nexus_crossings | This Mortal Coil

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This Mortal Coil

Micolash is in the Nexus Plaza, thankfully looking cleaner and smelling better than the last time he'd been asking questions. The cage is still in place, of course; why would it not be? He even looks a little healthier! Not much, as his skin is still sallow and gaunt over angular bones and features. But at least not as unsteady and proportionally more alert as well.

He's not quick to ask a question, however. The scholar is instead on a sofa, long legs pulled up onto the seat with him and folded in front of him. The rest of the sofa, normally big enough to seat three, is piled with books. Easily two dozen, if not more. A glance at the covers that are visible will show a selection of possibly recognizable names: Erwin Schrödinger. Charles Hartshorne. René Descartes. David Ray Griffin. The one he has open on his knees right now is a collection of Thomas Aquinas' summae and related theories.

The scholar is content to immerse himself in this reading for hours on end, but eventually, he seems to recall where he is. And that he can ask questions if the fancy takes him.

"What do you think. Or believe. Happens after death?"

Getting RIGHT to the heavy stuff, it appears.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Micolash is jolted from his reading when someone else impolitely and loudly screeches another's name in his vicinity. Good heavens. How disruptive. (Thinks the man who's infamous at the Nexus library for howling when the mood takes him. Sometimes you've just got to howl, you know?)

At first, he doesn't deign to look up and cast about for whoever is doing that shouting. He'd sooner just keep on reading, instead busy with scanning for where he'd left off. Let's see, he'd just been reading something about how divine intervention is necessary for man to obtain higher knowledge...

Oh. But the other person is yelling again. Much closer now. Only when he looks up does Micolash realise that he was actually the one being addressed. Dr. White's own vexation is met with owlish pale eyes from behind a cage and that behind a book. He stares longer than is considered polite as his gears are turning slowly and are slowed worse by the fact he's taking in the other man's appearances bit by bit.

"...Hello." That's not answering him, Micolash. You're gonna have to take another stab at it.

Dr. White ended up staring back at the other guy. God, this one was weird. Was he sick? Probably, but he wasn't coughing up blood or anything, so it isn't the plague. And what's up with the cage on his head? Trying to get away from the diseased? Kind of hard to do that with all the gaps-

The guy said hello. Dr. White furrows his brows in annoyance.

"...Hi. I noticed you didn't really answer my questions, like, at all. So, would you be so kind as to tell me who you are and what I'm doing here?'

Micolash in turn is taking particular interest in the features such as apron, sturdy gloves of the waterproofed type, the interesting monocular design. How novel, that one. Strapping it right to your eye rather than dealing with holding it up! It's so obvious, really.

Oh. Right. Questions. He was being asked questions. Slowly, the caged man closes his book. Only when that is complete does he speak again.

"Yes. Hello. I am...Micolash. Once Headmaster of Mensis. Once Host of the Nightmare. You are in a Dream among Dreams." No matter how learned a guy looks, you can't always trust him to be accurate. Or at least unbiased. Everyone else just calls it 'The Nexus', but he knows better. He understands the nature of these things.

"New arrival?" inquires the scholar, tilting his head to one side behind his cage. Everything about the man's distracted, languid mannerisms and his droning low speech is reminiscent of a sleepwalker.

Yeah! It's way more obvious than... Whatever's keeping the cage on Micolash's shoulders. Isn't that heavy?

Could probably be part of the reason why this guy is so slow- Is he even fully awake? Dr. White frowns at the odd news. A dream among dreams... Sounds like something Lord Obsessive-Mind-Warping-Creature would pull. Or perhaps...

"I guess??" He gives an indignant shrug at the inquiry. Clearly, he's never seen this place in his life, and he certianly doesn't want to stay here.

Wait, where are his manners? He did demand awnsers just now, he had better give some himself if he didn't want to look like a fool.

"Yeah, they call me White. Doctor White. And I'm pretty sure I haven't fallen asleep on the job unless somebody has been messing with the wrong chemicals in my lab!"

Yeah, this has got to be Stoultus' fault. The doctor specifically ordered him to use Serum #3 on the patient, not him! There was also a chance that that stupid buffoon got that serum mixed up with the knock-out gas, which certianly explained the whole dreaming thing.

