denied the light [OPEN]

[limbical]

WHO: Daan (limbical) & OPEN
WHAT: November catch-all
WHERE: eh you know
WHEN: November
WARNINGS: Discussions of death, body horror, medical autopsies. Will update as needed, additional tags will be used in subject lines.

Comments

local doctor can't help but bartender | OPEN

[limbical]

[The museum isn't really anything that Daan has seen before, admittedly. Then again, he didn't visit a lot in his youth, and the one at Prehevil had been... unusual, to say the least.

But hey. An empty bar that presents an opportunity to play bartender?

Well, Daan doesn't even try to stop himself. He's already getting behind the counter, working on mixing himself something. Briefly he's occupied in arranging his signature old-fashioned, but he does pause if there's someone else nearby.]

Might I suggest something before we all go gallavanting into the unknown? Usually a new location means it's going to be something of a shitshow.

But to each their own.

[And he has a sip from his glass, as if to make a point of it.]

don't send in the clowns | OPEN

[limbical]

["The creature seems to have been sewn together from multiple different humans. The sewing work itself is impressive... But I have no idea how exactly the creature is able to function... Whatever is the case, the creature doesn't seem to be a product of mutation similar to the rest of the locals."

It's Daan's own voice, but his lips are unmoving. If anything, as he walks through the strange dark area, passing by one of the umbrellas. If anything, he doesn't look too put out, mostly just mildly irritated as he has to hear his own voice.]

Didn't they already have a similar trick with that damned garden and the tea?

["His face... It's smeared with makeup and blood... His expression is still frozen in that shit-eating grin despite having gone through a painful death..."

Daan sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose as he has to listen to himself sound shocked and horrified.

"It can't be...”]

Yes, well. It was. [He shrugs, acting indifferent.] Clearly I should've brought another drink with me.

closed to vergilius

[limbical]

[Eventually, Daan has taken a moment to pause under one of the umbrellas, rubbing his forehead. He's never been one to really care to listen to the sound of his own voice, so this hasn't been exactly a treat. Hearing himself recite autopsies and diagnoses mostly doesn't bother him, but...

Well. That's only mostly.

"The person looks to have a rather normal female body. A little bit more muscular than usual perhaps, but nothing out of ordinary. She has sewn her mouth partly shut and there appears to be more sewn cuts scattered around her body. Their purpose is unknown to be, but they do distort her face beyond recognition..."]

...But not too unrecognizable. [He finishes to himself, somber.]

[immortalpoet]

[Another day, another bullshit thing the City throws at them. Vergilius wanders in, steeling himself for a threat...but just finds Daan instead, standing under the flower.]

[He approaches, but pauses at the sound of the familiar voice. It seems as logical as anything one would read in a medical journal, he thinks. But the man seems lost in thought, saddened.]

[He raises his voice, hoarse above it all.]

A patient of yours?

[limbical]

[Ah. Shit.

Visibly, Daan tenses, grimacing when he hears Vergilius; this is the worst time for the other man to show up, he thinks. The worst time for this to fall into his lap, unprepared--

"Not him, not now," the flower tattles on his thoughts.]

No. She was never my patient.

[steady, steady.]

[immortalpoet]

...I see.

[He can feel the tension. Of course, he's curious, but...]

[He shouldn't pry. So he finds a happy medium, asks a question to sidestep, but not change the topic utterly.]

I didn't know you did autopsies. I suppose that fits with your medical training.

[limbical]

[It isn't that he's afraid of Vergilius finding out the truth. After all, it's been inevitable that he has to tell it. But maybe a bit selfishly, he'd been enjoying what moments of enjoyment he'd stolen for himself, especially after the Haunted House bullshit. Days of poetry reading, drinking, like they weren't two men stuck with so much on their shoulders.

Daan licks his lips before he speaks.]

It... helped in Prehevil. To figure out some weaknesses, after people had been moonscorched.

["But I knew her face anywhere. I'd always know her face. That black hair, her cheekbones. I would always know Elise's face. But that should've been impossible."

Daan grits his teeth, sinking his face into his hand.

"I didn't know. I didn't know."]

[immortalpoet]

Moonscorched...

[He remembers that term. He still likens it to Distortion. So this person in question...]

[...]

[The flower umbrella whispers with the name of the man he knows so well. And his brow furrows, though there's no judgement.]

