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Something Wicked This Way Comes Empty Something Wicked This Way Comes

Post by Damian Sat Dec 04, 2021 6:52 pm

Something Wicked This Way Comes Damianpost

-


“What’s he doing here? Could he be visiting someone? No doubt about it. A busy man is what he is.

How gracious and nervous was he to see him again, with his insolent pose and black curtain for hair! What cruel handsomeness had he bequeathed? Emil Graves had looked upon him as a prickly, unfeeling ghoul. He had the everlasting warmth of a raging blizzard and the tongue of a venomous serpent about to strike.

The fellow he was so unnaturally fixated on moved quite like a dark cloud through the streets that seemed to so resemble the dark-tinted cobwebs of a sprawling spider. Around the impersonal eldritch hung the more lively folk quite too heavily engaged in their active tourism to notice anything outside of their wonder bubble. Such occupied persons and this ghostly figure had primarily one thing in common if he contemplated this thoroughly enough, which was to ignore practically everything and everyone outside themselves, but in expression, they were vastly different.

He was as vivacious as a corpse, kinder than a cornered wasp defending an incompetent hive, and yet his talents as a doctor could not be slighted even in passing.

His knowledge as a practitioner and endless devotion were fair reasons that he, the ever nervous Emil, hadn’t left this plane of existence.

That fact may have led him to follow the serious man around like a lost puppy, in order to make his gratitude known to him again. He dared to hope for a change of heart, a tender acknowledgment in return for his tedious trials.

That was asking for too much, apparently.

It was in the way the much sought-for healer stopped in the middle of the sidewalk that alarmed the meek gentleman of his understanding that  he was more than conscious of his callous stalker.

Sweet Emil was discovered so soon that he hadn’t the time to prepare himself for a proper greeting nor the moment to come up with a plausible reason for his ardent pursuit. He was so embarrassed, he could hardly speak clearly through the mass stuttering that spilled from his quaking lips. “D-Damian! I - I-I didn’t mean no di—-disrespect, sir.” He tried to get to the point quickly before his face could reveal a powerful ruddy red. “I o-only wanted t-t-to thank you again for saving me. You’ve added yea-years to my life! M-my only right decision was choosing you for a d-doctor.”

Damian turned around at a leisurely pace to address the poor fool with eyes of sharp ruby diamonds. He mindlessly and slowly twisted the long red ribbon that held up the half ponytail around his fingers before finally recognizing the same fragile creature from a time so long ago. He stopped playing with the fine string and allowed his hand to fall back to his side.

“Yes, it is clear to see that nearly thirty years of said life have not been entirely wasted on you, Mister Graves. You get to live another blessed day.” Said Damian, grimly. “I would expect nothing more predictable than an untimely relapse if you continue to defy my sincerest recommendation. How extraordinarily prolonged your road to recovery has been when it could have been remedied in less than three months….” then he briefly thought about it with a subtle hint of a cruel smirk lighting up the tail end of his lips, “approximately.”

“Yes, erm. True. B-But, uh, in case you haven’t noticed, I am doing considerably better t-thanks to you.”

“What also fails to escape my notice is your miraculous speech impediment. If my memory serves me well, that wasn’t there before. Did something go terribly wrong? What a pity.” His sense of humor might have been uncalled for, but he continued to state his case openly with the following: “Since that is all you have to say to me, then we should consider this conversation over. I am very pressed for time and can’t afford to waste it reminiscing about a past that once was. It does nothing for me.”

Damian was not oblivious to the wooden smile on his former patient’s rosy complexion. He would not console the young man, the boy who so infamously screwed with an established health regimen he meticulously implemented on his behalf to ensure betterment and Graves showed his gratitude by squandering it due to an exceedingly weak mind. Giving in to the same old self-destructive habits that invited such maladies, lying shamelessly to his face about such cheats.

Combine not following his advice and being dishonest about it, naturally; all that made Damian a very angry and very unpleasant gnome to converse with. He wasn’t the sort to live something like that down.

And Emil knew that. “I wish you well, sir.” Was the last thing uttered to the stoic vampire as the sudden need to depart made their goodbyes inevitable. Damian said nothing in return and continued his cool promenade. The bustling around him was loud, but in his mind, there was nothing but blissful silence. Had he been just as mindful as he was earlier, he might have detected the little trouble nearby and evaded the events to come.

