RP:Creature Comforts
Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc
Summary: All of this is a major IC secret. Josleen visits Muzo's laboratory for an update on his project to help her and the King conceive an heir. There she discovers a perfect model parlor suited perfectly to her taste. How oddly delightful! Muzo explains that he has tested the procedure, preliminary results are good, and he is ready to perform the procedure on Josleen as soon as her affairs are in order. He will need to perform surgery on her, a fact which makes Josleen nervous. She asks if she'll be put to sleep and the mad scientist belatedly realizes that he -should- probably supply anesthesia for the surgery! Of course! Anxious, Josleen leaves to inform the King.
Secret Royal Laboratory, Fort Freedom
Josleen‘s visit to the laboratory is preceded by a barrage of letters from her father, renowned naturalist and mage Kyl’oriel, addressed to Muzo with questions on the naga’s progress, and helpful advice and follow-up questions, all in the pursuit of grandchildren. Although Kyl’oriel’s questions have largely focused on the half-elf sterility problem, at times they have ventured to the King. Was the naga aware of King Macon’s age? 44 very soon. Perhaps age-related impotence could be further complicating the problem. Has Muzo performed any virility tests on the King’s seed? The most recent letter, which arrived just hours before the Queen’s visit, was accompanied by a small cage housing a yellow, horned toad. The letter explains: The Huii Huii Toad from the island of Boro Los off the coast of Maurilly in the Snapfly Sea. To be used in a virility test. Instructions as follow: Spread a sample of male seed in an even and generous layer on the toad’s back. If the sample is potent, the toad’s flesh will turn milky and the body will swell. Accompanying illustration offers a scale for reference, from impotent to most potent. The watercolor scale is very detailed. Six drawings of the toad are repeated, the swelling growing increasingly turgid from left to right, and the flesh’s yellow color replaced with milkiness of increasing opacity in the same direction. All six toads are also drawn with ‘samples’ on their backs. Josleen arrives unannounced to ask after the status of Muzo’s projects, the most pressing being that of the kingdom’s heir. She didn’t write ahead of her visit for why should she? What should Muzo have to hide?
Muzo is at his desk, "sitting" on his coils, palm to temple, reading and rereading Kyl'oriel's notes. The toad? Presently, Muzo has it floating in a lazily bubbling suspension of serum. Occasionally it will blink or kick or attempt (quite halfheartedly) to reach for tank's walls; invariably, this fails, as some sort of magical force seems to keep it drawn and held in center. "...see figure two, attached..." The naga shuffles the notes, muttering aloud as he pulls up the frog-turgidity/seed-potency reference chart. More likely to catch Josleen's eye? Muzo has converted a previously empty corner of the lab into a neatly contained parlor. There are three, dainty velvet armchairs in pastel green and powder pink, and they surround a petite coffee table that is most wholly occupied by a white lace doily. A floral ceramic tea set sits in the center of said doily. In oval portraits, there are insipid pictures of small cats and dogs in silk bows, looking pleadingly out at the viewer with exaggerated, sad eyes. A festive, paper lantern hangs from the ceiling, unlit. There is oriental carpet and ivy-print wallpaper--these abruptly end, giving the whole setup a rather model feel. It's like Muzo wanted to build a life-sized diorama of a parlor in the corner of his lab. Josleen enters, and Muzo quickly looks up. He clears his throat. "Your majesty." Briefly, his attention flickers to the infamous bell jar, which sits unmoved from where Josleen last discovered it, draped in a close-fitting black hood.
Josleen | “Good afternoon, Muzo.” Josleen misses Muzo’s shifty eyed glance at the bell jar, because she is instantly engrossed by the model parlor. What taste! “My my, I see you’ve spruced up the place. Lovely! Though I am surprised to discover we share the same eye for decor.” Her fingertips sweep over the velvet chairs and textured wallpaper as she passes them en route to observe the sad-eyed pooches and kitties. “Charming.” How strange, she thinks, that both humans and nagas, biologically and culturally alien to each other, should find comfort in pets. [Uh...It’s best she doesn’t speak all her thoughts aloud.] Her sweeping tour of the view brings her back to Muzo’s desk outside of it, where she spies her father’s name on correspondence, his penmanship, and the watercolor illustration she doesn’t yet understand. “Has my father been writing? How mortifying, though I suppose he means well.” She drops into the powder pink armchair in her gold dress and perfectly coiffed hair and appears like a mannequin that came with model room. “Sorry if I am interrupting anything, I was just in the garden and thought I’d pop in to see if you’ve made any progress addressing… my issue.”
