The Blood Quickens! Ch. 1
Aphrodisiac! Dismas/Reader
A pit stop at an oasis goes awry, forcing you to confront your feelings for a certain highwayman.
words: 2651
(author's note: this is much shorter than my usual content but I didn;t have a better place to cut it. the other pieces shouldnt take super long to get out since most of them are already written out so stay tuned)
Next
The stagecoach slows to a halt. The horses nicker to themselves as the wheels coasted to a standstill on the muddy road, and once stopped you stepped down from the driver;s seat and pushed the door open, “Hang on for a second, I’ll be right back.” The cabin lurches as you step out, semi dry leaves crunching underfoot.
It was almost always dark out now, what little light left being swallowed by the dense canopy around you, but you could just barely make out the outline of old masonry wrapped up tightly in moss and overgrown vines just beside the road. Had you not been looking for it you’d have missed it entirely since it looked just like the many ruins of forgotten outposts that littered the forests here. Yet when you studied further and pushed aside a cluster of bramble you found what you were looking for, a skull fountain with water still running from it’s mouth into the basin below.
An oasis. Rare, nowadays, as most of them are destroyed when found. But it meant seclusion and protection for the night at least.
You hop back up the step and lean into the carriage, “Coast’s clear. Doesn’t look like this one’s been found yet so let’s make it count while it’s still here.” A murmur of agreement answers you as you step back out. You choose to stand outside in the cool, humid air to scrub your tired eyes while they sort themselves out, the coach creaking under their shifting.
How long had it been? Days? Weeks? The passage of time wasn’t something to keep track of much anymore with how the skies darkened with the smoke of burning cities. Long enough that the mere idea of being in that thing any longer would drive you insane. While it was nice, there was only so much of the carriage’s cramped living any of you could stand. At some point you’re sure they’re going to start at each other’s throats. And several highly dangerous individuals locked in with each other while you stood in the middle was not on your to do list today.
There’s a muffled huff before footsteps tramp down the step off the coach and over to you, “Well that’s one way to put an end to that argument.” When you drop your hands you’re greeted with the plague doctor brushing flecks of some nasty greenish fluid off her coat while surveying the woods surrounding you both, “Seems like a good enough place to stop anyways.”
You just sighed, way too used to the stench of sulfur lingering in her wake by now, “Were you trying to make another potion with the windows closed again.” The question-which was barely a question at this point-isn;t answered as she just continues her inspection of the old ruins, which means that yes, she was in fact mixing caustic tonics in proximity of everyone else. Which explained the hushed snipping commentary you’d been hearing behind you for the past few hours.
Thank the light the viewport was just an open window. You had your complaints about it at first but nowadays it seemed more a blessing since it kept all the fumes back there-although it more came as a curse to everyone else.
Still, you pinched the bridge of your nose, “Para, please don’t do that inside. You can peel the wood off the walls with what you make in those and I’d rather not have the coach suddenly dismember itself because of you.” Honestly if you were going to have anything tear it apart you’d rather it be the fanatic’s traps. At the very least those can be repairable.
“Bah, it’s fine.” She has the audacity to wave a hand at you dismissively, “I wasn’t brewing anything too caustic today. Got all of that done last time we were investigating one of the older academic buildings around here. Speaking of, we found some nice remnants of a few lab notes back there-something about advancing some studies on the topic of various plant born diseases. Did you know that coffee is actually a type of poison? Very mild and non-toxic to the human body but dangerous to many insects and birds-which was what my current experiment was about.” She stares at the ground with her hands on her hips like a frustrated parent, “Do you know how hard it is to procure coffee beans that aren’t-”
You can’t believe what you’re hearing, “Para.”
The nose flits up to your face properly, “Yes?”
You stare at her with as much disappointed exasperation you can muster in a slow blink, “...Why are you trying to distill coffee in the carriage?”
She doesn’t miss a beat, “Because I want to try and use that poison for my bombs. If I can get a potent enough charge from something as commonplace as coffee I can cut the needed ingredients by half or more.”
Again you just stare at her, then to the carriage again before returning, exhaustion in your voice, “....Para do you know how rare it is to find coffee of all things right now?”
