incoming

mostly unpublished drafts, woops.

[craniumculverin]

Crude Fortuity (part 2)

It’s not as many scenes as I wanted to have done, but I decided to stop nitpicking and just post what I have done! Some of this has been written for like 2 years now, for pete’s sake... Enjoy!

 A brisk wind whips through the tents, the sound of taut canvas joining that of the camp’s weary denizens. The fires built for light and warmth are but embers save for one or two that are more sheltered, drawing those still awake. Percy is quite content to remain sequestered away from the rough voices and occasional shouts. One of the tents closest to where he’d been working until dusk had been designated as a sickbay, which is where he currently sits, recording the day’s events.

Luckily, aside from the two that had abruptly ensured his stay, many of the cases he’d seen were relatively minor, and thus could sleep without supervision. Hypothermia had been the most widespread problem, some minor lacerations and a few instances of frostbite, fewer of which required amputation. Quite a fortunate outcome, medically speaking. Of the three and a half dozen or so men only five had been found dead, and right before nightfall all had finally been accounted for. Quite fortuitous indeed, considering how many had been trapped. The two unconscious forms currently occupying the other end of the tent, however, were anything but fortunate. They’d taken up most of Percy’s time, and rightfully so.

The arguably worst off was a Mister Lorcan Quinn, a young Irishman of diminutive build, about 19 years of age. When he was laid out on a table he’d been unconscious and terribly pale from blood loss and exposure. Besides multiple fractures to his right leg, numerous abrasions and extensive bruising, his left leg had been crudely amputated below the knee, a makeshift tourniquet of rope tied just above - it was so tight and slick with blood Percy had given up on removing it in the end. Truthfully it’d likely been the only thing that kept the boy alive during the apparent trek down the mountain, but the damage it had caused had been an issue in and of itself. As the doctor rushed to stop the flow of blood, it also became evident something had occurred prior to the amateur amputation.

“…Both tibia and fibula appeared to have suffered severe comminuted fractures prior to where cuts were made, as large bone splinters were still present in surrounding tissue, some of which would have had to be removed. The bones had been twisted severely at the knee - tendons and muscle damaged beyond recognition. Likely to have been broken or mangled in a way that trapped him, thus the amputation. Most probable to have been done with an ax, with extreme force, done in 2-4 swings.

Due to the severity of the knee’s condition, massive blunt trauma caused by crude technique, extensive tissue damage from the rope, and lack of viable skin to create a flap, further amputation was required. Patient awoke as sawing of femur began but quickly passed out. Procedure went fairly well, assistant performed admirably despite inexperience. Setting of fractures in right leg left to assistant and two other men, done quickly and precisely. Bandaging finished and treated for remaining injuries and hypothermia once in sickbay.”

Percy sighs as he finishes his entry, writing slightly askew from having to balance the journal on his knee. He curses his inability to find a pencil and hopes he wasn’t using his good blue ink - the lamp he’d been given is too dim to tell, and too low on oil to make any brighter. Pausing to let the page dry, he removes his spectacles to rub at his tired eyes before placing them back on the bridge of his nose.

Looking over to the prone forms across from him - particularly Mister Quinn, who’s shivering required an extra blanket - Percy feels a little resentful. As of yet no one has bothered to see that he himself has somewhere to sleep, and frankly he didn’t want to leave the decently warm tent to inquire about it. They’d given him a chair at least, one with a sturdy enough backrest. What little luggage he’d packed aside from his medicine chest sat in the corner, a number of coats and shirts inside suitable to sleep under. He could make due for tonight, if it meant not having to interact with anyone until morning.

The doctor flips to the next page for his final record of the night, glancing up at the other occupant of the sickbay’s cots. The snoring man’s bandaged feet hang over the edge, a few dry pairs of stockings stretched over them. His hands are wrapped as well, but neither are anywhere near as thickly bandaged as his head. A small frown crosses Percy’s features as he dips his pen, unsatisfied with how he’ll have to start this particular entry.

“Patient: Alfred (surname unknown)”

He huffs after finishing just the one line. Why no one in camp would come forth with the man’s full name was a mystery, and the Captain had been too preoccupied to be of any assistance on the matter. Surely at least one of these loggers would be privy to such information? In lieu of a surname Percy opts to include a more thorough description - some way of properly identifying him.

“Blond, green eyes, fair skin, strong nose. Likely English accent. About 6 feet in height, solidly built. Age anywhere from 20-25 years.

Severe head trauma resulting in large laceration over right parietal, no fracture or depression, unable to detect possible intracranial hemorrhaging. Likely moderate to severe concussion. 3 broken ribs, at least 2 partially fractured. Moderate to severe bruising across body, primarily front of torso, legs, and arms, unable to detect possible internal trauma or bleeding. Moderate abrasions, lacerations to face and hands. Minor abrasions, blistering to feet. Beginnings of frostbite to all extremities, particularly hands. Hypothermia.

Patient was found carrying Mister Quinn at the outskirts of camp after the avalanche and resulting landslide. Reportedly collapsed as assistance approached but remained conscious, became distraught when Quinn was taken from him. Put up weak resistance at first before being half-dragged into camp. Appeared confused and unable to form intelligible speech, no other immediate signs of brain trauma. Repeatedly tried to get up during procedures and had to be held down. Eventually forced to be made unconscious by way of chloroform when-”

“Dr. Hewlett, you awake?”

Percy’s eyes close of their own accord at the sudden intrusion. “Yes, come in.”

The flap of the tent’s entrance is pulled open, letting what little warmth that had accumulated out into the night. The Captain pokes his head in, quickly frowning. “Where’s your cot? Told Ben to bring one for you soon as he was done with whatever he was up to with those bloodied rags.”

Ah, that explains it. Benediktus, the camp’s New Pthumerian “doctor” turned assistant, had been sent to use what was left of the boiling water to wash out any bandages that could be reused. Given the nature of the task and his apparent perfectionism, he was likely still at it, much to the chagrin of the cook.

“Ben is likely still at work on his last task I’m afraid. Is there something I can do for you Captain?”

“There isn’t, just wanted t’check in before I make m’last rounds. I’ll have a cot and blankets brought in,” the man pauses as he inspects the cramped space, “unless you want t’sleep elsewhere? Not sure a third will fit comfortably with your equipment and such…”

“I’d rather sleep here. Neither of these men are stable enough to go unsupervised for long.” And they were better company than anyone else he’d have to share a tent with, being unconscious for the foreseeable future.

“Alright then…” The Captain gazes over to the slumbering patients, a surprising amount of worry etched into his weathered features. As explosive as the man’s temper was, Percy had quickly come to realize he cared deeply for those working under him. He knew every man by name, and as soon as they’d all been found his demeanor gradually shifted from a demanding tyrant to a concerned leader - strict and immensely gruff, but concerned. A much more pleasant man to deal with than Percy’s initial interaction had led him to believe.

After a short time the Irishman must have realized he was lingering; he clears his throat and stomps his boots before entering, shutting out the chill outside air. “Is there anything else I can d’for you Doctor?”

“Thank you Captain, I do have one request,” Percy shifts to better face him, motioning to the larger of his two patients. “What is Alfred’s surname? I couldn’t find anyone that knew, or were willing to say.”

The stout man is quiet before bursting into laughter. “Pwaw hahaa! That’s all? Sorry Doc, I’ll have t'check the ledger for his full name - Alfred’s never been fond o' using his, ever since I first met the lad. As t’why the others won’t say, he tells anyone that asks something different. T’mess with them, I think.”

“Really? How odd.”

The physician leans back in his seat as he considers his strange patient. The other man grunts in agreement, then shrugs his broad shoulders. “Aww he’s prolly just a bastard or a runaway is all. People are strange about such things… Anything else before I away?”

Percy is silent for a moment before his eyes light up. “Ah yes! I am curious - why do you call yourself ‘Captain’? A strange choice of title, for such an occupation.”

The Irishman’s face instantly falls into a grimace. “I don’t, but the men do. I figured it’d save time and confusion if you just called me by that bloody nickname. If you want t’call me by m'proper name it’s Murry Buckley, though by now most o' this lot likely’ve forgotten it.”

“…Well that was sensible of you. That’s all for now Mister Buckley, thank you.”

“Thank you, Doctor. These two would be goners without you, I have no doubt about that. And the other men you saw to as well - I truly appreciate your efforts.”

“Hmm Lorcan yes, absolutely - he was practically dead when he came to me. But Alfred… hmmaybe,” ponders Percy aloud as he watches the two patients. “His head wound probably would have closed on its own. Eventually. But inflammation and discharge would've been an issue, not to mention his chances of… Anyway! You’re very much welcome. I myself appreciate being allowed to stay here for a time.”

“…Right,” the Captain gives him an odd look, “I’ll eh, I’ll make sure that cot gets t'you. G'night Dr. Hewlett.”

“Good night Mister Buckley.”

----------

One would think being stuck in a logging camp so soon after a natural disaster would be stressful, what with the questionable terrain and so many antsy workmen, but as far as Percy is concerned it's really quite dull.

His time is primarily spent cooped up in the sickbay tent or directly outside at the tables, his responsibilities keeping him anchored to where he can easily be found amidst the rows of canvas and piles of equipment. It's hardly the natural beauty he'd expected to appreciate during his time here, and to make it worse Buckley is adamantly insistent that he stay within the camp proper until their surroundings are deemed safe. Given that more than half of camp is either buried under snow and mud or is where the men are working, that leaves Percy just enough space to feel much like a caged animal, restless as it paces along the bars.

There's technically something to do with his free time - even in the midst of seeing to the injured on that first day, Ben had eagerly asked he impart any medical knowledge he'd be willing to share. He later agreed, despite having mixed thoughts on the matter; it's something to put his mind to besides the very few instances that someone requires medical attention, yet also involves having to plan on regular interaction with the young man. However, it turns out the student's shockingly wide range of duties keep him far too busy or exhausted to hold a focused conversation, and when he can he tends to stop in unannounced and for too short a time. While hashing over lectures is pleasant enough, doing so has begun to feel rather meaningless as the boy never lingers long enough to finish any. Percy may as well just open a textbook to a random page and tell him to start reading!

Speaking of, the physician had cracked open his neatly packed chest of books as soon as he'd made adequate space in the sickbay to do so. Many of the tomes he simply couldn't leave behind also happen to be those he enjoys rereading, which he quickly decided on doing - only to realize a logging camp may in fact be the worst place to attempt such an activity. Maybe once the men are spending more time sawing logs and climbing trees they'll stop shouting all the time, and with such colorful profanity.

So, with such a severe lack of things to occupy himself, he's taken to observing. Everything.

How the fog grows and shrinks along the foothills as time passes, what sorts of wildlife can be seen along the outskirts of camp, the cloud patterns and wind directions in relation to the terrain, the unfamiliar types of trees and plant life, where paths have formed from foot traffic and which are used more, how the Captain maintains order and directs the men, the sorts of roles present within the camp, which men tend to do what, who interacts with who and how, all the while sorting out which names belong to which faces. None of it is in the slightest bit interesting, but it's something to pass the time.

And of course he properly sees to any and all medical complaints the workmen might have, as he'd promised. He's not negligent after all, just bored out of his mind.

As for his two long-term patients, neither have been able to remain conscious for an extended period of time. It's a day and a half full of incessant humdrum before either finally come to, and unsurprisingly it's the young Irishman. While the redhead has simply been in too weak a state, Alfred had developed a fever during the first night, which, along with his head trauma, has made it difficult for him to stay awake for even a minute at a time. According to Mister Quinn - or simply Lorcan, as he prefers - his coworker would "snap out of it soon as he gets hungry enough." Percy sees no point in rebuffing his deplorable grasp of medicine as, despite the constant pain and soreness he's sure to be experiencing, the boy is already talkative enough without further prompting. The doctor has to repeat himself thrice just to get his name out amongst all the questions and chatter.

Once word to both the Captain and the cook - whose name is actually Cook, poor man - has been sent, Lorcan finally quiets enough to take in an explanation about the extent of his injuries and what has become of his leg. He wearily pushes away the covers to examine his new stump as Percy finishes, condolences left to hang in the air. A decent amount of time passes of him blankly staring at the mass of bandages - then he heaves a sigh and winces through a shrug, expression belaying a sense of minor annoyance.

“Guess I’ll be working for m'dah after all. A boring job for me back home then, hurrah."

He throws his hands up in mock celebration, earning him a bemused look and raised brow from the physician. “My, you appear to be handling all of this exceptionally well. I’ve had men make more of a fuss over losing a single finger than you are with most of a leg. May I inquire why that is?”

Something dark crosses Lorcan's features before he shivers and wraps bruised arms around himself as best he can. “T'is better than being dead out in the middle o' nowhere. T'die in the country God forgot…”

“Hm…" Percy idly considers the patient as he moves to gently cover his residual limb - much like a listless cat eyeing a possible plaything, contemplating if it's worth the trouble of pouncing on. "…If it’s not too upsetting, could you recount what you remember? Of how you came to lose it, I mean - from my understanding such an injury isn’t common to receive from an avalanche or landslide.”

The hint of humor goes completely unnoticed as the young man is absorbed into his thoughts, a frown crumpling his freckled features. Lithe fingers begin to pick at the stitching of his blankets.

“…I woke up with m’leg trapped under a tree, likely the one we’d been up when it hit. I d’know how long I was out before that, but… I already knew m'leg was done for. All that blood… and the pain was- I was ready, wanting t’die by the time I heard Alfred call out,” Lorcan looks over to his slumbering compatriot and dryly chuckles. “I was gonna ask him t', t'just- …But he was out of his head with how hard he must’ve gotten knocked. Thought he could somehow get the both of us out of there alive, all on his lonesome.”

“A belief that turned out to be true.”

Lorcan is shocked when he turns back to Percy, before disbelief quickly blossoms. “We weren’t- the others didn’t come find us up there?”

“No. At the time they were all occupied with digging out those still trapped under the snow and debris. Alfred carried you to the edge of camp, where the two of you were found.”

There's a brief silence as the two stare at one another, and then Lorcan bursts into laughter.

“Hahahahaaoo damn! Of course he did, the lunatic! Couldn’t leave behind anyone what showed him a lick o' good will! Bloody idiot!” Despite the harsh words, tears well up in the redhead's eyes as his voice begins to waver. “Gonna get him- himself killed for sure one of these days, with that stupid loyalty of his! Pigheaded l-loon!”

He suddenly turns away and clutches at his curls for something to hide behind, no longer able to keep from outright crying. Percy quietly moves to focus on the contents of his medicine chest to let the boy gather himself. There’s evidently some history here, concerning Alfred risking his personal well-being for others' sakes, and it seems he may have done so for Lorcan at some previous point. Unless the boy is simply wont to being ridiculously over-emotional. Hopefully neither of these possible traits will interfere with their recovery in any way, or his time tending to them.

A few sniffles are heard as Percy finishes noting what and of how much he'll need to restock upon reaching civilization. Lorcan is rubbing his reddened nose along his forearm when the physician pointedly turns to face him, his bleary eyes glancing up before sheepishly breaking eye contact. His voice is somewhat hoarse as he tries to casually continue the conversation as though nothing had happened.

“…Didn’t take him long t’take his ax t’my leg though, that’s for sure. Smiling like a madman he was!”

“An ax? Goodness!” exclaims Percy, brows raised in faux shock. He’d obviously figured that out right after getting the residual stump clean enough to see the damage, however practicing a little more sympathy and interest than he usually bothers with may be appropriate, given the youth’s sensitive nature - and it's proven to do wonders when he has to stay in constant contact with a patient.

Still, Percy is ever curious. “How many swings could that have taken? Alfred seems like a strong sort, it couldn’t have been too many… The pain must’ve been truly exquisite!”

“Hell if I know Doc - I was screaming my throat raw just from him tying the rope ‘round it. Once he put the ax t’me I must’ve been out like a light! Just heard him say t'close m'eyes after stuffing his gloves in m'mouth… What’s ‘exquisite’ mean?”

“Intensely felt, as in pain that is 'agonizing' or 'severe',” says Percy somewhat listlessly. He’d gotten his journal out to make an addendum, but alas, his curiosity is to remain unsatisfied. His guess is still at around three swings.

“Oh. Then yeah, it was the exquisitest pain I ever felt!”

The boy attempts to shift himself further upright only to lean too far on his stump. He jolts backward with a yelp, gripping at his blankets as all color drains from his face. Before he can do any further possible damage to the immense amount of work, Percy jumps up to push him down to lay against the flimsy cot. He checks for any fresh blood seeping through the strips of fabric, a distinctly calm but chiding tone in his voice as he works. “You won’t be very active any time soon, I’m afraid - bed rest is of utmost import for a proper recovery. Don’t try to do anything without assistance until told otherwise, you’re in quite a delicate state. Should we both do our best, your chances of survival are still less than desirable.”

“Great, okay, sounds good,” Lorcan deafly wheezes as the doctor’s nimble fingers painfully press and prod, “don’t feel much like a walk anyway. Not that I could.”

About a half an hour of constant one-sided gab passes before Ben asks to be let in with three dented cups of steaming soup in hand. Assuming the third is for the New Pthumerian himself, Percy stands, expecting to be asked for another impromptu lesson. But the student merely shakes his head as he’s offered the seat and hands the older man two of the cups. “It’s not for me sir, I’m needed back at the stove. Cook said to bring it for Alfred in case he woke up as well. Wouldn’t let me leave unless I did, sir.”

“Oh? Mister Cook must be confidant of Alfred also waking today if he’s willing to risk rations going to waste. Thank you Benediktus.”

“It won’t go t’waste, I’ll eat it if it gets t'cold before Alf is up!” says Lorcan, panting around a mouthful of the too-hot food.

The pale assistant bows slightly before seeing himself out, allowing Percy the space needed to sit back down to his meal. Inspecting it reveals it’s the same three main ingredients that every dish has been comprised of thus far - potatoes, salt pork, and beans. Cook added some kind of local herb to alter the flavor at least, and soup is new to the menu. Chewing on a bit of tough pork, the doctor wonders how many of the men have suffered from scurvy since becoming loggers.

“Sometimes we find berries in the wild, or catch fish and trap rabbits and the like. Around here are hermit-types living in the hills that sometimes give us veg they couldn’t eat or sell, though it’s usually started t’rot.”

Percy looks up to see Lorcan watching him with a mischievous grin. “You looked like you were thinking about how shite the food is - which is fair, ‘cause it is. Not even Cook can change that, though at least he bothers t’try.”

Swallowing is difficult with how little chewing has accomplished, but the physician manages. “Not- ahem, not necessarily, no. Just that what’s on hand is rather nutritionally lacking. I’m surprised all these men can handle such long hours and hard labor on so little.”

“Eh, t’is not so bad,” the redhead licks his spoon clean before setting the empty cup on the nearby makeshift nightstand, “Sometimes Cap’n bags an animal, what with having the only gun. He’s already shot down a wild pig since we set up this camp - took Alf ages t’cut up! Huge, monstrous things they are here, can get big as a coach! Still get extra meat with how much was dried.”

Percy looks up as he pokes at a chunk of gristle. “Alfred butchered it? Why not Mister Cook?”

“‘Cause he wasn’t ever trained at butchery like Alf was.”

He halts his meal to arch an eyebrow. “He was a butcher before becoming a logger?” Seems like quite a step down in terms of lifestyle and earnings.

“He wasn’t, but he did work for one way back - before enlisting in the Army.”

That causes the other brow to rise as well. “A soldier turned logger, with a history of butchery… Interesting choice of career changes, to say the least.”

“And he wanted t’be a priest before all that!”

Lorcan's gleeful excitement suddenly disappears and he leans closer as he hurriedly glances in his friend's direction, obviously uneasy. “Don’t go spouting off that last part though, and don’t let him know I told you any of that! I don’t think he’d like me sharing it! Oh, and never call him Alf like I do! He hates that!”

“Never, and I won't say a word,” Percy says as he finishes his soup, making note to be careful of what he says around the lose-lipped youth.

His cup is placed atop what luggage he couldn’t fit beneath his cot, next to the third serving. He pauses to consider whether or not to actually wait or just split it with Lorcan now. Why let hot food go to waste by going cold on such a chilly day? As he reaches for it a quiet gasp catches his attention. Turning, the doctor sees Lorcan wide-eyed and fully focused on the sickbay’s other occupant, prompting him to swiftly make his way between the two cots to inspect his feverish patient.

Alfred’s eyes are open, blearily staring at the ceiling. Resting a palm against what little of his forehead isn’t wrapped reveals his fever has come down some since morning. The waking man clenches his eyes shut and weakly tries to shake Percy's hand off, grumbling. “Responsive to touch-” He gently turns Alfred’s face toward him, forcing one eye open, then the other. A hand knocks into his elbow, clumsily trying to push him away. “-pupils are of equal size, coordination isn’t overly impacted, no hand tremors…” 

“Alfred, you awake? You alright?” Lorcan anxiously leans back and forth, trying to see around the physician's bent form. Alfred squints up at Percy and mumbles before swallowing, voice hoarse and gravelly from disuse.

“Whadda… we havin’…?”

Both Percy and Lorcan pause to stare at him out of confusion, but the younger's exuberance soon returns. “Soup! With the same old taters and meat as always, but this time Cook did something t’make it taste different!”

“Smells good…”

"Able to swallow unaided. Comprehending and responding to speech, his own is minimally slurred though this may be from just waking… Southern English accent…"

“Don’t it though?“ Lorcan laughs and claps a hand on his remaining knee. “What’d I say Doc! The smell o' food wafts across that snout o' his, t'is only a matter o' time 'til he’s awake!”

“Lack of facial movement is due to swelling… Hemorrhaging seems unlikely, concussion doesn’t appear to be overly severe…”

“So it would seem,” says Percy absentmindedly as he starts checking the dressings over the head wound. A few chunks of blood-clotted hair had already been cut out of the way to clean and close the injury; now that what remains has been washed and dried, he sees that more will have to be removed to keep redressing from becoming a hassle. “Perhaps I should just cut it all off - trim the beard too, keep those whiskers from getting caught in his cuts and scrapes.” Once his mind is made up he realizes the blond has been staring at him, expression blank save for a hint of slack-jawed confusion. Percy smoothly draws away to retrieve a flask and the third cup of soup before returning. “Do you need help to sit? You’re parched I’m sure, have some water.”

"I’m alright,” croaks Alfred, clearly having trouble moving with the pain of his battered ribs and limbs. Eventually he figures out how to rock forward until he can get his elbows wedged behind his back. Once fully upright he doesn’t take the proffered flask, instead looking across to Lorcan with an air of utter perplexity. “Why’s you only have one leg Lorcan?”

The redhead’s smile falters. “’Cause you cut it off, ya dolt. Don’t you remember?”

A second passes before Alfred’s bruised features try to distort in disbelief. “I wouldn’t do that! ‘Least not to you… ‘less you really deserved it, or…” He trails off as his gaze drifts back to the doctor, face falling into open-mouthed puzzlement. Then he squints harder. “…Who’re you?”

