Brandywine Tavern

It wasn't often that Roxanne found herself with free time on her hands, but Naoki had ordered her to take a few days off from hunting, and so she'd obeyed. Not wanting to stay in her home for fear that the cat might come calling, Roxanne had decided to wander the burgeoning settlement only to find that there really wasn't very much to do. She'd gone to the ring to watch a few of the wrestling matches, but had decided that she could really only watch half-naked sweaty men embrace each other for so long before wishing she were at home with her book. She'd left and come to Port Argentium's pitiful excuse for a tavern, a little stall where she'd spent many an evening after a long day's hunt. Sitting beneath a thin awning, she sipped at a the salty, lukewarm kelp ale and wondered if she'd ever taste wine again. The kelp ale burned, but the buzz of alcohol helped her pretend that she might not be fated to starve to death on an island surrounded by idiots. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Glancing up from her mug, she glanced around at her fellow layabouts and wondered how many of them actually contributed to the community. Her neighbor Brisket Barnes was there, a bald, muscular young man who was little more than a ruffian. Were all of the others as useless as he was? What sort of person spent their days at a bar while everyone else worked, anyways? He seemed to be in the middle of some quiet but intense conversation with the bartender, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. Shaking her head, she put her face down in her arms and closed her eyes, wondering if she'd fall asleep. The previous night's dreams had been awful, just like all the ones before. She'd been sitting in a room with her childhood tutor, a decrepit old man that she'd referred to as "Mr. Onion" for his pale, papery skin. Mr. Onion had been demanding that she sing Merry Mary Marzipan, a children's rhyme that she hadn't been able to remember for the life of her. He'd been kindly at first, but every time she'd stuttered or made a mistake, he'd ripped a layer of that papery skin off of his face, revealing an angrier one beneath. With every missed word or forgotten line, he'd torn off face after face, each new visage more twisted with rage and hatred than the last until nothing was left but an unrecognizable ghoul that screamed gibberish at her as she'd sobbed and tried to sing. She'd woken up in a cold sweat and had been unable to get back to sleep. Not only had the nightmare shaken her too much to close her eyes, but she'd had that damned song stuck in her head, perpetually unfinished. That had been hours ago, and she'd still been unable to remember how the song went, leaving it stuck in her mind all day long. With her head still down on the table, Roxanne began to sing it softly, her voice muffled by her arms.

"Merry Mary Marzipan,
Never hugged or kissed a man,
Ran off in her stockings and
Got married to a goat-"

How had it gone after that? It had been so long since she'd heard it that she couldn't recall. She hadn't thought about the song in years, but for some reason not being able to remember was maddening. Maybe if she remembered the whole song, she'd be able to get it out of her head. Unfortunately, her sleep-deprived mind proved unwilling to disclose such information.

As he picked up the drink, Marks would be able to catch a few snippets of conversation between Brisket Barnes and Lane the bartender. They seemed concerned about the herbalist who lived next door, a woman who'd allegedly always had "all the good shit." Marks may have known the herbalist to be the curious sort, always trying new things and trying to come up with potions and brews to cure all manner of ailments. She hadn't been around the infirmary in a few weeks, nor had anybody unfortunate enough to try her cures. 

When Roxanne heard her name, she grunted noncommittally and looked up, ready to glare at whoever was talking to her until they decided to sit somewhere else. When she recognized the bearded, harried-looking face of the settlement's latest doctor, however, she gave a tired smile and nodded for him to join her. She liked Marks, always having thought of him as one of the few other people who seemed to be working themselves ragged trying to keep the settlement alive. He was a sharp one, smarter than the typical Port Argentium resident by a long shot, and so she didn't mind talking to him. Besides, he'd patched up a few of her cuts and scrapes that she'd acquired while out on the hunt and hadn't even made any unsettling comments about the quality of her flesh. She appreciated that in a doctor.

"Doctor Marks," she said, raising her mug to him in greeting. "Nice to see you without even having to get hurt first. You look like a man who could use a nice drink. Shame they've only got kelp ale."

She swirled the brownish, vaguely viscous fluid in the bottom of her mug and grimaced, but still drained it and raised the mug for another. She brought Lane enough meat on a weekly basis that he was pretty good about keeping her topped up, but it seemed that he was still engrossed in his conversation with Brisket Barnes.

