Medical Marvels! (Open to Two)

Aaaaaaaaaaaannnndd… There! I clapped my hands together, knocking wood dust off of them, and smiled proudly at my accomplishment. It had taken me some time to get the materials together - and even longer figuring out how to set them up so I could take them apart later and hang them off of my traveling case - but I had finally finished it!

Traveling Physician - Consults and Medicine! Proclaimed the thin banner stretched between two wooden poles. The poles were attached - well, slid into holes made for them - to a small booth that had been carefully pieced together. It wasn't the prettiest thing in the world, but I was still proud of it because it was mine. So what if the grain on the wooden boards didn't match properly? So what if the pole on the right was just a bit crooked? I wasn't a carpenter or a handyman, I was a healer!

I mean, yes, sure probably having a traveling medicine stand was a bit odd in this day and age, when most people went directly to doctors or physicians - but I wasn't interested in the big cities. Way too many people. No, I would travel between small towns and hamlets, and try to help people. Even if-

“Why hello there young man.”

“YEEEEK!” I let out a cry and dove behind my stand when someone suddenly spoke up from behind me. I hit the ground and curled up behind the stand for a moment - until the soft sound of giggling reached my ears. Slowly, cautiously, I perked my head up above the wooden board that was serving as my stand, and looked at the person who had spoken.

It was an older woman, hair graying at the temples, and she was currently giggling at me from behind her hand. Her eyes danced with amusement that was plain to see, and I gave her a flat glare from over the wood. This just seemed to set her off into a fresh round of giggles, which lasted a fair minute before she finally managed to contain herself. She gave one last chuckle before coughing into her hand.

“My my, my apologies little one, I certainly didn't mean to startle you so badly.” She gave me a small, polite bow. “Now then young one - are your parents letting you out to play?” I stood up straighter and crossed my arms over my chest, glaring grumpily at her. “Oh my, such a ferocious look you have! But you should stop puffing out your cheeks.”

Erk. Whoops. I let my arms dropped and deflated, and my tail drooped down to curl behind me. I looked down to the side, I.. Couldn't really match the woman’s amused gaze. Why did it hve to be someone who didn't have something wrong with them at first glance? I couldn't push my reticence away if I didn't have a project…

“Young one, your parents?” I huffed when she spoke again, trying to prompt me.

“Ma’am. Despite how I might look, I am a full grown man, and a trained healer. This is my stand, not some game.” From the corner of my eye I saw her blink a few times, then cough into her hand. Hah. The voice always throws them off.

“I-see. Well then.” She paused for a moment - then began speaking again, listing off some symptoms. Apparently her grandchild had come down with something, and neither she nor the child’s parents knew what to do. It took me a few minutes of questions to finally narrow down a likely cause. An insect sting and venom, from when the child was out playing. After she described the insect to me, I was able to make a simple remedy and a salve for the pain. She paid, and took off at a rapid pace, and I nodded to myself.

Even if I was small, I could still help! Take that, temple that swore I wouldn't progress anywhere but with them! I settled back behind my stand, hoping for another person to come by soon.

When one has recently grown wings, the natural thing to do is jump out of trees.

At least, that was Fenn’s logic on the matter. The details of his months-earlier metamorphosis were fuzzy in his mind — particularly so considering the overwhelming amount of memories that were wiped clean out of his head — but he knew that the papery, velvety wings protruding from somewhere betwixt his shoulderblades were foreign to his body. They didn’t know quite how to work. They didn't know, precisely, where they were supposed to be at any given time. Sitting on them accidentally was uncomfortable. So was people stepping on them. So was getting excited, whereupon he found that the wings tended to flutter outward and whack themselves into things rather painfully.

Really, the antennae were more manageable than that. More useful too.

But they were wings, so it naturally followed that Fenn was probably capable of flight given enough practice with them. And thus, came the brilliant notion of leaping from tall places.

It wasn’t too hard to find a tall and sturdy oak in Corone. This continent was lousy with them. It was also not very difficult for Fenn to scale his way up the sturdy trunk, into its very highest branches. He was already a prolific climber, after all. No, the first problem had occurred after the jump; whereupon, the fae had found that he really, really didn’t know the mechanics of flying, and that trees were filled with branches to snag one’s wings and keep them from doing their supposed job. Then, the most problematic aspect of the jump had been sticking the landing.

