thing. "H.. Hello?" She calls meekly, wincing and recoiling a little at the sound of her own voice.
There's a slight delay, but then the creature heaves with a start. A face emerges from the pile of scales, revealing that to have been the creature's back. Its pointed tail snakes out from underneath without malice. "Hello? Who's there?" calls an equally meek, frightened voice, just a little deeper. The face of the armadillo finds the general vicinity of the shelves, but doesn't identify where exactly the mysterious voice is hiding.
Fieldmouse is somewhat relieved to get a better view of the creature... though she doesn't know exactly what it is, it doesn't give the impression of being predatory. Scooting herself up to the very edge of the shelf, she sits up a little on her hind legs. "Just a fieldmouse." She replies, still sounding quite nervous. "There aren't any cats in here, are there?"
The armadillo has crept forward and has begun to stand on his hind legs for some unknown purpose--perhaps his own defense. When he hears that the interlocutor is only a field mouse, he calms himself and sinks to all fours again. The question goes ignored. "Oh, hello," says the voice, palpable with relief. There's a short pause in which some rotating thing moves and the cast against the back wall and window changes from red to purple. "I thought I was alone. What...what are you doing here?"
"I was told to come." The mouse replies, not sounding particularly relieved at the prospect of having found some company; though it's not the company that's dampening her mood, it's the scenery. She takes a moment to peer up at the shelf above, trying to figure out the best way to get up to it, but doesn't make an attempt yet. She looks back down to the odd little creature on the counter, her ears perking. "Why were you crying?"
"Was I crying?" The odd creature's ears swivel at skewed angles, and its body slumps a little. "I was unhappy," he says, "because I have no idea what Butcher's Broom is, or how to find it..." He looks around the room in apparent confusion, and slumps again. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know. Perhaps I can stay here for the rest of my life. Perhaps I can...perhaps I can..." His voice trails off, now meeker even than that of the mouse.
The mouse's nervousness is suddenly replaced, or at least accompanied by, surprise and interest, and also a fair touch of sympathy. She leans forward, her front paws gripping the edge of the shelf, and speaks gently. "Butcher's Broom? I know what that is. But why? And why would you be looking for Butcher's Broom in a place like this?" She gives a look around, spots a pair of detached bird feet hanging nearby, and shudders slightly.
A visage of hope comes over the armadillo, as the rotating thing before the light source moves and the light turns yellowish. He rises and angles up his head. "You know what it is? Then you're what I needed. You must be important. What's your name, if you please? My name is Sammy, I'm from the Bowl, up in space, and I'm going back...are you a native to this planet?" It's his turn to shudder, but at a thought rather than a sight. "Are we even on a planet?" All the speech comes in a gentle rush, like water that has to reach its destination eventually, regardless of obstacles.
"Important?" Fieldmouse utters with a nervous little laugh. "Oh no... not particularly." She's puzzled by the armadillo's talk of space and planets; such concepts are beyond her knowledge. She doesn't let it bother her, though, as she knows well enough that there are many things beyond her knowledge. "I don't know if we're on a 'planet'." She answers honestly, her attention once again turning to the shelf above as she gauges the distance and any articles that might be helpful in reaching it. "But you can call me Demi."
"Demi," repeats the cingulate. His countenance seems to grow vague and hazy. "You don't need to know whether you're important--I mean, you may not be important in the absolute, but you're important to +me+, and what +I+ have to do," he persists stubbornly. He now slinks along the edge of the counter, some distance from the shelves, and eyes the upper shelves where the mouse is headed. "Are you trying to get up there? Can I help you? Is that what I'm supposed to do here--find someone who'll help me if I help them?"
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Post by Viridis on Sept 10, 2007 3:43:57 GMT -5
Demi starts tugging at a large mortar to try and move it to the edge of the shelf, but this proves much too heavy to move, and she gives up quickly. She immediately turns her attention to a smaller basket filled with what look like some sort of dried fruits, though they don't smell at all appetizing. She tries tugging at that without much more success; it's simply too big and cumbersome. All this is done in the few seconds that Sammy continues on about her importance, but when he offers his help she blinks and looks down distractedly. "Oh! Would you? I need to reach the third shelf somehow. Do you think you can manage to get up onto this--" The mouse freezes suddently for a moment, her black eyes bulging with fright. From the back room, the shopkeeper's private dwelling, there is a rustling noise and a quiet creak.
