đđ. đđđđđđđđ đđđđ:
The setting may not be ideal, given that he was surely not the most welcome of figures to stand in Lady Dimitrescuâs presence, his own views colliding harshly with her own. Though â- Jonathan was nothing if not civil, regardless of who he stood before, he still had a way of putting his manners first, even when handing out a good verbal scolding. That, however, wasnât what this was about, not yet, at least â- so things remained polite, courteous, two people conversing, as though the pair of them werenât oddities, one perhaps far more than the other.
So, with the invitation, the Ekon sits across from her, his posture remaining much the same as always, never quite able to shed that straight and stern officerâs stance that demanded his spine stand to attention. There was little use in pretending that he wasnât intrigued, that he wasnât hanging on every word that was offered to him, a part of him rather thankful that Edgar wasnât here to see this, seeing as his track record had been somewhat â- questionable in prior years. Whatever it was that was going on here, such knowledge in the wrong hands could prove fatal, though he was still toying with the notion that it was perhaps not in the best hands already.
âAplastic anemiaâŠâ Jonathan repeated to himself, his head shaking a little from side to side at the mere thought of it. Even now, with the strides medicine had made, there were still so many diseases and conditions that ultimately defied them, having experienced the profession in the days before without penicillin and the like, so much had so easily wriggled between their fingers â- and some still did, for the most part. Each person was different. What worked for one, might not for another, heal one and further damage the other. Though the consumption of human meat had certainly never crossed his mind in the medical field, despite such a thing not being entirely alien to him, since it was a taste shared with Skals, being able to feast on dead flesh, instead of the drinking of human blood like himself.
Neither was overly pleasant to think about, even for him, he could be pouring a rats blood down his throat and still find himself revolted and disgusted by what he was doing, by what he needed in order to survive. âMother Miranda?â Again, he was simply testing the name on his icy lips, he wasnât sure whether it was good thing or a bad thing that he hadnât heard the name before, though he had a feeling it might be the latter. âA mould, you say? You mention that it corrupts more than it anoints. Do you agree thatâs what it did to you? That it corrupted you?â He was playing with fire and he knew it, but that was simply the way he was, ever the good doctor, always analysing, studying, whether it be from a physical or psychological standpoint.
What he hadnât been expecting, however, was the brief show that she put on for him, his brows furrowing in the middle as she offered, wondering what on Earth she could possibly mean, his eyes pale blue eyes quickly widening a little once his question is answered. âI would enquire as to the nature your⊠endowments, my Lady, however, I daresay I would not approve.â He was no fool, he knew full well what they would be used for, much the same as how he used his own, though he didnât indulge in eating the person after, and would only summon his claws out of defence rather than outright attacking someone. âDo you bear other gifts granted by this⊠mould? Other⊠talents, as it were?â
    holding out her hand with fingers splayed wide, lady dimitrescu inspects the tips of her claws as if they were delicate, painted nails, not indestructible silver sabers.  another of her hauntingly sultry, melodious chuckles fills the space when the doctor poses his first inquiry.  her eyes sweep from her talons and train to jonathan again, incisive as those same claws that lie in wait of bloodshed at the tips of her fingers.  â mind your tongue, now, little manthing, â  come threatening words on grinning lips.  â i ought to show you the unfortunate ones, the rejects who shamble mindlessly in the shadows of my dungeons.  there would be no question as to who has been corrupted and who anointed. â
    despite her display of mild indignation, the lady dimitrescu can squander no opportunity to exhibit the nigh-unparalleled power in her possession.  her claws recede to one quarter of their full length as she deftly unfastens her left sleeveâs silken buttons.  â this is the most invaluable of my abilities, dr. reid.  no weapon formed against me shall prosper. â  eyes sparkling, she points her index finger and plunges the blade into her wrist, dragging it up the length of her forearm without so much as a wince.  she slices deep, deep enough to catch a glimpse of the stark white of her ulna, and blood spills in a cascade from the fresh wound.  she flicks her wrist up and out to offer jonathan a view of the wonder that has halfway occurred, nearly too rapid to track with the eye: her pallid flesh, lined faintly with craquelure,  knits itself closed and heals completely.  save for the already spilled blood that drips from her elbow and onto the lush carpeting at their feet, no evidence of injury remains.
    with that, she snaps her wrist and her claws retract.  lifting her forearm to her lips, she traces the trail of blood with her tongue and hums in pleasure at her own rich flavor.   â no blade, no bullet, no bomb can harm me.  none touched by the megamycete, not even those deemed successes by mother, can boast the same.  my regenerative abilities outpace all others on this earth.  with great skill and some luck, iâll live until the sun burns out. â  her glee at such a divine prospect is palpable, her voice and demeanor brimming over with it, though never at the expense at her coolheaded poise.
    she lies, of course, but so convincingly that she could compel herself to believe it.  the reach of her power is vast, but alcina holds her greatest secret close to her chest.  not even her own daughters know that poison is her only undoing.
  â my other abilities pale in comparison, but each has its own practical use.  i generate my claws at will, and they cut through anything in their path.  the last i measured my strength, i could lift at least four tons, and that number increases steadily as i grow.  my senses are refined, all sharper than a mortalâs â- although, i suspect, a deal less sharp than yours. â  within me slumbers a glorious dragon,  she concludes, her mind her only audience.  so too will that secret reside only with her.  tilting her head,  lady dimitrescu balances her right elbow on an arm rest and primly perches her chin atop her knuckles.  â you now know ample about me, doctor, but i know nothing of you.  iâd be remiss not to rectify that situation. â
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