It is VERY heavy. It looks like some kind of medieval torture device (an over-the-top scold's brank, perhaps) yet he seems fine with having such a thing on his shoulders. And accustomed to it as well, going on how he taps at the collar of it when one might normally do so to their chin when thinking.

"You guess," he echoes, pondering. If he's surmising something behind that cage of his, the scholar doesn't say it. At least not yet.

And his brows go up and a wobbly smile appears on his face when he hears the proper, fuller introduction. Micolash is now quick to get onto his feet, one or two of his book piles toppling over in the process. "A doctor, are you! Oh, I'd guessed it. I'd not dared to hope, though. Goodness me, but this is exciting! At last, someone who may very well understand the more...practical and hands-on portions of my work and studies." He offers one pale, spidery hand to the other man for a proper handshake.

Yep, he kind of recognizes it from somewhere... But is that thing just stuck on there or is Micolash wearing that willingly? Weirdo.

"I never asked to be here, you know-"

Oh! Hey! The other guy is glad to see him! He's a little startled at first, nearly dropped the sack he was carrying and all, but all this flattery is actually making him feel more at home. Hesitantly, he briefly returns the handshake with his free hand. "Yep! Guilty as charged! I'm more of an... Experimental kinda guy if you know what I mean. Especially with the plague."

Oh, shoot, better clarify before the cage head gets the wrong idea. "I'm a plague doctor, really, I tend to work with plague victims more than anything."

There's a lot of reasons to wear something this strange, some of them unwholesome. Better hope it's not one of those.

The hand is taken and shaken as vigourously as a man with such skinny arms can. He even attempts taking it in both hands to ensure that the action is done with as much enthusiasm as he's feeling. Germ alert is twice as high now. "Experimental is the best way to be, my good fellow. It's the mark of someone appropriately curious and willing to think unconventionally. Both traits I admire in a learned man or woman. And plague doctor! Ohh, how splendid! Splendid!" Right, because if there's one thing to get jazzed about, it's the PLAGUE.

"I do hope it wasn't a...medical mishap that delivered you here?"

You know, a normal person would be a bit concerned about a scholar with a cage on his head being this excited about the plague. However, all this praise goes straight to Dr. White's head. Any doubt he had in this weirdo is slowly taking a backseat to shared interests.

"Well! Don't you seem enthusiastic about it all?" He smirks as he attempts to rub the germs from his hand off onto his apron. Totally hygienic and proper. "Heh heh heh... Well, you see, I was going to preform some dissection on some spare body parts I had collected- To see how the disease affected them, that is- When I realized I had accidentally grabbed some of my laundry instead of the butchery."

Maybe that was a more convenient accident. He did put the more recognizable plague doctor garb in there at some point.

"I go back to tell my assistant to grab the actual butchery, and what does he do? He gets startled and blasts me with a certain chemical I told him to use on someone else! Damned idiot... So, uh... Yeah. That might explain how I got here."

Micolash listens attentively, hands behind his back where his fingers pull at one another in restless fidgets. His face especially lights up at the talk of dissection. Although he tuts in sympathy (and disappointment) at the talk of there being a mix-up. What a letdown.

"So...No samples in the sack, I take it." He'd been so hopeful too. "Was the 'certain chemical' lethal? Acidic? Quicksilver perhaps." Ooh, imagine an aerosolized version of mercury. What an interesting thought. Wait, but why is Micolash only asking about lethal outcomes?

"No, but I do keep some chemicals on me. Thankfully." Those test tubes strapped to the apron aren't just for show.

"I don't think so. It was more of a sedative. Can't have them trying to escape during treatment, now can I?" That was an odd way to put it... Dr. White does have more lethal toxins, though. Some of them cause explosive death!

Micolash can barely suppress a gleeful sound at that lovely word, sedative. Eyes are bright and alert now, a drastic transformation from the languid man that had been on the sofa moments sooner. Hands are now back at the front, twiddling in excitement.