Percy flashes a pleasant smile as he empties a hand to extend to the bewildered man. “My name is Dr. Percival Hewlett. I’m a physician that has been tending to you and Lorcan for a few days now.”

“Oh…” He looks down to the hand before taking it into an awkward, bandaged grasp to give it a weak shake. “Call me Alfred.”

“Very well Alfred.”

The blond doesn't relent his grip on Percy's hand as he continues to dumbly stare up at him. An awkward silence grows heavier with each passing second as Lorcan looks back and forth between the two, even more baffled than the physician. Then Alfred knits his brows together. "Your hair is white.”

Percy stifles a sigh and forces his smile to remain extant. “Yes, it is. Drink please.”

The water flask is held directly in front of Alfred’s face, which he finally takes. He can’t quite get the cap off, but once Percy’s done away with it he drains the contents in a few gulps. Wiping his mouth with the back of a hand, his drooping eyes light up on seeing the cup still in the doctor’s grasp.

“That breakfast? What are we having?” Percy wordlessly hands it to him before excusing himself to go stick his head out of the tent, hoping to catch a passerby to report to the Captain.

“I already said, it’s soup,” Lorcan gingerly leans forward to get a better look at his friend’s face, “you feeling alright Alf? Hearing okay?”

Alfred pauses shoveling food into his mouth to think. “Ah guht ah headehk tha’ hurths ah lot,” he says through meat and beans, swallowing before he continues, “and breathing hurts, and my head hurts. A lot. My hands-”

He frowns as if he’s just noticed why his fingers can hardly bend. Percy returns with the chair to sit closer, noticing Alfred’s unnerved expression as he looks between his wrapped hands and bundled feet. “You had signs of frostbite in a few of your digits. You’re lucky to have not lost any, however it’s likely the affected areas will be especially sensitive to cold from now on.”

“Oh,” the blond says flatly, before gobbling down the rest of his soup.

The cup and spoon are forgotten - and retrieved by Percy - as he settles into vacantly staring at the tent's entrance. Or, perhaps more accurately, whatever happens to be in front of him. Lorcan is openly worried as the doctor comes back from setting their emptied cups outside, casting a sidelong glance his way as he sits.

"Is he… okay?"

Percy can't resist giving him a vaguely curious look. "Why? Isn't he always like this?"

"He… isn't…"

"Ah. Well I figured as much," his tone suddenly turns matter-of-fact, "he has a concussion, which is the cause of his odd manner and may plague him for some weeks. Otherwise, considering his injuries and the exertion of getting back to camp, he's doing remarkably well."

"Oh, okay. Good." The youth is still troubled as he watches Alfred, but seems a little more at ease. "So he's not gonna stay like this then?"

"There is possibility of permanent changes to his overall demeanor, but I believe it's quite an unli-"

"You're both too damn loud," Alfred gruffly mumbles. A drawn out groan escapes him as he rests his head in his hands. "Why do I have such a God-awful headache…?"

"You got hit on the head really hard, got a bad bump and passed out," says Lorcan in a surprisingly confident tone. This time Percy's curiosity is genuine as he stares at the boy. "It's worse than when you got decked in that nasty fight outside the last camp - you need t'sleep and rest up, lay low and all that."

"Oh." Alfred appears to think over his friend's words. "…I got in another fight? Did I win?"

"You didn't. We both lost and got the beating of a lifetime. But that's not your fault, just is how it is."

"…Oh."

The blond sounds disappointed as he fiddles with the bandages on one of his hands. He looks over at Lorcan to say something but stops short on seeing the sickbay's doctor, silently observing the two. Percy matches his gaze, both concerned and impressed at how little appears to be going on behind those dull green eyes. Perhaps permanent changes to one's faculties following a concussion may be more likely than he'd originally thought… Lorcan's sudden assertiveness melts away as he looks between them, his anxiety now almost palpable in the sudden quiet. Interesting - and here he'd suddenly sounded so sure of himself. Was this sudden change just some sort of show, trying to impress the doctor for some reason? Or maybe it was meant to be something familiar for his debilitated compatriot; a tone and voice Alfred would be more used to hearing from him? Something to help anchor him to the present, since he's unable to-

"Who're you…?"

Percy's brows rise as he brings his focus back to the man in front of him. Without missing a beat he smiles and uncrosses his arms to offer a hand. "Dr. Percival Hewlett, a physician. I've been tending to you and Lorcan for a few days now."

"Oh," says Alfred as he awkwardly takes it in his own, "you can call me Alfred."

"Very well Alfred."

The doctor's hand is allowed to be gently pulled away as Alfred dazedly blinks. "…I'm gonna sleep now."

Percy nods ever so slightly, still smiling. "You do that."

Alfred dips his head in a sort of nod, then eases himself back down. After getting comfortable his breathing instantly evens out, and soon snoring once again pervades the sickbay. Lorcan is the first to break the silence that has fallen over the tent's other occupants. "You sure he's okay?"

"…He will be, with time."

----------

With the monumental task of getting his logging camp back in working order, the Captain isn't able to drop by until the next morning, just after breakfast.

Despite having been awake just minutes prior to scarf down his food, Alfred is asleep when the foreman enters and somehow remains so as Lorcan loudly greets him, eager to finally talk at someone other than Percy. "Cap'n hey! How's the camp? We still have a job out here, still in business? And who's dead? Doc said men died but didn't give any names! Have y'heard from the employer yet?"

Mister Buckley pauses in removing his cap to give the voluble boy a tired frown. He sits in the chair Percy had offered with a sigh, the hat coming off to reveal a bald head in stark contrast with his wildly bushy cheeks. "Calm down Lorcan, it's not even been a week. We're still just getting our bearings - I'm only just figuring out who to send to the nearest town, and even that's hardly a priority right now! No word's gotten t'our employer so no word's come from them, and as for the men… Well, none o' that's anything for you t'worry about. How are y'feeling, lad?"

Lorcan visibly deflates at the lack of news, but brightens on being asked his status. "Horrible! Everything hurts, I'm more bruised than not, m'legs hurt like a bitch even though one of 'em is- M'leg is gone! That's a damn good indicator of how I'm doing!" He winces after leaning forward too far as he gesticulates, but quickly sits back when he sees the flash of concern in the Captain's face. "But! I'm still alive somehow, and Doc says m'stump's doing well, and that he'll give me something for the pain it's causing. So it's not all bad, I guess."

"The morphine is for your overall pain," Percy chimes in from where he sits on his cot, still focused on once again trying to read one of his books. "I doubt it'll have any affect on the amputated limb sensations you're suffering. Unfortunately there's very little known about the phenomena, and even less on treating it."

"Oh that, I still get such pains m'self from time t'time," Buckley mutters as he shifts his walking stick to eye his wooden hand. "It'll hopefully die down for you like it did for me, but I've heard one can suffer these phantom pains constantly - for years, even a lifetime. Only time will tell."

Lorcan frowns and momentarily falls silent, lip quivering as he again stares at the remainder of his leg. He suddenly shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head, only to stop with a roguish grin directed at his superior as he jabs a thumb in Alfred's direction. "Anyhow, enough about me - let's talk about Alf! He got knocked in the head and now he's stupid! Useless as a toothless saw he is, dull as one too!"

The Captain's brow furrows as he glances at the slumbering, bandaged blond, then twists in his seat to give the doctor a questioning look. With a heavy sigh Percy sets aside his attempted reading, casting the giddy redhead a disapproving glance before addressing the foreman. "Alfred has a significant concussion. He's having trouble retaining new information along with remembering events directly before and after he sustained his head injury. However his cognition will improve in due time, so no, he's not 'stupid' or 'useless' now."

Buckley instantly relaxes back to his neutral frown. "I'm familiar with those too, aye - apparently had a few m'self over the years. Explains why he's sleeping so soundly for once." He suddenly turns back to Lorcan with a scowl, jabbing his own finger at him. "Don't you go spouting rumors about Alfred like that! The last thing I need right now is for him t'get riled up again and lose me even more men!"

The physician raises a brow as Lorcan scoffs and waves him off. "Aw y'know I'd never do that, he's m'best mate! Besides, every time he's really pummeled one of the guys it's been for good reason. Remember when-"

"I remember every damn time he's caused me trouble, thank you very much!"

"Come on now, he's just one logger! He can't've done that much."

"Oh? How's about I list off what he's done just since you joined up!" The captain leans forward to shove his remaining hand out to start counting. "Got in a fight with a driver for talking bad about his own wife! Got in a fight with other workers over going out t'solicit some doxies! Knocked out a prospective employer for- wait, no, I told him t'do that… But! I didn't tell him to stomp his face in, which he did anyway! Gave some village bloke a blackeye for striking his mouthy brat! And in the camp before last, he beat a couple o' newly-hired men into a bloody pulp! Over something as silly as possibly planning t'rob a nearby-"

Something between a snort and a scoff erupts out of Lorcan. "Possibly?! They asked if I wanted in on it when I caught 'em talking! Were gonna use your employering them as their alibi, was the only reason they joined up! Christ Cap'n, Alf wouldn't've bothered beating 'em that badly if they were just thinking about it!"

"And how the hell d'you know that?! He's prone t'overdoing it regardless of who or why, damnit! The one time I agreed t' let the lot o' you that hang around all year off for a day, I get word he got drunk and broke someone's jaw! Over bumping in t'him!"

Face a mottled red at this point, Lorcan seems at a complete loss as he gapes in disbelief. His voice comes high and drawn out once he finds it. "That guy broke a chair over his head! During a fisticuffs tourney! Not even the bloke's mates felt bad for him after Alf was through with him! Who told you that?!"

Buckley's own reddened features make a minute shift from furious to contemplative. The tent feels utterly devoid of sound as the two Irishman glare at each other in some odd sort of battle. Even with the sudden lull, Percy is still far too entertained to interrupt, let alone cease his covert notetaking.

The Captain is first to break, his shoulders lowering as his expression turns more curious than infuriated. "…Was Alfred and that man in a match when he took a chair t'his head?"

Lorcan flings his hands up. "Yes!"

Buckley straightens in his seat, still frowning. "Well that was just unsportsmanlike, that was."

"Thank you!" The vexed redhead's hands are thrown in the other's direction before they're dropped into his lap.

"Would you all jus'… please shut up…"

The three turn as one toward the source of the weak request, who is now very much awake. Alfred's face is set in an aggravated grimace while he attempts to cover his ears, turned as far away from the raised voices as his injuries will allow. Percy is immediately up and maneuvering around Buckley to lean over the blond, a touch regretful for forgetting his patient's current sensitivities in lieu of some enthralling snippets of his past. To their credit the two Irishman look exceedingly sheepish, the older moving himself and the chair closer to the entrance to be out of the way. Once he's settled he gives Lorcan a glance before addressing his other employee, voice lacking most of its previous volume.

"Apologies Alfred, y'know how Lorcan and I can get going… How are you, lad?"

There's a long pause as Alfred merely grumbles, blankly squinting up at Percy as he makes sure no dressings have come loose from his head or hands. When he answers he closes his eyes with a frown, as if watching the physician takes up too much of his concentration. "Head hurts a lot. Chest hurts like hell… When's breakfast?"

"You had it not ten minutes ago, mate," says Lorcan, concern once again lacing his unusually quiet voice, "salt pork with wild radishes and broth? You said it tasted bad?"

Alfred's expression twists into something even more sour. "Oh… yeah, it tasted bad." He opens his eyes to dully stare up at Percy again, wincing at what light there is within the sickbay's canvas walls. "…Who's this? 'S'hair's weird..."

Percy makes no reaction even as Lorcan snorts in amusement, but it takes a moment for Buckley to angrily splutter his shock. "Don't be rude, boy! That's the good doctor, he's the one that saved you and Lorcan's lives! You've been living in the same tent for days now, y'could at least remember his name!"

"Lay off 'em Cap'n, Doc wasn't lying about his memory…"

Lorcan suddenly sounds exceedingly tired from behind Percy as he straightens after finishing his inspection. "I have a better chance of learning t'read just from being near all o' Doc's books than Alf does of remembering past a few hours ago. Dr. Hewlett's been patient as a saint, he has - introduces himself every time Alf asks."

"I believe repeated phrases and experiences may help form new memories faster, particularly for cases such as this," the physician quietly comments to the Captain before turning back to Alfred, hand extended. "My name is Dr. Percival Hewlett, a physician. You and Lorcan were badly injured some days ago, I've been tending to you since."

His words are met with a rankled, blank stare that lasts long enough to become unsettling. Without looking away, Alfred slowly draws a hand from where he'd buried them under his pillow to take the offered hand. He gives it a rigid shake. "…Call me Alfred."

Pain erupts in Percy's hand and he's suddenly wrenched downward. Another hand slams into his chest to halt his descent, the fingers curling into an equally crushing grip on his shirtfront. Their faces are mere inches apart, but the chilling, furious intensity of Alfred's glare freezes him in place.

"Don't call me Alf. Or Fred. I hate that."

The doctor barely manages to keep his alarm in check as he forces himself not to struggle. He gives a shallow nod. "Duly noted."

A suffocating silence fills the meager space for the span of a second, and then a red-faced Buckley takes an incensed breath only to be cut off by a frantic Lorcan at full volume. "He knows already, mate! I already told him! You like him, remember?! Remember you told me that - you said it just this morning!"

Alfred's expression returns to one of agony as soon as his friend starts shouting, forgetting his grip on Percy's captured hand just enough for it to be pulled free. The grip on his shirt falls slack as soon as he tries to lean away; he straightens and shuffles back until his calves bump into the other cot, massaging his aching hand as covertly as possible. "What a shockingly strong grip for being wrapped as such, in an overall weakened state - and with the pain of frostbitten digits! Goodness, what an extraordinary tolerance for…" He forces that thought to a standstill, lest he start thinking up experiments he has no way of making seem necessary, let alone acceptable.

Lorcan's loud assurances send Alfred rolling into the canvas wall as he cringes in pain. A choked sob escapes as he curls in on himself and grasps his head again, eyes clenched tight enough to draw tears. "Fffuuuckkin' Christ, just… shut up! How can I like him if we jus- I don't like him! Same as I don't like anyone right now! Just sod off, all of you!"

"Alright, we're done here."

The Captain curtly stands and dons his cap with a grimace. "He can throw a tantrum which means he's feeling fine enough. I'll try to check in t'night before lights out, but no promises. Lorcan, keep your voice down. Alfred, don't you dare strike anyone, especially Dr. Hewlett - I'll have you sacked if you do!"

Alfred flinches at Buckley's sudden unrestrained volume and practically snarls on hearing his name, spitting grumbled curses at the man as soon as he stops talking. Meanwhile Lorcan simply nods and remains silent where he lays, anxiously glancing between his friend, boss, and doctor. Very much content to put more space between he and his decidedly unpredictable patient for now, Percy follows the Captain out into the overcast daylight, quickly shutting the flap behind him when a pained, angry hiss comes from inside. As soon as he turns the old Irishman bids him to follow to one of the further tables nearer to Cook's firepit, already hobbling there himself.

"M'sorry about that Dr. Hewlett," he says ruefully once they're out of earshot. "Lorcan and I fall int' arguing easily - or rather, we get t'discussing loudly. I wasn't thinking. I know for m'self how bad light and noise can be with a head injury, so I don't blame Alfred for getting so bothered. Are ye alright?"

Percy simply hums, too intent on organizing his thoughts to respond. He ceases rubbing his sore hand to cross his arms against the chill, finally looking away from the sickbay to focus on the other man. "I take it this sort of… volatile manner isn't uncommon for Alfred? Until now he's been nothing but amiable; I'd never have guessed he'd be anything but."

Buckley sighs and sits at the end of a bench as if already weary of the topic. "Aye he's- he can be a temperamental lad. Like a kettle that doesn't whistle every time its come t'a boil, if that makes sense. Little t'no warning of when he'll… But I don't think you've anything t'worry about, Doctor, it's not too common an occurrence when he acts out. Plus Lorcan seems t'think he already likes you. Heh, aren't you lucky…"

The physician tilts his head slightly, gaze drifting as he taps a finger against his arm and quietly weighs his words. "…Pardon my eavesdropping, but from what you'd shared with Lorcan, it sounds like he's quite prone to acts of violence. I would think I should've been made aware of that as soon as we knew he'd live. Especially when he's in such a delicate state right now, mentally speaking."

The Captain grunts, absentmindedly fiddling under his jacket's cuff at whatever keeps his fake hand strapped on. "I'd've mentioned it beforehand if I thought it'd be an issue, honest. It's not- Look, Alfred can be a hotheaded eejit at times, but he's no rampaging madman. More often than not he gets violent because someone has acted out of line - and he's usually good about knowing where the line is, and when it's a matter o' talking or striking! He's a pain in m'arse when he wants t'be, but he obeys every order I give and makes sure the rest o' the men do as well. I'd honestly say he's only a touch more heavyhanded than someone in a peacekeeping position ought t'be, in this line o' work… And, if he really is fond o' you..."

Buckley's gaze turns vacant and his demeanor to one of amused ponderment as he spins a lock of facial hair between his fingers. He abruptly stops to haul himself back to his feet with the help of his cane before looking at Percy once more. "Far as I know, the only person Alfred's ever actually claimed t'like is Lorcan, and we've all seen now what he's willing t'go through for him. I think you've less to fear from the lad than most, Dr. Hewlett."

A chortle escapes Percy before he can think to stop it.

"Oh I'm not fearful, Mister Buckley, not for my wellbeing," he says with an amused smirk. "If this information affects anything, it's my concern for Alfred's recovery and the state of your operation. You already have to make due without him and his 'peacekeeping' for a number of weeks; it'd be a shame if his volatile nature were to somehow lengthen that time."

Another grunt comes from the Captain at the thinly-veiled warning, understandably far more weary than before. "Between you and Lorcan being his only company for the time being, I certainly hope that volatile nature of his finds no reason to show itself in the first place… If you'll excuse me, Doctor."

With a nod the older man turns to trudge up to where the majority of the men are gathered, still hard at work clearing out the remaining debris from their previous worksite. Percy watches him for only a few seconds before he retreats back to the sickbay, his lack of layers having thoroughly chilled him through. Rubbing his hands together nor blowing into them relieves the numbness beginning to nip at his fingers, but a satisfied smile graces his lips regardless. Despite the need for warmth he slows the closer he draws to his tent, every snippet of information he's gleaned within the last hour running through his mind.

The only intriguing, possibly worthwhile thing to be found in this bustling camp, and it's one of the two men he has to stay in nigh constant contact with. Time will tell if this is as much a blessing as he hopes it could be, or more the curse he's already begun to suspect it is… No, it's a blessing and a curse, really. But he won't squander this chance just because it's unpleasant and far from optimal.

Nothing is pleasant at the moment, but it'd be even less so without the distraction of a temporary study subject.

----------

It's not as cold this morning when he wakes up.

His breathe doesn't come out in such huge puffs of steam as he stares up at the ceiling of the tent. Alfred runs a hand over where his head feels itchy, finding fabric instead of skin or hair. His head hurts really bad. For a few seconds he's lost as to why before he remembers he got hurt. Really bad. He breathes in deeply and winces when the inside of his chest burns, but it's not as bad as he thought it would be. It's too much to open his eyes all at once, so he tries to slowly ease them into a squint. On looking at his hands he can see they're not bandaged, and wiggling his toes reveals they're in a similar state. Alfred's smile is lopsided but genuine; he's getting better.

Sitting upright is also easier than he expects, so he tries standing as well. That's much harder but he manages, wavering when the pain in his head skyrockets and his vision goes dark around the edges. Eventually he can see Lorcan asleep in the cot next to his, which is good. With just the one broken leg now it'd be strange for him to be anywhere else.

Alfred looks over to the other end of the tent where the flap is, wanting to go find food. Sitting with a periodical in hand is a spectacled man with odd hair, passively watching him from his place blocking the exit. He's familiar, but…

Alfred knits his brows together and frowns. "Who…?"

"Dr. Percival Hewlett, a physician," the silver-haired man says coolly as he closes the magazine and sets it aside. For some reason it feels like they should shake hands, but there's no offer, and it feels like he shouldn't offer either. Obviously because they've… met before?

"Right, right," Alfred sheepishly mutters as he scratches at his stubbly cheek. Of course he already knew Dr. Hewlett's name, and that they'd met. He's Alfred's doctor. "How long has it been since what happened… happened?"

"Six days. An earthquake caused an avalanche which in turn caused a landslide that toppled the tree you and Lorcan were up. You carried him to camp and have been in my care since. Your head hurts because you have a concussion, you've already eaten breakfast, and it's nearly noon."

"Oh…kay…"

Having his questions answered before asking them is unsettling. Hewlett is an unsettling man.

"Yes, so I've been told. Please sit down."

Alfred's eyes go wide - did he say that out loud? He instantly sits as he was told, ignoring how the room wobbles in response as he rubs at his mouth, cheeks tinged red. The doctor remains seated, smirking now as he continues to stare at him in silence. It was annoying and uncomfortable, Alfred decides. He's never liked people staring at him for very long, like they're sizing him up - especially if he's not looking nice. It makes it more difficult to ignore like he's supposed to, when people annoy him. If he doesn't he otherwise might accidentally punch them. It makes them stop, but usually just makes things even more annoying in the end.

"Does that happen often? You 'accidentally' harming people?"

This time Alfred flinches and makes a noise treacherously close to a meep. Hewlett outright chuckles at him as he leisurely stands, causing the blond's ears to burn - from embarrassment or anger he couldn't say. The throbbing pressure in his head intensifies so much he presses it into his hands to keep it from bursting, hissing as he draws a breath. God, but his head hurts something terrible…

"Yes, I'm aware. There's not much else I can do to help with that, I'm afraid. Here."

Alfred just huffs when the doctor mind-reads again, but looks up when legs come into view. A few strips of jerky are in an outstretched hand, a tin cup in the other. Suddenly remembering why he wanted to leave, Alfred's face brightens. "Ah, thank you!"

Dr. Hewlett hums and remains there long enough for the foodstuffs to be snatched up before returning to his seat. He doesn't pick up the periodical but instead pulls out a little book from his breast pocket, along with a pencil stub. For a while the only sounds in the tent are of scribbling, the occasional page flip, and Alfred gnawing on cold jerky. Eventually his meal is gone and he gulps down the tin's remaining water before setting it on the nightstand. Then he just sits.

He's not sure what to do now that he isn't hungry, so he tries to think. It's easier than it used to be, he's fairly sure, but it still doesn't feel right. His head hurts worse than a hangover, but it's also… really foggy, like it's caught in a raincloud. Thoughts get lost before he can find them and he can't remember things the way he usually does. It isn't a good feeling… Can he still read? Alfred suddenly sits a little straighter as panic starts to bubble up. He can't stand the idea of not remembering how to read - it's one of the only things he's got in life! He looks to Dr. Hewlett for an answer but gets none; the man doesn't even look his way. He must not have been thinking loud enough this time. "Can I still read?"

Now the doctor looks up, mild surprise in his expression. "You can read?"

Alfred is annoyed again. "Can I?"

