Little Fame Monster

Let's spit on the graves of the dead! Show some respect.

Alex confusedly followed the Brightons’ maids down the mazes of hallways of the estate. She had never been in a home as grand as the Brightons’. Every of the many rooms she had glanced into whilst walking past was well furnished. Each window was adorned with luxurious, thick, velvet curtains tied back with golden string. The walls were adorned with beautiful patterns and paintings by contemporary art giants such as Delacroix and Manet that Alex was certain were originals. She was so busy looking about in awe that she didn’t notice that they had arrived in Alice’s room and the maid had stopped moving. She accidentally bumped into the maid who was propelled forward. Alex muttered a quick apology, but not before the maid shot her a scathing look. Alice was lying back in a king-sized bed with a bed frame that rose high behind her head, carved intricately with swirls. Seeing Alex, Alice nodded in appreciation at her maids, then waved all of them away, asking for a moment of privacy. As much as she was grateful for her maids and all their work, Alice knew that maids were the medium for the spread of gossip among the upper class. She didn’t trust the lot to keep their mouths shut except for Anne who, at times, acted like her surrogate mother. When she was confident that the maids were out of earshot, she spoke, “You don't have any idea how amazing this feels, to finally not be in constant pain. I can promise you this Alexandra, you and your father will never, ever go without food on the table again. But if you would be so kind, I have a question to ask.” Alex nodded her head. “Be quiet about it, I don't want William to hear, but, after I was hit from that rat-creature's tail. What happened to me? I have an idea, a horrible dream that I pray to God isn't true. But... what happened to me? And...do you think its gone for good? I... I'm worried about my headaches.” Alice was afraid to directly ask Alex what had happened, for what she recalled of her dreams seemed to be impossible. She feared repeating what she had seen and for Alex to commit her into a mental ward. Alex grew uneasy hearing Alice speak of Vassago’s transformation. Part of her still believed that last evening’s events had been a result of hallucinations from fear or a bad batch of the tonic, despite the fact that she knew perfectly well what [I]had[/I] gone on had really happened. It was just hard to accept, considering Alice’s transformation from her disease, if it really was a disease, defied medical science and logic. Alex had always considered herself practical. Unlike most, she didn’t put much stake into religion or superstition. Hard science had always explained how the world worked to Alex. Alice’s transformation had proven some of the superstitions of who she considered “fools” true and Alex’s grasp of her reality—everything she had held to be true—seemed to be disintegrating. More unsettling to her was that she had no idea how to help Alice. Demonic possessions obviously fell out of her field of expertise. However, if the processes behind Alice’s transformation wasn’t caused purely by magic and were catalyzed by some scientific means, there could be some sort of tonic developed to block these processes and in theory, prevent Alice from changing. “Mrs. Brighton, what I’m about to tell you will sound unbelievable, and I may sound like I need to be institutionalized, but everything is what I saw,” Alex began quietly, averting Alice’s eyes. “After the man—Vassago—he attacked you… you changed as well. You grew in size, your skin turning into the same sheen as marble. You grew wings. You… you became a… a [I]demon[/I]. You tore Vassago to pieces.” She paused uneasily, not wanting Alice to feel that she was a murderer. “I shot at Vassago with George’s pistol and he came after me. You saved my life. Then you flew off, and I took one of the carriage horses to follow you. I looked for you in those woods all night. Obviously, I didn’t find you until the morning.” Alice felt sick and something cold situated in the pit of her stomach. She had been hoping that all she had dreamed was a side effect of the medicine that Alex had given her. Alex had collaborated her hallucination. “And… and the headaches? Will they go away? Will…” she lowered her voice. “Will the demon go away?” She saw Alex’s brows furrow and any hope she had evaporated. “I can’t say for certain. Obviously, demonology is not a topic I’m familiar with. If it is indeed a possession and what we have heard in superstition is true, possession does not end so easily,” she sighed. “I wish there was more I could tell you, Mrs. Brighton, but I can’t quite believe what’s happened has happened myself.” She was worn ragged from last night’s excitement and from the lack of sleep. She had been coasting on a rush whilst searching for Alice, but now that they were both back in safety, she could feel the exhaustion tinging at her eyes and her head felt heavy and she only could hold herself up by pure effort. She massaged her temples and sighed. Alice could see Alex’s exhaustion and frowned. “Alexandra, you can rest here for today and return home whenever you wish.” Alex shook her head, “It’s kind of you Mrs. Brighton, but my father will be returning from York soon and I should be home when he does. I’ll be sure to speak to him about your symptoms and see if he has any ideas for a cure. If we find anything, I will find you immediately. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to find us.”