"What's gotten you so worn, Dr. Marks?" she asked, rubbing at bleary, red-rimmed eyes and the dark bags beneath. "You look like someone wrung you out like a soggy towel. You get a lot of people today with upset stomachs from all the crab at the feast?"

The thought of the feast elicited a shudder, and she raised her mug to her lips only to find that it was still empty. While the crabs had been fine, having to talk to both Naoki and Grandma in such a short period of time had left her more than a little shaken. The horrors she'd witnessed in the woods had already left her out of sorts, and so the feast as a whole had been a less-than-pleasant experience for her. At least the crabs had been decent, if difficult to shell.

Venomous monsters lurking beneath the sea. Roxanne shuddered at the thought, her mind suddenly filled with images of spear-like spines and dark, endless water. There was a reason she hunted on land rather than going out on a fishing boat, after all. At least if she got injured or lost on land, there was a chance that she'd be able to crawl her way back to the settlement. At the very least, perhaps her body would be found. At sea, though...the thought of being dragged down to the depths or getting lost in the mist made her sick to her stomach. The kelp ale wasn't helping, but she still wished she had a refill. Where was Lane, anyways?

When Marks inquired about her sleep, she grimaced, avoiding his gaze. How long had it been? She couldn't quite recall the last time she'd had a good night's rest uninterrupted by horrific monsters, repressed traumas, or hooded figures demanding that she meet them in the field where the hands grew. As he leaned in to inspect her face, she instinctively leaned away, not wanting to be stared at.

"I'm just a little tired, that's all," she grumbled, glancing around at the other patrons of the makeshift tavern. "I suppose I haven't been sleeping too well, but that's hardly unique to me. I'm sure it's nothing serious, Doctor."

Roxanne, Marks would find, was a terrible liar. From the way she chewed on her lower lip to her fidgeting in her seat, everything about her body language made it clear that her sleeplessness was more serious than she was letting on. Realizing that she wasn't being even the slightest bit convincing, Roxanne looked up to the bartender and raised her mug to him again, hoping that his arrival would allow a change of subject. How was she supposed to tell Marks about her nightmares? He'd think that she'd gone mad. Maybe she was.

Lane the bartender finally made his way over, a pitcher of kelp ale in his hand and a worried furrow creasing his brow. He approached with the careful trepidation of a man who clearly wanted to ask something, stepping up hesitantly and giving the two a brittle smile. Brisket Barnes followed along behind him, casting a lascivious grin towards Roxanne as he approached. She pointedly ignored him, turning instead to Lane as he refilled her mug and topped off Marks' with the same salty, tepid beverage.

"Say, doctor," said Lane, lowering his voice and leaning in towards the two of them. "Have you seen that herbalist lately? Amber, or whatever her name is. I haven't seen hide nor hair of her in a while, and I'm starting to get a little concerned. She said she was working on some kind of salve to mend cuts and scrapes, but that was weeks ago."

He nodded towards the little house beside the soon-to-be brothel, its windows shuttered and chimney cold. 

Roxanne froze at Marks' mention of nightmares, suddenly terrified. How did he know? Did everyone know? Were her nightmares just a commonly-known fact that everyone was aware of but her? Surely not, she hadn't told anybody about them. Perhaps someone was watching her, then. Creeping into her house as she slept to watch her writhe in terror. Were they whispering the nightmares into her ears, stirring up horrific images in her dreams? As profoundly disturbing as the idea was, she almost wished that it were true. At least then there'd be a sensible reason behind all of it, something that she could deal with. It would mean that she wasn't insane, at the very least. That she wasn't like her mother.

Thankfully, the approach of the two men spared her any more questioning and subsequent paranoia. She never thought she'd ever be glad to see Brisket Barnes, but anything was better than wondering if everyone knew about the problems inside her head. Of course, the smile he gave her as he leaned across her table evaporated any possible gratitude like water droplets on a hot pan, but it was a nice moment while it lasted. She took another gulp of the kelp ale, wondering why the murky liquid wasn't doing anything to help quench her dry throat.

"You're looking a little tired, Roxanne," said Brisket Barnes, laying a meaty hand on her arm. "Maybe you should take a little rest, hmm? Want me to walk you back to your place? Actually, mine is a little closer. How about we-"

Roxanne jerked her arm away and shot to her feet, nearly knocking her mug off the table in the process. Stepping closer to Marks, she shook her head hurriedly, giving Barnes a withering glare.