Did you have to...fight her?

[limbical]

["It should've been impossible. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

For a moment, Daan is quiet, holding his face and his heart heavy. This was going to come up, and it's his fault for waiting. Waiting for what, the worst time possible? Then again, when was a good time to even mention it?

He can't look up.]

I didn't know it was her. [Daan voice is rough with emotion, barely restrained.] We were... in some kind of underground compound. We found something living, sewn together...

["Precise, immaculate stitching. Bodies sewn together. Someone made this."]

When she... showed up, I didn't think anything of it. She tried to say something, then attacked us.

...I slit her throat, when I got the chance. When I was asked to do an autopsy that's when I really looked at her.

[Daan looks up finally, brows knitted.]

I killed her, Vergilius. I killed my wife.

[immortalpoet]

[...]

[He, at first, doesn't know what to say. His eyes widen, but there's nothing in his stare to assume anger, or fear, or even shock. Honestly, he's more confused than anything. After all, he still remembers what that cat had said.]

["In exchange for giving himself to me, I would tell him what he wanted to know. I am a fair merchant. What really happened the night dear ol' daddy-in-law and his lovely wife died. Why they died. The burning question that's consumed him."]

[If he killed her, then...why would he have given himself to that thing in the first place for answers...? Of course, Daan is obviously upset. Regretful. He highly doubts he's lying, here.]

Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but...I thought...she was already dead, Daan.

[limbical]

[Why? Why isn't Vergilius looking at him in disgust? Maybe it's the confusion, because that is understandable. The circumstances are confusing. Even he doesn't completely get it.]

She was.

When I returned from war, I found her corpse. Then... somehow, she was there. She was in Prehevil. She was alive. I don't know how, because it wasn't me. Not for lack of trying...

Something else brought her back. I have... theories, but I don't know. I really don't know. But that doesn't take away the fact that I killed her.

["Hate me. I deserve it. It's the only thing I deserve."]

➔

[nichocolatine]

( after this )

[ he gets daan's address from heine (unless heine doesn't know it, in which case assume he pestered daan for it minutes before his actual arrival), and true to his word he arrives right on time for his promised tequila sunrise. his arms and wrists are aching from a long afternoon of mending and sewing, so he's looking forward to that drink. and maybe even some companionable chatter while he's at it.

he knocks on daan's door, the rhythm merry and obnoxious, as if to give the man proper warning for the annoyance he's invited to his home. ]

[limbical]

[at the knocking, Daan can easily conclude: ah yes, that must be Badou, who the fuck else could it be that would knock like that.

And so it seems his conclusion is correct, as he opens the door and nods to the other man.]

Make yourself comfortable. I have the ingredients ready, I just need to put it together for you.

[nichocolatine]

[ the grin badou gives him is wide and crooked, a lit cigarette hanging loosely from one corner. he walks in when he's welcomed, not bothering to mask his wander eyes — well. eye. he's always lowkey curious how much people make themselves at home in this place. ]

Real nice of ya, doc. Oh — [ he spins on a heel, pointing at the cigarette ] — d'ya mind?

[limbical]

If this wasn't also my office, I'd say I didn't. But I'm afraid you're gonna have to put that out for now, Badou.

Some people are pretty sensitive to it and I do have an interest in my patients' well-beings as a whole.

[rip to ur smoke, dude

But upon a first glance, Daan's "living room" connected to the kitchen does give off a more... office vibe. Like it was a waiting room, of a sorts. Not exactly homelike, as one might expect out of an apartment.]

[nichocolatine]

Aw, shucks.

[ fortunately it's already mostly finished, so it wouldn't be too much of a waste as he stubs it out on the bottom of his boot. the.. somewhat spartan nature of the place makes it easy for him to spot a trash bin. definitely not much of a bachelor's pad. ]

You seein' a lotta people these days?

[ patients, he means. :) of course. ]

[limbical]

More than expected. And not for the usual medical reasons.

[But: Tequila Sunrise, he's gonna get to mixing that now. It's not typical for to have a little minibar at a doctor's office but whatever, it's his office, he does what he wants.]

At least no one's killed each other recently. [Daan frowns, squinting.] Well, not that I know of, anyway.

[He sets the glass onto the counter.] There you go. Enjoy.

lmk if you need any edits!