"Oh, marvelous, how marvelous! Dead or otherwise, how thankful I am to meet such a kindred soul! Oh but you must tell me everything. Your field of work, specialties, what the nature of this plague of yours is..."

The caged scholar is moving again, turning towards the sofa he'd been occupying and hastily shoving all the books to one side. A bit carelessly so due to his excitement. Making enough room for two. And then he plops himself back down onto the middle cushion, hands folded in his lap and wearing an expectant smile. He also pats the seat next to him after a few moments. Come! Sit!

"Woah! Woah, one thing at a time!" Goodness, he is not used to having such an adoring fan all of a sudden. "I can start with the plague, if you've never actually heard of it before..."

Yeah, that was the safest place to start. He never really mentions this to anyone, but he actually has zero medical training whatsoever. The position of a plague doctor was pretty much open to anyone who was brave enough to come close to the infected and attempt a cure, and... Well, not that he needed to worry about that. His particular situation gave him an advantage...

But would you look at that, there's a couch under the books. Let him set his bag to one side and sit for a bit.

"... You have heard of the Black Death, right?"

Someone being willing to sit next to the strange caged man who is gaunt enough to be mistaken for a plague victim himself? That's special. This is a special friendship forming. (Sorry in advance, Abysa.) Micolash's smile widens as he gets ready to be told all kinds of exciting things, pulling his long legs back up onto the sofa with the rest of him.

"No!" Hearing of something called the Black Death and responding as though asked if he's heard some particularly juicy gossip? That's normal. This is normal. "Go on. What is it? What are the symptoms? How did you come into studying it?" Micolash drums his fingers on his raised knees in eager little taps, still smiling.

Honestly, Micolash wasn't the worst White has ever spoken with. Of course gossiping about the plague is normal! These are perfectly normal human beings.

"Oh. My. God. How could you have not heard of it? It killed off 'bout a third of Europe, it's so deadly! You got fever, black spots, pus, coughin' up blood- the works!"

"Europe? I'm...not familiar with such a city. Or nation? Goodness, it must be far. And it sounds to have no overlap with Yharnam's plague, which is remarkable. Blood ministration made a bit of a mess of things far and wide..." Yeah, just a bit. Micolash is tapping at the collar of his cage in thought, still trying to figure out if this 'Europe' rings any bells.

"Never heard of Europe? It's kind of like a whole bunch of countries, but that's not important." Seriously, he couldn't be bothered to remember the proper name for it anyway.

"But you mentioned... Yarn-numb was suffering from some kinda plague as well, eh?" He puts one arm over the back of the couch, almost completely invested in their twisted conversation. "Now you've got me curious! I mean, I already told you what the Black Death does to people. What about the plague you're familiar with?"

Edited 2017-10-18 03:53 (UTC)

Micolash hums in vague agreement, but also takes up a pen to quickly scribble something in the margin of a nearby notepad: Yurrip. Yes, he is sure that is how it is spelled. Now he will remember to look into its location the near future.

"Oh, the Beast Plague? It does exactly as it sounds; it transforms man into blood-crazed beast. Caused by tainting the Old Blood with human veins, human idiocy. Degenerating the feeble-minded and the infirm as the Old Blood was presented by the Healing Church," boy, does he say THAT organization with sneering sarcasm, "as a cure to every ailment that befalls the masses. And now look; we have an epidemic of clawed men and slavering dogs who dearly wish to bathe in entrails and little else."

You know, just a case of the werewolves.

He glances over Micolash's shoulder as he writes. "... No, it's E-U-R-O-P-E. It doesn't look like 'turnip.'"

Following that spat of helpful advice, he pays attention to the scholar's story, and boy is he intrigued.

"Some church!" he grins, with a slightly sinister gleam in his eye. "Tellin' people the have the cure when all they really have is the disease! Never heard of something that turns people into monsters before, that's new."

FYI, werewolves don't look like mutant abominations. But we're close.

Micolash frowns in confusion at the correction, but then scratches out his misspelling and spells it accordingly. Huh. His version looks better. That's his hot take. Yharnam, Yahar'gul, Yurrip. Places starting with Y are ideal.