Sammy doesn't hear it at first. Despite his tall, busy ears, his hearing just isn't very sharp. But he does notice the mouse's sudden silence, and glances around in confusion. "What is it? Are we in trouble?" He glances at the third shelf and sees a few miscellaneous commodities, but nothing remarkable.
"Shhh!" The mouse urges, putting a tiny paw digit to her pursed lips. "Th.. there's someone over there." She whispers just loud enough to be heard, gesturing shakily with her other paw towards the back room. "We should hurry." She goes on in hushed tones. "Can you get up here?"
Sammy looks at the shelves with renewed intensity. "Maybe I could get to your shelf with a running start," he says in a blitz. "But the others...the third shelf... I don't...I don't think I can..." He can't help but look through the door to the back room. "How did they get in there? Is there a back entrance I didn't know about? Maybe the Liaison sent someone...or something after me!" The poor creature looks ready to panic.
Demi looks panicky herself; she glances twitchily around again at the shelf's contents, then back towards Sammy. "Do try!" She says earnestly. "If you lifted me up, I think I could jump to the second shelf; and I'll help you find a sprig of Butcher's Broom in return, when we get out of here. There's some growing not far from my nest."
Sammy stands in one place and calms himself, his body rising and falling. "There must be a way...there must be..." He notices the pile of sticks leaning against the shelf. "How did you get onto that shelf in the first place, Demi? Did you climb up those sticks?" He tries not to think about the noises from the other room.
Demi nods hastily, her whiskers fluttering with the movement. "Yes, I did." For the moment everything has returned to its former quiet state, though it only serves to make all their words and movements seem louder. The poor little mouse has to struggle to keep her wits about her.
Sammy whispers across the gap: "If you did it once, you can do it again. What if I...what if I..." He looks to and fro a few times, curling and uncurling his tail. "A year ago, I wouldn't have had any clue what to do. I've become a lot more resourceful since then." He swallows. "What if I knock the sticks over to the counter, here, and then pull them up. Then I can stand them up and lean them against the third shelf, and you can climb up from there?"
It sounds like a noisy, risky procedure, but unfortunately, Demi's run out of ideas, and can't see another way up from here. She hesitates a moment, but another subtle noise from the back room quickly makes up her mind. "Yes... yes, alright." She agrees. "Not too loudly." And she perches herself at the outer corner of the shelf to keep a look out for danger in an attempt to make herself useful.
Sammy has to get down to the floor and back up again. Fortunately, he has a way--one of the two chairs in the room is piled with hides and fabrics. He makes his way over to the bundle and bonks his head into it to get it to move. However, unfortunately, it's not really a bundle. The sticks are unattached, and clatter loudly all over the floor. Sammy just stands there, terrified and shocked.
If Sammy is terrified, Demi is doubly so. She nearly jumps out of her skin when the sticks clatter over and stares, aghast, in the few seconds of dead silence that follow; her pink ears blanch white with alarm. Then, from the other room, the distinct sound of movement can be heard. There's no time to escape, and wouldn't be even if her original route to the floor hadn't been knocked over. "Hide!" She squeaks, before dashing over and diving into the basket, trying to burrow herself under the dried fruit.
Sammy glances sharply back and forth, and then dashes for the chair covered with cloth, perhaps to jump back up onto the counter. But the sounds get louder just as he makes it there, so he huddles under the chair instead, in the far corner of the room. In walks the shopkeeper, dressed in nightclothes, with a stocking cap and a cane or staff in his hand.
Red eyes, narrowed sharply with suspicion, dart this way and that; from the door of the shop, which is shut fast, to the pile of sticks scattered on the floor -- his eyes narrow even further. Without saying a word, he steps further into the shop, prowling slowly around to make an assessment of the shelves' contents and make sure that nothing important is missing or out of place.