He landed on his arm.

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

From under his brown hood, Fenn’s antennae and ears drooped back in a most sullen way as he marched into the nearest town, staunchly ignoring the tears welling up in his eyes. His right arm carefully cradled his left, which he had wrapped up in his cloak in a hazy attempt to keep it from jostling around too much. It was probably for the best that it was hidden from sight. The purple-black bruising, the occasional bead of black blood from his cuts, the way that the forearm’s shape was… moderately awful, suggesting a bone that had compounded, had cracked and bent? Yeah, he didn’t want to see that any more than he had to. As much as he hated to admit it, it was beyond his meager medical expertise. He knew how to treat gashes. How to bandage cuts, how to drive off fevers, how to rest in the face of illness. But bones? Bones were beyond him. Frost speckled the street under his feet, a nervous effusion he couldn’t control even under the best of circumstances, let alone while he was in pain.

The problem was, he didn’t exactly know where to locate an… oh?

What was that he spied?

The mite puck’s antennae twitched as he read the crude banner hanging over an even cruder stand. A healer? Fuck, yes! And likely, the sort of place where too many embarrassing questions wouldn’t be asked. It seemed a haphazard and temporary affair. The young man running the counter bore a slim figure and dark ears characteristic of the nekojin of Akishima. With each passerby that wandered his way, his gold eyes flashed first with nervous excitement, and then disappointment as they ignored him and kept on going.

Fenn did not keep going. Fenn stopped right in front of the young mortal.

Bright, solid green eyes peered up over the countertop, accompanied by a shock of white-blonde hair. The fae considered communicating his thoughts via Gesture, the fascinating sign-language he had recently picked up on, but he frowned at the thought. No; his injured arm was not nearly in the shape for that. The young nekojin might not know the language anyway. It wasn’t exactly common. Instead, Fenn propped his injured limb up on the stand, reached out over the top of the misshapen counter and laid a hand on the wood. Frost spiraled out from his touch. With a sense of brevity and in deformed lettering, he scrawled in the icy dusting, conveying his plight. Damnit, why’d he have to go and break his dominant hand?

“You fix bone?"

As dawn rose on another rainy day in Radasanth, the air had a sickly sweet smell to it amid the splashing drizzle. Puddles the size of small ponds enveloped the cobblestone streets, their mirky waters mixed with sand and mud; early morning travelers were weary and kept careful footfalls to dance around their sides. Occasionally, a mule-drawn cart would brave their depths before slogging to a halt, only for its driver to have to get out to wade in the knee-depth waters and help their beasts of burden push across. The hustle of Corone's capital was stalled today; the usually busy shops were empty of their clientele, who sought shelter in their homes or workplaces to avoid what seemed like a never-ending storm. All was quiet, save the pitter patter of raindrops and inevitable splash of a puddle.

In a turned over barrel nearby, in an alley just off the main street, a tiny fit off coughing was heard. Morus awoke again, as he had many times in the night, his whole body shaking in the nest he had made for himself. The slight boy seemed more exhausted than usual as he slowly donned his tunic and sleeveless jacket to reluctantly greet the day. He was more pallid than usual, with sweat dripping down his brow and a furious fever felt on his forehead. The night before, as many recent nights, had been hell for him. A sore throat scratchy from coughs had made each breath a chore. His body trembled now and then in uncontrollable fits.

”I hope its the plague,” he thought, though truthfully he was scared of how long the sickness had lasted. Doctors in the city charged exorbitant rates just to be seen, and temple healers were something the boy never trusted; too often their cures were mildly effective, and came with far too much preaching for the waif's liking. Instead, he hoped to escape the city for a few days and make his trek to the country side. His knowledge of local flora was a boon to him, as he knew of a few healing herbs that could be brewed or smoked to, at least, alleviate some of his symptoms.