"I once had a...working alliance with said church, but I could not abide their arrogance and sloppiness any longer, nor their self-inflicted Plague. All a misled attempt at evolution without courage, you see. Thinking simply taking in the Old Blood would trigger a very different transformation. One closer to ascending, rather than turning into a mindless animal who craves only slaughter."

Look, he's not trying to be mean here, but you're not gonna find "Yurrip" on a map anytime soon. Why all the Y names anyway?

"Huh... Kind of a common end goal for cultists. I mean, what kinda ascension are we talking here? Immortality? Omnipotence? Energy beings that look like your kid's shoes?" He shrugs questioningly. In all honesty, he should know that being more or less than human ain't all it's cracked up to be.

"But how did they do it?" That's the more interesting question. "How'd they manage to get people to think having a bunch of old blood was gonna cure anything? What other diseases would make folks that desperate?"

Edited (Herp derp.) 2017-10-19 00:37 (UTC)

"I shall not comment upon the nature of they being a cult or not. But they shared the same goal as me and mine in the College of Mensis. Enough that our alliance eroded and became a bitter rivalry. Our desires the same, our methods divorced. Their profane reliance on the Old Blood was to spit in the face of our shared founder and greatest teacher, Provost Willem! I could not abide by such atrocities." Oh, but the atrocities he did abide by might be more ~~frightening~~ interesting conversation.

"Mind, they did not act with complete arrogance and guile. The Old Blood is miraculous, able to heal ailments of all kinds. Injuries, maiming, consumption, gout, cholera... Goodness, but it would nearly be easier to list the things it did not heal! Which would be gratuitous ignorance and crippling lack of foresight. Perhaps a touch of ignoring the words of men far wiser than we. 'Beware the Old Blood', Master Willem had told Laurence. And he simply threw it aside..." Micolash scoffs. Whoever this Laurence is, he's clearly a jackass.

"Uh huh..." Well, that explains the cultist robes and cage. Of course, his companion could be talking about curing people instead... The first assumption seems more likely.

Dr. White doesn't understand why anyone would want to become an omnipotent immortal whatever, though...

"That's a twist!" He attempts to refocus on the old blood. "A plague that actually cures people at first. Gotta wonder how long it took for people to start becoming mindless savages?"

Hey now, these are scholar's robes! Like college students and professors wear! And he'd argue the cage is just as scholarly and respectable, but that's another matter entirely.

"Not long," drones Micolash, unimpressed. He leans one elbow on the stack of books to his right, resting his cheek on the curled fist through one of the cage's slats. He's got practice at doing that these days. "The church was swift to contract hunters to slay the first beasts and all beasts ever after. And hurried to amend their doctrine that only those that succumb are weak of will to begin with. Folly. Poppycock." He scoffs.

"There are ways to resist it, but it requires a higher mind of things. Perception. The knowledge that we are not limited by the potential of this plane alone." Oh boy, we're gettin' highbrow now.

No, the cage doesn't make him look scholarly. Nice try, though.

Dr. White couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Wait, so you're saying they told everyone that they were spineless? And they bought that lie? Woooo, humanity can be so stupid at times!"

He continues to laugh a bit, but it finally dies down a bit as Micolash continues droning on. "Wait, you just said that was a stupid idea. Isn't that like the flimsy weak willed excuse?"

At least the cage gets good reception.

"Oh! No, please do not think I am confusing matters or co-opting the church's excuses. I've had the Old Blood in myself, after all, and I'm no more beastly than you, correct?" At least not physically. Spiritually, empathetically, morally? Mmm, another matter entirely, isn't it.

"No, no, the transformation only seizes you if you wholeheartedly believe that it shall elevate you, but then think that this reality, this Waking, is all there is to aspire to. It alerts humanity to their potential to change, to transcend. But those who do not believe there are higher planes are doomed to become creatures who are the top of the food chain and little else. Does that...make sense?"

He's a little concerned now that his beliefs and discoveries are being doubted! Which would be upsetting. Micolash researched so much of this, he knows what he's talking about! But do others? That's the much bigger issue.

This Mortal Coil

all right all right all right all right /OutKast

HEEEEEYAA~

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