abraxaslogs | Curiosity Killed the Cat [OPEN]

WHO: The Medicine Seller and anyone in Cadens.
WHAT: He's good and rested, and now it's time to get into reestablishing business as usual, exploration, acclimation, and bothering people.
WHEN: Throughout December.
WARNINGS: None for now!

[Hall of Natural Relics/Museum of Medicine]
[He'd headed for the Hall of Natural Relics first. More really as a precaution, just to see precisely what 'natural relics' might exactly entail here. ... Nothing too surprising, as it turned out. A natural history museum and, for the moment at least, little more than that. He'd show some particular interest in the preserved plants, and even more for whatever oddities that were on display, milling about those for far longer, but eventually his attention would wander elsewhere.

The Museum of Medicine would particularly captivate him, with no small amount of questions posed in regards to almost every exhibit on display. Once more however, his attention would zero in upon specifics: some rather direct and probing questions centered squarely around more gruesome matters; histories of unethical practices, past and present superstitions regarding illnesses, and less than pleasant natural cures. He didn't seem particularly shy about asking them either, though a respectful, neutral, almost coldly clinical tone was steadfastly maintained. Though that might have done very little to reduce the intensity of the questions themselves.]

[Tavern]
[Though the outfit he wore now was far plainer than what he'd normally have, that might not make him stand out any less. At least all that wild hair had been bound back and pinned up again, though there was really no fully taming it; flax colored curls and locks still finding a way to slip out here and there. He'd really have to get a proper bandanna back later... Nothing to be done, nor would be done ever, about the markings on his face though, and he made no effort at all to conceal them. Nor would anything be done about those long and pointed ears, apparently his method of working around his appearance was just plain and blunt apathy.

He'd arrived at the noisiest hour, at this particular tavern's absolute fullest, making pains to seek out a table that might give him a full and mostly uninterrupted view of the area. If it was empty? Well he'd just settle down then, no drink, no food, no attempt to blend in or look subtle. And if it was occupied? Well things became a bit more complicated, because he wasn't keen on finding a different spot. Rather, the occupant would find themselves no longer alone over here, the presence of the Medicine Seller pointedly... difficult to ignore, as he paused by the table.]

Excuse me... You aren't waiting for anyone, are you? [The tone just loud enough to be audible over the din, but otherwise soft, almost monotone in its sound.]

Threaded | Flat

[ The crowd doesn't bother her. In fact, knowing that occupying a noisy, bustling tavern will make her annoying to watch is almost amusing; Ciri hopes the guard tailing her tonight has a very frustrating time. Luckily, the tail isn't obvious, and the man won't do anything but keep an eye out from afar, probably suspecting Ciri doesn't even realize he's there. Irritating as it is to be constantly followed around by some unlucky member of the city guard, Ciri has resigned herself to the vague punishment for now. One would think that if Cadens really wanted to be rid of the bandits menacing its desert byroads, they wouldn't be so annoying about it when someone killed a few.

She has spent a lot of time at home recently, but tonight, on a whim, she is here. People at the market keep saying the drinks are worth the crowds.

...though she has not quite decided if they're worth a weird-eared stranger looming over her trying to get a seat. Perhaps. If the drink is free.

Ciri nods at the empty chair across the table. ]

Buy me a drink and seat's all yours.

[ Maxwell is a frequent visitor to the taverns. Not always the same tavern, but always the same seat: wherever he has the clearest view of every person and every exit in the place. He hasn't had much time to make enemies in this place, but old habits die hard when one lives the life he's led.

He grimaces slightly in the doorway when he notices a stranger already seated where we intends to go, but the expression doesn't last, quickly replaced by the genial look he sends the barkeep's way as he waves a casual and familiar greeting. ]

Evenin', Horus. The usual, if you don't mind. I'm good for the coin t'night.

[ He has a gruff smoker's voice, but it's friendly and loud, easily cutting through the din of boisterous conversation in the tavern. And he's dressed in all black, a somber contrast to the jaunty cadence of his speech. ]

You're in my spot, y'know.

[ He stops in front of the table, but only briefly, because then he settles down into a seat with an unsubtle grunt of appreciation for finally getting to rest his bones. Not across from the unusual stranger, but beside him. Like hell he's sacrificing his view. ]

I take it you're new here?

[ He gestures to all of the Medicine Seller's... everything. ]

Edited 2021-12-10 16:45 (UTC)

[The Museum of Medicine, such as it is, also has a small research library. As botany and medicine are oft intertwined, that is where Alucard has found himself, looking into the nature of several natural mosses he's caught growing on gravestones of late, and how best to manage them without being too harmful for the natural world.

Grave moss is, apparently, also a folk cure, which is a matter that has him rolling his eyes every so often as he takes careful notes, pencil moving at an unhurried pace.

He's exiting the library when a familiar shape passes by, the sign that Alucard emerges besides directing individuals to the library or to the Special Exhibition: Astronomy and Healing focused on the old reliance of star movements and how they used to factor into medical practice.

Or as much of Wallachia sees it, current medical trends. God, the 1400s are terrible.]

--Ah. You found your way here.