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

The sun shone high in the sky outside the capital, and the rain seemed just a distant dream the further away he walked. Humming cicadas sung in rhythm, heralding the heat and increased humidity of the simple country pathway the boy found himself on. It was a simple dirt path, surrounded on all sides by verdant bushes and bushels of flowers in bloom. Sweet smells were abound in the air, but Morus could only guess as to what they were like with how stuffed up his nose was; wiping it against his jacket's collar had become a futile effort. While their dirt road was easier on his feet than the stone and wood planks of Radasanth, Morus still felt exhausted from the walk. Hours of lumbering like a ghoul had taken a further toll on his condition, and he had yet to find any of the herbs he desired.

At his side, he'd filled his bag with a few bottles of ale he could steal before he had left the city, perhaps the quickest and simplest remedy to ease his symptoms and bring some enjoyment out of the entire affair. He had his pipe with him too, but truth be told he hadn't had the courage to use it again after he hacked up something with the most unpleasant color and odor.

Just off in the distance, a bit down the road from where he was, Morus spied a curious little stand. As the boy moved closer, he could see a sign for a traveling medic, an oddity to say the least as they didn't often just set up between towns. There were, of course, a dozen small villages that could easily be reached by walking from where it was, but most of them sought help from the established healers embedded in the hamlet, or else made the long journey to the city itself. Perhaps stranger still was the nekojin running the stand, the type of person that was far more common to see in Akishima than in the middle of nowhere.

”Worth a try.” Morus had always healed himself in the past, but found the very thought of picking his own medicinal herbs exhausting at the moment. But as he lined up for the queue, actually just one other person ahead of him, he spied a familiar looking creature.

Person after person filtered by my little stand, and it seemed like not a single one of them was actually interested in my wares or advice. I mean, yes, some of them did stop by close enough to check out what I had available in terms of reagents and such, but… none of them really needed help. Sniffles, for the most part. Though some did apparently have an ‘overwhelming sense of doom’ but… well. I was, despite the fact that I had a traveling stand and practice, not a quack, to try selling curealls to people who didn’t really have anything wrong with them. I was a licensed Healer, damn it!

My tail lashed behind me as I stared after yet another person just casually walking away from me. What did I have to do to actually get people’s attention? Dress up in some skimpy - wait. What in the name of all the kami is that thing? My eyes widened as I watched the.. Thing, approaching my stand.

He, it? was short, shorter than me and that was saying something. Fairly humanoid structure: bilateral divide, arms, legs, torso and head all normal. The differences though - antennae that were twitching and bobbing from its forehead, insectoid and mildly disturbing; fluttering brown wings from its back, and a pair of eyes that were entirely too large for its face. I couldn't deny to myself that I had a slight urge to chase after this insectoid human, but easily quashed down that old remnant of nature.

Pushing away the urge to chase and swat at the being is when I noticed the fact that the humanoid had a broken arm. It strode right up to me before laying its good arm on top of my wooden counter, those unnatural green eyes staring at me. A slight chill running across my arms made me look down - and my tail shot up behind me when I realized that a layer of ice had formed on top of the wood. Tradescript was etched into it, by the being’s finger - letters forming words, a question. I blinked a few times.

“I - ah, yes, yes I do. One moment!” Broken bone then. I scurried over to my case and dragged it open. My eyes flicked back and forth, and my fingers plucked out things as I spotted them. Thin strips of wood, two small pieces of metal, and a roll of fabric. Damn, cloth was starting to run low, I need to get more soon. Supplies in hand I moved back over to the being, stepping around my counter so we were on the same side. Normally being behind the counter would have been fine - but with both of us being this short, I couldn't set the bone from behind my stand.

“I - I'm sorry. I don't have any anesthetics, so this is going to hurt. Are you OK with that?” I'd run out of that the other day and hadn't had time to go harvest more of the plants that made up my general purpose anesthetics. My eyes flicked to the wood - where its ice still sat, it would probably reply there.

The sound of faint coughing made my ears flick to the side, and my head swiveled around as I saw a rather haggard young man walk up. This one was human, or looked it at least - and looked fairly young. He was taller than me, though that was not saying much. He looked rough - physically worn, and there was a redness to his nose and upper lip. He didn't seem overly sickly - possibly some kind of infection, or a cold? I frowned and began processing him in the back of my mind.

“One moment young sir, I'll be with you once I can help this… Individual?” How did one refer to an insectoid human that has ice powers?

