AQUA FORTIS

shsl (pharmaceutical) chemist STATUS: ALIVE associated with boun anima

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A Bottomless Curse | Execution 4 | QUININE

When she is finally returned from the nightmare back into the waking world, Quinine is left in an ungainly, crumpled heap. It seems that the majority of the damage is concentrated around her torso; parts that are easier to sink teeth into. The gouges in her skin are irregular in size but form a telltale semicircle shape (as one might expect from a bite mark). Oozing slowly, a dark, viscous substance leaks from the wounds, not immediately recognizable as her own blood. 

Quinine, barely alert, attempts to move a hand and finds that she cannot. In fact, none of her limbs seem to be obeying her command. She can tell that she is alive, at least, but her vision is so clouded that she cannot begin to guess what is happening around her.

“… … …”

Someone grips her hand, and though it is impossible to make out a face among her blurred surroundings, she recognizes it. It takes everything she can muster to curl her fingers around Orwell’s palm, but she eventually succeeds. He is crying. From what feels like very far away, Quinine can hear the muffled voices of others: Ivey and Duck. 

The chemist opens her mouth to reply to all of them, but the feeling of an immense pressure in her chest stops her. Even the act of taking in air is painful; there is no strength left in her to form words.

“… … …”

Clinging as tightly as she can to Orwell’s hand, she shuts her eyes tightly and allows herself to drift into unconsciousness. 

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ch4 | once reborn.

From across the table Duck, still standing and now much paler than usual, jerks her heard over towards Quinine, hastily looking her over. 

Her teeth dig into her lip as she studies her, brow contorting with anxiety, and without any other consideration she jams her hand into her pocket. She doesn’t give much warning.  After she pulls Masaki’s knife for her pocket, she calls out as she pulls her arm backwards. 

“M… M-miss Quinine!  Catch!” 

And she sends the knife in a neat arc over to her.

Acting on pure instinct, the chemist snatches the weapon out of the air with ease and stares, wide-eyed, at Duck. After a few tense moments, she nods in understanding. She has seen enough of Gambit’s punishments and executions to know that whatever is coming, she will not be prepared for it – but holding a blade, however small, gives her some small measure of comfort. Gritting her teeth, Quinine calls out to someone:

“Mister Orwell! A selfish request: whatever happens, do not watch. One way or another, it will be over soon.”

With that, the floor opens up beneath her and she falls away into nothingness.

Keep reading

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XXI | Monothea 4.1 | QUININE | RE: PIP, DUCK/ANA

Another small sigh escapes Quinine as the voting concludes. Should she be relieved that they at least managed to avoid a tie? She shudders to think what sort of tantrum Gambit might have thrown if they had failed to reach a majority vote on what was supposedly the most important decision of all. Perhaps he would have ended the whole thing then and there, declaring them a group of incompetents (maybe there was some truth to that?).

And then comes the revelation that Ana was speaking with an ‘anonymous presence’, apparently concealing this fact from the others. It takes Quinine a moment to register what this means, but when the surprised expression fades from her face, she does little more than let out a soft ‘hm’.

She expects the others to be hurt – particularly those closest to her – but when Pip speaks, something inside of her seems to recoil from his words. ‘Greed incarnate’? ‘Penance’? Quinine stares at her neighbor with a flash of unmistakable anger in her eyes. 

“That is quite enough.”

“Pip, for your own sake and for the sake of those around you, leave her be. This senseless browbeating is beneath you.”

She turns her gaze to Ana, and then Duck, a strange expression on her face. It’s not clear which one she’s speaking to when she next opens her mouth:

“…It would have been helpful, I think, if the recipient of this information had at least told a few trusted individuals about this in private.”

“We cannot afford to keep knowledge like this to ourselves when lives are at stake – it could have been a deciding factor in the vote that was just held. Maintaining open lines of communication is all very well and good, but we do not have an unlimited amount of time to spare on secret correspondence.“

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Stagecoach | Trial 4.2 | QUININE | RE: DUCK, ORWELL, ROOKIE

Orwell’s outburst causes Quinine’s brow to furrow in concern. Even as his words grow sharper and more painful to listen to, she does not interrupt but her expression betrays her distress. Sandwiched between several living people on either side, there is no way she can reach out and offer her hand to him. Even if she were to do such a thing, she wonders if it would ultimately benefit him or simply cause him more trouble (scornful glances, rolling eyes, whispered derision). Powerless to help, Quinine settles for thinking as hard as she can:

I am still here.

She is no telepath, but some desperate part of her hopes that if she tries hard enough, then her feelings will somehow be known to someone other than herself. Eventually, her gaze drifts towards Duck. Taking a deep breath, she begins speaking in a steady voice.

“Miss Duck. I do not… entirely disagree with you. Death is finite, while the injuries that Gambit inflicts can be survived. I understand your logic because I, too, have always believed that avoiding human sacrifice was worth it no matter the cost. However – “

“Ultimately, you are asking innocent people to willingly accept the possibility of being maimed, or worse, in order to protect someone else. Not everyone has that sort of resolve, or the luxury of being able to heal quickly… and given the fact that Gambit has demonstrated his contempt for purposefully throwing the majority vote before, we may be risking the wrongful death of a person who was not involved in this case at all.”