Well, a few things may be out of place...but nothing's missing. Still, there's clearly been an intrusion. The man slaps his flat hand on the counter, and the sound echoes, causing Sammy to shudder but not to move too much. The apothecary moves briskly to the door, jiggles the handle, and frowns when he finds the latch sound and locked. He then looks around. The green light is tinged with blue now, for some reason. His eyes suddenly fall on the window, before which is a large piece of plywood, and he strides toward it, meaning to investigate.
Demi gives a little start at the slap to the counter, but luckily not violently enough to cause the basket to move or its contents to rattle. She remains curled up in an inconspicuous little ball as the albino examines the window, which doesn't seem to have been disturbed. Still, he knows something is amiss, and he's not about to give up that easily. Stepping calmly around the chair under which Sammy is hiding, he moves behind the counter and eyes the shelf behind it. Lifting a hand preemptively, bony fingers wavering, he gives his choice a moment's thought, then picks a small bottle from among his collection, along with a disc of charcoal. He lights it, seemingly without the aid of a match; it crackles and sparks slightly as it ignites, and he blows on it gently to get it glowing hot before turning again to look slowly around the shop. "Whoever hides within these walls... this is the only warning I shall give. Reveal thyself now." Demi shivers, the flakes of fruit surrounding her body giving a little tremble, but doesn't leave the safety of the basket.
Sammy is slowed only by the time it takes to overcome his wavering legs. He hurries out into the open and stares at the red-hot charcoal. He glances left and right as if hoping for rescue to come, but of course there's nothing but the constantly burbling vials and beakers. The man has terrified him speechless.
By the time Sammy is out into the open, the apothecary has opened the bottle and is hovering it over the charcoal, ready to pour its contents; but at the armadillo's movement he stops and stares, then slowly withdraws the bottle. "What's this?" He murmurs under his breath, re-corking the potion and setting it on the counter before walking around it towards the terrified creature, eyes trained on it curiously. An animal he hasn't seen before; something rare. A covetous gleam enters his eyes, and his mouth gradually twists into a sickly smile. "Well, well... aren't you a lucky little intruder!" He remarks, sounding far too pleased. "And just what -are- you, mmm?" He doesn't really expect an answer; he doesn't know the armadillo can speak. It's a simple, dumb animal that somehow snuck in, for all he suspects.
Sammy realizes that fact, too--he's in a quandary. His eyes flash for an instant to the mouse huddled on the shelf, and back to the red eyes of the magician--which is what he is, for all Sammy can tell. He skitters back a few tiny steps...and then remains silent for a few seconds more. But his instincts wont let him leave an honest question unanswered--for all he knows, that could consecrate his doom. "I'm a three-banded armadillo," he says in as steady a voice as he can manage.
The man pauses, once again staring, but this time his surprise is less than pleasant; his smile fades as a shadow of suspicion returns to his expression. He squints and leans forward slightly onto his cane, but seems reluctant to approach further. "Are you a sorcerer?" He asks sharply. "Why have you come here?" By now, Fieldmouse's curiosity is beginning to rival even her terror. She pokes her head up out of the basket to look fearfully at the armadillo and his inquisitor, nose twitching at the scent of burning charcoal. Thankfully, she goes unnoticed by the shopkeeper for the time being.
Sammy backs up until his tail strikes the leg of the chair. He straightens his forelegs and wonders for a second whether he could pass for a sorcerer. Still falsehood is not something that comes easily to him, and for all he knows, his only avenue here and now is to tell the truth. "No," he says, shaking his head. "Are you?" The question comes out before he's thought it through.
"In a matter of speaking." The sallow man replies rather spontaneously. At learning that Sammy isn't a sorcerer he seems to regain his confidence and takes another step forward, his posture hunching as he brings his face closer to the creature's level; again his eyes narrow. "What were you doing?" He asks, more concerned with what the trespasser is after than who he is or where he's come from, at least for the moment.