Not today.




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Post by Sage Mon Dec 06, 2021 12:12 pm

This wouldn’t be the first doctor or even the third doctor he’d “stolen” since he’d left home looking for help. Sage, who was peddling vigor potions outside of a courtesanium, found his ears being prickled by buzz words. Presently one, and the only one that mattered. Doctor.

“I’d like to buy the two hour one— Boy, are you liste—“

“Shhh!”

“Excuse me, did you ju—“

“I said shhh, you limp-limbed halfbreed!” Sage hissed absently, unsure if his former potential patron was actually a hybrid though it was unlikely given where they were. He also didn't give two flaming Wispies craps. Sinhaven wasn’t known for treating its low population of less-than-pure-Eldritch any better than the whores in the house behind them would treat a man short on vigs.

With his proverbial ear against the wall, the short young man eagerly took in the conversation happening around the corner, having to spellcast a potato, one roughly the size of the appendage the customer had hoped to magic for himself, into his mouth to shut him up. God, could the man not see that he was trying to hear something important? If he didn't stop fussing, soon he wouldn't have any rocks to get off!

It was a privilege to buy his special potions anyway. Regardless of how bad he needed the coin and how much he cursed his father, he was still an illustrious Gwydion. Sure, he cut corners to cut costs out of necessity, but the goals were still accomplished. Plus, the occasional side effects made for lovely return customers sooner rather than later. It was rare to find someone as skilled in alchemy as he. If most messed with recipes the ways he did, there would be more dead in the streets.

"I'll be right back," he hissed at potato-mouth man, darting to keep around the corner. Right, the lofty long-haired man. Of course he was a doctor. The "I'm better than you" oozed off of him, but at least he wasn't faking being a nice guy and handing out meat pies to the homeless in an alley. Now that had just been an all-around disappointment.

Seeing that the man was walking this way, Sage scurried like an enormous-egoed witch-rat into what would inevitably be the man's path, and after opening his grimoire and scribbling ominously on the ground, he chuckled demonically and hurriedly returned to his rickety stall of potions to wait.

The second this guy stepped into the faintly marked spot, the magic circle would blaze to live in luminous purple. His feet would become glued to the pavement and magic snakes would act as chains to anchor his legs. Always have a plan and always set traps. While surely none could best him and his godly magical prowess, having the element of surprise kept things clean and made people listen to his pitch (demands).

And if they didn't listen and got too full of themselves, well, they'd find their bellies and mouths full of slimy swamp frogs.

Calling off his potato from his patron, Sage went back to hocking his wares as if he hadn't just pissed off the guy beyond belief. However, despite his insistence to the contrary, it took basically no convincing on the male witch's part to keep the guy at the stall, let alone sell him the brew. All the black-haired boy had to do was make the vaguest of boob-gripping mand motions and the dude was all in. Clearly he was desperate for a little liquid help in the trouser rouser department before getting up to his 'hobby', so vigs were exchanged and the man gleefully ran off with his vial of seduction (and promptly swallowed it by the sounds of the horrific 'hurrrrk' noises at the top of the stairs). It looked nice and natural, not like he was waiting for the doctor to fall into his trap at all!

Sometimes it nearly hurt to be this brilliant. Perhaps this physician would actually be helpful, unlike all the other smooth braided newts he'd snagged so far. Time definitely wasn't on his side...on any of their sides...

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Post by Damian Thu Dec 09, 2021 3:43 am

Something Wicked This Way Comes Damianpost

-




It was the beginning of a dreary day. The dusk sky shed a faint gleam over the heads of those roaming the streets, and on the stone structures surrounding them. A little wind passed through his hair to whisper a warning, and it tugged gingerly at his dark robes to make a greater point that it was best to reconsider the path he was taking. The flute hanging at his waist, adorned by blood-red tassels, bobbed gingerly as he moved through the dispersing crowd. The clump of pedestrians about the vast vicinity lessened, and Damian was left alone to browse the same old scenery with his half-lidded eyes that held no glimmer of excitement for what he saw, no amusement or interest that would cause him to gravitate in the general direction of sublime entertainment.


Everything to him seemed subpar, repetitive and colorless.


He wasn’t an escapist that would seek out the sort of temporary and addictive pleasures that would draw him back again and again like so many others. His life revolved around scheduled visits, record-keeping and continuous study.