“I still think that you have the right of it,” she grimaces slightly as she says this, “but it is not so simple as you make it sound. Not anymore, at least.”

Frowning again, she directs her attention towards Orwell and Rookie. It doesn’t take a very observant person to notice how distressed Rookie seems. Quickly, she waves a hand and interjects:

“Gambit asked us to consider who seemed resilient to the cordyceps. I feel as though I can say with some confidence that Mx. Rookie was so heavily infected from the start that he had little chance to plan some sort of murder like this. Even if he helped dig the pits, for some reason, surely the cordyceps would not have allowed him to commit a murder that would halt the spread of infection.”

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Stagecoach | Trial 4.2 | QUININE | RE: DUCK, ORWELL, ROOKIE

Orwell’s outburst causes Quinine’s brow to furrow in concern. Even as his words grow sharper and more painful to listen to, she does not interrupt but her expression betrays her distress. Sandwiched between several living people on either side, there is no way she can reach out and offer her hand to him. Even if she were to do such a thing, she wonders if it would ultimately benefit him or simply cause him more trouble (scornful glances, rolling eyes, whispered derision). Powerless to help, Quinine settles for thinking as hard as she can:

I am still here.

She is no telepath, but some desperate part of her hopes that if she tries hard enough, then her feelings will somehow be known to someone other than herself. Eventually, her gaze drifts towards Duck. Taking a deep breath, she begins speaking in a steady voice.

“Miss Duck. I do not… entirely disagree with you. Death is finite, while the injuries that Gambit inflicts can be survived. I understand your logic because I, too, have always believed that avoiding human sacrifice was worth it no matter the cost. However – “

“Ultimately, you are asking innocent people to willingly accept the possibility of being maimed, or worse, in order to protect someone else. Not everyone has that sort of resolve, or the luxury of being able to heal quickly… and given the fact that Gambit has demonstrated his contempt for purposefully throwing the majority vote before, we may be risking the wrongful death of a person who was not involved in this case at all.”

“I still think that you have the right of it,” she grimaces slightly as she says this, “but it is not so simple as you make it sound. Not anymore, at least.”

Frowning again, she directs her attention towards Orwell and Rookie. It doesn’t take a very observant person to notice how distressed Rookie seems. Quickly, she waves a hand and interjects:

“Gambit asked us to consider who seemed resilient to the cordyceps. I feel as though I can say with some confidence that Mx. Rookie was so heavily infected from the start that he had little chance to plan some sort of murder like this. Even if he helped dig the pits, for some reason, surely the cordyceps would not have allowed him to commit a murder that would halt the spread of infection.”

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So Long, Pardner | Trial 4.1 | QUININE | RE: MOSS, ORWELL, IVEY, ETC

Quinine knew her own shortcomings well enough. Too serious, too severe, too caught up in shadows of the past to enjoy the present – perhaps in retrospect, that was why she had liked Ivan’s company. From the very beginning, his glib nature and unfailing confidence had baffled, amused, and inspired her in equal measure. If they could manage to keep up that sort of attitude under these circumstances, then what excuse did she have to wallow in melancholy? 

There were still things that she wanted to discuss with them, things that she wanted to apologize for but lacked the courage to do so. Cowardly as she was, she had never been able to get the words out, and even now as she stared down at Ivan’s broken body, they remained trapped in her throat. 

…

Throughout the trial, Quinine was largely silent and still, with only the occasional tilt of her head indicating that she was listening to the ongoing proceedings. Though her skin was no longer a sickly green hue and her hair had lost its white streaks, her eyes seemed slightly glazed and unfocused, like those of someone who had recently awakened from a long slumber. 

However, Moss’ confession and subsequent argument between them, Orwell, and Ivey appeared to rouse her slightly. Lifting her gaze to the mycologist, Quinine’s face twists in something akin to anger, but there is more than a hint of remorse mixed in with it.

“Moss. Your situation is not remotely similar to Mister Orwell’s, so you would do well to avoid those sorts of comparisons. Lord only knows he has had enough stones slung at him by those living in glass houses.”

“If this is a bid to ‘take responsibility’ by falling on your sword, then I fail to see what good it will do. Atonement comes more easily to a living human being than it does to a corpse.”

Quinine glances at Ivey, and then briefly at Rita’s corpse. Shaking her head to try and ward off the mounting sense of dread, she rubs her temples with one hand. 

“The fact that Gambit specifically asked us to consider who seemed resistant to the cordyceps – regardless of whether or not they were infected – seems to me to be a fairly obvious hint that the culprit is not Mister Maverick, aside from the other evidence that has already been presented. As for how the tools were made, I am afraid I am at a bit of a loss… though there is no shortage of knives in the kitchen, yes?“

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☀️ ch3 trial moodboard ~ ! ☀️

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uuuhhhhh.txt | Trial 3.2.1 | QUININE | RE: General Discussion, PIP, MOSS, SCOURGE | ATTN: BOOTS (?)