Hewlett seems confused for a moment before his eyes light up. "Has the concussion specifically affected your ability to read? Is that what you mean? Hm…" He picks up the magazine and comes closer to hand it to him. "Can you tell me what's written on the cover?"

Alfred has to concentrate to make his eyes focus, and then even harder to figure out how to say words he's never read before. "…The… assehh- ass-ee-luhm journal, of men-tall science… i-issue t-twaahgh!"

The headache grows so intense that his vision blurs and darkens before he can finish, each throb accompanied with a spike through the back of his brain. A whine works its way out as he drops the magazine to hunch over and grip at his dressings in a bid to lessen the dizzying pain. The presence next to him silently disappears as the world shifts and turns unnaturally, only to reappear again.

Alfred doesn't want to talk anymore. He's about to blindly throw a punch when the doctor softly speaks up. "Here, lay down. I've something to cover your eyes to keep out the light."

For a moment he wonders if Hewlett is really talking to him; his tone is more gentle and kind than Alfred has heard directed at him in a long time. He blindly settles back into the cot and then something weighty and fabric is laid over his eyes, making it so he doesn't have to keep them shut as tight. It doesn't make his headache go away but it makes the ache around his eyes stop. "Thanks…"

"You're welcome. You can still read by the way."

"…That's good," Alfred winces at his own voice, "Is there anything you… for pain…?"

"I'm afraid not. Everything I have on hand would likely tamper with your recovery," Hewlett sighs. It sounds as though he turns away as he mutters, "Medicus curat, natura sanat…"

Already trying to will himself back to sleep, Alfred frowns. "…'Nature heals?' Why're you… speaking Latin…?"

"You know Latin?" the doctor quietly exclaims, more surprised than before. He gets no reply, as instead soft snoring begins to fill the small space.

Hewlett watches his strange patient for a moment longer, before retrieving the little journal to flip to a certain page and add to its contents.

[craniumculverin]

Rosalind Timperley

Age: 31-32 (1st time meeting Wes)

Height: 5′5″

MBTI: ISFP

Traits: Red-brown wavy hair, hazel eyes, faint freckles, on the heavy side

Highly inquisitive, wayward, genuine, affable in nature. Naturally up-front and open in most respects, often breaks social etiquette in the process, accidentally or otherwise - she’s very conscious of others’ boundaries and correcting herself as a result. Very good at reading others barring a few areas, i.e. flirting, relationship stuff, sexual innuendos, etc. Despite this can still be oblivious when caught up in a topic or activity. Contrary to her outspoken tendencies she’s very self-doubtful. Enjoys interaction but prefers solitude or being with a few closer relations. Has played piano since childhood, enjoys dancing immensely, keeps up on science/technology, and has a fascination for machinery thanks to father/brothers’ work with trains. Was repeatedly kept from "low class" activities/occupations such as cooking or training to become a nurse. As a child she often snuck around to play with her brothers. Generally maintains appearances, but forgoes societal expectations regularly. Has shown no interest in courtship or marriage despite claiming she'd like children, much to her mother's vexation.

Parents: Both living, Father works with railroads, Mother is a pseudo-socialite

Technically old money by most standards, but are seen as lesser due to not being entirely English - rumored to have some Irish lineage. Father owns and funds numerous railroads and railroad construction projects, as well as handles their lands in England and Scotland. Heavy-set with greying curly reddish-brown hair with an impressive mustache, shorter than his wife, good-humored and generally kind outside of business affairs. Mother is the typical Victorian era upper-class mother, strict but well-intentioned. Slim but not skinny with wavy black hair, fairly tall for a woman. She travels between their estates and attends many social gatherings.

Father - Thomas-Henry (gentle and humorous but a merciless businessman)

Mother - Rosemarie (looks more intimidating than she actually is)

Siblings: 4 brothers - 3 older, 1 younger 

Eldest brother works for their father, big guy with his father’s girth and mother’s height, with curly red-brown hair. Other older brothers are twins - one works with their father, the other joined the Navy and was a Lieutenant when honorably discharged due to injury, aka got his leg amputated. They’re on the stouter side and are solidly built, with wavy red-brown hair. Younger brother went into clergy, got his mother’s slim and tall stature, with curly black hair. Only the twin brother working for their father is married - the eldest has a close friend aka secret lover, and the remaining brothers are not interested in marriage. Though their personalities vary greatly they’re all very protective of their only sister, and she of them. All are generally trusting of their sister's judgement, though the younger brother can be overprotective - spent more time with her growing up.

Eldest - Edward (all-growl-no-bite big gay teddy bear)

(Eldest’s lover) - Wallace (effeminate top that's good with people)

Twin (business) - Arthur (temperamental and gruff but softens easily)

(business Twin’s Wife) - Clementine (Rosa's coolheaded bff with a baby)

Twin (Navy) - August (laid back and very tired)

Younger - Bertram (WILL fight you and hurt himself trying)

[craniumculverin]

drake and coby are both in the secret “sword”, they both have X shaped scars. can’t help but figure the marine’s disgraced blind swordsman is in on it too. fujitora’s got the scar and the motives to be involved... gotta wonder if smoker is somehow aware of “sword”, or if he’s been left out despite being a wild card.

[craniumculverin]

haven’t been on this account in a while but i gotta gush somewhere about HEY I WAS RIGHT ABOUT X DRAKE ALL ALONG AAAYYYYYYY

[craniumculverin]

Precipitate Withdrawal

The final installment of Ripper!AU’s intro and the conclusion to Alfred’s drunken outburst. Life made this take a while to finish, but hey I did it! Percy is left waiting in his clinic after a no-show and decides he’d like to find out why.

Alfred has been late to his appointments only twice. The first was due to exceptionally poor weather even by New Pthumerian standards, and the second to having to take an unexpected detour due to an overturned cart. He was deeply apologetic after both instances, despite being a scant five minutes behind schedule, at most. So for him to leave Dr. Percival Hewlett waiting a half hour is quite out of the norm.

Not that Percy really minds - this was meant to be another of their "discussion sessions", none of which have gone particularly well given Alfred's reluctance to discuss anything of a deeper nature concerning himself. Not his likes or interests or what has happened to him, but himself. The man could verbally dissect a long dead religion for hours on end, but ask him to describe the most basic of thoughts concerning the reasons behind his actions and suddenly he's nothing to say. He's the first person the doctor has studied that seems to lack absolutely any desire to understand himself, and frankly he's uncertain what to make of it.

As Percy utilizes the time to tidy the already immaculate office, he thinks of what course of action to take. This had been scheduled to be his last appointment of the day what with its usually taxing nature, so without a patient present there was no need for him to stay. However if Alfred does show only to be greeted with a locked door and darkened windows, the surprisingly sensitive man would likely take it as a personal affront, which in itself would be quite taxing in nature. "It's so unlike him to be late to a meeting, let alone miss it entirely… He's made every single appointment and session until today, even when he's complained about it beforehand… I wonder…" Setting aside the well-polished saw he'd been cleaning, the physician returns to his desk and opens the file he'd left there to scan through his notes.

Alfred had certainly acted very oddly the last time he was in. By the time he'd abruptly taken his leave, his manner had become so erratic that Percy actually had the ridiculous notion he should arm himself.

Could whatever had been the catalyst then be the cause of his absence now? If so, what was it? They'd discussed a good number of topics, what with the purpose of the appointment being to update his records… Perhaps outright addressing his alcohol addiction is what did it? That was the first time Percy had spoken so openly about it, and in such a negative light... Alfred first started to appear antsy when their previous conversation concerning the topic was mentioned, then there were his apprehensions over possibly harming others should he completely stop drinking… Or maybe he's simply hungover again, and doesn't want to face his physician after the reality of his situation had been so thoroughly laid out.

Percy closes the file and leans back with a sigh, unsatisfied. None of these conclusions feel right…

…Were it not for the fact nary a peep has been heard from Alfred about his libidinous outburst last month, Percy would consider that as a possibility. But he hasn't said a single thing about it - and Alfred would say something, likely in the form of a longwinded and excessively dramatic display of repentance. All evidence and prior experiences point to him doing so immediately when he feels he's wronged someone. Well, at least for those on the very short list of people he cares about, which Percy knows for a fact he's on.

No, it must be that his initial impression was correct - Alfred's apparent alcohol-induced amnesia has kept him from recalling anything of the incident. Refraining from informing the younger man of his own actions appears to have been not only the preferred route of action, but also the correct one. Percy is still convinced it would've ruined Alfred had he forced him to confront what he'd done - especially directly after, what with how distraught he'd been solely over getting so drunk. And it wasn't like Percy was in the role of the man's doctor when it all happened; he was simply being a friend by escorting him home! If Alfred really wants to have him as both doctor and friend, he can't expect everything that happens between them to be dealt with in a strictly professional manner.

Really though, Percy thinks he did well to act so kindly toward Alfred despite his own slight hangover at the time - that, a substantial lack of sleep, and the various bruises he'd had to cover up made the meager amount of enmity he'd still been harboring all the harder to ignore. Luckily the other man had been so miserable, a pang of sympathy had overridden whatever annoyance Percy felt over the previous night's manhandling. It also helped to remind himself how easily it could've been him drunkenly instigating something of a similarly intimate nature, not too long ago… But regardless, the whole thing has truly turned out for the best. Percy didn't have to endure an emotionally distraught and nonsensical Alfred the day after the assault, nor will he ever. Handling such hassles are simply not his forte; he'd rather have to start treating "hysterical" old housewives again than attempt to console an illogically upset, temperamental patient!

A contemplative frown creases Percy's brow as he laces his fingers behind his head. "Come to think of it, Alfred's overall 'condition' would likely improve were he to receive such 'treatments' - though preferably in a self-administered fashion. He may very well cooperate if it's under the guise of a medical procedure… Ah no, he'd easily see it for what it is and refuse…"

At least the drunken fiasco has given him a rare opportunity he otherwise never would have witnessed in a clinical setting. A glimpse into how Alfred manages his impulses when uninhibited has proven quite helpful, particularly in understanding how he's fairing with his bizarrely intense aversion to anything of a sexual nature. Which is, of course, very badly.

The doctor ponders his current special case a while longer before drifting to previous ones, leant back in his seat to stare at the high, shadowed supports of the ceiling. Everyone that chooses to cross his threshold as a patient has something to offer him, be it potential research or simply funds, but sometimes he really has to curse his curiosity. If someone ends up too interesting they tend to become far more of an undertaking than he can ever predict. Still, these particular patients always make for engrossing study subjects - in very, very different ways.

A hint of a grin twitches at the corner of his mouth as he retrieves the most recent bundle of letters he's received from London. For a while Percy forgoes his immediate dilemma to reread the tight, neat script therein, his smile turning fond on occasion. After rereading a few parts he switches to another pair of papers within a similarly addressed envelope, covered in quick, fluid writing. It's always such a pleasure when Rosalind sends a letter along with Wesley's. As glad as he is for the correspondence, the dear man's delightfully fretful manner never translates well to his written word - at least through Rosa's lively descriptions he can catch glimpses of it. Plus she's so refreshingly forthwith about life, comfortable speaking about all manner of ridiculously taboo topics. Other than their still not being pregnant ("Goodness Wesley, surely it isn't that difficult without my presence.") the only other news is of Rosa's preparations for a piano recital and Wesley's friend Harold dragging him into his latest antics.

Percy sighs and replaces the papers into their respective top drawer, already bored with this as well. The evening of reading and research he'd planned just wasn't alluring at the moment, but neither was remaining in the clinic, and he hadn't finished planning his next letter to begin writing. His fingers tap out a rhythm - Bach's sonata for violin and piano in… C minor, was it? - as he thinks. The weather has been holding out today. He could head to the market before it gets too busy, but he already has what's needed for tonight's supper from his morning run… Maybe look through that old bookstore near Old Yharnam again? The shopkeep's assistant had been quite obvious about her interest in him last he stopped by; perhaps he could charm the girl into letting him peruse the backroom stock? No, he wasn't in the mood for such games… He's wanted to visit Lumenwood Garden again before the flowers are covered for the season, but it won't be dark enough for viewing for some hours yet… Perhaps he should just stay home and outline a few of the experiments he's thought up since last he did so, for when he can finally begin his work in earnest… No, best not - his recent ideas are of a nature too risky to have lying around should Iosefka drop by unannounced…

The doctor sighs yet again as he closes his eyes. It wasn't like him to succumb to ennui, especially when there's so much to be done. Reports to pen, papers to file, chores to do, superiors to ignore, experiments to plan, unexplored topics to delve into - of course it's when he finds himself with much-desired free time that nothing seems fit to fill it! "I suppose this is much like any other abrupt cancellation or absent patient, in that regard… It's more of a nuisance when I don't get to know why they don't show up. I always have to wait until they come in again to satisfy my questions…"

His eyes snap open. "…There's really no reason not to actively seek out a missing patient, should I want answers badly enough. If they were to accuse me of violating their privacy I could easily wave off my snooping as concern, or some such - just being a caring, professional practitioner." He sits up quick enough for his chair to let out a squeak, adjusting his waistcoat as he returns his attention to his desk. "Now, where did I put that…"

The patient file is quickly splayed open to make rifling through the backmost papers easier. He soon finds what he's looking for and pulls out the small slip he'd neatly copied from one of his journals - the address of the boarding house where Alfred resides. Who knows at what point the information had been shared, but he'd immediately made note should the need arise to utilize it. Boredom seems as worthy a need as any, especially considering the young man is at its source for neglecting to make his appointment.

Quickly glancing out the towering windows to see if an umbrella is in order, Percy pockets the scrap of paper and sets about preparing the black leather bag he brings to all house visits. After ensuring he has everything in order, the clinic is closed and locked up before he makes his way through the underground hallway to his residence. The foyer is somewhat dim as he dons a heavy coat and scarf, the tall windows above a poor substitute for lit sconces.

The air is wonderfully crisp when he opens the front door, a slight breeze playing with his hair as he locks up and begins his impromptu walk. The sky is aglow with wispy early Winter clouds and his street's walking paths pleasantly devoid of activity save for the agreeable elderly couple that lives across the way. As Percy draws closer to the ladies in their garden he doesn't slow but is sure to smile and nod in lieu of a proper hello, earning him the same in return. With the address fresh in his mind, he mentally plots out his course as close to where his knowledge of the city would indicate he's going, and musters the patience and wherewithal he'll need to find the rest of his way.

----------

Though only on the edge of the Old Yharnam district, the area in which Alfred resides certainly shares many of its less desirable characteristics. Cramped, dingy streets with very few lamp posts, residences and businesses crammed around and on top of each other - even a few derelict buildings that have yet to be torn down, this long after the war. People are everywhere, some obviously homeless while others are mongering or shopping or just milling about; and still others, a much smaller number, advertising themselves on street corners.

In other words a lot like London. Enough to cause a sense of nostalgia in Percy as he drifts out of the foot traffic and comes to a halt in front of an old manor house nestled among the indistinguishable buildings. The heavy wooden door is unlocked when he tries it so he lets himself in, only to be immediately greeted by loud snoring on crossing the threshold. An old man sitting against the adjacent wall is the obvious culprit, so soundly asleep not even a shriek from the door's hinges nor slam of it closing can stir him. The foyer area is surprisingly cramped for such a large estate, yet the ceiling is so high it's lost in the shadows. Noticeably newer walls and stairs are to blame for the strange layout, likely put in when the place was restored and renovated into a boarding house. Across the cavernous entryway near the furthest wall is an old woman, the rocking of her chair having halted as soon as he opened the door. She's still in her nightcap despite the hour and has a good deal of knitting in her lap, her craft momentarily paused to glare at him.

"Good afternoon ma'am," Percy says, a pleasant warmth added to his words as he dips his head in greeting. The elderly woman leans forward to squint through the dim of the place, causing a litany of protest from her chair. "My name is Dr. Percival Hewlett. Are you aware if Alfred is in?"

"Alfred who- Oh, him. Yes," she says as she slowly and creakily leans back, "he and that dog of his, yes. He's in. Hewlett you said? You're his doctor then?"

"Yes I am. I've come to check on him. Could you direct me to his room?"

"He's not left all day - only took the beast out once, poor thing. Good you've come," the old landlady says as she slowly cracks and pops into standing, the knitting piling at her feet as she snatches a cane from somewhere to hobble closer. "The boy's been unwell the last few days, I think. Very odd for him to stay in so much, hasn't been finishing his meals like usual. Missed dinner yesterday, come to think of it… Oi, old man! Wake up, you!" She gives the elderly man's stool a sound whack, startling him awake with a loud snort. "I'm going up! Stay awake to keep watch for once, you old git!"

The man's angry complaints go ignored as the old woman leads Percy to one of the many sets of stairs. They ascend to what is probably the third floor - multiple flights, angles, and landings make it hard to keep track - on which the landing juts off into a long, windowless hallway of many doors. They stop in front of one of the closest doors, much like the others save for the number "39" painted in fading white, a little off of center. Expecting the old woman to take her leave, Percy stands close to a wall, his bag held off to the side to let her pass. She merely scowls and waves him toward the door. "Knock already, will you? I don't want to have to come all the way back up here should he not answer, just to let you in!"

"He's been that bad off?" he softly asks, pointedly ignoring her rudeness. The doctor  gives the door a few knocks and waits. When nothing happens he calls out and tries again, a little louder. It's only after the third round of knocking that a quiet, inhuman whine can be heard as something shifts to block the faint light spilling out from under the door.

The landlady huffs and pulls a large ring of keys from under her apron, expertly picking one out with nary a look. She shoves past him to the door and unlocks it before stashing it away as she turns to glare at him. "Lock up before you go, and don't rile the beast into making a racket." With that she pushes past once more to take her leave. Percy arches a brow at her retreating form before returning to the matter at hand. The door sticks a little when he tries to open it a crack, but once he manages a strange rumbling suddenly starts from inside. Only when it's nearly fully open and too late does he realize it's not so much a rumble as it is a growl.

Directly in front of him, stood in the middle of the tiny room, is the largest dog he's ever seen.

The physician stops in his tracks, hand still on the doorknob as he swallows back his surprise. He knew Alfred owned a dog, but had neglected to ever ask what kind - in hindsight, a giant of a mastiff seems a rather obvious choice. "Alfred?" He calls gently, so as not to startle the enormous hound. From the corner of his vision he sees movement from beyond a bed's footboard. "Alfred, are you awake?"

A groan comes from under the covers, which lower to reveal a mop of messy blond hair. The growling quiets momentarily as the animal's ears perk toward its master, but otherwise is intent on fending off the unknown intruder. Another groan turns to low mumbling before a scruffy-looking Alfred emerges to blindly face the large, well-worn cushion across from him, no doubt where the dog lays. "Sig, you're fine. Quiet down…" That at least stops the growling for the time being, leaving the now confused behemoth unsure of what to do. After a few seconds it softly whines its discontent, finally prompting Alfred to somewhat prop himself up, eyes shut tight against the meager amount of light. "Ugh, what's wrong now…?"

"Only an intruder in your domicile, by all means stay in bed."

Alfred bolts upright with wide, wild eyes as he whips the covers away, his hand instantly at the gap between mattress and wall to grasp what looks like the end of a previously hidden handle. He pauses to blink rapidly at his unexpected guest, both men and dog tense after his flurry of motion. The energy in the room suddenly dissipates as he slumps back and groans again. The handle is left to sink back into its hiding place as he presses both palms into his eye sockets, exhaustion gracing every aspect of his being. His hands drop into his lap when he stares at the physician, as though he's unsure of what he's seeing. "Percy…?"

"Yes, though right now I believe 'Dr. Hewlett' is more fitting," he stiffly motions with his bag toward the still-aggressive animal standing between them, "could you, ah…?"

Alfred sluggishly blinks before understanding dawns. Whatever he says next is apparently a command, as the dog immediately relaxes and starts to pant, tail lazily wagging as it cants its head and approaches to sniff at the visitor. Another oddly familiar assortment of syllables and it returns to its corner of the room, circling before laying down on the old cushion. The younger man cracks a tired smile at his pet before tensely looking back to Percy, wariness etched across his features as he replaces his blankets. "What are you doing here Dr. Hewlett?"

"Checking in, as it were," Percy says as he shuts the door behind him. Now that there isn't a snarling beast glaring at him he can take a more thorough look around as he strips off his outer layers. There's a coat stand directly in front of the entry against the stained and cracking wall, beside which is a heavily-laden, tiny desk with a mismatched stool, a dented waste bin wedged between the two. On the other side of the desk is the dog's bed and bowls, situated below the tiny room's equally tiny window, too high to be anything other than a minor source of ventilation and light. A narrow bed piled with patchwork blankets and knit quilts sits against the wall in the corner, next to which is a nightstand barely big enough to hold the lamp atop it. At the foot of the bed sits an enormous, ancient, and very heavy-looking trunk, its padlocks left undone. Above it, a few shelves and a fair number of hooks along the walls are home to what little else Alfred apparently owns, along with differing lengths of dog leads. The most notable thing in the room besides the trunk is a painting hung in an elaborate frame, above the head of the bed - a detailed portrait of an aged, pale man with a full beard, long hair, and piercing eyes.

All in all a miserably cozy little setup, far from comfortable and fulfilling only life's barest necessities. Percy hides his dismay at the state of Alfred's living quarters as he hangs his coat and scarf on the stand. No wonder he's out and about so much, walking the streets more than the Church militia; this place is hardly large enough for a grown man, let alone a grown man and a more than grown animal!

"I thought it best to drop by, seeing as you've never neglected to show for an appointment before," the physician says whilst turning around, one hand smoothing the front of his jacket, the other holding his black bag. "I believed something might be amiss. It appears my suspicions were correct."

"An appointment…?" Alfred's face scrunches up in confusion before it breaks into panicked realization. He bolts upright to scramble out from under his covers. "The session! How could I forget, I should have-!"

"Relax Alfred."

The blond freezes before he can further tangle himself in his sheets. Now that he's properly facing him, Percy can see just how bad a condition the man is in. His usually styled hair hangs limp and unwashed, and the typically well-kept sideburns are on their way to being consumed by unshaven stubble. Pale, clammy skin, dark circles under bloodshot eyes, a sheen of sweat on his forehead - this wasn't just a hangover. He'd either managed to become very ill in the two days since they'd last spoken, or… Percy sighs.

He pulls the stool out and sits, setting the bag at his feet as he does. Alfred still appears somewhat ready to fling himself out of bed, but his manic energy has been somewhat replaced by the same wariness from before. He won't meet the doctor's gaze, looking anywhere but his direction, and his hands can't seem to stay still. How curious… "Now that I see your state, I'll forego the lecture of how to properly cancel an appointment the day of. Missing was obviously not a conscious decision."

The younger man kneads at the topmost quilt, managing to look even guiltier. "I'm sorry. Had I- if I'd- …I haven't been well."

"I can see that. You've stopped drinking, haven't you?"

Alfred tenses, gaze immediately snapping to his hands. "I, uh… how…?"