"I was sent here to bring back an herb. It's called Butcher's Broom. I don't know what it is, or what it looks like...or how I can pay for it," he adds with an uncomfortable swivel. "But I haven't taken anything. Please don't hurt me." Now he's trying not to look toward the shelves anymore...he doesn't want the man to ask what's over there.
It's an unfortunate circumstance that the herb Sammy was seeking happens to be on the shelf above the one where Demi is -- or -should- be -- hiding. The shopkeeper's gaze flickers that way reflexively on mention of it. Even now, he probably wouldn't take notice of the fieldmouse, if she would only keep herself still; but as his eerie stare is cast in her general direction, she ducks back into the basket. His eyes snap down to it, and he gives an indignant growl. "Don't move." He says, pointing his stick at Sammy, before striding over to the shelves and plucking Demi out of the basket effortlessly by her tail, holding her up before his face and looking at her shrewdly. Her little limbs flail desperately and she shakes like an autumn leaf. "What's this about?!" The man demands, his temper clearly rising, as he looks from one animal to the other, apparently not satisfied with the armadillo's explanation of being sent for a not-incredibly-uncommon herb. "P-please, sir!" The mouse manages to squeak. "I was sent here as well, against my will, to fetch a vial." The albino's gaze turns to pierce Sammy again accusingly, and he waits to hear if the armadillo's story will change.
It doesn't. He remains motionless and silent as the albino goes to the shelf. But then, when he plucks the mouse from the basket so easily, and dangles her by her tail, he turns around and leaps onto the chair, backing onto the stack of fabrics. "If you please, sir," he says in a quiet but dignified tone: "Who are you to tell me that I should not move?" The tip of his tail wavers back and forth like a tiny taunt, or perhaps just a way of relieving anxiety.
"A merchant protecting his wares from filthy little thieves." The man spits back, on the fringes of infuriation. He once again approaches the armadillo and points his stick at him, the mouse still dangling from his pallid fingers. "And who do you think -you- are, breaking into my shop to take what you please? I ought to skin you both here and now." But he doesn't; and it's not out of mercy. Something about this doesn't smell right, and he wants to get to the bottom of it. "Who sent you?" He demands of the fieldmouse. She shudders and tries to curl up, her ears folding. "A- a marten, sir." She replies faintly. "He's holding my mate prisoner, and threatened to t-torture him unless I came here to get a vial." The albino's thin white brows raise in sudden insight -- a cruel smile spreads across his face, and he bursts into a rasp of laughter. Demi finds herself more terrified than ever, rather than relieved by this unexpected show of mirth. "Aha! Fallaeron!" The man utters, apparently incredibly amused, before succumbing to another gale of laughter. "I should have guessed it!"
Sammy is confused, but he knows this isn't the time to show it. Not wanting to have to operate under the fear of being skinned, he leaps from the chair to the counter while the man is questioning the mouse, and zips along until he reaches the window. There, he quickly worms his way behind the plywood, and, with a great effort, topples the board from the window, whereupon it bounces on the counter and falls to the floor. Behind it, there is no nighttime scene, nor a boarded-up window, nor anything at all. Behind the window is a field of pure black. This is the kind of black that doesn't occur in nature. Blacker than the blackest sky, or the purest paint. It's a square made without light. And Sammy stands before it, looking energized.
The apothecary is shocked enough by crashing of the plywood onto the counter, but he's completely unprepared to see the thing that's revealed when it happens. He chokes on his laughter, his eyes widening almost to the point of bugging out of his skull, and drops the mouse, who lands with a squeak and scuttles off dazedly to hide. "You--" He sputters as he tears his gaze from the blackness to the armadillo. He seems appalled beyond anger and torn between a compulsion to approach it and the shock that roots him to the spot. He grips his cane tightly, the whiteness of his knuckles concealed by the lack of pigment in his hand. "So you are a sorcerer after all." He hisses. And what now, he wonders? Whatever this is, it's powerful magic. Even if he felt confident enough to incite a duel, he wouldn't dare do it here, at the risk of destroying all his possessions and probably half the town. No, that's not an option. "What's this about?" He asks again, letting his eyes wander back over the hole... if it could even be described as that..