"I'll come along to investigate, Doctor," she said, nodding towards the house. "Better to have two sets of eyes on it, hmm? It's probably nothing, but you never know."

She strode towards the house in question, her steps swift and purposeful on the sandy path. Not waiting for Marks or Brisket Barnes to follow, she walked up to the house and knocked on the door. Her knuckles made a series of dull thuds against the door, and but she received no response. Frowning, she tried the door. It opened half an inch and stopped, stuck fast. She pushed at it a little, feeling it give a little bit but not able to open it all the way.

"It's caught on something," she said, turning back to Marks. "Feels a little...squishy. I don't know, it's strange. You want to help me with this?"

Attempting to peer through the gap was hopeless, as something seemed to be blocking the doorframe. Had sheets been hung over the door? Roxanne couldn't tell.

Roxanne paused at Marks' touch, eyeing the door with a fresh sense of dread. The thought that she might have been slamming the door into the poor healer's body was more than a little unsettling, and she took a step back to catch her breath. It made sense, and it definitely felt as though it could have been a body back there. The fact that he'd thought of the possibility so quickly suggested that it was something that he'd seen before, and Roxanne wondered how many times the doctor had been called to a house too late to help. It was a morbid thought to be sure.

"The window," she said, nodding shakily. "Yes, of course. I'll try that. That's a good idea."

Why did she feel so unsteady? Surely she hadn't had that many mugs of kelp ale, had she? It had only been three...or was it four? Moreover, had she even eaten anything today? Regardless, she had work to do. As she tugged at the stuck shutters, however, Marks spoke again. She stopped, wondering if she'd heard him right. It smells like surgery...no wonder she never hung around with doctors, they were always saying strange things like that. One moment they seemed perfectly normal, the next they were commenting on how things "smelled like surgery" or how she had "exquisite bone structure." Doctors were a weird bunch. Still, she paused and sniffed, catching a faint hint of iron in the air.

"Smells like raw meat," she said, frowning. "Is that what you mean? It doesn't smell like anything's rotting, at least. That's a good sign. I think."

Pulling her hunting knife from its sheath, Roxanne slid it into the gap between the shutters and levered them outwards, prying one open with a sharp crack. As the shutter fell away, she frowned, not sure what she was looking at. The window was blocked by some sort of damp, reddish material, preventing any view of the interior. She stared uncomprehendingly for a few moments before a violent sense of horror and revulsion rose up in her throat and she realized what she was seeing. Reaching out a shaking hand, she poked the material, jerking her hand away as it twitched. Just as she'd feared, the window opening was blocked by what seemed to be a layer of raw, living flesh.

"M-marks," she stammered, trying not to be sick. "What is this? I...I've never seen anything like it. Is that flesh?"

As if in response, the flesh in the window bulged out, as though swelling with breath. It seemed to be a fairly thin layer, and would likely be easy enough to cut through.

Go find the guards, Marks had said. Who did he think he was, anyways? Did he expect her to run off and let him deal with things like some helpless maiden? Perhaps it was the kelp ale speaking, but she certainly didn't want to be relegated to running off and finding the authorities. She shook her head, glancing back over her shoulder at Brisket Barnes. The man gave her a wink and she shuddered, turning back to the window just in time to see Marks slide his scalpel through the membrane like he was opening a bag of grain. The flesh twitched and pulsed as he cut through it, but bled little. 

"I'm not letting you go in there yourself," she said, hefting the bag in one hand and drawing her hunting knife with the other. "This is far beyond a doctor's purview. What if there's something else in there with her? You can't handle that, not with that leg of yours."

She handed him the bag and clambered in through the slashed window, wrinkling her nose at the humid, iron-scented air within. The only light came from Marks' lantern and the sunlight shining in from the opening in the window, illuminating a scene from a nightmarish hellscape beyond her imagining. The interior of the house was unnaturally cramped, with walls and ceiling covered in several inches of thick, pulsating flesh. Pale, hairless skin covered every surface, marred here and there with open, seeping sores. Couches, tables, and other furniture were reduced to shapeless lumps beneath the flesh, which pulsated beneath their feet as they walked. Roxanne turned pale, raising a hand to her mouth and trying not to be sick.

"Do you really think she's still alive in here?" she asked, fingers tightening around the grip of her knife. "Do you think anything's alive in here? Besides...well, besides everything, I suppose."