A monotonous routine for others, a gratifying regime for Damian. But plans, much like rules, could be made fragile until breakable by just one grossly overlooked factor or two.


He saw not the scurrying form of a young man and heard not the mystical scribbling initiated by the little demon from before that snickered with audacious glee. The clever boy had chosen the most opportune time to strike when he did because it was at this moment when the vampire’s guard was down and nothing in his environment enticed genuine concern.


Then, as he lived and breathed, a flash of emotion and a dash of delayed thought.


Damian had the look of a man stepping in a warm, foul-smelling heaping pile of wyvern dung when a brilliant blaze of purple flared a perfect circle around him. In those few seconds he found himself staggering under the mixture of lights and the shadows dancing ominously upon his snowy countenance and gloomy attire. The simple action of moving one rebellious step forward triggered the outlandish sensation that he might have been treading through drying cement until both of his feet were frozen in place.


With the impeccable likeness of a puffed-up raven perched upon the gnarled branches of a burning tree, ruffled feathers and all, he refused to make a sound.


Foolish pride wouldn’t permit him to be so lenient with his ego, to ask for help or to allow a pinch of fear to bleed through his mask of fire and brimstone; this, at least to Damian, was no different than exposing his soft belly like some pitiful street mutt. He was not a docile man.


Chills traveled from his neck to his spine as he felt something foreign climb up his legs and still them into place.


Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes? Magical or not, he indiscriminately despised them all with a passion. He’d stomp their heads flat if given the chance, but he would endure the humiliation. A minuscule bead of sweat would trickle down the side of his face as he continued to mask his hidden discomfort and extreme disdain for the situation.

What broke his running streak was the unimpressed eyebrow rising above its usual place as he caught sight of a scrawny rat child making the silliest of breast-grappling motions before an agitated-looking customer who seemed to be in need of his services.


Damian silently hoped that this teenaged charlatan wasn’t his ballsy idiot of a captor.

Why.

“May your obituary be written in weasel’s piss,” he snarled, a rare embarrassment striking him dead in the chest. He couldn’t even get another word out, for he was secretly reeling over this new-found shame.




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Post by Sage Tue Dec 21, 2021 1:29 pm

Sage slowly turned his head, his smugness swelling to celestial proportions. "Ho, ho, what a wicked tongue on someone supposedly serving as a savior!" The witch with the flashy big hat snubbed from his rickety sales table and sauntered over with the countenance of a fat noble looming over (hilarious because he's rather short) his next extravagant meal, his next big exploit for riches, maybe even the servant about to shine his shoes. It wasn't a nice look, that was for sure. The rat had snagged himself a chunk of cheese, now it was time to see if it was worth eating.

"And may your stuck-up posterior trot its way where ever I please before that final moment comes to pass," Sage replied with a cockeyed smirk, brows angling sinisterly downward over his lightly glowing eyes. What a menacing menace. If this doctor thought insults and sour expressions would earn him anything but snide remarks, he was mistaken.

"Mmmm, yes, you are now my prisoner," gloated the young man, though he air quoted "prisoner". He didn't want the regal man with long inky locks to completely curdle, lest he harm the two sick Gwydions instead of help them in the spirit of revenge. Sage knew he was pushing his luck as it was, he knew no other way, but, believe it or not, no matter how much enjoyment he got from subjugating the haughty, his heart was coming from a good place... very deep down inside. "However, have no fear! There are plenty of vigs in it for you, if you can provide adequate services, healer. Normally, I would prey upon your assured love of filling your coin purse with the dirty gold of the ill, but I simply don't have time to take any chances that you'd decline," the imp explained... sorta. Behind that devilish laugh and the nasty bravado, there was anxiety and desperation churning in his eyes like a river disturbed by a drowning man.

Leaning forward, he peered up into his captive's eyes, cocky and threatening. "You will come with me, right? If you don't, you'll gag up frogs. Possibly for the rest of your life. It's truly vile," he warned, taking only a few more moments to stare ominously before turning back to his table to hastily pack things into his bag. He had what he wanted. There was no time to lose. The quicker he knew if this might finally be the doctor they needed or not, the quicker he could get back out on the streets to find another doctor, another way. Being a realist, Sage wouldn't make the mistake of getting his hopes up, but he was desperate enough to try every option just in case.