"Because you were perfectly fine two days ago, and aren't one to let anything less than severe pain or injury keep you from being active," Percy doesn't bother keeping the displeasure from his voice as he gets straight to the point. "If you'd consulted me before blindly charging into this, you would know that stopping such an addiction shouldn't be done alone. Especially if one decides to do it all at once - the shock and resulting symptoms can lead to death if not under proper supervision!"

The blond huddles further against the headboard at the chastisement, hands anxiously fidgeting in his lap as he keeps his head down and chews at his bottom lip. From this angle his eyes look to be rapidly darting every which way, glossed over and even teary as the sweat falls from his brow. Taking a slow breath, Percy decides to change tactics. Having to deal with an unnecessarily emotional patient is such a task, and Alfred has proven he is very capable of being just that. The doctor pauses a moment to consider his next move, unconsciously leaning forward to better observe whatever reaction he'll receive. His voice is kept as quiet and calm as can be.

"…What changed your mind? You went from 'considering' to 'doing' rather quickly, no further convincing required. Am I really that good?" He chuckles, "perhaps I'm simply too familiar with handling you-"

Alfred's breathing suddenly hitches, followed by a series of hiccups as it grows faster, more erratic. Tears immediately begin to stream down his pallid cheeks, as though they'd been building up for some time. His eyes screw shut as he quickly hides his face behind hands that end up tangled into his hair. A tightly clenched jaw is visible behind shaking forearms as he sucks air in between his teeth, rapidly hissing as he tries to keep himself quiet. He stays upright for only a moment longer before he buries himself under the covers to curl into a fetal position. His heaving form, now wracked by outright sobs, haphazardly rocks beneath the knit- and patchwork.

Percy remains silent and motionless as he stares.

He hasn't a clue of what to do.

The unease Alfred causes him on occasion is back in full force, bearing down on him, making it extraordinarily difficult to sort through his thoughts. It's obvious he's done something to set him off, but what? Why was he so upset in the first place? Was he really feeling that guilty over foregoing the doctor's assistance? Is it the withdrawal causing him to act out due to heightened chemical imbalances of some sort? Has he, personally, done something? The dog stands only to eventually sit back down and whine in its master's direction. Percy pays it no mind as he watches the shaking mass of covers, frown deepening the more he ponders.

He's done everything a personal physician should when trying to help a patient face their addiction; not even his former peers in England could argue he's been too "morally lax" with this case! So why is seeing a man in the throes of withdrawal breaking down in front of him- Why does he feel guilty?! Lost in his bewilderment, it takes him far too long to realize the incoherent sounds emanating from the bed are peppered with words.

"-rry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm s-sorry I- I'm-"

Percy sits at attention. "Sorry for what? Alfred, you've done nothing wrong."

The sobs turn to fast wheezes as the mass of quilts curls further in on itself. Fearing the younger man might pass out from lack of air the doctor swiftly stands and comes closer, ignoring the worried whines of the animal at his feet. He goes to lay a hand on what was likely a shoulder only for it to flinch away, sobs catching for a moment before continuing. Percy stifles a frustrated sigh as he straightens, still unsure of how to proceed. He brings the stool to sit closer, resting his chin in a hand as he considers the problematic patient before him. "…Alfred, please. I can't do my job unless I'm aware of what the problem is. What's happened to upset you so-"

"I assaulted you!"

Alfred's head pops out from under the covers, hair sticking to his reddened face where tears and snot have caught it. His eyes are clenched shut, fists balled into the fabric under his chin as he practically shouts, "I-I assaulted you, forced myself on you like an animal! I've done everything wrong! I don't deserve forgiveness, I don't deser- deserve-! I'd never- let alone to you! God, I don't know why I-! You're the only bloody friend I've got and I just, just-! Treated you l-like some common-"

"…Oh," utters Percy, too quiet to be heard. A hand presses over his mouth as his gaze falls to the floor, Alfred's rambling fading into background noise.

All of his observations from the recent past topple to the forefront of his mind, aligning to form a glaringly obvious truth with disconcerting ease. The atypical lack of communication and unannounced visits this last month, how Alfred's odd manner during his last appointment only began after Percy brought up their talk, which occurred the day after his outburst - even during the day after itself! How he'd so uncharacteristically neglected to finish his meal, or even pocket the biscuits for his walk home! It all makes terrible sense when connected by the common thread of his remembering his actions from the very start. "I was a fool to think I could ever forego the ridiculous mess of addressing what happened. If he just didn't get so overly-!" The doctor purses his lips in a tight frown as he rubs the bridge of his nose. "…No, no this is squarely on my shoulders now. I didn't deserve the torture of Alfred's dramatics, but now that I've made the situation so much worse… Plenty of contrary evidence to my decision and I was still blind to it all! Too content in thinking I'd avoided an overemotional bullet! Verdammt noch mal, I hate making mistakes!"

"-nothing but patient and kind, and I repay that with, with trying to rape you! Oh God! I-I'm such a wretched, disgusting, vile-"

Hardly aware of Alfred's self-loathsome sobbing, Percy barely moves his hand to blandly reply, "You didn't try to rape me Alfred, don't be ridiculous."

"-ing but revulsion! You shouldn't even want to look at me, let alone treat me! I shouldn't be anywhere near you after I-I did such a thing, but I still-"

The physician finally looks up at him as his hand drops away, focus no longer divided. "Refusing you treatment is the furthest thi-"

"Another man! That I force anyone against their will for my own lewd selfishness is- But a man?! How could I do something s-so-! To someone who, who'd never even think that anyone would want to-"

"I am quite familiar with homosexual acts, Alfred."

"-odd and perversely unnah…tur…"

The muffled words trail off. Alfred slowly turns from where he'd buried his face into the now sodden pillow, finally looking at his visitor for longer than a glance. "…You are…?"

"Quite."

"…Oh…" He stares for a moment before his eyes drift to the wall, expression oddly blank.

For a short time silence hangs in the small room, and Percy is too relieved for a break from the wailing to question it. However, the longer it goes on the more he notices the other's expression shift into something more… thoughtful. An immense amount of discomfort overtakes the physician, driving what little of his tension that had dissipated to return tenfold. He loudly clears his throat to interrupt whatever disagreeable ideas the other might be having. "However, I've… someone to whom a significant amount of time and energy has been dedicated. And, that being the case, I've no interest in such a relationship at this time."

"Oh." Alfred's expression falls as flat as his tone.

His brow furrows as his gaze drifts to his dog, still sitting nearby with its nose on the edge of the mattress. A hand comes out from under the covers to give the animal a scratch behind an ear, eliciting a steady thumping as its tail wags against the floorboards. Percy lets out the shallow breath he didn't know he was holding, glad to finally not be the other's sole focus. It has to stay a short-lived reprieve, however - he still has to set this mess right somehow.

"…For clarity's sake, receiving another man's advances isn't something I find odd or distressing. What was of an offensive nature pertaining to your actions that night was being thoroughly manhandled-" the doctor pauses, his expression turning pensive before bordering on sheepish, "-…in such a… an indifferent fashion. That is, without consent."

Alfred's already pallid complexion pales beneath the flush of upset, self-disgust practically oozing off him as he hiccups on the threat of miraculously unspent tears. Percy quickens his pace in the hope of cutting them off before any more can fall. "But! I know you never would have carried out such actions if you were in any way able to comprehend them at the time. As such, I consider the entire affair as something to be analyzed and understood, similar to any other aspect of your overall case. And I'd like to make one thing very clear-" he pointedly pauses and stares, gently smiling when the younger man finally looks up,"-what I said the following day was and remains true, Alfred. Apology accepted."

The blond's breath hitches and for a terrible moment he appears alarmingly close to all-out sobbing again, which causes the older man's smile to prematurely wane. Instead the offending tears are ignored as he two-handedly rubs at his faces and sniffles in an attempt to hold them back. "But I hurt you..."

Percy raises a brow and sits straighter to spread his arms wide. "Do I look hurt to you?"

"There were- you have bruises…"

"Which have faded - or are very well on their way, if you've managed to pick them out. Wait," Percy arches a brow questioningly as he lays his hands on his thighs to lean forward, "is that what set you off during your last appointment? You saw what's left of the mark on my neck? Honestly, I've gotten worse from badly-stacked book shelves…"

His patient simply nods and bites his bottom lip, eyes anxiously dancing across the room. If anything he looks hesitant now, as if he's unsure he should accept that he's already been so readily forgiven. They sit quietly as Percy tries to hash out how best to convince him so they can move on to the matter at hand - his withdrawal. He sighs as he comes to a conclusion that should act as a much-needed segue into what he'll have to do so he can finally be free of this ridiculous affair. "Think of it like this - were I still upset with you concerning what happened, wouldn't I have said something by now? The day after, or any time after that? Or right now for that matter?"

Alfred goes stock still, averted eyes widening as he rapidly blushes a new shade of red and rubs at his mouth. "…Uuuhh I- uhh…Hmmooh…" His muttering grows more and more muffled as he sinks lower and lower until he's reclined once more, pressing himself into the mattress as if in the hopes it'll swallow him whole. The doctor pretends not to notice his obvious embarrassment, instead focused on trying to look remorseful or even anxious instead of annoyed over his current situation. Evidently not a single thought about Percy's reaction, or lack thereof, has crossed Alfred's mind in all of his panic and self-loathing. The physician would even posit a guess no real concern over how he may have faired has occurred to him either.

Good. Incredibly self-centered and ignorant, but good; hopefully it'll stay that way, at least for long enough to make easier what must come next. Percy turns away for a moment to gather himself. "…For that I owe you an apology."

The blond opens his mouth to question, but Percy silences him with a terse shake of his head before continuing. "The day after I retrieved you from that pub and the subsequent incident, you didn't appear to remember any of it. From that scant observation I decided, instead of forcing you to recall the ordeal while already upset over your getting drunk, I'd act as though your outburst never occurred. Knowing how you loathe wanton acts of any nature, I thought that line of action would be best for you to recover and move on from the blow getting drunk would have dealt to your mindset. I was very, very wrong. I never bothered to think that I may had been mistaken, that perhaps you did remember your actions from that night, or of how what I was doing may affect you. By acting as though nothing happened I waylaid your mental recovery and undoubtedly caused you an enormous amount of duress - questioning your memory, perhaps even your grip on reality. As a medical professional, your physician, and in an unofficial capacity your psychiatrist, my making assumptions and retaining information from you concerning your own actions was morally questionable at best. I apologize profusely."

The room is silent once Percy finishes with a penitent dip of his head. Alfred has shifted to laying on his side, mouth hanging open in obvious confusion just as it was while he listened. It snaps shut almost audibly when he realizes but the confusion remains, slowly morphing into a grimace as he struggles to understand, mind as sluggish and impaired as it is right now. His mouth opens and closes a few times before words finally begin to form. "I… uh. That- I wasn't expecting, for you to… I'm the one who- I don't- but you… You're, um… forgiven?"

Percy makes a show of letting go of a breath he hadn't been holding. "Thank you for forgiving me. And of course I owed you an apology - the turmoil my actions caused you must've been great. Deplorable on my part, as your doctor. Now!"

He swiftly ducks down to open the leather bag at his feet and pulls out a small notebook and pencil. As he returns the stool to sit at the desk he fishes out his spectacles from a breast pocket, depositing them on his nose before clearing a space for him to work. "On to business, yes? I have a few questions about how you've faired since going dry - I'm sorry, that's another assumption on my part. You have stopped your alcohol intake entirely? Likely starting directly after your last appointment?"

"I- yeah? …Yes," Alfred is immensely lost over the sudden change of topic as he pushes himself up. His eyes are still glossy and his voice hoarse from his earlier wailing, but now that the flush of embarrassment and upset has subsided he looks wanner than ever. Sweatier too, unless that's just residual tears and the dim lighting.

"Very well. You've been experiencing the usual withdrawal symptoms I suspect - headache, fever, stomach complaints, trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah… all of that…"

Percy hums as he jots this all down. "Have you experienced uncontrollable shaking?"

"A little, in my hands…"

"When you move do you feel unbalanced, disoriented?"

"If I'm standing or move too quickly, yeah…" Alfred sits upright again and clenches his eyes shut, frowning.

"And have you noticed anything… odd? Visual or auditory things that don't seem right?"

"You mean hallucinations? I don't- probably not…?"

"Good, good. Have you been able to keep down most-"

"Bin."

"-of what you've ea- beg pardon?" Percy looks over to see a very pale Alfred tensely clutching his covers. His mouth is a thin line as he harshly breathes out through his nose, his voice naught but a croak. "Bin!"

Without taking his eyes off him Percy deftly leans to grab the receptacle and is next to the bed so fast the dog startles to its feet. Before the blond can fully take it he's already retching. The doctor stands by with no discernable reaction as he passively watches, pencil and notebook poised to write. Once the successive coughing subsides and Alfred wearily retracts his head with a moan, Percy returns to his task as though nothing had happened. "I'll take that as a 'no'."

----------

"What are you reading?"

Percy turns to glance up from where he sits at the room's cramped though slightly more organized desk. "Alfred, you're up! So sorry if I managed to wake you, it was not my intention," he moves to fully face the bedbound man, bringing the book he'd been focused on to display the cover. "Nothing pertaining to any of my current cases, but of interest nonetheless. The Ward's libraries cover so many fascinating topics."

"Mmhm," Alfred hums, already closing his eyes once more. The doctor watches him as he uses the interruption as an opportunity to stretch some, before adjusting his spectacles to find where he left off.

Three days have passed since Percy first came to check on Alfred. Thanks to the schedule they'd quickly set up the physician has been back to the little room often - sometimes thrice a day if the weather and his other appointments cooperate. It's surprisingly… alright, having to come out to see to the miserable man. Though the trip takes him near less than desirable parts of town, Percy enjoys the excuse for walks and exploring routes he'd otherwise never take, as well as the occasional bonus of receiving baked goods from the elderly sapphic couple, now that he passes by so regularly. The boarding house's old landlady had opted to give Percy a spare key to Alfred's room on hearing he'd be back so often, making the act of getting in nowhere near as unpleasant as his first visit. And with Alfred so firmly in the midst of his withdrawal, he's nowhere near as talkative and irritating as his usual self. In fact, other than giving an update on his condition, the blond primarily spends his time silent and in bed, trying to get some semblance of sleep. It makes for a quiet, somber sort of environment - not unlike a library really, save for the dog smell and occasional sounds of retching.

Percy began bringing his reading along during the second day, when Alfred told him he seems to sleep better with someone nearby. "I don't think I've ever slept completely alone in a room of my own, before living in Yharnam," he'd shared as his reasoning on the matter. Of course Percy had only acquiesced after seeing first hand why his further prolonged presence was indeed needed; when the blond suffered a brief bout of falling sickness as he slept. If not for the physician's quick intervention he would have likely given himself a mild concussion with how he'd been convulsing against the wall. Instead he ended up with only a scrape on his forehead, while the wall gained a few fresh cracks in its plaster.

So, other than occasionally having to walk Alfred's mastiff Siegward - which to its owner's credit is surprisingly docile and well-behaved for those that know a few choice words in Old Pthumerian - Percy finds himself enjoying the time technically spent tending to a needy patient, and actually spent recreationally reading. It's not his own home of course, but the lack of comfort just keeps him from drifting off between paragraphs as he's become wont to do more in recent years.

"Is it about eastern folk medicine?"

Percy looks up in surprise to see Alfred intently squinting at him, or rather the book. It's still very strange to hear him forego his newer, more refined manner of speech in lieu of the accent he had when they first met. Yet another sign of how awful a state he's in, and of the trust he must have in the physician. "Why yes, it is. How did you- have you read it?"

"…You could say that," he settles back to lay down after having propped himself up. Once he sees the doctor's obvious curiosity he groggily continues. "Transcribed by Logärius from its original Chinese, right?"

Realization comes to Percy on hearing the name aloud. He flips to the front to be certain and, sure enough, there is the late man's name in solid script under the title and intricate characters of the original authors. "Yes it is. Did he work on this during your mentorship?"

Alfred doesn't respond. Enough time passes that Percy considers dropping the matter. Talk of his mentor was a touchy subject, and he doesn't want to overstep any boundaries or cause an upset when it could so easily affect the man's health. He'll just have to make a note of this to bring up at a later time.

"…On the back page, if it's the original printing - it's signed by Logärius at the bottom," Alfred suddenly says, almost too low and gravelly to be heard clearly, "the 'A' is in a circle instead of with an umlaut…"

The physician quickly turns to the back page. There at the bottom, much smaller than he'd expected, is a simple anglicized signature, perfectly centered with a curiously large "A", missing its umlaut in lieu of a perfect circle. His interest fully piqued, Percy looks to the younger man expecting further explanation, apparently in an amusing fashion as he dryly chuckles in response. "He transcribed everything by hand originally, since printing wasn't… present most of his life - it wasn't really used in Pthumeru. His hands caused him a lot of pain by his later years, so he never learned how to type. I learned instead, when he took me on."

"You transcribed this book into print?"

Alfred nods as he looks at nothing in particular. "I did a good number of his first transcripts. Some of the papers were damaged or beginning to fade; we needed to salvage them in the midst of our travels…"

Percy raises his brows, genuinely impressed - who'd of thought the ever-impatient Alfred capable of such a thing? But something bothers him as he considers this new information. "Of all the works gathered by Logärius that I've read, I've never seen a single credit for the transcriptions go to anyone but him. Surely you deserve-"

"I don't want it."

The doctor pauses, his confusion plain. Alfred sighs. "Pecking at a typewriter is nothing compared to the actual work my mentor dedicated himself to near the end of his life. He'd already traveled much of Asia and Europe by the time we met, was more than halfway done all on his own. Adding my name would only diminish the importance of his efforts, his dedication. I didn't - still don't - want to take away from the recognition that's rightfully his."

Remaining silent, Percy adds this revelation to what he already knows of Alfred's relationship with the mysterious Old Pthumerian that had been Logärius. It was evident from the start that he highly reveres the man - which makes perfect sense, considering how he'd vastly improved Alfred's life practically over night. From education to etiquette, Logärius reshaped and guided a spirited no-name brute into a relatively decent gentleman of… some amount of academic prowess. During one of their discussion sessions, he'd even let slip he considered the man as a sort of father figure, the first he could ever recall in a positive light. But this degree of humility is completely new. Alfred is a prideful man; proud of his academic work, proud of his physical abilities, proud of his status of being Logärius' sole surviving protégé, and proud of how he's successfully reshaped himself to blend with those of a higher social standing. So to learn he willfully, adamantly refuses rightful credit for his work in a well-known collection of literature, which would most certainly force his peers at Byrgenwerth to reconsider him… Perhaps it's less reverence for Logärius, and more a strange sort of glorification…

Percy shakes his head as he's nudged out of his thoughts. Siegward has come to lean against he and the stool, panting slightly as he slobbers near one of his pant legs. With a frown the doctor shifts away from the impending mess of a particularly viscous line of drool. Alfred interrupts his dozing to crack an eye open at the movement before he settles in further, prompting Percy to ask one final question. "…What does the circled 'A' entail?"

"Hm?" Alfred turns toward the doctor's voice but doesn't open his eyes.

"You mentioned this book's signature having a circled 'A', as if it were unique. Why is that?"

Now it's Alfred's turn to frown. "He was of the same mindset as you, that I should receive credit. He didn't push the matter, but made sure to sign everything I'd typed like that, without my knowing - the 'A' capitalized and circled, for 'Alfred.' Ridiculous old man… he just laughed when I confronted him…" The last handful of words are muttered, but his frown sleepily inverts to a fond smile.

Percy hums in response but says nothing. Glancing at the back page again before flipping to where he'd left off, he decides to make note of which books he might happen to read that bare the same unique signature. For curiosity's sake, as well as to see just how much credit and fame Alfred is willing to part with in the name of elevating his mentor's image.

As soft snoring quietly pervades the little room the physician shifts to sit properly at the desk once more, but only after casting a glance at the portrait, the ancient man's intense gaze meeting his own as if in challenge. Percy hums and returns to his reading. What a bizarre study subject he's managed to find…

[malarkis]

“Look at him, the poor thing! You kind of look alike, eh Wes?” I just had to draw this based off of a twitter comment of @craniumculverin about @donc-desole‘s lads fgjkdflg <333 It was too cute

[craniumculverin]

“M-maybe its parents pushed it out of the nest on purpose? Because it’s sick? You shouldn’t be touching it! Go put it back before-”

“Nonsense, it’s healthy! Still in the nest when I heard it chirping - climbed the tree and got back down with nary a scratch, too!”

“You took it from its nest?!”

“I had to, Wes! I saw the mama bird get nabbed by a cat! It would’ve died eventually without her!”

“...Oh no... You’re sure it was the mother bird?”

“Eh, pretty sure. It was near the nest anyway. Now, let’s go make it at home! Here Wes, take it, I’ll go fetch some straw for a new nest. I’ll meet you back in your room!”

“Wha-? W-wait, I’d rather not- my room?!”

[craniumculverin]

The way you write is amazing, I’m in love with the way you depict Alfred. Looking forward to more of the Ripper AU if you’re still doing it!

Thank you so much! I’m absolutely still working on the Ripper!AU fics and don’t plan to stop anytime soon, I’ve just gotten a bit busier as of late with other things. Thanks for the kind words!

[craniumculverin]

iosefka: so? how did it go? it’s been a week since i pushed for you to get to know your new fellows in the healing church.

percy: worse than expected, really.

iosefka: oh come now! it couldn’t have been that-

percy: i was invited to join a suicide pact within 10 minutes of introducing myself.

iosefka: ...oh. well. you didn’t tell me it was the school of mensis you-

percy: the school of what?

[craniumculverin]

on one hand rosa/wes/percy is supposed to be balanced and make each of them grow and understand themselves better with the help of the other two, consciously or otherwise. but on the other hand i love the idea of percy and rosa causing wes a ton of alarm or at least grossing him out on a regular basis. just, all the wacky and/or upsetting ideas those two would throw at each other out of the blue.

rosa, who just walked in: percy? do you think it’s possible to animate a corpse? not like frankenstein, i mean to make it move somewhat independently again.

percy, who'd been silently reading until now: .... well there’s certainly a good way to find out.

wes, who’s been organizing sheet music in the corner:

[craniumculverin]

percy in the logging camp be like:

day 1: i spent all day sewing up holes and cutting off toes, very tired

day 2: my patients are doing well, but i’m growing rather bored

day 3: i have decided to conduct an in-depth study on one of the patients

[craniumculverin]

Dude I'm IN LOVE with your writing! It's so good, and I keep going through them and just my God you're awesome. Hope you're having a fantastic day!

aaaaaaaa thank you so much! it really helps to brighten my day when i get such positive feedback! knowing my stuff is getting the same rereading treatment i do with my favorite fics is such a boost!

[craniumculverin]

Crude Fortuity (part 1)

Stepping away from Alfred’s dramatics for a moment to share how he and Percy originally met - long before he happened across the doctor’s office in Yharnam.  Since I know not everyone cares for it - contains a fair amount of (my own) OCs.