Muzo grabs a splint off the shelf and lights it in a candle sconce. "Hope you approve. Thank you." He shields the tiny flame and slithers hastily over to reach up into the paper lantern's frame and carefully set it alight, revealing the idyllic, pastoral scenes on its translucent, waxed panels. "Welcome the interruption wholeheartedly," he reassures her. "Interesting correspondence. Not surprised your father knows. Wonder, though," a sort of sharpness darkens the snake's eyes, and he looks at Josleen very directly, "has he informed King Macon?" Catching himself, Muzo clears his throat and tries to soften his demeanor back to normal. "Kerm, hem. Could be pertinent, especially considering Kyl'oriel's recent ahm..." Scaly lips draw tight, and he slithers back to his desk, lit splint still in hand, to scan over the letters again. "Believes he has a way to--YAH!" Muzo recoils violently, having just been bitten by the fire that been slowly but surely climbing down the splint. He throws it on the stone floor and vengefully bats it out with the tip of his tail. "Hmmph! Now, ah," the researcher licks his fingers and looks around, "something about, ah yes. Have been making good progress. Should be ready to operate soon."
Josleen admires the pastoral scenes that remind her of her upbringing in the country, in that charming village of Xalious. How strange, she thinks, that both humans and nagas, biologically and culturally alien to each other, should find comfort in pastoral scenes. [No one let Josleen write an anthropology book.] She cants her head at Macon’s question. “Has my father informed King Macon of what? That he, my father, knows of my issue to conceive? Yes, my husband is aware that my father is aware but what has that to do with--Oh! Are you alright?” she asks, looking towards Muzo’s burnt hand. The subject abruptly shifts, and Josleen blinks a few times. “Oh, that’s good to hear. How soon?” Normally she would leave the topic change alone, but this involves her father, a lovely man with troublesome faults such as nosiness, passive aggression, and a penchant for the inappropriate in the name of science. “And what were you saying about my father? He has a way to ‘what’, exactly?”
Muzo is content to lick his fingers and brushes past the offer for assistance. "Waiting to see how the trial run turns out." Elsewhere in Larket, a confused peasant stands at his fence, peering into his corral and scratching his head, wondering how in tarnation the dang mule could be foaling. "Your father, about him, yes," he nods rapidly, "in the letters addressing the infertility. Sensitive topic. Surprised by his frankness. Recall your requests to keep complete secrecy, even from the king." The naga's slick brows raise as he dares to suspect that the cat might be out of the bag.
Josleen nods solemnly at Muzo’s guess. “Yes, the king knows, and my parents. As far as I know, that’s all who know, and all are equally invested in keeping the secret. But tell me, what has my father said? If he’s overstepping with you, or badgering you to do something in his preferred method, I can have a word with him.”
Muzo drums his fingertips on his throat, silently wondering how that particular revelation went over. "Ah, yes. Hmm? N-n-no! Nothing like that," Muzo turns both palms out in placation, quick to defend the esteemed elven biologist, "only the king's compliance with be essential. Him knowing," Muzo raises a single digit, nods as if to say "wait right here", and rushes off to grab the letters, "will make this much easier." He waves over Formulae, and the spellbook flutters obediently over to hover before Josleen, open to a close-up, distinctly male, anatomical cross-section. Muzo proceeds, in full and long-winded detail, with illustrations and hand gestures and not slightest aid of innuendo, to explain her father's concerns and how he plans to address them. The horned toad helplessly revolves in its suspension.
Josleen smiles awkwardly as Formulae shows her the male sexual reproduction system. Yes, Josleen is aware. Thanks, Formulae. She clasps her hands over her knee as Muzo brings the letters and her father’s concerns. She burns bright red. Her palms grow sweaty on her knee and she dries them on the armchair’s velvety arms. On the one hand, she can see her father’s point, even if it pans out to be unnecessary fussing. It’s thorough; baby-making takes two. On the other, much larger, hand, she can see her husband’s reaction if this is brought to his attention. It’s furious. He’s maybe swearing. He’s all male bravado and testosterone rage when -happy-. “Muzo, Muzo,” she says, interrupting Muzo as he fetches the toad. “Let’s try to avoid requiring the King’s help as much as possible. You were saying the test runs are promising? So what does that entail? What do -I- need to do? Let’s start there, and if we hit a roadblock…” Again she pictures Macon’s enraged face and can’t quite bring herself to finish the sentence which would have ended sensibly with ‘we’ll ask him then’, but that rationality seems optimistic, knowing Macon.