Immediate nodding before you can even finish, “Yes. Approximately 87% harder given no trade routes are open to this part of the kingdom, so it’s much less likely to find it. But I have accounted for this, I’m not that daft.” She rolls her head in place of her eyes and you lean back a bit to let the nose of her mask swing around, “If I can procure enough toxin from the stores we have now I’ll be settled for a few days, maybe weeks if I ration it. This would not solve the problem of foraging for more ingredients for good but it would at least mean we wouldn’t be absent of the poison if the areas we go to are lacking.” Setting a hand on her hip those lenses glare at you like you should know this- she can accurately portray her emotions through that thing, you’d give her that.
Someone’s chattering in the carriage. Not quite happy conversation either, though you struggled to call it an all out fight either. More akin to someone trying to argue a point and the other shutting them down over and over again, judging by the tone of the words you can make out. There’s a deep raspy masculine tone to one and the other is distinctly feminine.
At this point you’d gladly take a violent argument over whatever you had going on with Paracelsus of all people. Science had never been your forte.
Someone’s clanking up to the door just as you get that train of thought together, that same roughened voice calling out, “Ya can’t wait jus’ a minute?”
Speaking of.
You’ve barely turned around before Bonnie’s hauling herself out the carriage door. There;s a less than friendly scowl on her face as she flicks her cape across her back, “Maybe if you stopped treating me like a kid I’d actually give a damn.”
“Language!”
“Like you give a toss!” She whips around and points back behind her, “I can handle myself!”
The carriage rocks under another set of footsteps until Dismas pulls himself out the door with a hand on the frame, “Yer still bleedin’ worse than a busted dam in a storm. At least let someone with the know how ta put ya back together ‘efore’ ya run off.” He’s holding something wrapped in a cloth, possibly one of the few medical tools you pilfered along the way as it’s seeping blood when he points it in her direction.
He’s not wrong as one of Bonnie’s arms is still wrapped in the torn up sheet sacrificed to the cause, the nice linen soaking red in splotches all down her bicep. Either choosing to ignore it or just wanting to spite him, Bonnie crosses her arms, “I’m fine. I won’t leave the road too far or anything. I’m not insane enough to go out into the woods alone.” With a wave over her shoulder she tromps off, rounding the corner of the ruined wall with a muttered, “Just leave me be, ya old bastard.”
Said gunman shakes his head with a sigh as she takes her leave, “Always the young ones steppin’ in before their head’s on straight.” There;s a clank as he sets the tool down with some force on what sounds like a table inside. As he drops down off the carriage he ignores the step entirely to stand on the ground.
You find yourself lingering on the highwayman as he takes a deep breath. He stretches with a groan, raising an arm over his head and behind his back. Twisting his spine a few times while you can hear his disgruntled muttering, “Blasted carriage too bloody small to move an inch in. Felt like I was gonna lose feelin’ in me legs if I was in there a moment longer.”
He’s just in his vest and undershirt, signature bandana absent. He must have just woken up from sleeping the recent leagues as scruff darkens his cheekbones, hair a frazzled mess. A set of uneven scars line his mouth that remind you of the fangs of a wolf, giving him a lingering sense of danger that crawls up your spine and settles in the back of your skull. Time may have left its mark on his face with his sharp cheekbones and silver laced in his undercut, but it only adds to his charm. Aged like a fine wine and probably just as delicious.
Heat floods up your neck at that analogy and you have to yank your eyes away from him in the hope that he wouldn’t notice the sudden redness on your face.
And stare right into a set of very intelligent lenses.
You jerked back, startled at her sudden proximity. She was now almost nose to beak with you, leering at you in the same way she does a dead body. You could practically feel her staring at your face and studying every minute detail with frightening accuracy. Frankly it was much too unnerving and had you waving her away, “What are you looking at? Point that thing somewhere else before you take an eye or something.”
But it’s like she doesn’t hear you as she hums, leaning away from your swatting, “No, just…observing.” A hand braces under her beak as she stands there doing just that.