The time spent investigating Masaki’s body allowed Quinine’s anger to cool slightly, but not enough to prevent her lip from curling in disgust as she lays eyes on Boots again. There’s no point in screaming at them now – what’s done is done. The only question that remains is what the consequences for their actions will be.

Pip’s outburst draws her attention (he is next to her, after all), her expression fading from shock to disbelief to a bitter disappointment. She shakes her head wordlessly, unable to form a proper response to what he’s said. The others chime in before she does with angry rebukes; deep down inside of herself she cannot help but feel that they are well-deserved.

“Regarding Mister Masaki… I agree with the theory that has been laid out. It seems to me that he was attacked by Boots at the udon stand, and then transported to a location that we could not access. The punctures in his back seemed quite large compared to the gashes, which is why I imagine that Boots transformed into a different creature to carry him.”

She glances at Moss and shakes her head quietly.

“I am fairly certain that Mister Masaki was an ordinary human with no supernatural abilities to speak of. Very brave, and very kind,” she feels her hand curl into a fist again and has to take a moment to allow her fingers to relax, “but human all the same.”

Quinine pauses.

“I felt something odd when I touched Mister Masaki’s wounds – it was difficult to place. A sort of giddiness that turned to unease…” The chemist looks at Boots, her gaze hard and cold. “Did you doubt yourself? Regret your actions? Well, I suppose even if that were the case, it is too late for those sentiments to make a difference.”

“I would like to know what that strange sensation was, however – why those feelings lingered on his body.” 

Her gaze shifts towards the amulet, but she doesn’t continue her train of thought. Instead, she turns her head towards Scourge, and responds:

“I believe the note in Miss Amita’s room said – 

‘In regards to your question… I think I have an idea. Combining our skills will be even stronger than just using them each. Meet me in my room, so we can test something in private. And please, get rid of this after you read it.’

As far as I can tell, this note does not directly suggest who might have written it. I would assume that Miss Amita received it and simply did not have time to destroy it, but…”

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Beasts All Over The Shop | QUININE | Trial 3 Interlude

“Mister Masaki…”

Quinine’s mouth hangs open slightly, her hands resting limply at her sides. If people are talking around her, she doesn’t hear them: her gaze is fixed on the figure lying in the snow before her. It couldn’t have been possible – or so she wanted to tell herself, but it could be, and it was. The whole time they had been discussing evidence, snapping at one another, making wild theories and conjectures, and no one had realized that Masaki was gone. She had not noticed, either. Ignorant of everything, she had not given the slightest thought to him, because he was ‘alive’. He was supposed to be alive. 

Horrifying thoughts begin to cross her mind. How much he must have suffered, how painful it must have been. All of the blood. His family. Who would explain this to them? If all of them were to die here, then his relatives would never find out what had happened to him. Perhaps it would hurt them more to know that he had died alone, maimed, in agony.

The sound of Quinine’s heartbeat is loud in her ears, and although she’s barely moved, she realizes that she is completely out of breath. Almost unconsciously, a hand gropes at her side for her something, but it’s not there – of course it’s not. No matter. Gambit would not allow her to cut someone down even if it was. Her face has taken on a strange, hard quality as though it is made of sculpted stone rather than flesh, her eyes oddly luminous. 

“Beasts… monsters, at every turn.“

She echoes Duck, though her voice is a whisper rather than a shout. Perhaps it is almost comforting to think that a human being did not do this – a small consolation in a sea of despair.

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Bones Returned to Rest | Trial 3.4 | QUININE | RE: PIP, MAV, BOOTS Discussion

Quinine gives her neighbor a glance, a conflicted expression evident on her face. When she speaks, her voice is gentle but firm.

“Pip – we have found no solid evidence to suggest that Miss Amita was responsible for Mx. Boots’ death. The used knife could have easily been wielded by anyone, and I myself still have doubts about its status as a potential murder weapon.“

”…Have you forgotten? The goal of this trial is to vote for the murderer, not for the person who orchestrated the plan.” 

Exhaling slowly, she continues:

“Mx. Boots being the killer is… still not out of the realm of possibility. As Mister Maverick has said, it would certainly be the most straightforward way to explain the gashes on Miss Amita’s chest and throat. However, it has already been pointed out that it would be extremely difficult to simply tear off one of your own limbs. I suppose if Mx. Boots transformed into a monster with prodigious strength, it might be an easier task…”

Leaning backwards in her seat, she shakes her head at Maverick’s comment about vampires.

“I cannot change my form. You will find no claws here.”

No matter how much they talk, everything seems to go in endless circles. Quinine’s rubs her temples, her expression settling into a deep frown as she looks away from Pip.

“It seems we are drawing to a close, so allow me to say one thing. If any one of you is consciously protecting an unidentified nonhuman third party that is responsible for the maulings, please know that you are not doing us a favor. Werecreature or no, a supernatural that cannot control the base impulse to kill – or worse, one that feels no remorse for doing so – is a danger to everyone.“