[reflexio]

[ He'd avoided seeking help for two reasons. Firstly, the injury didn't seem too severe to his completely untrained eye. It would heal on its own, he'd thought, but then it didn't. In fact, it hasn't stopped bleeding at all.

Secondly, it's a little embarrassing having to explain that he'd reached out to get a better look at one of the flowers at the poison garden, and that particular plant just so happened to be one of the carnivorous ones.

Fortunately, the bite hadn't been too big, leaving semicircle teeth marks along the side of his hand, as though a series of needles had pierced through the skin. After three days of trying to ignore it, he'd recalled Daan's offer to visit him for any medical assistance. He'd sent the doctor a vague message, only asking where he might find Daan's office.

And so Yi Sang finds himself knocking on Daan's door with a haphazardly bandaged hand and feeling very, very stupid. ]

this works!!

[limbical]

[When Daan does answer the door, he's giving Yi Sang a very flat expression, squinting at him with his sole eye with his lips pursed. He thought he'd been very clear about informing the man to seek help from him pertaining to injuries, but here they are!

Daan folds his arms, but steps back to let the man in.]

The examination room is the first one on the left. Go through there and we'll have a proper look.

[No pleasantries, just down to stern business.]

[reflexio]

[ He steps in and accepts Daan's disapproving expression because he knows he deserves it. Instructions very clear. Execution, not good at all. Failing marks all around.

Yi Sang follows the directions he's given, silently slipping into the examination room. He shrugs his coat off, folding it carefully in his arms.

There's a padded chair and another less comfortable one, perhaps intended to place one's belongings. He leaves his coat on the second chair before settling down, taking note of his surroundings.

It's... been awhile since he's visited anything that remotely resembled a doctor's office. ]

[limbical]

Now, then.

[Daan is rolling up his sleeves before he's grabbing a pair of disposable gloves. To his credit, he is quite fastidious when it comes to this sort of thing.

And his clothes, but that's neither here nor there.]

Put your arm on the armrest. I'll undo the bandages and do an examination. Ideally, you won't have an infection, but I suppose we'll see, won't we.

[reflexio]

[ He hesitates, giving the armrest another glance before giving the rest of the examination room a final sweep.

No signs of restraints or suspicious needles. ...good.

Yi Sang carefully lowers his arm, resting it palm facing down. He's tried his best to change out the bandages from time to time, but that's about the extent of his barebones medical knowledge. ]

[limbical]

[The glance that Yi Sang gives could mean a few things. People being concerned of doctors is not uncommon, after all, but Daan doesn't have the mood to be gentle in terms of his bedside manner.

His hands? Oh, they will be careful. Firm, but gentle. His words, less so.

The bandages are carefully unwrapped and he observes the puncture wounds. The entire area is inflamed to hell, skin bright red and standing out on Yi Sang's pale complexion. It still looks raw, little holes oozing slowly.]

Yi Sang. [His voice is careful, coldly calm.] What is your current profession?

[Daan stands up and goes to gather some supplies.]

[reflexio]

[ Yi Sang also glances down with his hand, blinking a bit at the sight. That's... not what his hand looked like yesterday, but it does explain the burning throb he's felt all day.

Daan's question is a welcome distraction from the pain. He knows what his prior occupation was, but it doesn't seem relevant anymore, not when there's no Executive Manager and not when there are no Golden Boughs to retrieve. ]

My current profession would be a continuation of my prior position with Limbus Company. As it no longer exists here, I cannot say I possess one.

[ He tracks Daan's movements with his eyes, in part out of curiosity and in part out of wariness. ]

...I fail to comprehend the purpose of your question.

[limbical]

There is a purpose to my question, because it's simple:

Whatever you define that profession as, you aren't a doctor. And I gave you one simple fucking task, didn't I.

Seeing as how Vergilius isn't present to ideally get that concept into your head, I will: when you are injured, you will come to see me, on account of there not being a whole lot of choices. Your manager can't rewind time for you, he isn't here. So don't just brush this shit off.

You aren't getting my abilities. You're getting medicine from me. Congratulations.

[Daan nudges a rolling stool over so he can sit and work. Slowly, he applies antibacterial gel to the hand. Gentle, but firm.]

I'm also going to give you an antibiotic. You will take it per my instructions.

Do you understand?