Red eyes locked onto brown for a few moments as the harpy hovered in a stationary position in the air. Alex stared back, pistol raised and her finger hovering over the trigger, ready to pull it at any second. Surprisingly, the harpy hadn’t made any motion to attack her and had even saved her when Vassago charged her, fangs bared and ready to tear her to pieces. She sighed and lowered the pistol, knowing that somewhere in the demon that a semblance of Alice Brighton remained, and that as long as that the spark of humanity existed, she would never be able to shoot the demon. The harpy broke off eye contact first, flapping her wings and catching the breeze so that she soared high into the air. Alex watched as what was once Mrs. Brighton flew away into the darkened London sky. She quickly tied the whip that was still in her left hand to her trousers, and stuffed the pistol into her trouser pocket. She ran back towards the carriage and began unbridling one of the leading horses, a brown mare of about sixteen hands high. The harpy may not have killed her, but nothing stopped her from possibly harming others. There was also the possibility that Alice may somehow recover from her condition and return to her human form. Alex hated to imagine how scared she would be, alone in tatters for clothes, confused as to how she ended up in such a state. Alex undid and threw aside the reins, which jingled slightly as they fell to the floor. Luckily, her riding skills were decent, having traveled often on horseback with her father to see patients outside of London. Her father didn’t have the money to afford a carriage and pay the carriage driver. Still, she had ridden with a saddle and a bridle all those times. This time, she had only the horse’s mane to hold onto and steer with. The mare knickered quietly as she pet its mane gently, before grabbing a hold of it and swinging her body with all her might to mount the horse. She had just swung her leg over the horse enough to allow her momentum to slide her into place on the mare’s back. Looking up, she could still see Alice flying off into the distance, wings illuminated only by the waning moon. She gently kicked the horse with her right boot heel, and she responded by moving forward into a slow trot. Alex brought her heel down again and the horse accelerated into a swift gallop. Riding the mare without a saddle was not as quite as comfortable as it would be had Alex had a saddle, and with no reins to hold onto, Alex was afraid of being thrown off the mares back with nothing to help her break her fall. She soon found herself galloping out of the city, moving quickly towards some nearby woods. She never took her eyes off Alice, who continued to hover towards the forest. It was possible that Alice maintained some self-awareness and was flying away from the city to prevent herself from killing any innocents. The thought comforted Alex, who now was certain that her decision to not shoot Alice was the right one. Suddenly, the harpy tilted her wings to the side and began dipping into the trees. After a few moments, she had flown below the cover of the leaves and branches and was visible no more. Uttering a curse and grabbing the pistol from her pocket for protection, Alex guided the mare headlong into the thick trees and the unknown. As she rode through, a large branch smashed her squarely in the face and she almost lost grip on the mare’s mane. She tugged hard, and the mare slowed down to a half-gallop. At the slower pace, she was able to observe the forest in more detail. The tree branches and leaves grew together so densely at the canopy that the light of the moon and the stars was masked, and everything was thrown into a blue-silvery haze. “Mrs. Brighton?!” she called out, hoping that the sound of her voice would attract the harpy. She also hoped that there were no large animals present in the forest that would also be attracted to her voice and end up mangling her. She was met with a response of a quick fluttering of wings from behind her. She turned around with unease and squinted into the darkness, her eyes not yet adjusted to the low light. Waiting, she heard nothing except the sound of the mare’s steady hoof beats and crickets. “Alice! If you can hear me, answer!” she yelled again. She tilted her head, focusing hard, praying that she would get some sort of response. None came and she guided the horse forward in the direction that she hoped that Alice had landed in. *** After an entire night of searching, Alex was ready to give up, believing that Alice had perhaps flown off into the night soon after landing and that the trees provided a dense enough cover so that Alex could not see her. She muttered an expletive, tugging on the horse’s mane to turn the horse around, but by some act of God, the mare didn’t respond and continued trodding slowly forward past another group of trees. Alex found herself in a clearing, where the threes didn’t grow quite as thickly. She felt the morning sunlight directly hit her face as she glanced around the clearing. Her heart jumped when she saw Alice’s form on the ground, tangled amidst a mess of greenery. Sometime in the night, Alice had morphed back from the demon. She was a mess. Her face was smeared with dirt and mud and her dress was caked with dried blood. Her transformation into a harpy had stretched and ripped the beautiful red dress she wore. Now it hung on her like strips of fabric, particularly down her back where the harpy’s wings had torn through. Alice was awake, and turned her head to face Alex. The moment she saw Alex, she cried out, “Alexandra! Alexandra! What… what happened? Where am I? What’s going on?” As she said this, Alex stopped the horse and leapt off its back. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she ran, her feet pounding to close the gap between them. She came to Alice and kneeled down into the vines and leaves, sighing in relief to see that Alice was fine. “Mrs. Brighton?” she gently helped the blond woman sit up, one hand supporting her back. Before Alex could even answer her questions, Alice frantically threw herself at Alex in an embrace for comfort, which the younger woman returned with a few awkward pats. “The last thing I remember was being thrown into a wall by that man… and trying to drink the tonic. And there was just… just pain,” she paused, tears rolling down her face. “Where… where are we?” Alex pulled out of the embrace. “Come Mrs. Brighton. I know everything’s confusing right now, but we need to get you back home. Your husband must be frantic.” She spoke with the most soothing voice she could muster, although her own heart clenched with unease after recalling yesterday’s events. She wondered how she could explain what had happened to Alice without being thrown into an insane asylum. “Come on, take my coat before you catch the death of you in the cold.” She peeled off her giant coat and offered it. Alice gratefully took it, too tired and scared to even care of how dreadful a scandal it would be seeing her dressed like this… with a man’s coat. Her mouth twisted into a bitter grin when she saw the state of her dress. Alex’s coat at this time was the [I]best[/I] thing she had on. “Come now,” Alex hopped up onto her feet nad offered her hand. “Let’s get you chome and safe.” Home sounded absolutely wonderful right now. She could do with a good scrubbing in the bath. Alice looked up at the girl and smiled, taking her hand without a moment’s hesitation. *** Will Brighton paced up and down the length of his bedroom in the Brighton estate worriedly, his haggard face covered in a five o’clock shadow when it was usually clean-shaven. He had returned home in a good mood, anxious to see Alice again. Instead of being greeted with a loving kiss from his wife and eating a nice dinner, Will Brighton entered the estate and found Anne sitting on the living room couch weeping, being questioned by the Chief Inspector of London. It was then that he heard that Alice was missing. Her carriage had been found empty. One of the horses from the carriage was missing and two bodies were found. One was identified as George Caraway, the kindly old carriage driver that Will was quite fond of, who had been stabbed in the heart. Strangely, his pistol and whip were both missing. The other was a still unknown man, who had been mangled so badly that he was unidentifiable. All that was found of Alice was tatters of red dress in a nearby alleyway along with a shattered glass bottle and some blood. There had been no eyewitnesses to the crime, but there were those nearby who reported that they had heard almost inhumane screams and a gunshot. Will hoped that Alice had somehow been the one who had taken George’s whip and gun, had untied the horse, and escaped to safety. He knew that this was a pipe dream and that most likely, Alice was dead. He ran his hands through his short, curly, brunette hair. He buried his face into a palm and groaned. The thought of Alice dying caused his throat to close up and eyes to sting. He couldn’t even bear to think of life without seeing her face, her blue eyes shining, and hearing her laugh. “Mr. Brighton!” Anne stopped abruptly at the doorway, jolting him out of his thoughts. She was out of breathe and clearly very excited. “What is it?” he tried to keep the irritation out of his voice, for there was no reason to be angry at Anne. “It’s Mrs. Brighton, sir. She’s alive and well. She’s here!” Will didn’t even bother to hear the rest of what she had to say and ran past her into the antechamber. There she was. Her dress was torn hideously into strips, her body and face covered in filth, and her hair a tangled mess with vines and leaves caught in some of the scraggles. Despite all this, she was still Alice, his beautiful Alice. All of the worry that had built up from last night had instantly dissipated the moment he laid his eyes on her. He turned and noticed a tall, lanky girl, dressed strangely in men’s clothing who was standing next to her. The girl had Alice’s arm draped over her shoulders as she helped support Alice. His heart leapt and the moment felt surreal. He dashed forward and swept Alice up into an embrace, burying his head into her hair. “Oh God… oh God,” he groaned with relief. “Thank God. Alice, I thought I had lost you.” He gently stroked her tangled hair, and then pulled back to look at her tear streaked face, running a finger along her face lovingly. “Alice… where in God’s name have you been?”

[quote name='TheListener' timestamp='1294527501' post='2568943'] I go to a smaller university and I can name 2 other players... one of which is actually allied to me and the other I formed an alliance with, granted I've never met them IRL... [/quote] I know there's bound to be someone who plays CN here, but I have yet to meet anyone on CN who goes to university in Southern California.

I was often reminded of CN during history class when we talked about the Commonwealth of Sovereign Nations or NATO. The Soviet-German Non-Aggression Pact always reminded me of useless treaties. There are also times when things pop up in conversation that a CN player once said online and it kind of makes me double take and wonder if the person I'm speaking to plays CN as well. However, going to a university with over 30000 people, I have yet to find anyone who also plays CN. Also, any time I see something with Pacific, I think Pacifica (which is often since I live on the Pacific side of the US.)