This fic ended up being way longer than I intended, and a lot harder to organize than I could’ve ever thought. Cus of this it’ll be posted in parts as they’re finished, likely taking less priority over continuing with the actual storyline.

Weathered boots dig through heavy snow, crunching loudly as they find the uneven terrain below. A few snowflakes drift through the air, swirling around the towering trees that engulf the rocky base and foothills of the peaks above. It's hard to say how long the two men have been at it thanks to the cloud cover that's rolled in since the start of their trek, diffused sunlight making for a lack of shadows. Likely far too long and with too little to show for it.

The man in the lead finishes clambering up the roots of one of the ancient trees, grown into an absurd facsimile of enormous stairs over the years. “Everything about this place is absurd,” he thinks, breath puffing past chapped lips and whiskers as he continues unabated. A series of grunts float up to him as the other, slighter man makes it over the treacherous roots, followed by a curse on seeing how far ahead his partner already is. As he tries to catch up in the other's path through the snow he awkwardly goes to his knees, not for the first time this hike. He grunts as the line connected to his belt tugs him forward to faceplant him into a deep drift. Spluttering, he comes up whining. “Aaalf hold up, will you?! We’re not all giants, c’mon now!”

Alfred chuckles as he finds stable footing and turns to watch his friend catch up, taking the moment to shift his pack and a mass of ropes and cables to ease the ache in his shoulders. He huffs at the lack of relief and grimaces. Shaking globs of melting snow from his blazing curls as he nears, the shorter man reaches up to give his arm a good-natured punch. “Damn your legs and damn your stride! Gonna be the death o' me one these days, you are!”

The blond scoffs through a grin, folding his arms. “Oh shut it, Lorcan. You’d rather suffer this job with me than anyone else on offer, that’s a fact we both know. I’d still be down in camp if not for you!”

“I do not, you just carry more than anyone else is all! That’s why I asked for you t'come, that and you plow the way better - speaking of! On you go! Get!”

The Irishman waves both hands in the direction they’d been trudging, giving his friend an expectant, comical pout. Alfred can’t help but laugh as he turns to continue forward, his steamy breath partly blinding him. Where the little man’s boundless energy comes from was a sometimes aggravating mystery, but he’s grateful for it nevertheless. It makes for a good distraction from this terrible job, if nothing else.

The rope tied around his middle stays slack as he goes this time, his partner keeping up well enough. Lorcan has to raise his voice over the crunching of snow and rocks their progress causes, his breathing labored as he tries to stay close behind. “And don’t give out… about staying at camp! The Cap’n d’be having you… do some chore or another… and you know it!”

Alfred opens his mouth to make some retort only for his footing to vanish in a slide of mud. He nearly bites his tongue as he catches himself against a nearby trunk before his head collides with it, surprise coming out as a loud curse. Silence falls between them as he halts to assess their current route. The tree they were heading for was in sight, but a tall cliff face stood between them and it, the ground around it at a severe slant and covered in a layer of melting snow atop mud and moss. The large boulders strewn about and huge tower of weathered rock near the cliff were too risky to approach from below with those icicles dripping from them… But the way they’d been going looks to be nothing but gnarled roots amidst the still-snowy rocks, the gaps in-between likely consisting of deeper mud. No doubt one or both of them would slip and fall in that mess, or worse, twist an ankle. They’d have to venture near those boulders, at least until they found a way up and around the cliff.

There’s the soft brush of fabric on fabric as Lorcan steps close to look up as well. After a moment he leans in even more and stands as tall as he can to be closer to Alfred's ear, voice conspiratorial. “D’you think those icicles would kill a man instantly, or just knock him out t'be taken by the cold?”

“… Depends which you’re talking. The bigger ones? Probably cave your head in and kill you real quick. But those smaller ones, way up top there?” The blond points to the highest overhang on a jut of the rock tower, keeping his own voice low. “I have to wonder if those wouldn’t be like taking a bullet, aimed straight down. Would only kill you if you’re lucky.”

“Huh…” Lorcan’s freckled features hang slack as he looks on, squinting hard, brows knit together.

They exchange a look, silence heavy between them, before bursting out in laughter. Still chuckling and without another word, they go about gathering stones of throwing size before finding somewhere steady to stand nearer to their targets.

Taking turns, they try knocking down as much of the hanging ice as possible, clapping one another on the back when the other manages to succeed. They keep their voices down, having been told repeatedly the dangers of echoes reaching higher up where the snow stays year round. It’d also be bad if anyone in camp heard - if word got to Cap’n they were playing games whilst on the job, he’d threaten to give them a lashing. Of course he never follows through but still, neither of them enjoy sitting through his lectures.

After they've cleared out the worst of the icicles, Alfred pushes on for a gap between two of the boulders. Shattered bits of ice skitter across the slick rocks and roots, but there’s not much mud, and whatever snow had been here had melted with the earlier sun. The two make it to the top of the cliff face soon after, stopping to catch their breath before making a final push. The land levels out to something manageable directly beyond the cliff, and with the smaller saplings and underbrush to cling to they reach their destination quickly.

They drop their loads of equipment against the base of the ancient trunk with groans of relief. As Lorcan flops down to lean against the massive tree, Alfred walks to a jut of a smaller cliff's edge and pulls out his sheathed knife. Glancing to the sky with a frown, he looks back down the mountain from whence they came. The frown disappears at what he sees. “Cap’n was right, that salty bastard! Look, you can see clear to the western end of camp from here! We’re not even up the tree yet and there’s hardly anything to clear away for a line!”

“Course Cap’n was right, when isn’t he?” Lorcan whines, keeping his eyes closed despite the breathtaking view. “You think this means I don’t have to climb clear t'the top? I hate evergreens, damn sap and needles stick t’everything…”

“You know we gotta top it Lorcan. Can’t be a proper spar tree with any extra bits still on,” Alfred says while unsheathing his blade. He keeps it sharper than his razor and highly polished, the second part why he has it out - if the sun would only show itself again. “I can’t signal them like this… and we forgot the damn whistle.”

“Eh, don’t bother yet. Never said when t’signal, just t’signal. And Cap’n should’ve thought t’check we had a whistle, Lord knows the old git checks everything else thrice over… I still have t’check t’see it’s sound enough t'handle the load - let’s figure out signals after we’re sure t’is our tailspar."

With that the smaller man bounds to his feet. From his pack he pulls out a carpenter’s ax and starts walking the trunk’s perimeter, looking for immediate signs of weakness. Alfred sighs and sheathes his knife. There were no breaks to this job, not really. The periodic thunking of the ax’s hammer grows faint as he goes about getting their spurs and ropes ready. By the time Lorcan comes around the other side, Alfred has his own spurs on and harness ready to be secured.

“No conks far as I'm seeing, can’t hear any sign o' rot. Ah thanks,” he takes the proffered spurs, sitting on a mossy rock to get them on over his boots. Once done Lorcan doesn’t get up, a thoughtful frown on his face. He looks straight up to the highest heights of the tree before dropping his gaze back down to his partner, whose attentions had been on the distant camp until now. “Want t’eat before heading up? We'll be up there a while.”

“I certainly don’t see why not!” Alfred has a hard time hiding the relief in his voice as he also looks up through the crisscross of limbs. Actually getting to sit after the hard trek here, and before their long climb - that’s all he wants right now.

All he wants right now is to escape these people. Last Percy checked it had only been a scant two hours since their previous stop, so by now it must be close to two and a half. It may as well be six with how fed up he is with this incessant chatter.

He would check his pocket watch yet again if it weren’t for his currently feigning a sound nap - it was all the desperate doctor could think of to achieve some semblance of solitude in the cramped carriage. At least with his pretending to doze the elderly woman across from him couldn’t try roping him into any more conversations, and is keeping her bickering somewhat quieter. The ill-tempered lawyer at the other end of his seat is no longer arguing with her old husband, instead grumbling under his breath as he glares out at the passing trees and hills. The mother with two children sat beside him has stopped trying to silence her infant son’s babbling, however. She’d of course tried, at first, before growing so weary she'd started nodding off herself. Her daughter directly next to him would probably be a nice enough child, if not for her incessant nosiness and overly-personal questions. Why children find his white hair so fascinating is beyond him.

It’s not that he’s been taken by surprise by this joyless ride - Percy had been told the journey from shore to capitol was an arduous one. It's just that he’d been tipped off about seeking out a particular coachman if he wanted to reach Yharnam faster, and so figured his own journey wouldn't be as unpleasant as the usual.

Finding the man was a miracle in and of itself what with having to search the chaotic bustle of a port town that was never meant to actually be used as a port - not so miraculous was finding he’d been but one of many to receive said "tip." If not for his papers from the so-called Healing Church, he’d have been quickly left behind to find another way through the countryside. Instead the coachman took one look at the seal stamped in crimson and asked after his luggage with a markedly kinder, even respectful tone.

“Though I detest having to work under a group that’s considered a cult,” Percy thinks to himself, “they have made my time easier since entering the country. Iosefka was right in that regard.”

A patch of rougher terrain causes the rim of his lenses to connect with the window he's leant against, the rapid series of clicks hardly audible over a string of complaints from the older couple and lawyer. Figuring he's been mercifully forgotten for the time-being, he turns just enough to ensure it won't happen again. "One would think a country with such amazing feats of architecture would bother maintaining its infrastructure, but even the streets of the last village were in ill-repair, and it was one of the bigger we've been through! Even though New Pthumeria is still recovering after that catastrophic war, it's been long enough to sort out financing such things… So why does it appear the government hasn't done anything to-"

An unnatural lurch suddenly rocks the coach, causing the doctor’s head to loudly knock into the glass of the window. The horses make a panicked racket, accompanied by a burst of protest and crying from within the cabin. With all the noise Percy decides his façade must come to a premature end; he adjusts himself as if he’d just been startled awake, retrieving the book from his lap and straightening his spectacles as he observes the others.

The old man is trying to calm his irate wife, the lawyer threatening the driver with litigation - he opts to apply his focus to the small family. Clutching her crying infant, the mother’s face is fear-stricken as she tries to comfort him, while her daughter had apparently nodded off since he’d closed his eyes, as she's somehow still asleep between them. Looking past them and the lawyer to the opposite window, Percy notes they’ve come to a complete stop in the middle of the road, the horses' nervous stomping occasionally jostling the carriage. He leans forward to get a better view of the rocky hills they’d been traversing since midday. “Have we struck something in the road and taken damage? That’s the worst we’ve had this entire ride, I wonder if this ‘short cut’ is really worth it…”

Another hard lurch hits the carriage, this time accompanied by a shout from the coachman. The outburst of noise from both passengers and horses starts anew - then turns to sheer terror as the motion swells into a fierce, consistent shaking.

Percy grabs hold of the carriage's door handle and braces a foot against the base of the opposite seat. Sudden movement catches his eye beside him and he casts an arm out across the mother and children as they start to tumble to the floor. His frown deepens as the girl wakes only to start wailing with her brother, little hands clutching his coat sleeve with white-knuckle intensity. He does his best not to glare at the uselessly shrieking old woman, or smack the surprisingly shrill lawyer in the face with his book. Glancing toward the deathly silent husband, he decides the old man should be checked for signs of a cardiac event once the tremors stop.

With a slow inhale Percy closes his eyes and tries to maintain some semblance of calm. “Since when has this part of the world suffered from earthquakes?”

The sound of chopping wood turns to white noise after a while, granting Alfred a strange sort of peace when he’s at it. Sure, he was far enough from the ground to die on impact should he fall, and yes, the cold was starting to bite into his extremities - but there was peace in the near-mindless act, similar to the cleaning and sharpening of the blades with which he worked.

The rope attaching he and Lorcan together scrapes along the bark as his partner moves further away, making him pause so as not to accidentally hit it. He huffs loudly and frowns as he watches it slink upwards.

They were meant to stick to roughly the same level, cutting off branches as they head for the top, Alfred always on the side of the prevailing winds. That way neither of them would get hit by falling debris cut by the other, and his greater weight would cancel the other’s should a gust find them. Lorcan however was impatient and foolhardy as ever; in order to move past uncut limbs he’d plant himself on one, dig his spurs in, and like a madman detach himself from the ropes and cables securing him to the trunk. Then he’d shimmy them above the limb, reattach, and keep going. It drove Alfred crazy, and he said as much every time, not that his companion ever listened. He just rolls his eyes and waves him off.

“If any rot or weakness is found all that chopping work’s for nothing, and I don’t work for nothing!”

“You’re a bloody logger Lorcan! Think before you talk - we don’t! Earn! Shit!” Alfred’s last few words are emphasized with brutal strikes from his ax, finally detaching a particularly thick limb. They both watch as it topples to the ground below, the larger man puffing from exertion.

He looks up only to meet Lorcan's gaze, his ruddy face worriedly blank before it instantly breaks into a wide grin. “You feeling better now?”

“Hah! Yeah… hah,” he huffs, replacing the ax into the loop of leather at his belt. It aches to stretch his hands after they’d been clenched for so long. “These trees… are something else. Haven’t ever… cut anything this hard before… And the sap!”

The Irishman grunts as he continues his work, head tilted. “Looks like blood, don’t it? Ghastly - lot o' the plants in New Pthumeria are supposed t’be strange. No wonder the locals are so queer. You hear about the flowers that glow at night?”

Alfred casts him a glare from around the trunk. “Don’t be like that, they’ve had nothing but hell in recent years… And yeah, I saw dried ones once. Enormous! I don’t think they were glowing though.”

“And when the hell’d you see those then?”

“During the war! Some of the Olds on pilgrimage we came across had them, almost looked like staves… I think they’re like a, a symbol of sorts, in their religion. That’s likely why you don’t see them everyw-” Lorcan’s head swings into view from the other side, face comically contorted in faux anger, causing Alfred to pause. Then he laughs. “I’m not going on about religion again, for Christ’s sake! I’m just saying-”

“Yeah, yeah - but you would’ve! You always do if your not stopped! Going on and on about your history and theohl- theh- lel- lology!”

“It’s interesting! Y'know, if it weren’t for getting the boot out of seminary way back, I'd have dedicated my whole life to that sort of stuff! I wouldn’t even be out here! In the snow, and the cold - and with you!”

The other chuckles at the mock disgust as he readies to shimmy past another limb. “And how, pray tell, did a saint like you get kicked out of priestdom?”

Alfred grunts as he takes up his ax to start in on another limb. As nice as the silence of their work was, keeping up a good humored ribbing was enjoyable too, so long as they could keep it going for a while - and from getting out of hand. "I'd say it was my asking too many questions they didn't like - they said I was 'profanely lacking in forbearance and temperance'. What bullshit that was - I've plenty of patience! I was the only boy there what didn't ever fall asleep during sermons! Not once! And I never hit anyone while I was there, 'least not 'til they told me I was kicked out… Or maybe, I don't know…" He starts chopping, gruffly speaking between swings. “ Maybe… it’s got something… to do with… how much… I enjoy… taking… limbs off of things!”

With a bark of laughter he watches as the branch plummets down to join the others with a resounding crack. Once he quiets down to catch his breath he decides not to look up to Lorcan - the utter silence from him is really uncomfortable for some reason.

Alfred decides he's tired of talking. “Alright! No more gabbing - you can’t go rot-finding and I can’t go limb-cutting as well when we do!”

“…Fine by me, let’s get thi-”

An intense sense of unbalance suddenly causes them both to tightly cling to the trunk. Much of the snow still laying on the limbs above comes plummeting down, causing Alfred to yell and cover his head. Furious, he swears Lorcan had done it on purpose for telling him to shut up, but on looking up to yell he sees the redhead is covered as well. Shaking needles and damp snow from his curls and shoulders, the Irishman wildly looks around. “What was that?! You feel that too?”

“Yeah,” Alfred says more to himself as he takes in their surroundings as well. The trees around them are also missing their snowy coverings, and a good deal of bird cries are growing distant. “…I don’t know, but it wasn’t just this one tree! Let’s get this done and get down, being up here can’t be better than down there!”

“Right!”

Watching for a moment to make sure the little man is properly reattached before continuing, Alfred hears something strange as he goes to start chopping again. Almost like a cavalry charge from a distance. Looking to the horizon in confusion, the noise grows louder as the smaller branches on his chosen limb begin to tremble. There's a sharp intake of breath from above right when Alfred realizes the tree is vibrating.

“It’s an earthquake! Hold on t’something!”

With no sizable enough branches nearby Alfred hugs the trunk, gritting his teeth as rough bark grates into his face - not a second later the tree starts shaking in earnest. A low, wavering groan comes from all around as they begin to shudder and sway violently. A few of the smaller, less-anchored trees begin to tilt and fall around them, creaking and cracking as they crash to the forest floor. Limbs snap as they’re torn off, some finding their tree on the way down. Both men are nearly dislodged at a particularly brutal impact that rains more needles and the remaining snow down from above. As quickly as the tremors had come they stop, the unnatural noise dissipating into an eerie silence.

All Alfred hears is the cry of more birds, the settling of trees, and the pounding of his own racing heart. Breathing fast as he slowly lessens his full-body death grip, his eyes go to the line leading up to where his companion had been. He waits, for a sound, or movement… The outspoken little guy was always the first to start hollering when things went to shit. Alfred swallows hard as he tries to see around the trunk after a few minutes of staring at the unmoving rope. “Lorcan…?”

No response.

“Lorcan!”

“…Aaalf…”

The blond heaves a sigh of relief. “Lorcan! Are you alright? Did you get hit by anything?”

The redhead’s voice is weak, barely audible. “…Alf… Alfred, I- …I’ve pissed m’self…”

Alfred is utterly silent for a moment before he's overtaken by frantic laughter.

Lorcan has to bite back what sounds like a sob to furiously shout down at him.“Fuck you Alf, t’is not funny! That was the scariest thing since- oh fuck off you!” When his face comes into view he's glaring through tears, face reddened not just from the cold.

With tears in his own eyes Alfred manages to quell his laughing fit enough to speak. “Ah ha-I’m not, not laughing at you pissing yourself! Lorcan I thought you’d-! Ah damn, just- Bloody hell that was… was something else…”

“Aye…” Lorcan’s anger abruptly dissipates, leaving him spent. He leans out of view to judge the damage, twisting around to look behind him where another tree had managed to snap a ways up its trunk. Alfred goes to brush his head and shoulders free of needles,  amazed neither of them had been hurt. Rubbing a hand through his short beard he finds a patch smeared with dark sap and picks a chunk of bark from it with a disgusted groan. Grimacing at the prospect of having to wash it out, he’s surprised to see actual blood when he pulls his hand away. Another dab finds the source, roughened skin on the cheek he’d had pressed to the trunk. “Wonderful! Likely got bits of bark in my face to go with the blood-sap in my hair! Lovely! A few more years of this work and I’ll be a bloody tree myself at this rate. Cap’n damn well better buy me a drink for this, I swear…”

“Alf, what is that?”

“What? What’s what?” Looking up Alfred sees Lorcan with his head tilted oddly, squinting at the distant slopes hidden beyond the clouds. Maneuvering for a better view, he tries to see anything besides more rocks and trees. “I don’t see anything.”

“Not see, hear! D’you hear that? Like a, like a rumble? Not like before…”

Now that it’s mentioned there is a faint sound. Alfred hadn’t noticed it at first, but there is definitely a strange rumbling coming from higher up… A hint of movement catches his eye just below the clouds, about the same time he realizes the rumbling is getting louder. He goes numb from the inside out.

“Oh Christ! Lorcan, it’s an avalanche!”

"T’is not! Don’t you even kid about tha- Oh fuck all that’s fast! What d’we do?! We’ve nowhere t- ”

“Brace yourself! Hold on!”

He has to shout to be heard over the now deafening roar. The whisper of movement Alfred had seen has become a billowing wall, already devouring the outer edge of the forest. Trees are forced to unnatural angles before disappearing entirely, some simply being ripped up and taken along.

Alfred can barely hear Lorcan’s screams as the mass of white engulfs them. Their tree lurches toward the slopes before furiously whipping in the opposite direction. Debris and ice batter Alfred from every angle as he hunches as much as possible against the trunk. Gravity seems to pull at him more from the side than below, his upper half awkwardly twisting around the trunk as his lower half stays put, anchored by his spurs. Grinding and crunching joins the tumult of the avalanche, not surrounding them as before but coming from somewhere nearby. Alfred lets out a startled shout as he’s suddenly jerked over and upward. Now almost properly upright, the world feels eerily still outside the relatively gentle swaying of their tree. Seconds pass, maybe minutes as Alfred shakes, too terrified to move. The pounding in his ears is maddening as he blindly tries to comprehend what’s happening through the cover of dust-like snow that now hangs in the air.

The roar of the avalanche is quickly lessening, but the cracking and crumbling from below grows ever louder, more consistent. A cry escapes Alfred as his perch jerks downward, a deep groan resonating through the massive trunk. There’s deep thudding, popping as the tree begins to erratically tilt lower. The groan escalates into a shriek of shredding fibers as the descent quickens. Roots snap and wood splinters as rock and ground give out. A scream tears through the air from somewhere above. Alfred is numb save for a distant sense of fear.

They plunge down through the white haze, the sounds of splitting wood and shattering rock the last he hears before the world goes dark.

As glad as he’d been when they started moving again, Percy was well and truly at his wits’ end. He needs out of this carriage, desperately.

Once the tremors had ceased he saw an opportunity before him and took it, venturing out under the guise of checking on the driver. The man was already down and calming the agitated horses, and only knew as much as anyone else - there'd been an earthquake, a bad one at that. What new information he could share with Percy was that such events weren't a rarity in New Pthumeria. Due to the vast, ancient networks of labyrinthian passages and carved-out rooms that run deep underground, an earthquake or two was to be expected, especially with the more recent exploration efforts funded by the Church. However this one appeared to be of natural origin, and possibly closer to the surface than typically occurs.

It was all well and good to get a better understanding of his new home-to-be, but this knowledge ended up being of no help for his ensuing headache. Others had come out and started demanding answers, which in turn became a prominent focus of their revitalized need to talk. 

The fact the doctor had been the first to venture out had the old woman and even the mother in some bizarre sense of awe, as though getting out of a coach was a heroic deed. A deed they deemed worthy of incessantly bringing up. Again and again. Even the grump of an attorney, who had been the second person out to survey the damage, wouldn’t shut up about the earthquake. He went into fervent detail of what charges could be pressed or what sorts of damages could be caused, on and on. None of them would shut up, be it amazement, complaints, more bickering, superstition - whatever.

And they wouldn’t let Percy sit silently by. No no, they all but demanded he be a part of the never-ending conversation.

“Damn social conventions and damn terrible infrastructure! I’d just walk the rest of the way if it weren’t for these roads being so treacherous!” A muscle below his eye begins to twitch as he refrains from heaving a sigh during a particularly dull account from the old man about a previous earthquake. The old man who, unfortunately, did not have a cardiac event, and has already told this story, twice. At the start of his now third telling, the little girl next to Percy had shared such a weary, side-eyed glance with him he felt he may have assumed her young age incorrectly. At least she could get away with falling asleep again… Perhaps if he gets the driver to stop he could join him at the front; certainly there had to be room for at least two up there…

Just as he considers calling out, there’s a muffled yell, and then another. Soon the coachman shouts back only for a chorus of dampened, vaguely aggressive-sounding voices to respond. Try as he might Percy can’t make out much through the windows, all the chatter having fogged them over long ago. When the coach begins to slow to a stop the doctor finally lets out the tremendous sigh he’d been holding in for the past hour.