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Post by Damian Thu Jan 20, 2022 5:03 pm

Something Wicked This Way Comes Damianpost

-



In the course of that uneventful day Damian St. Clough had experienced a quiet stroll, looked into small shops, and listened to the ramblings of a former patient.

What he never expected up to now, even in his wildest dreams, came to pass and floored him.

It infuriated him more than he cared to admit.

Damian stood inside the glowing circle, the lines on his face deepening into a rather pointed scowl as the carve of his furrowed brow implicated the horrors the vampire would unleash upon the clever eldritch if he did not abjure his death wish.

He knew nothing of the scrawny boy’s noble intentions, and had no curiosity strong enough to learn of them; only knew that the fellow was an outlandish mixture of unexpectedly cunning and mortally foolish.

“Ah, yes,” he said softly, his baritone voice rich with irony, “my — captor. I do not take cheek from anyone, especially not from a conniving, breast-juggling neanderthal like…”

A faint chill of apprehension struck through him like a sword to the chest. His heart began to pound in his chest with fierce resistance to the blooming tightness in his throat. With no air to propel his wording, his gaudy tone of deep-rooted defiance seemed to have escaped him, and, with it, all recognizable speech.

There was a look of constraint in his watery eyes.

If he had an audience they certainly would have fancied him a rabid equestrian as he whipped his hair back and haltingly guided a trembling hand to his mouth. He tasted no blood to determine if it was an organ he was trying to expel from the tender swell of his neck, but it frosted his bones with staggering concern to think that such an outcome could happen. This caused the acids in his stomach to turn.

What absurdly and understandably startled him more than the slightest suspicion of a detached innard crawling out of him was the sensation of floppy limbs scraping against the inner walls of his throat and the soulful croaks flowing from the wriggling lump in his mouth.

Flying past his parted lips was an ugly wad of spit and a poor frightened frog landing on all fours with a wet resounding plop.

The look on his face was flooded to the forehead with consternation as he witnessed the amphibian covered in his own drool fleeing from sight, and he jeered unintelligibly at the merchant with no regard to the consequences of his anger.

“Aren’t you as sharp as a beach ball? You must fancy yourself a chancer, favored by the graces of good fortune, to so boldly request my services after engaging in such absurdity— it is pitifully admirable of you.” He sneered after he was asked by the witch for his help.


He threw up yet another frog and gagged. What a revolting feeling this was! So demeaning! So wretched! And with each magical frog he strived to push out of his mouth, he looked uglier and even more disheveled than before.

Not wanting to confess his dwindling will to endure this curse for the rest of his life, he tried to stifle the watery cough that threatened to reveal the audibility of his weakness, and remembered the peculiar air quotes with a cloud over his eyes. He was detail-oriented, analytical, not trusting, as he decided to look into the eyes of the boy who would eventually become the bane of his existence and consider the little bit of what he had been told.

“Do I detect the overwhelming stench of your desperation from here?” he sneered, wearing beastly and disgrace like a dreary gown, leaning in as much as he could to assert dominance over the situation that left him knee-deep in embarrassment.

What gave him away wasn’t necessarily something he could see with his own two eyes, for if he relied on this ability alone, then he would have been led to perceive a lavish ego and, perhaps, a good reason to gloat, for chaining down an old vampire like himself was a suicidal feat.

He measured him based on the sheer tenacity of his ambition to garner his attention by employing the most unnecessary extremes, to have methodically ensnared him in this very nearly savage manner could only be fueled by a very strong purpose and a desire to help himself, or more accurately…someone else?

“I reserve the right to deny you my services,” he threatened, not a smile to be seen on his face. But then his curiosity surfaced for the very first time, and he held up a finger to ask that he not make him spit out another frog.

“What is the severity of your illness, or could it be that, perhaps, this isn’t about you?” he asked. He would reconsider helping him if played his cards right and chose his words carefully and wisely to ensure his cooperation. “Do not lie to me and I will comply with your demands.”




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Post by Sage Fri Jan 21, 2022 1:00 am

"Pfft, breast-juggling," the young man repeated idly to himself, simply waiting for the condition of his curse to kick in. He'd quickly change his tune to the sound of a wet splat and a croak, leading the witch to turn his head and once more regard his captive. Oh, spicy, another insult, to which he only sneered and watched with interest as another frog made an appearance. Why did it always take twice to break them in? It was quite fun to watch that porcelain facade crumble into frazzled dust, though. "I told you it was truly vile. Are you stupid?" Sage wondered, judgemental disgust creasing his mouth and brows in the most annoying way.