The armadillo arches his back as if for some artistic reason, perhaps combining the motives of a confrontational cat with those of a restless snake. There is no motion in the blackness behind him, but don't stare too long at its borders, or you may lose some of your sanity. His voice remains calm, with just a twinge of repressed panic behind it. "Just set out the vial outside your shop for the mouse, and give me two sprigs of Butcher's Broom...and you won't need to find out."
Again, the shopkeeper seems suspicious; all this, for a few sprigs of Butcher's Broom? But he doesn't argue; he decides to be grateful for the fact that Sammy isn't demanding something more valuable, and hope that if he complies no further loss will come of it. With some difficulty, he breaks his attention from the blackness and refocuses it on the shelves. His first act upon approaching them is picking a tiny vial, hardly bigger than a thumbnail, from the top shelf; he then plucks two sprigs of a holly-like plant from a bundle. All this is done with surprising composure, considering his situation; just as if he were serving any ordinary customer. Shooting the armadillo a glance, he steps over to the door, opens it to set the vial outside, and shuts it fast again. Only when he's approaching the odd little creature and the strange phenomenon beside it does that composure begin to buckle, his steps becoming difficult as his gaze is again drawn to the... thing. His jaw slackens a little, and he seems hardly aware of his surroundings as he sets the herbs on the counter.
With a certain humility to his step, the armadillo steps forward and fiddles with the sprigs. He eventually manages to insert them into a space between his front two bands, making him look rather comical, like a space creature with antennae in the wrong places. Now he backs away and stands before the screen of blackness, muscles tensed and ready to spring. "I'm sorry," he says. "I've screwed up, I've made a mess. I apologize." The way his words and expression lack focus suggest that he may not be talking directly to the shopkeeper. But if not him, to whom?
But the shopkeeper doesn't seem to register the apology, whether or not it was directed at him. His attention is somewhere else... perhaps some -dimension- else. Slowly, the blackness... the lack of light, as it were, seems to be consuming his field of vision, but despite his fear of going blind he finds himself unable to look away. He mumbles something unintelligible and mildly delirious under his breath and takes an unsteady step back, shaking his head a little jerkily.
The armadillo seems at a loss and a little disappointed. He takes a breath and finishes it. "Well, that's that, I suppose. I can't undo what I've done--all I can do is keep it from getting worse. So long--oh, and good luck, Demi." He glances around at the various eerie trappings of the place one last time, as if afraid that he's missed some key point, and then turns swiftly and leaps through the window into the black pane. He disappears into it with no resistance. There is no visible change in the solid blackness; his body simply vanishes millimeter by millimeter, leaving the mysterious hole behind. Count nine seconds and a fraction--Tic tic tic tic tic tic tic tic tic t--now the hole is abruptly gone, and the ragged scrub in the outskirts of Aetheris appears through it, lit by the onset of dawn. Was the strange anomaly really there in the first place? Was the armadillo even real?
From somewhere in the shop, though its owner is still concealed, a small voice squeaks out a heartfelt "Thank you!" Before Sammy vanishes through the hole. The albino, meanwhile, seems to be loosing his grip, in more ways than one. His cane clatters to the floor, and he leaves it to lie there with the sticks that fell earlier; his mumbling turns to rambling, though just as unintelligible. Then, ass the thing blinks out of existence and leaves him staring out of the window, he staggers backwards and throws up his arms to shield his eyes with a pained howl. Now he's -truly- blinded, if only temporarily, by the contrast of daylight. Spend 20 odd years inside without a glimpse of the sun, and even the subtle light of dawn is scathingly bright. Combine that with the fact that an instant before he'd been staring at the darkest thing he'd ever seen in his life, and the impact is like a brick to the head. Obviously unseen and momentarily forgotten by the shopkeep, the fieldmouse slips out from her hiding place in the broken pot she'd taken shelter in earlier, crosses the doorway and squeezes herself back out through the crack that she'd used to enter. The albino, meanwhile, can only retreat like a wounded animal, cursing madly, to the back room; he'll have to wait until nightfall to fix the board back over his window, provided he's collected enough of his mind to do so.
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