Muzo startles when interrupted. "Ah-er-I, hmm? Yes." He sets the toad down. "Of course," there's a gentle slump in his shoulders as he abandons the explanation (he was on a roll!) and slithers back over to the queen. "Advise you arrange your affairs such that," Muzo plucks Formulae out of the air and begins riffling through the pages, "you will have a convenient window for recovery." Finding his page, he reveals the pen and ink diagrams detailing his plans. These are plainly surgical illustrations, and they involve many steps. "Expect a few day's recovery even *with* the aid of a magical healer. Advise you find one you trust," he turns the page, revealing dense charts of illegible jargon, "if you don't have one in mind already." Again he turns the page, and there is a final, pull page illustration, another anatomical cross section revealing a third trimester fetus, it's placid, cherubic face turned upward to greet the reader. "I should be ready by the time you've arranged your end."
Josleen briefly considers what she should do if they must obtain a sample from Macon. Lie, of course. She’d just lie about the purpose. Soothed by the thought of how easy it is to lie, she focuses on Muzo’s explanation. The hopeful mother had, for some unknown reason, erected a mental block to exclude surgery as part of Muzo’s cure. She swallows nervously as she scans the illustrations and texts, the bulk of which goes over her head, and all that makes sense is that she will be cut open. “...Is it multiple surgeries or… one long surgery… or… Will I be asleep? ...Are you putting an already formed baby -inside- me?” she gasps as she sees the smiling, easy bake baby.
Muzo releases Formulae to flutter back to its spot on the naga's desk. "One surgery. Will you be..." Aha, the lightbulb comes on and Muzo's inexperience as a medical practitioner shows. "Should, hmm," his eyes narrow to thoughtful slits, but he doesn't dwell long on such trivialities as anesthesia. "Confident I can improvise something." Good enough. "Hmm? Fully-form baby. Oh!" Muzo gasps sharply, chokes on his spit, and begins coughing. A brief fit later, he manages to croak out, "have abandoned that approach completely. Ethical reasons. Certain you understand." Again, guiltily, his eyes flicker over to the now-enshrouded bell jar. "Besides," he straightens from his hunched coughing position and brushes his robes with his knuckles, "much better to employ conventional biological means wherever possible." He is, of course, referring to the old-fashioned way of doing things.
Josleen‘s nervousness blossoms to a near anxiety attack as Muzo clearly did not even consider the need for anesthesia. She follows his glance to the bell jar and understands his reference to the homunculus. That was a tragic episode in all of this, and Josleen remains confident that he disposed of the body, as told, and does not waver in her confidence in Muzo on that front. However, as a surgeon, her confidence is outright shook. With regard to the old ways, “I am glad to hear that. But Muzo… have you ever operated on a… living person… before? Had patients? You need to understand, I am entrusting you completely with my body in a very vulnerable state… It’s...” She rubs her collarbone is her typical nervous tic. “I need to discuss this with Macon… He’ll have questions, I’m sure.”
Muzo is matter-of-fact. "Many times," he nods, "hundreds of hours of experience," coming from the guy who just admitted that anesthesia is solidly OUTSIDE his normal game plan, but anyway, "no trouble piloting a scalpel." The naga makes a cutting gesture, his hand steady, his line straight, his control palpable even in mime. Satisfied he's made his point, Muzo nods again. "Naturally. Happy to answer. Curious, myself, to see the kings take on all this. Relieved," he sighs, daring a smile, "to know he'll be informed in all this. Will admit," the smile turns sheepish, "was a burden on my mind. The king's role. The king's reaction."
Josleen smiles uneasily at Muzo’s miming. Is she reassured? It’s a moot question. What choice does she have? She wants this child bad enough to risk it. Half-elves have been railing against this curse for millennia and few have been fortunate enough to meet people like Muzo who can help them succeed. She believes this is her only shot, and so she’ll take it. “I’m relieved he knows too.” Her smile shifts to a soft, genuine, lovey-dovey expression. Macon surprised her with the tenderness of his support. She didn’t think he had that in him. Muzo has been nervous that should anything happen to Josleen, his head will roll. He wanted the King to be aware of this project as a sort of life insurance in case of disaster. However, it isn’t clear that anything has changed in that regard. Even with Josleen entering this arrangement willingly, should anything happen to her, Muzo’s head will still likely roll. “I need to go. Thank you, Muzo, for all of this. I’ll arrange for a healer and let the King know the plan. We’ll set a date.” She stands and takes Muzo’s hand to squeeze it goodbye. “Take care.”
Muzo returns the squeeze politely. "Will begin making preparations immediately. Pleased to be of service, your majesty." The moment Josleen is safely gone and the door is locked behind her, Muzo hurries to slither over to the bell jar.