Alex’s first thought as the carriage stopped was of George, who had been brutally stabbed just moments before. She didn’t even stop to think as she leapt from the carriage to help him. As soon as her feet touched the cobbles, she rushed and bent down to help. She grunted with exertion and flipped George’s body face up. The blood’s smell of iron immediately overloaded her senses and she had the urge to retch. Vassago’s aim had been true. The knife had been buried right into the carriage man’s heart. As Alex laid his body face up, his head had lolled bonelessly against the street. His glassy eyes gazed upwards at the sunless sky as thick, bright red artery blood spilled down his coat from the puncture wound. The killer had either punctured George’s heart or had pierced the pulmonary artery. Even then, George might have lived with immediate medical attention, had the killer not flung him into the streets, where the fall had pushed the knife deeper into his body, either completely severing the artery or entering into one of the heart’s four chambers. Still, such a fall had made George’s death relatively fast and painless. She looked down, lost in George’s empty gaze, watching the red slowly spreading across his coat and pool around his body. She became aware of a quiet drip, drip, drip… and looked down. The blood from George’s mouth was sliding off of the side of his face onto the ground. She wondered for a moment why the street was so damn quiet, and why nobody was coming to help. Looking around, she realized that, from the broken down buildings and a nearby dirty alleyway, that this was an extremely poor section of London where few dared to venture beyond desperate prostitutes and hardened criminals. She then could feel panic rising as she realized that the insane man could still be around. For all she knew, he could be biding his time in the shadows waiting to slit open her throat. A shriek cut through her thoughts, causing her heart to jump into her throat. The voice sounded like Alice’s. She jolted again when the horses all stamped their hooves with unease, jerking the carriage forward so that the giant spoke wheels of the cart turned forward onto George’s corpse. She heard his bones break grotesquely from duress under the weight of the carriage and Alex could feel bile rising up her chest. George’s dead body shifted, his head falling to the right so that his empty gaze rested on Alex, unnerving her. Panic once again nestled into her gut and she was ready to turn and flee. She then remembered what her father had taught her from his battle experience in Afghanistan. It was natural to be scared, John Walton had said, but panic was the destroyer of clear thought and got people killed. Alex knew she needed to defend herself and Mrs. Brighton. She was carrying nothing on her except the sovereign Alice had given her as payment. She then looked down at George. He had been Mrs. Brighton’s carriage driver. It was illogical for him to have such an important passenger and remain unarmed. She patted his still-warm corpse, trying to guide her mind away from macabre thoughts that rose as she did this. He was carrying a pistol in a holster and a whip, both at his right side. She had never used a whip in her life, and it had been years since her father had taught her how to shoot a gun. Still, both were better than nothing. With bloody hands she untied the coiled horsewhip from his side and pulled free the pistol. Another scream cut through the air, and she snapped her head in its direction, hands fumbling to check the pistol’s chamber for bullets. She raised her head just in time to see Alice thrown an impossible distance down an alleyway. She blinked and shook her head, wondering what the [I]Hell[/I] the man was to possess such super power and speed. Vassago began to approach Alice where she had fallen. She knew something was unnatural. There was something bursting from the back of his coat… Alex watched in horror as the man sped forward towards Alice Brighton, his face contorting and elongating. His ears peeled backwards onto his head and jutted sharply into a point. He fell forward on all fours, but continued to scramble forward on hands that sprouted fur. His fingers enlarged before closing together to form some sort of paw. There was a tearing noise as his clothes became tatters under his transformation. The man who had been there moments before had been replaced by a giant rat-like beast. For a moment, Alex wondered if she had inhaled too much of the fumes of Alice’s tonics whilst mixing them. This had to be some sort of hallucination. It was also possible that the hallucination was trauma induced. After all, she had just witnessed a murder. She may have been used to death, but she had never seen so much blood. She feared for Alice’s life and began sprinting after the beast, pistol raised. She was no marksman and she was too far away to make the shot count. She had only six bullets in the pistol’s chamber and then… She glanced down at the whip. She didn’t know how to wield it, so it had to be a last resort. She hoped to down the beast with the bullets, or at least slow it down enough to find help. She saw Alice, doubled over in pain, raise up her right hand, holding the painkiller that she had been prescribed. The blond woman seemed to stop mid-motion, as if confused, and then the glass shattered in her hands, the tonic mingling with blood and glass on the alley floor. Alex watched her seize and stare at her hand in wonder. After a moment, Alice joined her in such wonder. She could hear, even from fifty feet away and with her feet pounding hard on the cobbles, the bones and joints in Alice’s hands snapping and popping as her fingers elongated and curled like claws. Alice screamed again as her face contorted next. The scream halfway cut off and went from high pitched and human into a deep-throated rumble that echoed across the empty street. The laces of her bodice ripped and the seams of the red dress she had on groaned as Alice’s rib cage expanded. Similar rips in seams showed all across her dress as her entire skeletal structure expanded and muscles tore, new and larger sinews building upon her bones, making her entire body more powerful and bulkier. New bones ripped through the back of the red dress and slowly grew, and unfurled as leathery, bat-like wings. Alice now no longer was the beautiful blond aristocrat that Alex recognized. Her skin was now ashen gray, dark veins hideously showing through and fangs protruding forth from pale-red lips, the only color left on her face now except her dark red eyes. Just as the transformation finished, the rat beast came barreling into Alice, fangs gnashing to try and bite her. To Alex’s surprise, Alice bore the full force of the beast’s tackle, grabbing the monster by its fur. The man-beast shook itself free, using its ultra long tail like a whip and smashing it into the harpy-like demon, who was then thrown backwards into the wall of the alley way. She was thrown at such a force that some of the bricks behind her cracked under the pressure and snapped so that part of the wall crumbled. Not shaken for even a moment, the she-demon charged forward at the rat beast, fangs bared in a snarl and claws at the ready. The rat, again attempting to use its