However, the tables turned. As he finished packing away his things and started muttering a spell over a black feather he'd plucked out of his pocket, something the doctor said interrupted his concentration and the feather exploded into a rancid ball of fart-scented vapor. Sage didn't like being called out as what he was. Desperate. His mouth pressed into a sour line, but he tried to ignore it and pulled out another feather to process with a spell just barely completed in time. The next set of words out of the ruffled healer flashed a dark and festering rage onto the shorter boy's face. He bristled like a cornered cat.

"You won't be denying anything, you tarry-haired piece of gar--" Holding up his finger with the intentions of inflicting a projectile stream of amphibians of various sizes and breeds as punishment for even mentioning denying services, his threat was inexplicably paused by the raised finger of his formerly regal physician. Sage's narrowed eyes blinked beneath the obnoxiously wide brim of his hat, wondering just what he could possibly add that wouldn't add more fuel to the slimy fire.

His mouth opened a couple of times with futile little inhales as he prepared to say a few different things before reconsidering. Screaming 'It's none of your business!' would be dumb, since it was his business in the end. Standing there in irritated silence for a moment or two, glowering ill-temperedly, Sage gathered himself and decided he had to comply for the most favorable results, despite his impulse to ram a middle finger up this guy's left nostril.

"My mother and sister," he said, his voice thin with restraint. He might be a despicable fireball of chaos, but that didn't mean he didn't feel. The lump in his own throat wasn't a frog, though he'd almost take that over being tempted with emotion under this stranger's gaze. "They are suffering from a mysterious ailment without a cure so far, and they're running out of time," the young witch said, some of the desperation surfacing in his eyes. Given his pale pallor and the beginnings of labored breathing, even the doctornapper was far from the healthiest of specimens.

"Don't think I want your pity. I'll pay you once they are cured," he snapped, holding out the black feather to the man expectantly.

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Post by Damian Fri Feb 18, 2022 4:26 pm

Something Wicked This Way Comes Damianpost

-





He wrinkled his nose. The smell from that pen was utterly putrid.


Without acknowledging the thinning voice of the witchling Damian began to breathe in the warm air, his hands peeling off the outer layer of his robe to wipe his glistening face, his bright eyes peering down the set of snake-like bindings as he suppressed a shudder. At length he listened and stood tall before him.


“Have you the gall to believe I harbor a semblance of pity for your plight?” he asked in a cool abrupt voice.

He nodded.

“Your mother and sister,” he echoed reflectively then, carrying his words with him. “Their salient lives hang by such a delicate thread, and with no cure to slow the grim hands of time.”


The mocking tune in his wording died down and in turn it was momentarily replaced with sincerity that almost seemed accusatory. “You’ve made no mention of your father,” he noted casually, allowing his eyes to gloss over the feather and the boy’s paling complexion.

There was a strangeness in the pattern of his breathing, and the way he looked did not offer a very good impression, which caused Damian to prolong his staring. His hand lingered so close to the feather, but his eyes were quite glued to the presented oddity. Was this truly desperation? It could be. He also could have been looking too deeply into this and lowered his gaze to the pen with some finality.


“Understood,” he said compliantly, though he trusted the youth not. At last, Damian pinched the pen between his fingers. Whatever contract he was about to sign, he would be sure to thoroughly read the fine print. He was the annoying sort to do so.




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Post by Sage Sat Feb 19, 2022 9:05 am

This guy really wanted to taste slimy frog flesh. Like, craved it. It was the only explanation for this mouthiness, which was testing every ounce of the resolve left in the very bottom creases of the bottle that was Cesage Gwydion. He kept internally chanting 'i need his help, i need his help' to get through the mocking tone without some unwise retaliation.

However, he flared at the mention of 'father'. It was a huge conflict within his psyche, both being proud of his prestigious witch heritage yet despising the man who imparted it into his blood. "Yeah, well, Ambrose Gwydion is a satchel piled so full of Buffalope dung that it would rival a mountain Gaiyan proportions. And he's long gone. I'm the man of the house," he quickly spat, clearly shutting down that avenue of conversation. Sage still had full intentions of killing Ambrose on sight, as if he was strong enough to do so.