You give her a confused look just as footsteps crunch across the grass up to you. It didn’t take any time to question who it was as Dismas speaks up, “Looks like the little spark’s gonna be a bit on ‘er own fer a bit. Probably out takin’ a piss-can’t blame ‘er really.” You turn to watch him approach while straightening his sleeve cuffs.
Maybe you should be mad at him for his crass wording but really, could any of you be mad at each other given the situation? Instead you sigh and look to where Bonnie ran off, eager to change the subject, “Let me guess, she complained about getting stitches again.”
“Dead on. Never liked usin’ the needle meself, but I still take it when I need it.” You can hear him leaning from how his leather boots creak and your breath stutters at how it;s specifically in your direction, “She had a right fit about it and stated she’d get a fire on ta burn the wound closed. Nearly did, until I doused it.”
You look at him then with exasperation, “Did you use the last of the water to do it.”
He gives you a sheepish grin with both hands up with a shrug, “Was either that or run the risk of ‘er burnin’ holes in the armor. Should’a used a blanket or me coat ta’ put it out instead, but it didn’t occur.” Dismas looks away as he rubs the back of his neck, other hand resting on his hip, “Good thing we’re stoppin’ ‘ere, eh? Bet you could use a few hours of clear skies and stable ground.”
The dim light through the trees hits the bridge of his nose unevenly like a shaky painter’s stroke. It casts pale yellow streaks into his hair, making his scruff seem darker and deepening his eyes under a soft shadow. From here you can see the scar across his nose where it had likely been broken, how it adds a sharp regal edge to him.
There’s a chance your gaze lingers on his side profile for too long, as when he notices your silence he turns to face you again. You quickly divert your gaze while stuttering out, “Y-Yeah probably.” Clearing your throat you point to the oasis, “We’ll make camp here for the night then and pick up some extra water in the stores while we’re at it. Go help Baldwin get the gear out and set up for a fire, then we’ll work out who uses the oasis first. Light knows I’m sick of having to smell the lot of you right now.” There’s a bit of delay before he huffs a small dry laugh at your comment and heads back up into the carriage.
And again your attention is kept on his departing back for too long, the width of his shoulders, the strength in his form despite just walking. You find yourself yearning to run your fingers over the grey streaks in his undercut. How the scars around his mouth might feel against yours as you scratch the stubble on his jaw, about just how well he can use that tongue of his when he’s not spitting insults.
You turn back around to find way too intelligent goggles still staring at you. This time you cringe and lean away, “What? Is there something on my face-”
“You’re just letting him walk off?” She interrupts, gesticulating towards the carraige, “Like that? That’s it?”
You blink, stunned, “Y…Yes? Was there something else you wanted to discuss with him?” Did you want him to stay? Yes, but you couldn’t fathom a reason why she would.
“Not after he nearly kicked over my medical equipment I don’t.” She scoffs, crossing her arms and cocking a hip.
WIth a sigh you roll your eyes, “That’s why you two were arguing back there.” It wasn’t unheard of, fortunately, as typical interactions between the two always seemed to involve some kind of arguing or Para speaking science to him that he didn;t understand nor care for. It was an honest surprise those two got along at all, “With our luck I’d thought you’d gotten him sick on your coffee bean poison.”
“It’s not poison, it’s a tonic at worst. I do my poisons outside because I like breathing and I’m certain so do you. But,” She snags your arm before you can leave, “That didn;t answer my question.”
“I don;t know what you’re saying, Para.” You scoff as you pick lint off your sleeve, “It’s kind of unfair to say that when you never asked anything to begin with.”
Now it’s her turn to scoff, throwing her hands up, “Alright fine, we’ll do this your way. Why dont you just admit it and be done with it?”
You give her a look, “Admit what? I have nothing to hide. And I have nothing to say to him.” You do. So many words trapped in the back of your throat, but they’ll never see the light of day. You won’t let them, “If anything I’m more curious as to what you’ve been going on about for the past few minutes since-”
“You like him.”
You blanch. Anything you wanted to say disappeared into the panic swarming your mind.
“You like him. Not just as a companion or a warrior.” Para ignores your silence as she points at you, “You like him as a romantic option.”