tail, snapped it forward to attack, but this time, the demon was ready. She caught the rat’s tail with a claw and using all the force she could muster, swung him. The rat beast emitted a high-pitched wail, so high of a decibel that Alex, who had stopped nearby and watched the battle with mouth agape, gun still raised in one hand, bent over and held onto her ears in agony. Whipping the beast above her head by his tail, the demon slammed him into the alley wall. Moving quickly before the beast could regain his orientation, the she-demon grabbed the beast’s tail again with two claws and pulled in opposite directions. He shrieked again as the two sections of the tail she gripped separated. Sinews ripped, spraying droplets of crimson all over the alleyway as the beast writhed the remains of his tail in agony. Alex finally snapped back to attention when she felt blood raining on her. Disgusted, she leveled the pistol in the direction of the two battling monsters. She had the gun pointed at the rat beast, but Alice—no, the she-demon reached forward for the rat beast, moving into Alex’s sight line. The doctor’s daughter hesitated, not knowing which beast to target. She knew that the rat beast had once been Vassago and should be killed, but would the harpy demon remember her identity as Alice Brighton, or would she rampage through the streets? Alex sincerely hoped she was just hallucinating all this. Still, the red streaks running down her face and hands from the rat beast certainly felt and smelled too real to be a simple hallucination… She sighed, turning her pistol to the rat beast once more, praying that Alice still retained a semblance of humanity in this demon form, cocked the gun, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.

A quiet ping echoed through the small room as fingernail came in contact with golden sovereign, force emitted from a finger powerful enough to launch the coin high into the air. It arced through the air, spinning so quickly it gave the illusion of a perfect golden circle. The honeyed colored face of Queen Victoria, etched into the metal, hung spinning in the air for a moment before gravity took hold of it and flung it back downwards towards the earth. Before the coin came crashing down to the floor, a deft hand reached out caught it, gently cupping it for a few seconds before flicking it upwards into open air again. Sitting cross-legged in the midst of a pile of books and papers next to the desk in her father’s study, Alex had wasted no time in researching Mrs. Brighton’s disease. An hour’s search had proven fruitless. Her father’s collection of medical texts were by no means deficient, but in such a case of a disease as rare as Miss Brighton’s, Alex needed access to resources that could only be founded in a university. Her inquiries into Mrs. Brighton’s dreams also proved futile. Her father was a physician specializing in cardiac surgery and he had very few texts specializing in the neurosciences. The field of the human psyche was also in its infancy. Only recently had more work been done to understand why human behavior twisted itself so in some individuals as to cause such radical actions as seen with psychosis patients. She flicked the coin upwards with her thumb and caught it once more before reaching for yet another medical text. She grabbed a hefty text bound in a simple black cover. She flipped it open and stared at a title of Vorlesungen über die Menschen -und Tierseele by Wilhelm Max Wundt. She blew air of out of her cheeks in frustration. She didn’t know quite enough German to decipher whether or not this text would be useful. She just knew the name of the author, Wilhelm Wundt, a well-known authority in the practice of psychology. She glanced down at the sovereign in her hand, one out of the many that Mrs. Brighton had handed to her before leaving. Alex had only stared in awe of the sum of money in her hand as Alice Brighton rushed off. Eight sovereigns wasn’t much, but it was definitely worth far more than the medicine Alex had prescribed. The moment that Mrs. Brighton had pressed the money into her hands, Alex was sure that she had misjudged the woman. Most people would have kept their money and left, but Alice had chosen to trust that Alex had given her the right treatment, a trust shown through the simple exchange of the sovereigns. And because Alice Brighton had put her trust into her, Alex’s conscience told her that she was duty-bound to find the cure. She was about to set the German text down in the pile that she had set aside for texts she would ask her father about when he returned from York when she heard the front door swing open so hard that the doorknob slammed into the wall of the antechamber. She heard Mrs. Grey rushing to the door to meet the commotion and another voice calling out, “I need to see a Miss Walton! Please! It’s urgent! Miss Brighton’s condition has worsened!” As soon as she heard this, Alex dropped the book she was holding with a curse and used her free arm to propel herself forward onto her legs. She was in such a hurry to the door of the study that she tripped and knocked over one of the stacks of papers. She cursed again, flinging the study door open and running out, leaving behind a flock of loose papers. From atop the stairs, she spied Mrs. Brighton, visibly much more pale and sickly than before, propped up between a woman with red hair, dressed modestly and a man dressed in such a fashion that Alex could only assume him to be a carriage man. As her feet pattered their way down the wooden stairs, she shouted, “ What’s wrong with her?!” “I… don’t rightly know,” said the woman with her arm looped around Alice to hold her up. She was pressing a wet towel gently to Alice’s forehead. “She had just returned from here and was in the powder room, looking no worse than when she had first left. I heard her scream shortly afterwards and when I ran in, she was like this Miss Walton.” Alex reached the last step of the stairs and moved forward to examine Alice. To her astonishment, Mrs. Brighton was still awake. She leaned in and gently raised Alice’s head to look into her eye and almost leapt back at the difference in Alice’s appearance. Both of her eyes were so bloodshot that they appeared almost entirely crimson. She had paled so significantly that her blood vessels were visible, a web of dark blue creeping across her cheeks. Alex smelled something sour on the blond woman’s breath: bile. Her condition had definitely worsened. “Mrs. Brighton. Can you hear me?” She saw Alice shift painfully to meet her gaze and could hear her labored breathing. “Took… your… medication… and… pain…” she suddenly leaned forward again and gagged, and then screamed piercingly. “There’s not much I can do for her here. We have to get her to the hospital. Get her back in the carriage! I know one near here that can help her!” Alex hurried into the carriage with Mrs. Brighton and who she supposed to be her maid. With a crack of the reins, the horses whinnied in protest and moved at a quick gallop, dragging the carriage after them down the dirtied cobbles of the London streets. As if to match the mood of the moment, the sun hid behind thickening dark clouds, dark as the smog that choked its way out of the gray, impersonal factories of London.