The doctor continued to stare, earning him a counter stare with incredulously set brows. His hand was extended, but he didn't take the offered item yet. "What, are you checking me out?" Heknys's void-black bra, he was taking ages. "Take the feather already, would ya?"

It seemed Damian misunderstood, despite claiming the opposite. While the feather was also a pen and it did have something to do with a contract of sorts, there was no physical thing to sign...or read. Simply taking it from Sage was enough to complete it. Witchy tricks worked for a reason. The young man cracked a wicked smile as the physician's fingers pinched the enchanted feather. "So glad you agreed. Let's get started then," he said, not elaborating on the conditions of their agreement. It wasn't important anyway, and if this guy was worth his salt, it wouldn't matter before long.

Magic pulsed from the feather and it dissolved, seemingly disappearing into the skin of his captive's arm, potentially leaving a feather mark somewhere on his body, but the contract was there whether it did or not. In the next second, Sage whipped his hand out and grabbed Damian's wrist as the second part of the spell took hold.

The magic circle disappeared and took those worrisome magic snakes with it, but there was little opportunity for escape.

See, Sage had set up an emergency transport method. Though the magic was extremely taxing on him to set and to use later, it was a risk worth taking once he saw how much his family had deteriorated during his last visit. He was running out of time... quickly. As soon as he touched the vampire, his eyes turned black and glossy and poof, they were gone.

And it was dark.

Very dark.

And warm.

And moist.

A diamond shape of brilliant light opened ahead of them and blinded Sage, and then...

The pair were regurgitated from a crow's mouth. Yes, an actual crow, previously sitting unbothered on a broken fence. They weren't really thrown up by the bird, since that would be messy and imply they were in its actual stomach rather than a non-gross dimensional portal he'd painstakingly placed inside a familiar. The important point was that they'd teleported the short distance from Sinhaven to the middle of nowhere, exactly where they needed to be. Sage weakly crumpled to the ground where he proceeded to have what appeared to be an asthma attack.

The abandoned town that stretched ahead of them, which was now nothing more than a couple of crumbling shacks amongst overgrown fields at the edge of a small swamp, was utterly empty. There was an inordinate amount of crows crooning in large murders, making roosts of naked supports and patches of roofs from long-collapsed structures and ominously blackening the nearby trees. It was eerie, but it was normal to Sage and to be expected from a place known for their expertly trained messenger birds. Less obvious was that the tangled fields and swamps were once legendary suppliers of the highest quality witchy ingredients.

Sage, now recovered enough to stand, seemed unbothered by the state of things, since it’d been like this for most of his childhood. This was simply home. He made a beeline for the house in the best shape, which wasn’t saying much. He paused only a moment near the door, where there was a curious pile of satchels. To his alarm, he realized it was the last few deliveries of vigs meant for the caretaker who was supposed to be here, but, much to his mounting horror, was no longer. Without a word he shouldered through the front door that heavily dragged the worn floor and disappeared inside, dread sitting in his gut like a hot stone.

“Mama?”

Just like that, Sage, as anyone knew him, was undone. Stripped of all that he was, down to his barest bones, he was nothing more than a frail boy standing in the middle of the thatch-roof hut, grieving the still, cold body that was once his mother. An innocent boy that had grown up too fast, loved his family too much, and had mistakenly held on to too much hope. A boy that was too late. The silence was loud, screaming, and it swallowed him whole. Though he was holding himself together somehow, telling himself he’d been prepared for this, he also knew there was no way he could have actually been prepared. Coming to terms with it would have to wait a bit longer.

A scream hid behind his eyes as he gently pulled the sheet up and over his mother’s head and hastily turned to the girl in the bed situated on the next wall. He expected more of the same. Delicate petal features and cascading ebony hair, her parchment skin was just as lifeless, but when he touched her cheek, it was still warm. “Cici,” Sage breathed, a tender and fearful noise. His twin’s eyes fluttered open and a weak smile appeared. It seemed like she was relieved, perhaps hopeful for a cure at last, or just pleased to meet her end in the company of her brother instead of a corpse. It was the latter that seemed to be true because no sooner had she exhaled in a contented sigh, her chest never raised again with its twin. Sage waited, watching, growing tenser by the second until he exploded.