It could be innocent enough, or it could be highwaymen about to rob them - it may even be something entirely unique to traveling in New Pthumeria. But whatever is happening now, it’s giving Percy a chance to away from these people, and he was not about to miss it.

As soon as they’ve come to a full stop he gently loosens the sleeping girl's hand from his arm and loudly clears his throat to cut off the boisterous griping of his fellow passengers. He gives his most genial smile once he has their attention. “I think I’ll take a step out and see what’s the matter - if the driver needs any more assistance and the like. Excuse me.” With that he swiftly opens the door before any of them can argue. A blast of chilled air invades the cozy space, eliciting another bout of spirited protests as he steps down onto the muddy road. The door is swiftly pulled shut behind him as he takes in his surroundings.

If Percy were to guess, they were at the edge of some sort of large makeshift camp, erected in a man-made clearing along one side of the road. Of all of its components a ramshackle building is closest, roughly hewn logs making up most of it with a heavy canvas draped and tied over for a roof. Not too far from one of its entrances is a fire pit with a large pot hung above the center, seemingly made of a large, burned-out stump. Wooden tables and benches are set up past the little cabin, and beyond that lay a number of canvas wall tents, the sort meant for long-term use. Here and there are neat piles of equipment, most of which were obviously meant to fell the massive trees towering above them. “A logging camp then. How quaint.”

Or it would be, if not for the constant shouting and air of panic permeating the place. Percy walks around the carriage to question the driver, only to find his seat vacant. The horses snort as he walks by to begin his search for the missing man, only to immediately discover the reason for their sudden stop.

A good ways ahead, the road has completely disappeared under a massive amount of snow, mud, and debris. Enormous, shredded portions of trees and sizable boulders are partially submerged in the blockage, likely torn away from the higher slopes as the apparent landslide made its way down. Percy knits his brows together and frowns as he follows the path of slanting and broken trees up the hill. This wasn’t going to be another delay like the earthquake that triggered this disaster - oh no. This was well and truly a dead end. They were going to have to turn back for the last stop. Percy closes his eyes at the realization and tries to keep a slow, steadying breath from being exhaled as a string of curses.

Were this journey a sentient being, he’s now certain it holds some grudge against him.

The sky is a blur of white, brown, and grey, vast spires of it trying to reach the ground. Alfred tries to look down but his head won’t move. So he closes his eyes and tries to remember. It’s very hard so he gives up.

His head hurts. A lot. Like every other part of him but worse. His chest too, every time he breathes in. His arms are in the air funny and want to stay that way. One of his feet is stuck, the other one heavy as it pulls his hip at an odd angle.  His fingers are full of pins. The more he weakly turns his head the more he realizes how blurry his vision is. One of his eyes won’t open right. Squinting, he sees a broken, snow-dusted tree hanging in the white of the sky, rocks floating in the air near it.

Alfred squints harder. Trees don’t stay up, they fall down - he makes them fall down, he would know. Forcing his arms to his waist is harder than it should be, but he finds bark and something else, something that swings out of his grasp at first. Rope, it was a rope. He hangs onto it because it’s important, even as he scrambles to adjust himself. He’d been upside-down for some reason. Probably why his head hurt so bad.

Now that the sky is the ground again everything makes more sense. Alfred clumsily kicks his leg at the trunk to get the spur in. His free hand finds the taut rope and cable keeping him attached. Why was he still attached? The tree’s already been cut down. It was horizontal at least. Mostly.

His head hurts even more once he manages to pull himself into a more upright position, finally getting the spur back in. His harness cuts into him oddly with how he's forced the tethers to twist. Waiting only makes the pain different, not go away, so Alfred stops waiting. He sticks and unsticks his spurs to shimmy his way up to the top. It’s really hard. He’s never climbed a tree this way before. Once there he lays back and gasps for breath - getting up here hurt his chest a lot. It hurts to breath and his head was hurting even worse. Everything is spinning without spinning. The side of his face is numb and hurts at the same time.

He tugs at the rope he’d been clutching because it’s important to check it from time to time. As he pulls it in he runs out, finds an end that’s frayed and splitting. When he pulls the other way he just tugs at where it’s attached to his belt. Alfred feels panic well up, so much so that he starts crying. He's not sure why, but it feels right. He lays there and cries until he forgets why.

Wiping his cheek free of tears turns his palm red. Now he's not sad, just really confused. The same hand runs over his face and into his hair, which is sticking up in a strange way. The whole thing comes back red. Alfred frowns.

Then there's sobbing, faint but sort of close. High-pitched and breathy with hitching moans mingled in. He jolts upright with fear and elation and dread, starts working his way down the sloping trunk toward the desperate sounds. The ground suddenly drops farther away than before, making him pause for a second as he tries to see what’s down there. Snow and mud and a lot of shredded, broken trees and rocks, but no Lorcan.

“Lorr-keh!” That’s what was important! His friend Lorcan, who’s crying again! He must be drunk, it’s the only time he ever cries like such a baby. Alfred wants to know what’s wrong, if he has to fight someone again for messing with the little guy. He wants to find him. “Lorceh whe’re you?!”

The sobs cease for a moment, about the same time Alfred’s tethers catch on something that keeps him from going any further. It didn’t matter, he’s at the end of the tree. It looks to have snapped on whatever is keeping it up so high, a huge gap of massive splinters sticking up every which way between the two halves. The half Alfred wasn’t on is at a very different angle, the top of the tree resting on the ground far below. Hanging from the shreds of wood on his side are the same sort of rope and cable keeping him attached, one end lightly swaying. Alfred feels the panic coming back. “Lorc’n, answeh me!”

“Alf… h-here!”

Alfred looks down, sees the tree he was on had crushed one of its limbs between it and a really tall rock. Between the remains of the limb and rock he can make out a shock of fiery curls. “'M' comin’!”

The tethers keeping him attached to the trunk are undone on one end and tied to the stump of the stripped limb that had stopped him before. Alfred grabs the loose rope and cable from the splinters before easing himself over the curved side. He's hanging close to a smaller smashed trunk leaning against the rock tower, too far below Lorcan to see him. With a few kicks he gets swaying enough to scramble for footing on the rock beside it. Dizziness hits him hard and his chest fills with fire, but he holds. Huffing, puffing, and grunting from pain, he scales the jagged rock up. Bits of the destroyed limb are tossed out of the way or pushed aside once he reaches the top. Alfred’s face spreads into a tired, lopsided smile upon reaching his friend. It lessens the longer he looks.

There’s a lot of blood. It makes a long trail down the rock from beneath the giant tree, dripping down the bark in rivulets. Alfred hears his name as a hoarse whisper, but he’s too busy craning to see more. He can see the smaller man’s upper half, and his hips and a leg, but only the top of the other leg. Lorcan’s trousers are drenched deep crimson where it disappears under the giant tree. Alfred’s brow furrows. There wasn’t any space between the rock and the tree for a leg. Where’d his leg go? “Lorcah, where’d’ur leg goh?”

A sob is the only response he gets. Alfred isn’t sure what to do now. He needs to know what to do so they can get down. Why were they up here anyway? He considers asking but Lorcan screams when he tries to move.

Alfred is scared. His friend’s leg was gone and he was really hurt and couldn’t move. Pale fingers turn bright red as they scramble at bloody bark and rock as Lorcan starts breathing faster and faster. And now he’s wheezing, eyes bulging out and pleading as he stares at Alfred. The look makes Alfred want to cry again, even harder. But it reminds him of something.

Other men with the same tears and look in their eyes. Laying in grass and on stretchers, wearing uniforms a lot like his. Screaming and crying and groaning and staring like he could do anything other than get them here. Then other men hovering over them with cold, hard knives, pliers, saws. And as he watched the staring stopped and eventually the crying and screaming stopped too. One way or another.

A bloodied hand fumbles to the loop of leather on his belt. It finds cold, hard metal, worn wood. Alfred looks at all the different lengths and strengths of line he’s got on hand. Then he looks down and focuses as hard as he can to gauge the distance to the ground. He looks back to the injured man who’s still wheezing and crying.

Alfred watches him for a while. Then gives as reassuring a smile as he can, and pulls out his ax.

The foreman, or at least the loudest, most directive man in the camp, is how Percy finally finds the missing coachman.

Past the tents and hidden from the road by yet to be cleared trees, a smaller clearing had fallen victim to the path of the joint avalanche and landslide, much like the road. However here and there among the snow and debris were bits of canvas and roping, bent saws and men. It was likely where the troop had started their work in earnest and where many of them were when the disaster struck. Even as Percy nears the source of the angry outburst he’d heard earlier, there’s efforts to dig out those still trapped and to salvage lost equipment. He waits for a chance to enter the heated conversation from a short distance, watching the scene play out.

Their coachman, despite being a head taller, practically cowers as he’s yelled at by a stout, older Irishman. A dark mass of muttonchops streaked with grey cover his ruddy cheeks, a cap on his head and walking cane in his grasp. Upon further inspection, however, Percy notes the cane isn’t held, but hooked over an ungloved hand that appears to be carved from wood.

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about your itinerary! Road s’not my problem neither, not whilst I’ve men buried under! You want digging out, dig out yourself!”

“Sir, I haven’t the man power needed to clear the way, not at all! Ah… S-surely you know of the Healing Church? I work directly for the Church, and I’m sure upon learning of your assistance in-”

“I don’t give a damn about that fucking cult! My men’s lives and livelihoods are at risk here! ‘Less this Church comes running with shovels in hand, the lot o’them can shove off!”

With that the contractor turns away, back to directing the closest men where next to dig. The driver remains as he was, mouth opening and closing as he tries to find anything he might say that could help his cause. He must realize the futility of continuing as he quickly turns in the direction of the carriage, almost walking right into the nearby doctor. “Ah! Oh you…! D-Doctor, I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, I-”

“INCONVENIENCE?!” The foreman whorls back around, positively fuming as he limp-marches closer. “We’ve men dead here you bloody blighter! Inconvenience my left-!” The men he’d been ordering grab hold of his jacket before the Irishman could come any closer, voices a clamor of gibberish as they try to calm their boss. The coachman stumbles backward at the explosive reaction, his face a mask of mortal fear.

Percy lays a hand on his arm to steady the man as much as to get his attention. “The other passengers should be informed of these new circumstances, don’t you think? Only right they know what’s happened.”

“Ah right, r-right yes…” The driver looks back to the carriage before giving the retreating foreman and his men a final glance. As he trudges his way back to the disgruntled travelers, Percy remains behind to consider his options. Casting his own glance to the lively Irishman now a ways away, his thoughts are interrupted by a blast of incensed outrage from the coach, horses whinnying in response. The physician sighs.

That’s that then.

Percy picks his way through mud and piles of debris to where the man in charge has stationed himself anew to sling orders. Even before he’s within reasonable earshot a hand is thrown up to stop him. After finishing with a few men, the foreman turns to give the doctor a withering glare as he inspects him. “If you think you can d’any better than that blowhard coachman, you can’t. Get outta m'face, now.”

“I’d like to offer you my services, actually.”

The foreman wasn’t at all prepared for that. His bushy brows furrow before flying up to be hidden by his cap as he turns to fully face the newcomer. “Is'at so? And what the hell could I use the likes o' you for, then?”

“My name is Dr. Percival Hewlett, a physician. If you’ve uncovered dead men then you’ll uncover injured men, if you haven’t already. I believe I can assist in keeping them from joining the former.”

“And what are you wanting?”

Percy knits his brows together. “Beg pardon?”

“No one does anything for free and I haven’t any way t’promise you’ll be payed for your services. If it’s money you want, I’ve none t’spare.”

“Ah,” for a moment Percy thought the man was going to start haggling right then and there. “Well, let’s just say you’ll be doing me a favor. All I request is accommodations, sustenance, and assistance when needed for my work.”

“…That’s it? No payment?”

“I won’t say ‘no’ should that somehow become a possibility, but it isn’t a requirement. I simply request to stay until the road is cleared to Yharnam and I can be picked up by another passing coach.”

The contractor’s suspicion is almost palpable through the look he’s giving. “…Why?”

“Hm? I’m a doctor, you’ve injured men. Certainly tha-”

“Bullshit. Why d’you give two shits about the lot o' us? Going back t’wherever you came from before showing up here is the wisest choice for you! So why?”

“…Sir,” he has to pause as the twitch near his eye comes back. Percy inhales slowly and exhales through a plastered-on smile. “I’ve been in that carriage - with the same incessantly argumentative, garrulous, prying people - a total of nearly nine hours now. As I said, you’d be doing me a favor to let me stay.”

At least now the man looks contemplative and no longer ready to chase him off. The smile on Percy’s face started cracking as soon as he put it there, but he doesn’t care. He’s at his wits’ end - not the best introduction for a physician, but true nevertheless - and he was determined to extricate himself from his maddening ordeal. The stout foreman’s eyes pass between Percy and the coach beyond, the ruckus cast up by its passengers still loud enough to be heard from where they stand. The hand of flesh and bone strokes one of his muttonchops as he eyes the doctor more thoroughly. “… It could be months before the road is cleared enough for travel, and there's no promise of how fast word’ll spread when it is cleared. Besides, we’ve already a doctor-type on site.”

“I readily accept the likely possibility of remaining stranded here for some time, and will continue to assist where I can once your men have recovered. I’m certain the doctor you’ve on hand would be grateful for the help and more than, than willing to- to-”

A commotion is spreading among the men nearest to the camp's far edge, causing a great deal of distraction. As their screams become more fervent some begin frantically waving in their direction, while others go running up the hill. By now the greying Irishman has turned to see what has the doctor’s attention. Neither can see the source of the men’s agitation or make sense of their jumbled voices. Percy thinks he can make out a name - Ralph? Fred? - when he finally spots the cause of their sudden frenzy.

A man is stumbling out of the forest with something large slung over his shoulders, a vibrant trail of blood in his wake through the snow.

Less than a second passes before Percy turns toward the carriage to shout, “Coachman, I need my chest! Now!”

The foreman turns back to him, eyes wide. “You're hired, call me Cap’n! Good God we thought they-! Sweet merciful-! Mick and Toby, hey!” He waves at the men working nearest to the carriage, who bolt upright on hearing their names. “Help the driver get that luggage over here, and be gentle with it!”

“To the tables - both the chest and the injured!”

“Right! Bring it over there, to the benches! Hoy listen up! Bring ‘em over there, the lot o' ya! Hey-!”

The Captain’s bellowing falls to the wayside as Percy hones in on readying for possible surgery. First and foremost he centers on creating as suitable a workstation as possible as he hurries to the large tables. His jacket is thrown onto one of the benches and his sleeves rolled up as he looks for the cleanest surface, the chill in the air forgotten. A tall balding man wearing a raggedy apron peers out from the cabin, looking past him as the Captain gives him his orders. The older man meets Percy’s eye with a nod as he wipes his hands. “What do you need Doctor?”

“Get as much water boiling as you can. Find all the sheets and linens in camp, tear them into strips and boil them. And if you’ve a relatively clean apron you won’t be needing back, that would be marvelous,” the physician calmly calls back, glancing up to cast a smile his way.

The cook looks unnerved by the doctor's out of place demeanor but spares no time starting his tasks, rushing to the firepit to add more wood. As soon as Percy starts clearing off a table another man appears beside him, immediately stepping in to help. He’s young, pale as the melting snow, and utterly terrified in his recently bloodied clothes. Percy considers him as they move a few benches together. “You’re the resident doctor, I presume?”

“A-ah, I’m- yes…,” he stammers in an unfamiliar accent. The boy quickly glances over his shoulder toward the Captain, desperately looking back to Percy when he sees the man’s back is turned. “I’m not though! Not yet! I’m still just a student!”

Percy had guessed as much. “Can you handle watching a surgery?”

“Yes sir, I-”

“Can you follow directions under duress?”

“Yes sir, just- I’m better fit for- to do less intensive procedures, sir!”

“So long as you keep up with what I say you’ll do fine. Now, help me get this table wiped down. Once my medicine chest is brought over have them set it on these two benches, here. Open it and familiarize yourself with the contents and how it’s laid out - you’ll be handing me things as I ask for them.”

“Yes sir!”

All too quickly a large group of men become visible between the tents, the bloodied man propped between them. He’s hardly able to walk as they struggle to keep him moving, but one of the burlier men quickly breaks away to run towards them. Whatever the injured man had been carrying is nestled in his arms, one of his shirt sleeves rapidly staining red - another person. It was another person, this one in far worse a state.

As the distance closes and the full extent of the newcomer's injuries become apparent, a deep frown fixes itself on Percy’s face.

“How could an avalanche cause this?”

[craniumculverin]

next rough draft i have done of the rosa/wes/percy story! always fun to try and figure out the most in-character interactions for @donc-desole‘s boys.

Wesley & Rosalind Walk in the Park (and Percy too)

• rare clear sunny day quite some time after the party, wes decides to go to the parks - flowers are still out, he’s done with violin practice, plus he knows percy would approve of him getting out for a walk

• has his coachman drop him off, allows him to attend to a few errands since wes doesn’t plan to rush - left with no one waiting for him/a quick way to leave

• walks the paths for a while, park isn’t overly crowded and not a lot of children being loud, people aren’t in the way, etc. - actually enjoys himself

• near flower gardens wes and rosa see each other, can’t talk cus too far away and across a garden bed - rosa waves and starts coming over, wes isn’t as antsy as he could be since he enjoyed their last conversation and heads her way as well

• it’s only once they’ve almost met that wes remembers how he’d left the party, gets super anxious really fast - rosa is happy to see him again and says as much, wes is awkward and jumbles his words

• rosa sets him at ease by not bringing up the party immediately, they walk and talk, picking up on their previous conversation - music, composers, etc.

• eventually they get to the topic of the party, rosa talks about what happened after wes and harry left instead of events leading up to their leaving, aka harry being harry

• shares that not many guests actually heard, but word got around that the host was rightfully told off - wes is surprised, asks if this is true, rosa confirms, sharing that she heard the host say as much herself

• wes moves on trying to apologize for how things went, rosa brushes it off - he can’t control another person’s actions nor should consider himself responsible for them, especially for a man like harry - she gets that their friendship isn’t typical and rather unbalanced - wes feels more at ease

• they discuss harry, how he and wes came to be friends, wes shares all the nonsense he’s had to suffer because of him - after a while rosa sees the topic is going badly, points out a bunch of positives harry has brought about from wes’ examples - wes is indignant about being corrected but sees her point, goes quiet for a little bit as he thinks

• wes considers sharing how he lost his finger, figuring it was harry that set that string of events in motion, but hesitates - she hasn't seemed to notice it's missing, socially awkward thing to just bring up, etc.

• rosa takes the lull in conversation to change the topic to something lighter, how glad she is to have gotten out alone on such a nice day - wes realizes she was completely alone, asks after that - successful distraction on rosa’s part

• rosa shares she lives at her family’s london estate, where her mother’s currently staying - rosa almost never can leave without either her mother or a chaperone coming with her, which isn’t always bad but she’d rather have a choice

• rosa then asks after wes’s home life before immediately apologizing if that was too forward - wes is a bit nervous to answer given the sad state of things, but vaguely shares nonetheless - he doesn’t get the sense rosa’s trying to judge him, which isn't how he usually operates

• they’ve made it to an open area with trees and fewer people, still talking when wes sees percy reading under a tree - he falters and stares long enough for rosa to notice, following his line of sight

• rosa asks if wes knows the man, wes confirms and shares it’s his doctor - he’s gotten very conscious of having a woman on his arm now more than ever for some reason, says they should leave percy alone out of panic

• but percy hears his name (dr. hewlett) said in a familiar voice and looks up to see them and smiles - wes grimaces, rosa smiles, they walk over to percy’s spot as he stands

• percy greets wes before asking after rosa, wes is too much a mess to say anything real but rosa introduces herself without missing a beat (basically everything about this meeting is between percy and rosa cus wes is too awkward to actually do his part in introductions)

• rosa asks if percy would like to walk with them for a while, wes immediately starts stammering in the negative but percy, ever eager to observe wes and curious about rosa, agrees and retrieves his things - wes doesn't know how to feel or what to do but he's very uncomfortable

• they walk for a ways in silence before rosa asks what percy had been reading, to which percy answers - rosa has some interest and knowledge of the subject and the two easily fall into discussion with wes silently between them, still uneasy but slowly realizing it's alright, even pleasant

• at some point percy makes a passing mention of wes bringing her up to him which rosa asks after, instead of answering percy deflects it off to wes to bring him in/see how he reacts

• wes nervously mentions that he sees percy often, rosa is instantly worried and asks if he's in good health, to which he manages to say yes, they just talk on occasion outside of appointments

• amused at wes' reactions, percy chimes in to make it more understandable/believable, rosa seems relieved and says she's glad wes isn't ill - wes is taken aback by how genuine she is, percy takes note

• for a time percy and rosa discuss various topics of interest while wes listens, occasionally drawn in by one or both of them to comment, rarely of his own accord but not forcefully

• eventually wes and rosa start talking about music again, to which percy listens and observes the two interact - they reach one of the park's exits where rosa and wes' respective carriages are waiting

• wes is surprised to see his and at how much time has apparently passed, rosa laughs and agrees on the time, that good company can make it fly, to which percy agrees while making a point to look at wes - wes blushes which percy notices but rosa somehow doesn't

• saying she should be on her way, she asks after percy, if he plans to stay or would like a ride somewhere - wes is appalled at a lady offering a man she just met such a thing but doesn't get a word in as percy politely declines, saying he'd like to continue his reading in the park

• they say their goodbyes, rosa expressing thanks to them both for the enjoyable walk, happy to see wes again, to meet percy - wes sorta manages to respond, percy thanks her in turn

• once she's in her coach and leaving, while wes is still watching her go percy looks at him with a sly smile - wes notices, gets angry and goes to tell him off but percy comments on how pleasant a friend he's made, before starting to walk back into the park

• wes is suddenly a mess of emotions he doesn't understand - curious, annoyed, embarrassed, indignant, worried, etc. - and goes after him

• he catches up with percy and they walk for a while before wes asks him his opinion of rosa - percy reiterates that she's pleasant, also that she's well-read and insightful - wes isn't satisfied with the answer but doesn't know why, so continues to press

• percy turns the questions back on him, asks what wes thinks of her - wes responds as societally expected, falls silent for a time, then quietly and offhandedly comments on how easy she is to talk to

• percy agrees, fully understanding how much that means coming from wes - he'd already decided to promote wes interacting with her, but is now even more certain that he'd like to see what comes of it

• he asks wes if he'd like to join him but wes declines cus he actually has somewhere to be for once and isn't just making excuses - they part ways, percy back to his tree and wes to his coach, both lost in thought

• end

[craniumculverin]

while planning ripper!au story stuff, i accidentally made an oc, rosalind, out of a wife character i made for one of @donc-desole​‘s ocs - wes, who got in as a tertiary character in the ripper!au cus his bf percy has such a prominent role. problem is, i ended up making a totally separate and unrelated story of how my oc and des’ oc(s) got together. what can i say, i just love these guys!

i know i’m not gonna get to writing it anytime soon, so i figured i’d share a few (unedited) rough drafts. hopefully my behind-the-scenes bullet point writing is as coherent to others as it is to me.