Alex was at a loss for words, seeing the aristocrat on the verge of tears and tugging at her coat sleeves in desperation. She cursed herself silently. She had twice erred today, first by stereotyping Miss Brighton, and secondly with the diagnosis. The symptoms first presented to her seemed to be signs of liver disease, but something was different at hand here. The shade of Alice’s eyes, which Alex had first attributed to jaundice, had darkened within a matter of minutes. She thought that her eyes had deceived her at first, when Alice turned to face her again in her desperate plea, but on second examination, Alice’s eyes had indeed turned an angrier yellow and red. The quick change made her uneasy. Whatever this sickness was, Alice’s symptoms were fast changing, indicating that the disease was progressing at an alarming rate. Alice had to be treated, and treated soon or else… She didn’t want to finish that thought. Still, she had absolutely no idea what was wrong with Alice. As for the dreams, she had no idea what to make of them. Alex wanted to brush them off as foolish, fit for the swindler dream interpreters who also predicted the dark dooms of your future for outrageous prices. Such nightmares seemed fit for the fairy tales. The troubling thing was that such a dream had been recurring for weeks now. Her father had been no expert in the psyche and had not passed on to his daughter any knowledge on how to remedy such cases. The field of the study of the mind was not advanced. Most were simply thrown into insane asylums were they forever remained prisoners to be tortured… Ah, there was the rub. Alex realized as soon as she came upon this thought why Alice had gone out of her way to come to a regular physician like her father instead of a celebrity physician for the rich. Patient confidentiality didn’t exist when there was good gossip to be had and having Alice Brighton for a patient with such symptoms made good gossip. The rumors would fly that William Brighton had married a crazy woman. True or not, the Brighton’s reputation would be hurt and there was also the possibility that Alice would be thrown into the madhouse. “Miss Brighton,” Alex knew she had to pick her next words carefully or she would risk the possibility of driving Miss Brighton away again. “I’m going to be honest. I know not what sickness ails you. I know you may think that I have reached such a conclusion because you don’t think much of me. After all, I seem to only be a slip of a girl trying to play doctor while papa’s away, especially with my current state of dress,” she grinned wryly. “But I assure you, my father’s trained me to be competent, and while I may not be quite as skilled as some of the doctors that you can no doubt afford, I know with certainty that most physicians would be in the same dilemma that I am in about your symptoms. However, I also realize why it is that you came seeking out my father and not one of the best doctors in England. I also assure you that I won’t brush your condition off simply as a problem of the psyche… that you’re insane and send you off to rot in an asylum, and that I will do my damndest to figure out what it is that ails you. I do, however, have a temporary solution that may help with your sleep and your pain. Know that this will not treat your disease but only provide relief. Allow me a moment to grab the tonics you need.” Alice only nodded, distracted by the pain in her abdomen that was fast spreading. She lied back on the couch and almost groaned in agony, watching Alex turn on her heels and head back up the stairs. She waited, breathing shallowly from the pain. Alex returned after only a few minutes, holding two round glass bottles, with a circumference that fit each hand perfectly. One held a dark brown liquid, and the other one clear. She approached Alice and held them out. “Here. The one with the dark brown liquid is a sedative. It is quite strong. Take about a tablespoon full of this each night before bed. It will help you sleep. The clear one is a painkiller. Three tablespoons will do whenever you’re in pain. The relief will come within half an hour to an hour. Do not take more than I have recommended for either, for too much of either drug may be deadly. Return here when you have finished either of these bottles and please let me know if you experience any other changes. I will do my best to research your symptoms and figure out this disease.” Alice took each of the bottles out of Alex’s hands and slowly turned them, studying them. “Thank you. Your payment?” “I follow my father’s philosophy. Payment is not due until your disease has been cured.” The rule was foolish from a business standpoint, but Alex also admired her father for laying down such a rule. It was what separated him from the other quacks within the city who didn’t seek to help the sick, but to rob them with outrageous false treatments.