Wince. “No anesthetics” seemed like an utterly unforgivable occurrence to Fenn. Then again, his other option was to wander around looking for another physician to fix his mess of an arm, and he didn’t feel like continuing to leg around. Quite the opposite. A part of him was ready to faint on the spot, to simply swoon himself straight into the dirt; “high pain tolerance” was not a quality he possessed in the absence of adrenaline, alcohol, or anger.

”Fine so long as you work fast,“ he wrote, with a weak and wide-eyed nod. What kind of healer didn’t have anesthesia?

Well, maybe a poor one. Or an overworked one. Or, a hack. Hopefully this healer was not the latter; because if he was, a rather cranky fae would probably decide to share the pain around, one way or another… maybe financially, with a magical pickpockety wave of his one hale hand…

A fit of coughing and a nervous reassurance from the flashing-eyed nekojin startled the fae out of his only-slightly-sadistic musings. Fenn’s ears and gaze flicked in the direction of his fellow patient. Behind him stood a sullen, patchily-dressed waif, with dark hair and blue eyes (slightly red and puffy from whatever ailment was troubling him in turn). He seemed harmless, if a bit on the glowery side, but… wait. Half a second of suspicious squinting passed between Fenn and the mortal adolescent. That was… a figure he recognized, definitely. Even with his recent memory fuckery. Though, no, he surely didn’t recognize this boy from any earthly encounter. It was a bit more hazy than that. Was this a figure he recalled from the depths of his dreams?

Recognition clicked into place. A voiceless wheeze of a gasp escaped the confines of the little puck’s body. Morus!

Thoughtlessly, Fenn reached out and greeted his fellow nightmare-endurer with a very sudden one-armed hug. Squish! Morus’ physical being was quite like his dreaming projection of himself; slightly boney underneath all the mismatched clothing. And he smelled faintly of bitter spirits — somehow the most fitting scent one would expect to hang about him.

It took the fae but a tick of the town square’s clock to realize his mistake. The momentum of his embrace had allowed for his battered arm to slip from its position atop the ramshackle stand. A jolt of fresh, hot pain struck him, along with a spot of color-speckled darkness in front of his gaze.

Of course.

Shooting Morus a nervous, woobly grin that almost passed for a “hello it is nice to see you”, or a “how have you been”, or “wow so you aren’t dead or perhaps a figment of my imagination”, Fenn found that the powdery tan dirt underneath his bare feet had begun to rush up at him.

There was a delirium in his sickness, an inkling thought in the back of his mind that wondered if he would ever be healthy again. Every footfall had been a monotonous agony only made tolerable by a complete lack of the concept of time moving forward. Spotting the healer's stand had brought a cool relief to his fevered brow, though catching sight of the fae had brought with it a whole host of memories. He remembered the youthful looking Fennik from the dreaming, where the pair had battled against an unknown demon who fed upon the dreams of the unsuspecting.

It was a surprise to see him again, and an even larger surprise to see the sorry state he was in. The fae clutched at his left arm like a parent carefully carrying their child. It had an odd shape to it, almost unnatural in the way it bent.

”A broken arm,” he thought through heavy eyelids. ”How lucky.”

Before he could speak, a slight coughing fit took over he chest and rocked his body a bit. Thick walls of mucus inside he coated his throat and gave his fit the deep timber of someone much larger and unrecognizable. The coughing caught him so off guard that he didn't notice Fennik's arms wrapped around him in a friendly embrace at first. As the mortification set in, the fae quickly broke off to care for his arm again, no doubt inflamed from the impromptu hug. There was an awkward exchange of glances between the two of them, but Morus soon noticed something was wrong in the large green eyes of his friend.

As Fennik began to collapse to the floor, the waif rushed forward with all the strength his tired limbs would allow him and attempted to catch the fae. He did his best to lift him back up to his feet, but found through feverish eyes and a heavy chest he just didn't have the power needed, and instead helped to gently lower him to the soft earthen path below. He tried his best to avoid the offending limb as to not agitate it further.

“A little help,” he shouted at the healer, his voice hoarse from his illness, as the fae slipped further onto the ground. Though still awake, it was evident the pain had made him feint. Trying his best to come up with a makeshift pillow, the waif had the ignoble idea of placing one of his bottles of spirits beneath his head to help prop him up. “Fennik,” he tried his best to keep the fae as conscious as he could.