Wesley & Rosalind's First Meeting (also Harry’s there)

• at a social gathering thrown by some bigwig that invited everyone who could be considered noteworthy, aka old family and a lotta money - non-english and new-money need not show up

• it’s all stuffy judgey people, many of whom are old af or stuck up

• wes is hella uncomfortable and has no acquaintances to help him out - he’s looked down upon due to his family’s dwindling fortune/debts

• rosa is hella bored, no one wants to dance and everyone’s rude - she’s looked down upon for her family maybe not being entirely english, despite having a respectable fortune

• the two of them end up hanging around the periphery, drinking/eating too much, being uncomfortable and awkward

• wes keeps trying to join in conversations and the like cus he’s gotta maintain/make connections, but is hella nervous and ends up backing out again and again until he’s near rosa

• they end up sitting near each other as more dancing starts - the quartet is subpar and wes is sure half of the players are drunk, rosa notices too and makes an “unlady-like” comment, immediately correcting herself/apologizing

• wes has had just enough to drink to not mind the social misstep and even carry on the criticism, relieved to speak on a topic he remotely cares about for once that night

• they quickly move from the negativity to sharing their likes and dislikes of the modern music scene, sharing a few similar viewpoints, before moving to other topics - when they start hating on the other guests/how they’ve been treated, they move to a more private area outside

• rosa is proper but very open and insightful, and her manner of interacting with wes seems to draw him out of his awkward nervousness somewhat - despite her being a woman even, like what

• they have an enjoyable conversation ranging a multitude of topics, partly out of just being glad to finally be doing well socially - at one point rosa asks if he’d like to dance but he quickly declines, to which rosa is respectful and doesn’t ask again

• it begins to get dark and the few other guests outside head indoors, they’re all but alone - wes eventually notices and realizes how inappropriate it is, gets hella nervous again and says something about it

• rosa scoffs at the idea - what, is he going to do something to her? she to him? she trusts him and knows herself and her abilities, who cares if the people already unfairly judging them judges them more? why lose what precious little decent company they’ve found tonight simply because others might think something ill of them? etc., she goes off basically

• wes is silent cus one, he’s kinda dumbstruck and two, she’s right and he’s had enough to drink to let himself admit it, at least to himself

• rosa realizes she spoke out too much and backpedals, apologizes for her actions, wes is HELLA nervous and doesn’t know how to respond but eventually manages to say it’s alright

• they share an awkward silence cus neither knows how to proceed without likely making it even worse, when thank God for harry - he shows up in full dress uniform despite not being invited and supposedly still out of the country

• harry calls out to wes from just inside, plate of food in hand as he finds his friend and rosa - wes is insta-done and rosa isn’t sure what to think but acts appropriately - everyone inside is casting glares and muttering among themselves

• wes and harry greet and interact as they do, mostly about wtf is harry doing there, harry wasn’t invited how dare the host, how has the host not thrown him out, he’s made everyone mad, etc.

• rosa sees that they ARE in fact friends and watches with amusement - harry eventually stops to apologize and introduce himself to rosa and flirt a little, before raising his brows at wes, who is VERY done at this point

• rosa and harry share pleasantries and much to wes’s anguish start talking about him - harry being typical harry, rosa gently but firmly stating otherwise, that wes has been a wonderful conversationalist, is knowledgeable, acceptably verbose, etc., etc. - harry eventually raises his brows at wes even higher like, “oh~?”

• wes is ready to strangle harry and his face says as much - he stops the talking short to steer harry back inside while his friend bickers, rosa not far behind stifling her laughter, which only makes wes blush more

• by now the old host knows harry’s come unannounced, harry sees him and is instantly ready to harangue the man for the offense of not being invited - wes is suddenly very much aware of how badly this could go and wants to get he and harry out of there asap before any damage can be done

• wes hurriedly says his goodbyes and gratitudes for the evening to rosa, who does the same albeit not as sloppily, and says she’d love to speak with him again sometime - this takes wes so completely by surprise that he just stops and stares at her for a moment, mouth agape - and then harry starts shouting

• wes tries to wrangle an irate harry out of the party, but harry doesn’t budge until he’s said his surprisingly eloquent fill about ridiculous prejudices and a bunch of other righteously furious stuff I can't think of atm - once he’s done he marches out without waiting for wes, who’s as taken aback by harry’s words as the host

• wes glances to where rosa was before quietly excusing himself - rosa had made herself scarce so as not to cause further embarrassment on wes’s part should he see her witnessing all of this

• wes signals his coachman before trying to catch up to a startlingly cheery harry who’s still munching on party food, rosa waits for her own carriage to leave the party, observing the fallout from harry’s outburst

• scene change (kinda) - wes catches up and starts questioning harry - what the hell was he thinking? he's ruined his status for sure! etc., etc. - harry finishes his food before stopping short to give him a less than acceptable answer

• near the end of his reasoning he starts walking again and casually changes the topic to "wes' little friend", during which he frisbee-style flings the snack plate off somewhere - wes is speechless and has to jog to catch up, deciding to start on berating him for using rosa as a distraction instead of proper chinaware etiquette

• harry seems to only half-listen as wes tells him off for making assumptions, blah blah, etc., which only makes wes angrier - he stops walking to stomp his foot and shout something that finally gets through to harry

• he apologizes to get wes to calm down, sincerely says he's simply happy to see his friend comfortably interacting with a lady for a change - wes is thrown off for a sec by the sincerity but gets indignant about harry thinking he's not USUALLY comfortable talking to women, and starts in on that

• by now wes' coach is within view (driver having heard the shouting) and harry realizes wes is a little drunk - he shepherds wes into his ride as he continues to complain, getting in after him after asking the driver if he could be dropped off on the way to wes' place

• drunk and upset wes, of course, is outraged he'd commandeer his coachman like that, says of course he can't, but eventually decides he doesn't want harry over for the night and demands he be dropped off - harry dramatically and oh-so graciously thanks him, which wes takes as sincere

• they ride off, wes continuing to complain about harry to harry, who at this point isn't listening at all

• end

[craniumculverin]

"would scars from childhood be accurate" has somehow turned from looking up how bad a wound has to be to form scar tissue into researching historic denominations of england within a specific time period and their traditions concerning physical retribution and acts of self-harm as repentance.

i just...

wanted to describe someone’s physical appearance in a clinical way...

why do i always end up doing this

[craniumculverin]

Hey, I just wanted to say I love your Alfred fics! His internal monologue is great and so sinister/sweet. Keep up the great work!

thank you so much! it means a lot to get such positive feedback!

[craniumculverin]

Routine Annual

The next fic of the Ripper!AU’s intro/prologue! Really gotta figure out a better name for this story, or maybe an actual title... Alfred goes to a routine doctor’s appointment, with non-routine results. Contains descriptions of mild gore.

The morning air in Yharnam tends to be either bitterly brisk or dreadfully damp, depending on the time of year. Today it’s downright miserable, heavy with the constant rain that’s been drenching every aspect of life in the bustling valley-bound city. The lower districts’ waterways are near flooding levels from the days-long downpour that only recently has lightened to a drizzle. Fog still clings to the city’s outskirts, denser yet in the surrounding forests and swamplands where small villages and fishing hamlets lie.

Alfred does his best not to let the weather affect his disposition as he navigates the soaked streets, the touch of scotch he'd had before venturing out helping as intended. There’s an appointment he must attend to, and once that’s out of the way he can return to his work. A smile creeps forth as he steps onto a slightly emptier street. He can’t help but feel giddy; he’s had a breakthrough with his writing in the past week, after a long stretch of nothing but perusing old notes and stalking the theology section of Byrgenwerth’s library. Those damnable people on the dissertation committee could sod off - he’ll finish his doctorate, with or without their help or personal approval!

His long strides quickly bring him to his destination - a grey brick building much like any of the other grey brick buildings along the slanted street, save for the bracket above the door. From it hangs an off-white sign, its carved letters gilded in deep Prussian blue, large enough to be seen from the far side of the street: Hewlett Private Practice & Clinic. Alfred admires his insight's handiwork as he shakes the rain from his umbrella. The addition of a single word - and a few positive remarks while out and about - was really all it took to draw in the finical locals… He gives his umbrella one last shake before quickly removing his hat to duck inside, eager to be out of the wet and cold.

If Alfred had to guess, this office was once an older Pthumerian style residence, gutted and rebuilt sometime following the end of the civil war. The second and third floors were either destroyed or simply taken out, leaving the space massively open compared to newer English style buildings spread throughout Yharnam. Dark wooden paneling makes up the space's walls, stopping just under where the third floor would have started. Tall, narrow windows line the entire upper half of one wall, equipped with drapes for privacy since some are partially at street level. Smaller windows hug the clinic’s entrance, curtains drawn on account of facing the busy street. Upon entering, a set of stairs situated against the wall lead down to a shining tiled floor below. Another set that always remained sectioned off lead up to a walkway that rings the space, used as storage by the current occupant and owner. Along it are strategically placed standing mirrors, cleverly arranged in order to brighten the room. Below the catwalk on the same wall as the towering windows, a heavy double door leads to a paved path which in turn leads up to the street, likely for any patients unable to traverse the main entrance. With seemingly only the one giant room, Alfred can’t fathom what function the place was designed to have if not a clinic.

Looking across the room’s various medical fixtures from his place at the stair's railing, Alfred doesn’t spot the doctor anywhere. His brows knit together as he checks his pocket watch and ventures down, footsteps lightly echoing. “Well I’m on time… Strange of Percy not to be present. It’s not as if he’d want to be out in this dreadful weather.”

With nothing to do until his physician is present, Alfred deems to hang his hat and dripping greatcoat before sitting in one of the seats set against the stairs. After nearly a minute of very patiently waiting he stands, deciding instead to look around.

The desk Dr. Hewlett sits at is opposite the windows and faces the streetside entrance, several large filing cabinets lining the wall directly adjacent. He eyes the cabinets' drawers as he meanders, most labeled with sections of the alphabet, others with specific purposes or topics, all outfitted with sturdy-looking locks. Perusing the various books and papers on the desk's surface does little to occupy his mind, the doctor’s neat cursive a boring blur of pencil and black ink. Across the room are trays of bits and bobs sat atop a trolley, next to an extra examination table - no, there’s leather cuffs along where one's arms and legs would go. It must be for surgery. His interest piqued, Alfred makes his way over.

Many of the different implements shine brightly despite the overcast light, like little polished beacons. A few of the neatly arranged tools look familiar from what little he knows of such things - pliers of various lengths and shapes, a few sizes of bone saws, curved needles for stitches, and long, slim knives. Small chisels next to a long metal mallet cause Alfred to pause before seeing what lays on the next tray. He leans in to inspect a set of peculiar blades, much smaller and finer than any of their brethren. As he admires the incredibly sharp little knives his hand reaches for one of its own accord. Alfred snatches it back with a frown. His umbrella is abruptly clasped in both hands as he moves to the other side of the table. Percy had been very clear the last time Alfred’s hands had wandered, and the time before that - his tools and equipment were not to be touched. Respecting the doctor’s boundaries was the least he could do considering all the old gent's done for him.

Foregoing the various knives, he moves to ogle the strange jumble of tubes and bottles neatly hanging from a stand. On closer inspection he notes needles attached at the ends of the tubes, carefully set so as not to cause accidental punctures or scratches. Alfred grimaces; those were likely meant to go into someone - and being sat so near to the surgery table - regardless of their wishes. The ghastly thing makes him uneasy, limbs tingling at the thought of all of those thick needles piercing his flesh at once, injecting who knows how much or what sort of concoctions into his veins. A shiver runs down his spine as he turns away, only to startle. “Gah! Per- Dr. Hewlett! Goodness man, how long have you been standing there?!”

An unnoticed door in the back wall’s paneling stands open, the doctor in question holding it open with one hand, a stack of papers in the other. Percy’s usual sanguine grin adorns his bespectacled features. “My apologies Alfred, I’ve only just returned to the office. Thank you for your patience during my tardiness.” The older man strides toward his desk, a key in hand to unlock one of the many nearby cabinet drawers. He swiftly rifles through its files before depositing some of the papers, shutting and locking it to move to another. He casts Alfred a quick glance as he opens it. “Thank you, by the way, for refraining from touching anything. I appreciate the effort.”

“Wha-? Oh… of course,” mumbles Alfred, caught off guard as he approaches the exam table near where the other stands. He bites the inside of his cheek as he removes his jacket, feeling a touch guilty on realizing his snooping had been witnessed. After he’s laid his effects on one end of the table Alfred hoists himself up to sit on the other, mind still on those shiny tools. As the physician turns to face him with an open file in hand, his curiosity gets the better of him. “If I may…” Percy looks at him over his lenses, brows raised to show he was listening. “I’m rather curious - what are those knives over there, by the surgery table? Some of them seem awfully… specialized. The ones that are mostly handle, for instance - their blades are so small, how are they used…?”

“Ah, those would be scalpels.” The doctor closes the file as he speaks, falling into the impromptu lecture with practiced ease. He drops the collection of papers to the desk before walking to one of the trays to pick up a scalpel with a curved, hook-like blade.

“Think of them like the pens or pencils of knives as compared to, say, a bone saw as a large paint brush. They’re meant for very fine, detailed incisions during surgeries. Thus the larger handle.” He holds the instrument like a pen before flipping it to hold just like a dinner knife. “The various types of blades help to make certain tasks easier, or to be done more efficiently. For instance long, continual incisions or having to cut through tougher tissue to get at what’s beneath. Now!” The scalpel is promptly returned to its rightful place. “Let’s move on to business, shall we?”

“Wh- oh yes.”

Intent on memorizing how the nimble little blade was held, Alfred hadn’t been listening to much of what the doctor had said. He fiddles with the buttons of his shirt cuffs as Percy walks past, suddenly aware he's lacking some rather important information. "Why am I here again, by the bye? I know this appointment has been scheduled for quite some time, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it’s about.”

“Just a routine physical exam to keep your file up to date. I scheduled it a year ago when you first started with me,” Percy says smoothly as he continues to his desk to take up Alfred’s file once more. “Though many other practitioners don’t seem to share my logic behind the act, I believe maintaining proper records are of utmost importance to one’s practice.”

“Huh… Well it makes sense to me, at least for the returning patients. You can’t possibly remember every little thing about every single person, every time you see them! Not very well, at least…”

“Exactly,” the physician looks over with a genuine smile as he takes a seat in the wooden desk chair, laying the contents of the file open in front of him. “I only do this sort of record keeping for patients seeing me as their personal physician. For those that only stop in to see me as a clinic doctor, I keep more basic information on file. Very astute Alfred!”

The blond beams at the compliment, unconsciously swinging his feet slightly from his high perch. Percy takes up his pen and starts a new line on one of the many papers, focused on filling in the date as he speaks. “Now then, let’s begin. Some of the questions I ask may seem redundant, but please answer them all the same.”

“Understood,” Alfred nods, straightening a bit.

“Any current illnesses?”

“No.”

“Current injuries?”

“None.”

“Any heredi- ah. Engaging in any physical activities?”

Alfred’s smile wanes at the slip. “I continue with my daily regimen to stay fit, same as I described before. Plenty of walks every day with my dog around the city, both strenuous and leisurely. Occasionally I partake in fisticuffs - for sport of course,” he hurriedly adds, “and never without supervision! Besides that… I do still find myself walking at night, when I can’t sleep.”

“Ah yes,” the doctor pulls out a separate scrawled-upon paper, “how has your sleeping been since last we discussed it? Any improvement?”

“I feel- I feel it’s gotten worse, actually. The nightmares especially - I feel I'm having them more often than not these days. Usually about… certain past experiences. I have done what we settled on trying, as you know - still nothing of note. The times I can’t move upon waking are as unbearable as ever, as are the times when sleep eludes me entirely. And the uh, the bouts of, of uh… er-”

“Arousal?”

“Y-yuuh y-yes. They’ve become more… often,” Alfred feels his ears grow warm as he squirms, fingers fidgeting against the edge of the table. Such instances of his failure to curtail his shameful desires are hardly something he wants to think on, let alone describe aloud. But Percy is as clinical as ever, seemingly unaware of his patient’s discomfort as the pen scratches away.

“And are you still waking to find you’ve spent at some point in your sleep? Or are waking upon spending?”

“Whhh- I uh, ah- hhy-yes…,” Alfred sputters, the whole of his face now hot as embers. The doctor merely nods as he jots this down as well. The larger man turns away in mortification, rubbing a hand over his mouth. The offending piece of paper is soon set aside with no further questions as Percy continues his task.

“Since we’ve already broached the topic - any sexual activity?”

Alfred huffs as he returns his gaze to the physician, shame instantly turning to outrage. “No, why would- I’m very much not in a relationship, Dr. Hewlett. And I certainly don’t affiliate with prostitutes!”

“Self-stimulation?”

“Of course not!”

“Mmm,” hums Percy, sounding duller than before. “Do you still smoke?”

“Oh…,” the more palatable topic causes Alfred to pause, “…Yes, on occasion I’ll have a cigar while relaxing. Not as often as I used to, come to think of it. Also when I’m in the company of my peers, at the University or meeting at the Ward. Which thankfully isn’t often.”

“Good, good. And how is your diet?”

“Diet, well! Usually whatever the lonely old landlady makes - porridge or toast with bacon in the mornings, fend for oneself midday, stew or pie and mash for supper. Meat and veg of some sort every day, bless her.”

Percy nods, pausing briefly as he finishes his notes. “I recall she feeds her tenants well… Besides the meals provided at the boarding house, do you eat much else? Sweets, perhaps?”

“Er- well…," Alfred bashfully looks away as he twiddles his thumbs. "I do still get pastries or a slice of cake from time to time. But nowhere near as often as when I first found you, I’ll have you know! I’m down to only twice a week! And I keep track, just as you said!”

“Very good! I trust you’ve noticed a difference in your energy and weight?”

“Yes, yes I have! Ha ha…,” Alfred’s chuckle fades quickly as the other focuses on his writing. He decides not to mention when he’d started cutting back; though it's been some months now, it’d likely be unwise to share that information. Percy might draw conclusions between the similar timing of that, and when word of more animal carcasses found around the city began to spread. What could he say - remove one vice, find another. “At least that habit’s abated some as well. Those first few weeks were horrible, and done in too risky a fashion. Damn things downright avoid that part of the park now too, I swear…” Too deep in his own thoughts, Alfred doesn’t notice as the scratching of nib on paper stops.

“And your alcohol consumption?”

“…My what?” Alfred looks up from his hands, unsure of what he'd heard. Percy takes his eyes off his records to give him a passive look, voice nonchalant. “Your alcohol consumption. I believe we talked some on the subject earlier this month, if you recall?”

“I… do, yes…”

Alfred very much wishes he didn’t. He’s tried his best not to think on anything from that day, especially the confusing memories (“not memories, just perversions”) of the night before it. The intrusive perversions about the doctor haunted him through the rest of that day and into the next. It wasn’t until the following evening - knife caked in the same tacky, crimson mess that spattered his face and drenched his gloves - that he’d finally had any sort of peace. It hadn’t crossed his mind since, until now. He clenches his eyes shut, hoping to press the disconcerting feelings back into the depths. “I can be a sick bastard, but never a rapist. I wouldn’t- I didn’t! Nothing happened but my own sick, perverted fantasy. He would’ve cut all ties with me otherwise, surely!”

“Are you alright Alfred?”

On opening his eyes Percy is leaning forward to watch him intently, a vaguely concerned expression on his face. Alfred tries to disguise his grimace as a smile and chuckles weakly. “Yes I’m fine, I- I’m sorry. I was in such a bad way, it seems I don’t really remember much of that day. Besides feeling miserable I mean, ha ha!”

The physician leans back in his chair, expression shifting to something pensive. “…I see." Another slip of paper is produced, looking as though it’d been neatly torn from a larger piece. Alfred watches his eyes move across the words, quickly looking away when their gazes meet. “We briefly spoke about how after every attempt at reducing your alcohol intake, you gradually end up drinking more than you had previously.”

“That had been his concern, his theory. Not something we’d really discussed. He talked, I listened.” Still, Alfred just nods and says nothing as the doctor continues. “I could see it wasn’t the time to discuss it, so I let it go. But as your physician… and as your friend,” - Alfred goes still as his eyes snap up to meet Percy's - “I’d be doing you a disservice by not discussing it now. If you don’t want your drinking to eventually consume you, I highly suggest you refrain from alcohol. Completely.”

“…Oh.” Though the thought was nothing new, hearing it aloud still left a hollow feeling in his chest.

“I understand you’ve never tried to go completely dry before, and it will require a great deal of change and willpower-”

“…Mm…”

“-but I truly believe you’ll be healthier for it, and happier too. Of course I’ll be of any assist-”

“I don’t think it’d be wise.”

“-ance to y- Oh?” Percy’s brows quirk upward as he tilts his head, “Why do you say that?”

A long pause falls between them as Alfred fumbles for the words to describe thoughts too disjointed and repugnant to fully comprehend, despite being his own. “I… don’t think it’d be for the best. For me or… or anyone else, were I to… do that.”

The sounds of the street filter into the silent clinic while Percy tries to decipher his meaning. Alfred refuses to meet the other's intense gaze as he worries his bottom lip, mind reeling around recollections of past actions, present secrets, possible outcomes, and- and he was scared. Not at the prospect of quitting this damned vice of his for good - there isn't a doubt in his mind how much doing so would improve his life! No, he's afraid of what he might do in the meantime while he's not himself; of what could possibly take it's place should it leave a lingering void. Flashes of bloodied knives, broken bones, and strewn entrails flood his thoughts as his fingers twitch around an imaginary handle, a pleasurable tingling in the back of his mind. No, it’s better not to open that door any wider. Best not even risk it.

“I doubt you’ll be of danger to anyone.”

The exam table squeaks as Alfred flinches, his attention snapping back to Percy in wide-eyed horror. "Was I thinking out loud again?! Did I say anything to- that could incriminate-!" But the doctor is placid as ever, elbow upon his desk to prop a hand to his cheek - not at all looking like a man that had overheard another pondering his rampant morbidity. He's smiling softly, not the usual sly grin he so often wears but something knowing, and strangely… sincere. If Alfred didn't know better he'd say it was almost nearing sympathetic. The thought sits oddly with him as the physician sets aside pen and paper to lean back in his seat. “I believe that’s what you meant, yes?"