From her seat in the upstairs study, Alex heard the front door swing open and then slam, followed by the murmurs of voices, one sounding familiarly like Mrs. Grey the maid. A frown etched across her face, her dark eyebrows curving down and inwards in an expression of frustration. Jane Scholls was late for her appointment. A glance over to the old grandfather clock, eighty years old but still faithfully swinging its pendulum to keep time, far in the corner of the room revealed that Miss Scholls was precisely forty five minutes late. Alex rose slowly from her plain wooden chair, closing the black leather bound journal that John Walton, her father, used to carefully document each of his patient’s cases. She was just draping her black wool frock coat’s sleeve over her left arm when the study door slowly creaked open and Mrs. Grey peeked in kindly face. “Pardon the intrusion, Alex dear.” Alex pulled her right arm into the coat and tugged it down so that the coat straightened against her torso. “Has Miss Scholls decided to show for her appointment at last?” “No, dear. There’s a Miss Alice Brighton here to see you. I told her to wait in the parlor. She says she doesn’t have an appointment.” “Well, I suppose since Miss Scholls apparently has much more pressing business to attend to than her health, she won’t mind that Miss Brighton take her appointment time. Please tell her I’ll be right down.” Alex snatched up her father’s journal off the table along with a stray black fountain pen. “Yes, dear.” Mrs. Grey responded, already making her way back down the stairs. Alex strode out of the study after the maid, and made her way down the stairs, turning to the parlor. She was momentarily stunned. A woman with blond hair impeccably done was lying in the couch. She was wearing a long flowing red dress and laced boots, all to the height of fashion. Both boots and red dress were almost spotless except for some mud where the long train of the dress had dragged in the streets. Whoever this woman was, she was very obviously upper class. Alex was used to well-to-do folks, who were usually the only ones able to afford proper treatments, but not [I]quite[/I] so well off as this woman was. Beautiful and rich, the woman made Alex suddenly very conscious of how slovenly she looked in her menswear. “You must be Alexandra, Doctor Watson’s daughter. Alice Brighton, a pleasure I’m sure.” Alex could feel the woman’s gaze on her, the blue eyes examining and judging her. Although Alex hadn’t even known the woman for more than a minute, she could already feel her irritation rising. Brighton… the surname sounded familiar. Alex couldn’t believe she didn’t recognize the name immediately. The Brightons were an extremely well-off family and owned the largest and most lavish estate in London. They were well connected by both blood and the social circles they associated with. Alex didn’t care much for politics, but even she realized that, simply put, to earn the wrath of the woman sitting on the sofa in front of her would be idiotic. Miss Brighton had the power to turn all of Alex’s father’s patients away and put the Waltons out on the street. She realized that the smart thing to do was to swallow her pride and don the façade of the good-natured, bedside manner that her father was so easily able to do. “It’s Alex.” She winced at how curt she sounded and tried again. “Please, Miss Brighton, call me Alex. And the pleasure is all mine.” Alex was uncertain how to greet the lady and so she awkwardly inclined her body at a strange half-bow. Her insides twisted. No doubt she looked like some sort of pained animal with her graceless bow. She received only more staring in return. She was aware that her usual style of dress shocked most sensible middle and upper class Victorian women into silence. She couldn’t stand the frilly corsets, dresses, and bodices. She was grateful that her father thought the Victorian women’s fashion was silly and allowed her to dress as she pleased. Women’s clothing always made her feel as if she were going to die of either suffocation or from breaking her neck because the dresses restricted her ability to catch herself. She was quite clumsy as it was. There was no need to play dice with the devil and die prematurely. The awkward silence hung heavily between them. Alex could stand it no longer and decided to break it. If the lady was going to be rude by staring… fine. She was going to do her damnest to kill Miss Brighton with manners. “Miss Brighton, before we begin the consultation, would you like anything? Tea, perhaps?” Alice shook her head. “No, thank you. I’d rather get this over with.” Alex felt her annoyance flare anew at Miss Brighton’s haughtiness. She noticed that Miss Brighton’s eyes widened as the blond woman realized the slip-up in her words. “I-I simply would like to know the nature of my condition.” Alex approached the sofa and sat down. She opened the journal to the latest blank page and in spidery scrawl, wrote down Alice’s name and the date. “Now, Miss Brighton, if you would please explain to me as to why you have chosen to grace the Waltons with your presence today?” She turned away from the journal just in time to see Alice’s eyes tighten, to her satisfaction, in offense. She felt immediately guilty after getting a good look at Alice’s face. Dark bags hung under the aristocrat’s eyes. The whites of her eyeballs were tinted a sickly dark orange-yellow, contrasted by the highly visible capillaries. Her