WEEK 5 MINGLE - AMARANTHUS

[foundationmods]

Another trial, another horrible outcome.

This time, it affected so many people...and yet, they still weren't done.
Who would be killed next?
Would they be able...to handle whatever happened?🗈

Still, things were just the same as they had been the past few weeks.

The goats and servants were still around, and so too were the witches.
It was all becoming routine at this point.
Was that a good thing, or a bad one...?
It was...too hard to tell, now...

...Either way, they were now closer to the end.
So, like always...they had to see it through.


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Comments

[improbablenotimpossible]

[The light grin widens as he takes the glass, clinking it against Erhard's]

I knew it. I knew it.

[Then breathes out, gesturing loosely with his free hand]

So how does it feel to be an innocent man, Erhard?

[cryosurgeon]

Strange, honestly. I've lived with the guilt for so long, it doesn't feel real.

[He takes a sip of the liqueur. Sweet, creamy, strong... different from his usual, but he likes it. His smile fades a bit as he remembers the face from his memory, the familiar accent.]

At least there's a shadow cast by it to make it feel a bit more real, though. When the memory came back, I saw the real culprit.

[improbablenotimpossible]

[It's a little sweeter than he likes normally, but it would go well with a scotch, the man idly thought before he saw the fading smile, straightening up]

Someone you know?

[cryosurgeon]

... Professor Albert Sartre. My foster father.

[He takes another sip, contemplative but not as grim as he could have been, given the circumstances.]

Between him betraying me and my biological parents rejecting me, is it any wonder I don't understand the feelings normal people take for granted?

[improbablenotimpossible]

[And Holmes instantly disliked this man despite never meeting him or having a chance to]

While I have no such explanation. By god it seems that you have been given quite a raw deal.

[cryosurgeon]

Is it strange that I don't hate him? I don't feel anything toward him at all.

[Another sip, still with that contemplative expression.]

I don't even know why he did that to me. I don't think he was a terrorist... maybe the outbreak was an accident. But leaving me there to take the fall was definitely intentional. Why take me in as a child, only to abandon me then?

[improbablenotimpossible]

Cowardice perhaps, not wishing to take responsibility for what happened.

[If they would do that to minor, an adult would surely get worse treatment]

[cryosurgeon]

I guess it doesn't really matter now. As long as I stay with the Foundation, I don't have to go back to prison.

[He glances over at Holmes with his glass to his lips.]

You're staying with them too, right?

[improbablenotimpossible]

The Foundation? Yes, for a good while. There are things I need to do, and it may quite a bit of time... I will have to return to the Chaldea eventually.

[The way he said 'eventually', there was a note of hesitation there]

I am a man who cannot leave a job undone, so it might take years to finish things here.

[cryosurgeon]

[Years, huh? That could be a good thing, yes, but it could also be terrible depending on just how many years Holmes means. He sips the last of his drink and sets the glass down. Should they try something else now?]

Maybe we'll be able to work together in the field, then. I don't like the possibility of violence, but I think I'd feel safer with you around.

[improbablenotimpossible]

[He actually smiles at the thought, broad and bright, his peridot-colored eyes seem to sparkle, as he reaches over to a bottle of laphroaig, pouring it right into his current glass to see if he's right about it tasting good with the tiramisu liqueur]

I would like that, I do a mix of field and office work - depending on where our "superiors" -

[One could almost hear the fingerquotes]

believe my talents are needed.

[cryosurgeon]

They typically assign me to study SCPs that require medical supervision or intervention, though I've gone on a few field missions for the same reason.

[He offers his empty glass to Holmes, with the traces of the tiramisu liqueur still clinging to it. A more subtle blending than direct mixing, but he could use something a bit more bracing than sweet now.]

You're not still considered D-class, are you? I am, even if I've proven the value of my surgical skills several times over. I guess our true nature makes them prejudiced against most of us.

[improbablenotimpossible]

[Setting the D-class question aside so player can get a proper answer, as Holmes shook his head slightly at hearing Erhard's answer]

It's a crime how much they undervalue the skills those of us brought by 6350 bring for them. There are better ways, but they're too stubborn to see it without irrefutable proof.

[cryosurgeon]

I'm sure there are those who don't consider us human.

[He's starting to dissociate again at the thought. Shaking his head, he starts to steer away from the topic.]

It's something we can work on together when we return.

[improbablenotimpossible]

[He gives a quiet nod of assent at that, lifting his glass, his free hand resting on the bar, almost in easy reach]

Yes, and that's for the future - for now, we'll need to continue to uncover what secrets remain.

[cryosurgeon]

[Erhard gently taps his glass against Holmes's before drinking. He's very aware of the other man's hand resting near his on the bar, but not quite close enough for accidental contact. Purposeful contact would be too presumptuous, wouldn't it? Wait, why is he even considering it? They're colleagues and friends, casual contact isn't part of the package.

And yet Erhard's free hand inches over, his little finger brushing Holmes's own.]

[improbablenotimpossible]

[He chuckles slightly at the tap, the slight blend did taste... His eyes slowly closed, glancing to the side as he felt the brush of fingers against his own.

Sherlock didn't move his hand away. Instead, his fingers curls, lightly pressing against the curious little one]

[cryosurgeon]

[Holmes-- Sherlock-- isn't moving away. The slight response is almost encouraging. Maybe it's the alcohol, not enough to even make Erhard tipsy but perhaps enough to embolden him. How long has it been since anyone touched him even casually? Having his hands inside someone's chest isn't the same, even if he wasn't wearing gloves. This isn't a life-saving touch, it's not palpation or auscultation or manual realignment, it's just... contact, touch for the sake of it.

His little finger hooks gently over Sherlock's and remains there, the surgeon's eyes fixated on his glass as he sets it on the bar.]

[improbablenotimpossible]

[He lets his hand stay - it's been a little too long for him for these kinds of touches, for a moment flashing a sly smile over at Erhard]

Regardless of what happens the next two weeks, we can get through this.

[cryosurgeon]

I hope so. Please don't tempt fate by saying that, though.

[Normally he's not superstitious, but after everything that's been happening he's jumping at shadows.

What would happen if Sherlock was gone?

... ah, there's the tightness in his chest again, but it's a little different this time. Less burning, more aching and cold.]

If I thought the two of us staying together on Thursday night would help, I'd suggest it.

[improbablenotimpossible]

Hm, fair enough... I would not be opposed to the suggestion actually, even if as you said it's not guarantee.

[There's a slight color to his cheeks]

[cryosurgeon]

[Is Sherlock blushing? Erhard notices it out of the corner of his eye and makes the mistake of turning his head more toward the other man. The sight sends a flutter through him that warms his own cheeks.]

I... I wouldn't mind. You're welcome anytime, not just Thursday night.