“You!” he called to the doctor, his voice raising a panicked octave. It was a harsh noise, but not the entitled or condescending tone from before. It was begging. Desperate begging. “Do something! Save my sister! Please. Please!

[wc: 1097 || total: 5347]
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Something Wicked This Way Comes Empty Re: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Post by Damian Wed May 11, 2022 10:32 pm

Something Wicked This Way Comes Damianpost

-



Unfeeling as his expression was, the old vampire was moderately empathetic that he should abstain from mentioning the little witch-rat’s father, for at that very moment, he remembered his own.


“Tut, tut — bold of you to assume my standards could be so low.” He sneered, elaborating on the remark so seriously, it was almost ridiculous. While he wasn’t expelling another slimy frog just yet, something just as humiliating came to be, and, with the wretched pen still in his hand, Damian rolled his eyes to the sky and let out a tired sigh.


What clued him in to this foolish mistake was the forthright pleasure the small one took in uttering the words ‘agree’ and ‘started’. Damian wanted to grab the insignificant creature by the neck and deprive him of the air he so clearly needed to survive. “Allegedly!” he snarled in protest to the haughty declaration of victory. Upon the ashy-white wrist Sage snagged was a visible feather tattoo. He couldn’t have been any more insulted than now, not even if he thought back to that short while ago—- back to when he was doing nothing but shooting frogs out of his face and decorating the floor with copious amounts of spittle and liquid suffering. He must have looked like a branded pig. He could not stand to tolerate this circus any longer, but before he could do anything remotely useful and advantageous to his cause, he was a trifle satisfied with the termination of his serpentine binds. What came next, or, more like, what he saw next made him think he was staring into the opal eyes of the damned.


Why him?


He sighed through his nose. The deepest of sighs, the greatest of eye twitches. His day went from average to below average in a span of a few minutes, all because of this miserably uncouth child, and every second reeked of pure loathing and irritation.

The intensity of the light had not only nearly fried his poor, sensitive retinae. The luminescent shape in the distance was also starting to blind both himself and Sage, and when the two were so delicately and mystically tossed out of the crow’s mouth, Damian saw unpleasant spots of green and white, such sour patches of color fluttering across his vision. He was too disoriented to throw a critical remark, too dizzy to rationalize crawling out of a bird, and too weak to wear the composed facade.


Nearly as blind as a star-nosed mole at this point, he was determined to follow the sound of his captor crumpling to the ground. From what he could hear, the boy was out of breath, and turned his head in the direction of the fallen figure. Seeing the unsightly patches behind his eyes no more, he allowed his gaze to drift easily away from the near airless fellow to the impressively miserable town littered with crows, every single one of them echoing the dismal air through their shrill, unattractive cries and jittery hops.


There was more field and swamp than actual civilization here. His sister, Aurora, would have pitied the devil child for the condition he was in—along with the state of what Damian figured was his home, but he was not so much in tune with his caring side as he effortlessly moved past the witch with his head high and expectations muted.


He didn’t lend a hand to the dark-haired street urchin, not after everything he put him through and purposefully refused to ask him if he needed medical attention. If the pitiful rodent died, then perhaps the mark on his pasty wrist would vanish along with the symptoms of his amphibious maladies. He heard the grass fold stiffly beneath Sage’s nimble feet and was more than disappointed to learn of his gradual recovery.


He followed him home sullenly, and after a time of having privately berated the irksome frail-looking insect, he happened upon a humbling sight that cut off his drier-than-an-old-branch supply of sass.


He wasn’t the right amount of sympathetic, even as the haughty witch exhibited a gross switch of mood, and only then did something in the pit of his cold heart sink when the child asked for his mother’s loving reassurance.


Where a twinge of softness should have glimmered in his eyes, there was hardly anything. His pacing, however, changed quite drastically. He strode across the room and stopped precisely beside the woman, examining her eyes with haste. Her pupils were harrowingly large and unreactive, her skin was cold, but he didn’t cease the common procedure just because the temperature wasn’t ideal.


There were plenty of instances of poorly determined deaths in the field of medicine and health, only for those supposed corpses to rise miraculously from the dead hours later after being, well, pronounced dead. Faulty work and misapplied steps of incompetent practitioners, indeed. One had to be thorough even when the signs were stupidly obvious.