cheeks, no doubt usually rosy when healthy, were ashen. All these features were blasphemous to her beauty, and Alex was certain that Miss Brighton must be radiant when healthy. She also noted that Alice’s arms were crossed protectively over her abdomen and the crease in her red dress showed that she was applying much pressure on her torso, an indication of pain. “Alexand-Alex,” Alice took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m just having a little trouble sleeping. Just a few nightmares. It’s nothing severe, just a silly problem. Isn’t there some kind of cure-all remedy you can give me? And if not that, just something to help me sleep.” There was a strain in her voice. Although whether or not the strain was because of the pain or anger towards her, Alex didn’t know. “Miss Brighton, that is now how this works. It would be irresponsible of me to simply gibe you medication without knowing properly what’s wrong with you. I would be breaking the oath my father swore… that all doctors swear the moment they become physicians.” She tried to quell her rising anger, but could not hold back her temper. She felt insulted that Alice had asked her for cure-all remedy as if she were a common quack. “If you seek some sort of “miracle elixir” or cure-all, which are all just horse piss anyway, then feel free to seek out any apothecary in this city, or better yet seek out a royal doctor. Anyone who you can pay to just give you whatever it is you want and say whatever it is you want to hear.” Alex snapped, and then stopped cold, realizing what she was saying and [I]who[/I] she was saying this to. She never had spoken out of turn as such, but there was just something about Miss Brighton that rubbed her the wrong way. Well, it wasn’t necessarily Miss Brighton, but her class of women. Their husbands made the same amount of money in a day that her father toiled a year for to match. The money that families like the Brightons had could be used to help the poor or be donated to the city to help develop better sanitation systems. Instead, they used their wealth to throw lavish parties where even more money was wasted on old wine and on garish jewelry and dresses. Alex felt that her father made enough for them to live comfortably, but the way Miss Brighton’s blue eyes looked around their home, Alex could see that Alice was clearly used to much more. Beyond feeling some disdain for Miss Brighton for judging her way of life, Alex also felt strangely… threatened. Alice embodied all the characteristics that she didn’t. Her dress. Her beauty. Her poise. Her grace. She defined Victorian femininity. Alex was just the opposite. She never had a female figure in her life and so she simply couldn’t understand Victorian femininity. And yet… …she was almost envious of Miss Brighton. And hated the feeling. “I shouldn’t have come here. I knew this was a terrible idea to begin with.” Alex watched Alice rise. There was a hint of a quiver from anger in her voice. Alex watched Miss Brighton walk to the door. She wrestled internally with herself for a moment, her pity for the woman defeating her prejudices. She exhaled and ran her free hand through her tangled, mussed, brunette hair and tousled it for a moment before finally rising to stop Alice. “Wait! I-I apologize. What I said was…” She wasn’t sure how to phrase her words. “…was… unnecessary of me. You’re here for treatment. It’s not my place to judge you.” Alice paused, her hand resting on the doorknob. The blond woman slowly turned her eyes slowly to meet the doctor’s daughter’s. “Miss Brighton… you need treatment,” Alex continued. “It’s obvious you’re not well. Your face shows signs of sleep deprivation and it’s apparent to me that you’re not eating well. Your jaundiced eyes and the pain in your abdomen are what worry me. I think the nightmares are a secondary problem to what’s ultimately causing your pain.” “So what’s wrong with me?” Alice’s voice was tinged with apprehension. Alex saw her clench her fists as if to strengthen her resolve and brace herself for the worst news possible. Alex exhaled again. “Please sit.” She gestured to the sofa. “I can’t know for certain until you’ve told me all of your symptoms. Even then you may have to return for a follow up. You exude symptoms similar to someone with liver disease.” Being a wealthy socialite did have its drawbacks. Heavily drinking fine wines every night did take its toll on the liver and the aristocracy weren’t exactly known for moderation. “Your eyes are yellow as a result of an accelerated rate of hemolysis. How heavy have you been consuming alcohol as of late? Have you noticed any changes in urine color since you last erm… visited the powder room? And please describe to me in detail your dreams.” Alex realized that she was bombarding Alice with questions before she had even decided whether or not to return. Alex was hoping that by doing so, Alice would be drawn back by identifying with the symptoms she described. Either way, if it was a serious liver condition, there was little that a small time physician could do beyond provide pain medication and send the patient onto a larger hospital.

[quote name='wickedj' timestamp='1294105663' post='2562488'] MCXA? REally? Ok heres the deal Skippy, Dave and Sent join Athens and we roll TIO to set them straight [/quote] I completely agree. Those TIO guys don't know what they're doing anymore. Putting MORE blue alliances into a blue unity bloc? Why that sounds absolutely ridiculous.