"I… suppose so, yes…"

Percy nods once, gaze slowly drifting across the room as he thinks. The pause lasts but a few moments before he looks back to the younger man, now more animated as he speaks. "Alfred, I know you have… problems with excess aggression, we'll call it. I noticed a few of your actions that implied as much even during the time we first met, outside the city - after you'd recovered of course. And having had my fair share of patients that weren't mindful or even aware of such things, I can appreciate your efforts and concern over keeping that aggression in check," he pauses to leave room for comment, continuing after a beat in a more serious tone. "However based on my research over the matter, I believe alcohol only makes that control harder to achieve, and typically even exacerbates the issue. In other words, the longer you continue to drink the more at risk you, and anyone else, will be. This is a major factor in my push for you to go dry, for the record.”

There's a finality to Percy's words that's hard to ignore, but something else catches Alfred's attention. "…Your research? You've looked into this- about… about my case?"

A hint of confusion tarnishes the physician's features. "Well, yes. I've relatively little experience with treating addictions aside from laudanum and opium, oddly enough. And the only prior experience I have concerning aggression in relation to alcohol is with a man who, at his worst, I'd describe as… overly scrupulous, if not downright fussy. Nothing at all like-"

"But why?"

Now Percy's confusion is openly on display. "Why not? It's the least I can do to better ensure you achieve as a good an outcome as possible with whatever you decide to do." The confusion suddenly vanishes to be replaced with curiosity. "Do you find that strange? That I would invest time outside of office hours into your wellbeing?"

"I- No, it's just- …I'm no drunkard, Dr. Hewlett. Yes I've a problem with drink, but it's not…" - Alfred vaguely gestures in lieu of finding the right words - "…and I don't understand how my aggression, abundant or otherwise, is in any way a medical issue for you to somehow treat! How is- that makes no sense! You're just wasting your time!"

The other man quietly regards him for a few seconds with an odd expression. Then he leans forward to rest his hands on his knees, looking all the world like a teacher about to patiently lecture a dull child. "Alfred, as you know I am a physician, but within that role I am very much an experimental researcher. That means that on top of providing medical services, I put forth and delve into scientific inquiries. For example, on such topics as what should and shouldn't be considered an issue that requires addressing from a professional," Percy leans back just enough to gesture, "Now, you and I as former residents of England are familiar with the country's strict views on how doctors should conduct themselves - which is exactly why I moved here. To be able to practice and research under my own theories and not be judged for refusing to subscribe to certain… traditional or conventional beliefs. In Yharnam I can practice as both a physician and researcher at the same time, to the fullest extent, without having to be approved by my peers or pretend to believe their nonsense. Do you follow?"

Alfred nods, brow furrowed in concentration. He understands why the doctor decided to venture to New Pthumeria; he'd said why multiple times in multiple ways now. What he doesn't understand is how any of that pertains to him in the slightest.

Percy mirrors his nod and flashes a grin. "Good! So, how this relates to your case" - he suddenly pushes himself out of his seat to saunter as he speaks - "is that I fully believe that maladies and infirmities of the mind aren't caused by entirely physiological means. Now, by definition this line of inquiry technically falls outside my area of expertise, but that's of no concern since I now practice in New Pthumeria and am, technically, a 'member' of the Healing Church… Through helping you overcome - or at the very least better control - your excess aggression, I can potentially further my own studies, and thus better prove this theory to the many that doubt it. That isn't at all a waste of my time!" He turns to face Alfred and leans against the edge of his desk, "As for alcohol, there's plenty of evidence to prove how detrimental it is to both the individual and society as a whole. I merely choose to recognize it in my practice, and act preventively - that is, to stop the problem before it can become a problem. That all makes sense, noh?"

"…No- I mean, yes! Yes it does," Alfred clears his throat and shifts to relieve where his backside has started going numb. "So you're a sort of alienist then, and… you think me ill somehow? In my mind?"

Percy crosses his arms and frowns in a show of consideration. "I prefer 'amateur psychiatrist', but good to know you have an understanding of what I'm trying to do. And I was thinking you suffer more from… an imbalance of sorts - somewhat similar to how one's diet can be lacking in what a healthy body requires, perhaps one's… brain, upbringing, experiences, et cetera - can be lacking in what a healthy mind requires." He smiles good-naturedly, "Why? Do you think you may have some sickness of the mind?"

The doctor chuckles as he returns to his seat and Alfred does as well, a tad too loudly. His face feels stiff as he keeps a smile plastered on, images and sounds suddenly dancing through his head. A tiny ribcage split open, smashed contents still pulsing, the meaty crack of femurs breaking, how it feels as a blade catches on joints and cartilage, the crunching and tearing of when it's wrenched free in a spew of brilliant, splattering-

"So what do you say? Do you think you'll consider going dry?"

"Hm? Oh I-," he lets fall the smile that had broadened as he mused. "I'll… I'll consider it, Dr. Hewlett. I've lived more years with drink than without. I'm truly unsure of how I'd fair!"

"Oh worse, much worse," Percy finally looks up from rearranging his papers to give him a wry smile, "but then better and much better, given time. Now then! Let's finish updating these records shall we?"

As the physician finishes his list a questions, Alfred mulls over what had just been said. Percy's always been rather candid with how and why he goes about his practice; it's part of why many of the locals have come to prefer him over the more secretive Healing Church doctors. But he apparently has a few views the younger man just can't wrap his mind around. His theory about mental illnesses was likely just one's lacking in willpower, discipline, or were born with a bad brain or nerves - that sort of thing. Not some designed or allowed misbalance of one's inner-most workings - organs and bodily ailments were one thing, but for God or whatever equivalent to let the mind itself become deformed by non-physical, unknown means, yet function enough to not be considered mad? Alfred's faith may have faded since childhood, but even he couldn't accept that a higher power could be so cruel. There is simply the sane and insane; those that are healthy and those that need put in an asylum. Nothing in between. "Still, there's no need to hold this false belief against him. He's remarkably clever, he'll come to realize his ideas are off after a little more research. We'll help each other, as he said."

"That's all of my questions at this time," Percy says as he sets his pen aside, "just the physical exam and we'll be done here." He opens one of the desk drawers and pulls out a few familiar-looking instruments, stashing them on his person as he stands and approaches. Based on previous experience Alfred makes to start undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, but stops short when the doctor puts up a hand. "No need to undress, this will only be a general physical - blood pressure, heartrate, reflexes, that sort of thing. Unless you've somehow managed to attain further scarring or are having back troubles again, you may remain covered."

Alfred thinks a moment, slowly shaking his head. "I don't believe I've had any more issues. Until recently I've been rather blocked, so I haven't been hunched at my desk as regularly…"

Percy hums as he readies his stethoscope, wordlessly silencing the blond when the small disc is pressed to his chest. He begins by listening to his heart and lungs, followed by finding a suitable point along his wrist to count his pulse. Alfred's eye starts to twitch after the physician has tapped a number of points on his body with a small rubber hammer, the involuntary jerks and spasms making him antsy. When nimble fingers find their way near his neck to press along his jaw, he has to concentrate on staying relaxed, for some reason immensely wary all of a sudden. Likely just having another's hands near such a vulnerable area. A natural reaction, nothing more…

"So you're making progress, hm?"

The blond casts a confused glance down at the doctor, whose face is less than an arm's length away. Percy gives him a hint of a smirk, eyes focused on his work. "You said 'until recently' you've been blocked. Does that mean you've had a breakthrough with your dissertation?"

The hands fall away as the older man turns to jot down a few notes, allowing Alfred to grin ear to ear. His tone is more energetic and excited than it's been in quite some time. "Oh yes! Yes, I have! I found the most interesting text in the restricted section of Byrgenwerth's theology section a few days ago. It was buried away under numerous yet-to-be-translated manuscripts and-"

"Down."

"-was exactly what I've been certain has been missing from a series of works describing the complex rituals and dogma that make up the fundamentals of-," he slides off the table, "-the Pthumeru religion's traditions, worship, and ceremonies! In particular, it held missing information from the end of the previous text concerning properly conducted blood sacrifice and ritual suicides, and then moved on to-"

"Sit."

"-describe core aspects of their holy pilgrimages, their traditional routes, and the role they played not only in-," the proffered desk chair creaks as he seats himself, "-the religion itself, but in their society as a whole! On top of being of the utmost importance to my thesis, this information could potentially offer a better explanation of how the Old Pthumerians and New Pthumerians came to be such distinctly different, segregated peoples over the centuries! Imagine, that sort of monumental knowledge, left to rot in some cluttered backroom of a university library!"

"A shame, truly," Percy dully says as he lights what looks to be a police lantern. It's placed atop a stack of books that he'd piled up to sit at the same level of Alfred's head, the port facing him. The physician removes his spectacles to adorn a head mirror, adjusting it to lay over the left side of his face. "Hold still now." Now that his patient's head is no longer above his own, Percy can easily check his ears, nose, teeth, and throat, the reflected light from the lantern making it go quickly. He removes the mirror to jot down another few lines, running a hand through where his hair was mussed by the headband. "Alright, just your eyes are left to check, but to do so I'll need us to move to a darker area."

Alfred frowns as he stands, his train of thought concerning ceremonial mass suicide interrupted by his piqued curiosity. "My eyes? How does one go about that I wonder… You haven't done this on me before, have you?"

"I have not, no. However I've learned much pertaining to the subject since last I examined you, as many of my Healing Church compatriots have a rather bizarre fixation with eyes. Those I manage to tolerate were more than willing to share their techniques when I showed interest." Percy picks up his things and directs the other to the door he'd entered through. The slim handle blends in well with the wood paneling's carvings, the seams and hinges nigh invisible before it's opened to reveal a long, narrow hallway, its wall sconces unlit. Alfred is ushered in before he can inquire about the impressive craftmanship, the door shutting behind them.

They're immediately cast into darkness, the only light coming from the physician's lantern and a small ceiling fixture a ways down the hall, letting in natural light. For a ridiculous moment Alfred finds himself wondering if Dr. Hewlett is one of those doctors that kidnap and sell their patients - a terribly commonplace form of malpractice in Yharnam, according to rumors. He shakes the thought from his head just as Percy chuckles. "I'm ashamed to say I don't yet have a proper setup for this procedure. You're actually the first with whom I'm trying it this way - otherwise I'd have to traverse that cluttered, rickety catwalk to draw the curtains," he lightly nudges Alfred in the back to keep him moving, "midway down this hall are some stairs, that's where we're headed."

"Ah, very well… Where does this go?"

"The house I rent."

When the blond looks over his shoulder in surprise Percy smirks at him. "Surely you've noticed that my office and house are but one street apart? You've come and gone from both now."

Alfred only grunts in return, a little embarrassed at missing something so obvious. To be fair, he's prone to getting lost in thought as he walks, and he hadn't been in the best mindset when he'd left the doctor's residence. Nor has he wanted to revisit any aspect of that day, even something as innocent as street names. Their steps don't echo as one would expect in such a tunnel-like passage thanks to a long carpet runs the length of the hall, muffling the sound. Percy's beam of light is partially blocked by the larger man's bulk, but the steps are easily seen in the faint natural light as they approach them.

"Now then, stand on whichever step you must so I can actually see you eye to eye," the smaller man's amusement is audible as he once again dons the head mirror. "I'll need you to hold the lantern as well. And before you say a word, I do realize how absurd this all is - were you any other patient I wouldn't have even considered such a hackneyed approach."

Alfred raises his brows as he turns to the other man face-to-face, trying not to smile too broadly at the perceived compliment. "What makes me so different, pray tell?"

"Well, for starters," Percy says flatly as he hands him the light, "I didn't spend nearly a month and then some living in the same tent in the middle of nowhere with my other patients. That sort of familiarity changes things."

Now Alfred tries not to frown as he holds the lantern beside his head, careful not to touch where the metal has grown hot. "…That's unfair…"

"Oh?" The doctor adjusts the positioning of the lantern before straightening both he and Alfred's heads until the light is reflecting directly into the blond's left eye. He gently holds his patient's eyelids wide as he draws closer once more, voice softer. "Look over my ear please. Unfair in what way?"

Alfred is suddenly at a loss for words as his whole body stiffens, the hairs on his neck standing on end. If it's the unceasingly blinding light, their close proximity, or the nostalgia of a sentiment he'd last felt ("dreamt off") under a dim lamp post ("in a fantasy"), he's suddenly feeling an immense sense of… familiarity. Not the good, companionable kind the doctor spoke of, gained through shared experiences - not in the least. It was a hazy sort, utterly unwelcome but edging into his mind all the same. A familiarity of warmth turning to heat turning to pleasure in the dark, low gasps growing deeper and guttural, soft hair between his fingers and tender skin between his-

"Unfair in what way?"

"Wha- uh. You- I don't remember most of, of back then… it's not fair," he mumbles, trying to keep the words but a whisper. "You've more familiarity with me than, than I have with you… I suppose is my meaning."

"Ah," the single puff of breath near Alfred's mouth sends an unwelcome shiver through him, sparking another flurry of ("false, imagined") memories. "I suppose that would be unfair, yes. But-" Percy leans back to direct the light into his other eye as it's held open, fingers gently grazing a cheekbone, "-you're more familiar with me than most anyone else in Yharnam has managed to become, I assure you. Look over this ear now."

Alfred hums in lieu of trying to respond, afraid to breathe as the smaller man leans forward again. Instead of letting himself fall further into a ("make-believe, utterly false, it never happened") negative train of thought, he tries to think over everything they've discussed. "There, there'd been my find at the library - I still can't believe my luck! - and before that was that silliness about mind illnesses…" - bones sticking through muscle and skin, fur matted with blood and viscera, sticking to his hands, intestines slipping through his grasp- "No, no! Don't think on that now! …B-before that was, was the talk about alcohol? That's right…"

This eye is taking infinitely longer than his other - no, his mind was just racing again, making time pass aggravatingly slow. From his periphery he can see the visible half of the physician's face, haggard, almost ghastly-looking. Not at all the practically youthful features he was accustomed to seeing. Perhaps it was just the odd lighting and glancing reflections from the unlit sconces, casting odd shapes and shadows?

"I really am considering Dr. Hewlett's proposal… In fact, I should cut back, in preparation. That way it'll be a gradual process - that should be easier on one's nerves, on the body, instead of all at once. That makes sense… I've about half a bottle of scotch back in my room, I'll see that it doesn't empty 'til the end of next month!"

Reflections and poor peripheral vision were indeed warping the doctor's features, now that he's focused on them. The rarity of seeing him at eye level allows Alfred to take in his face better than usual, actually. Streaks of the shorter hair at Percy's temples are much darker than his overall silver-white - the same dark color as his eyebrows. He'd never really noticed that before, from his usual vantage point. A rather striking detail.

"What he said about… my aggression. I think I know what he means. It's easier to tear something apart when I've been drinking - less troubling afterward than when I do it sober. I wonder if going dry really could help stop that habit, instead of making it worse... At the very least it wouldn't be as easy, as good…"

A decent jawline too, at least compared to his own, which is purposely kept hidden under shapely sideburns. The reflections play on his neck oddly, making it look as though a patch of scruff escaped the doctor's razor this morning. Light hits him in such a way as to cast a stray shadow along the side, starting below his jaw and dipping below the collar in a haphazard line. Alfred frowns.

"Over my ear please."

His eyes snap back up at the flat tone, unable to apologize due to the sudden dryness of his mouth. His arm is starting to shake, causing the lantern to rattle now and then. "A trick of what little light there is, bouncing around. Odd little tricks of shadow and reflections." But it does venture below his collar, and remains in a constant position even as the physician shifts. Ever so slightly discolored skin, brownish and yellow even in the dim. There's a slight purplish hue inside a distinctly oblong shape, where the edge of twin crescents-

"Alfred, keep still."

His eyes find the doctor's ear by happenstance, seeing nothing, no longer present.

No longer is he in the hallway but in a darkened parlor some weeks ago, this man pinned to the couch beneath him. Forceful and suffocating and utterly oblivious to anything outside his own sick lust. Delicious, terrible heat eating him from the inside out, worsened by the sensations of another's mouth against his own, the strangled, muffled moans sending jolts to the burning pit deep in his gut. Hands pull and push and hit him in an obvious, panicked display and still he's too stupid, too drunkenly enamored with the reactions he's forcing from this man to comprehend his distress. Fully believing his lust is reciprocated with similar eagerness, despite the glaringly obvious truth. Going to even further deplorable lengths, wanting to please and be pleased, to finally quench the overwhelming fire inside his very bones alongside the fire of another. Skin and muscle trying to keep their form as he forgets himself entirely, sinking his teeth in like an animal, marking him, as if he'd wanted to leave evidence, to-

"Alright, we're done."

Percy's expression is odd as he removes the head mirror and makes to take the lantern. As soon as their fingers brush Alfred flinches away, eyes wide despite staring for so long. The light is caught easily enough, but the doctor casts him a curious glance before turning away. Rapid, heavy breathing pervades the hallway as the older man makes his way back to the office. Alfred trembles, sweat beginning to trickle down his neck as he's left alone in the dim, pale light from the ceiling beyond. "I- I did assault him. It wasn't just my- or a-"

"Come along Alfred, don't dawdle."

Only when the frantic breathing hitches does he realize it's his own. His limbs feel mechanical, erratically moving as he wills himself to follow. The events of that night play on repeat in his mind, freely and unbidden, in as much of their entirety as his drunken mind had retained. He feels like he's going to vomit.

"I never wanted to- I didn't want to know for sure!"

Bruises and bitemarks on fragile skin - he swears he can see them even now, from here, behind and so far away. If they'd just been out of sight, he'd never have seen, never have to face what he's done. They shouldn't have been visible.

"I can't stand it! Right there in front of me, mocking me! It needs to, to go away!"

He's quiet as he quickens his pace forward, every other step matching the physician's footfalls with unconscious ease. His approach is rapid despite how time has come to a standstill. Between the lecherous scenes that won't cease come murky recollections of hideous blotches along his torso and legs, covering large swathes of skin. Crushing force causing even lifelong birthmarks to disappear under a darkened mess. Hands shake as they extend toward the smaller man.

"It needs to be covered- to go away! I don't want to see it!"

As the shorter man reaches the door Alfred is nearly upon him. A frenzied pounding reverberates in his skull as he holds his breath, not wanting to draw any attention. Hands hover near the other's shoulders, rising to encircle his neck.

"I can't bare to see it! I can't stand that it's there!"

Thumbs line up over where vertebrae would be, fingers curl to follow the curve of an imaginary Adam's apple. The discolored evidence is under his hands, completely hidden from view. There's a terrible ringing in his ears. He readies to tense his digits into a vise.

"I'll make it like it never happened! Like it never happened!"

Sudden blinding light force his eyes shut.

"Ah, look at that! A patch of clear sky for the first time in weeks! Such a rarity in this country," Percy says as he swings the door further open. He swiftly makes his way back to the desk to replace his tools and douse the lantern, not paying any mind to his silent patient.

Alfred remains just beyond the shadowed doorway, utterly still, hands held aloft, staring at where the doctor had just stood. Sweat falls from his brow and chin as he thickly swallows, tremors intensifying. His arms slowly lower as he remembers to breathe. "I was going to… I- oh God…"

"I've been so busy as of late, I haven't had a chance to enjoy the rain…," the doctor thinks aloud as he strolls closer to the windows for a better view of the passing clouds. After a while he turns to face the exam table, somewhat surprised to see it still vacant before looking to where Alfred remains frozen. His expression immediately falls into something between apprehension and concern. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I was going to kill him! How could I-! After forcing him to-! And I just, just-"

"Alfred?"

"I tried to kill Percy! Of all people! I can't control my own actions - I can't trust myself not to hurt those I-! No good - I'm no good!"

"Alfred!"

"Yes?!" Alfred's voice cracks as he jolts back to the present. Percy is watching him from near the surgery table, tensed as if ready to come rushing to his aid should it be needed. The thought causes the cavernous void of guilt in his chest to deepen even further. His heart is racing, pounding against the inside of his skull. Percy's gaze doesn't falter as he speaks, steady and calm, "…I asked if you're alright… You seem unwell."

"I-I'm… fine! I'm fine," his shaking reaches his voice, already hoarse from the sudden dryness of his mouth. He's cold, almost numb, every bead of sweat trailing down his face and neck like points of ice. His head feels as though it's been emptied and filled with air, an overwhelming need to scream buried away inside. Clenching and unclenching his hands does nothing to lessen the odd tingling in them, nor distract him from the tears trying to spring forth. Alfred quickly realizes he needs to leave, now, lest he cause a scene. Still not meeting Percy's eye, he weakly smiles in his general direction, mouth twitching at the corners. "I… really must be going! Goodbye!"

The doctor straightens in surprise as the blond all but runs to his things on the table, but makes no move to interfere. "Are you sure? You look dreadful Alfred, why don't you-"

"No! I'm fine! I- I've somewhere to be, I just remembered!" Alfred manages to say without cracking as he rushes to grab his greatcoat. He's to the stairs before he's even done getting it on, nearly tripping while he struggles to keep a hold on his hat and umbrella as he climbs. Percy stays put, watching with growing concern. A terrible amount of sincere worry graces his voices as he calls out, "Do remember we've another discussion session in two days!"

"Right, yes! Goodbye!" The door slams shut, loudly echoing through the clinic.

Seconds tick by as the physician stares up at the entrance, unmoving and silent as if in wait. After some time he stands straight, tension dissipating from his form as he slowly exhales. His brow gradually furrows as his expression turns contemplative. Before returning to his desk, the hand closest to the trays neatly replaces a scalpel to its rightful place, handle warmed from a tight grip.

Very little of the walk back to his room registers. Just a flurry of damp and noise and hues of grey. By the time he reaches the boarding house he's utterly drenched, the purpose of his umbrella forgotten. Water trails behind him as he ascends the creaking stairs to his door, pooling under him as he fumbles with the key. It's slammed shut behind him and locked instantly.

Finally away from prying eyes, Alfred lets the pent up tears fall; short, fast gasps forced in between sobs. The hat and coat are ripped off and flung at a coat stand, falling to the floor in a crumbled pile. Sig is laying on his bed in the corner, startled awake by his master's abrupt return. The hulking dog starts to get up but stops when Alfred begins to pace around the cramped room, flinging and dripping rain water every which way with his erratic movement. "I was, was going to-!" He grits his teeth hard enough to hurt, painfully aware of how fast and shallow his breathing has become. "I was going to kill him! For, for what I did to him! The horrible things I did to-!" Fingers tangle into his sopping wet hair, yanking hard in lieu outright screaming. "I'm no better than a beast! As trustworthy as a rabid mongrel! How could I- there's no excuse!" A glint from the corner of his eye catches his attention, up on one of the shelves. Alfred halts his pacing to stare at it. A half full bottle of scotch, its glass catching what little light the tiny window lets in.

Intense, hate-tinged anger fills him. At himself, at the bottle and the poison within, at his stupidity and weakness, his lack of self-control. He glares but a moment longer before striding over to grab it from the shelf. Sig flees his spot when Alfred stomps to the window above it. Old hinges screech as it's roughly thrown open.

The faint whisper of something roughly thrown hangs in the air, then the shattering of glass and a splatter of liquid echoes through the alley below.