He followed up by checking her for a heart beat, and the last bit was her breathing. There was nothing to indicate life, Damian mentally noted as he hurriedly accompanied the emotionally distraught Sage to visit what he actually hoped wasn’t the next tragedy of the day. He might have not allowed himself to experience the sadness of her passing, but the fact that he wasn’t being openly rude about everything was a sign that he was touched by something.


He refused to see his own reflection in this situation, having lost his mother so many centuries ago; it was easier to turn a blind eye to his own losses and jump to what he could get done in the present, which could bring about a much needed game changer. He didn’t react unfavorably to Sage’s desperate cries; in fact, by the time he called for his assistance, he was on it before he could finish his plea.


It was definitely a very lifeless ‘say no more’ moment.


“I already am.” He replied briskly, not one to embellish his words, for his focus lingered entirely on the witch before him. She could be salvaged if they did things quickly, so he brought out a small glass jar from the pocket of his robe filled with an odd mixture of apple cider vinegar, procured by an otherworlder and given to him as a strange gift, 15-year-old lavender, freshly minced garlic, 3-year-old sage, peppermint, rosemary, thyme and black pepper. Ordinary ingredients, but the timing was everything and so were the sources of such herbs.


“Look…at…me,” he growled with a frosty intonation, tearing his eyes away from his sister by gripping his shoulder with a strong hand. The pressure was meant to ground him back to their gruesome reality, not to inflict actual pain to an already emotionally wounded boy. “The circumstances are lamentable at best, nevertheless, you must discipline your mind if you wish to save your precious Cici.” He released his shoulder without a second thought, opened the fragrant jar, and mercilessly plucked one small lock of hair from each sibling. He slid the freshly-picked strands into the jar and quickly closed it back up.


“Take the jar. Give it ten shakes, click your heels three times and be sure to say the word repaid backwards.”



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Something Wicked This Way Comes Empty Re: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Post by Sage Thu May 12, 2022 12:10 am

By the time Damian's hand came down on his shoulder and the frigid words were nigh growled at him, Sage had been well on his way into a panic attack or some other emotional fit that would've quickly landed him on the floor, possibly unconscious. In involving the witch boy in the process, it did indeed ground him and bring him back from the brink. He turned his moody blues to meet the doctor's without hesitation upon the order. Saving his twin came first, dealing with the trauma of what he'd just seen could come later.

However, though he was now more present in the moment, he was still strangely compliant, even as his scalp smarted from the plucking. He asked no questions, offered no defensive sass or overt rudeness. No, as he lingered beside the doctor at the edge of Cici's bed, he obediently took the jar as nothing more than an anguished young man who had 'asked' for help and was actually getting it. It was now or never if it would work. Most of his life culminated into this one moment, which felt too big to fathom. Quite literally do or die, either way, his life would never be the same.

Taking the jar, he dutifully shook it, counting how many times he had under his breath. "One... two... three..." Sage went, nervously peering between the jar and its contents and his sister whose chest never rose again despite the seconds ticking by. It never occurred to him that the very same humiliating tricks he played on people was being repaid back to him, even as he stupidly clicked his heels.

It was only when he started to pay close attention to how exactly 'repaid' was said backwards that his brow started to pucker in uncertainty. "Dia..per..." he sounded haltingly, a frown appearing on his lips. Something felt foolish about it, and then it clicked more fully. "Diaper?" he repeated with more confidence, partly to make sure whatever unknown medicinal spell this presumably was would work, but also because he was starting to doubt its validity just slightly. Suspicious Sage was suspicious, but also too needy of this man's help to voice his concerns. The proof would be seen in the Cici pudding, and if this was indeed a prank, Damian would never know a day when he wasn't in danger of projectile vomiting some sort of slick, mucus-coated creature from one or all of his orifices. Sage would put so many curses on him that death would seem like mercy!

Handing it back to Damian, Sage was now watching the doctor very closely with eyes narrowed. "This will work right? You're not some quack...right?" he asked, brows low. He hadn't seen all that went into the jar, but the ritual seemed odd, and also how would a potion revive his dead sister? Didn't it have to be ingested? Kinda hard to do that when you're dead. Perhaps he should have vetted the man a bit better...

[wc: 500 || total: 7051]
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