RP:Dungeon of Scientific Horrors

Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc

Note: ALL of this is a huge ic secret. Only Muzo, Macon, and Josleen know the King is undergoing treatments for rage magic.

Summary: Muzo tests a theory for rage aura extraction on the King. It involved a terrifying chair with wrist, ankle, and head restraints, a great deal of pain, and needles! Preliminary results: good! However, there is no guarantee the treatment has worked, and Muzo suggests this is only the first of many nightmare treatments to come.

Secret Royal Laboratory

Josleen received word yesterday from Muzo, who appears to have settled nicely into his new laboratory, that he is ready to test a cure on the King. Perfectly safe, of course! (Of course.) But the experiment has reached the final stage. Muzo needs the King himself to test his hypothesis that this cure will work. Josleen arranged a time for Muzo, her husband, and herself to meet in the laboratory the very next day--today. Josleen is anxious as she and Macon walk across the grounds together. Since they met in the courtyard, she’s been making a quiet plea to reverse course, in coded language so the guards guess nothing. This whole thing was her idea, but now that the day has come, she has cold feet. In the garden, she continues her plea more explicitly once the sole guard has moved to bar entry to the entire garden. “My love, this is uncharted territory. I’m nervous to experiment on you. I’m not saying Muzo isn’t brilliant, but simply that none of this has been tested before.”

Macon is anxious as well about being experimented on, but does not allow his nerves to show on his face, even silently to the Queen while she pleads for them to turn back now, after an entire laboratory has been constructed for the Naga scientist. What? Are they just supposed to have him down there for the good of Larket? No. Muzo must pay his rent through service to the Crown. (The King us is unaware of any other special projects Jos might have in mind for the snake man.) Anyway, the Rage Knight maintains a brave face for the sake of the bard even after they have been left in solitude by the royal Guard. He tells her that he is confident in Muzo’s intellect (thanks to his assistance with solving the Fermin plagues, and incriminating Kelovath), as she is, and reminds her of the recent Fury Aura induced incidents. “It is better t’be rid of it, ” he says, paraphrasing what she has said to him previously, in a Veratoakan accent.

Muzo stands at his desk, inspecting a small array of samples. These phials are apparently the fruit of several pinpricks, swabbings, and scrapings from a few days prior, tiny bits and pieces of Larket's crown heads now resting on shelves, on stands, and quite literally in Muzo's hands. Formulae sits next to him, idly leafing through its own pages. "...hedrophoric demitransitive counterreduction to plateau at subcritical aura saturation..." As usual, the researcher mutters his mind aloud. There is an addition to his laboratory since the crown's last visit: a tin-banded wooden chair with wrist and ankle restraints. Beside it stands an apparatus that bubbles idly. Meters, siphons, and billows sit empty, still, and silent within the maze of glistening, oily parts. The teeth of sprog wheels glint. Drive chains rattle softly, slowly waving in a chilly draft. Something alerts Muzo and breaks his concentration. He sets down his cloudy sample and turns around to greet his new employers. "Ah, here for your first treatment." No bother with hellos. "Have made meticulous preparations. Expect dazzling results."

Josleen has grown accustomed to Muzo’s distaste for small talk and thinks nothing of it. She greets him with a smile and nod. “I have no doubt,” she says despite the monologue of doubts she shared with her husband above ground. Muzo’s serpentine movements no longer unnerve her--it only took a couple months. She sees him now not as a naga named Muzo, but instead as Muzo, who happens to be a naga. A subtle but profound shift for a race-conscious Queen. Her gaze drifts to the chair and her stomach bottoms out, heart races, and her smile twists anxiously and hand rubs at her collar in her typical anxious tic. “...Is that for the King?” The question upticks shrilly, hoping for a no. “Some other experiment, perhaps?”

Macon , as someone who usually growls at small talk, nods in greeting and appreciation of Muzo’s lack of chat about the weather. (How long has the Naga been down here exactly?) Once Josleen points it out, Macon eyes the chair with the restrains and raises a brow, glancing The Queen’s way when she asks if it might be for him. He doesn't wait for an answer to her question. Just the way she asks it has him giving the bard another reassuring look like, ‘this must be done.’ “Let's get started then… Wha’ d’you need me t’do?” The Rage Knight speaks while prying his gaze off of Josleen and fixing that slate colored stare on the Naga experimenter.

Muzo blinks wide, glossy black eyes as his coils slowly unfold from where he "stands", his head and torso seeming to hover in place as the rest of himself gradually writhes and untangles. "Assume you mean the chair? Correct." He begins gliding over, and nimble fingers soon go to work, reaching into the machines exposed innards to tweak a stop-valve here, tighten a nozzle there, quickly conjuring life into the contraption as rattling, wheezing sounds begin churning out. He must raises his voice to speak over the growing din. "Suggest the restraints, your highness, but will leave that up to the two of you." The naga glances briefly up from his prepwork, looking to Macon, then expectantly to Josleen. "Should only take a minute more. All ready by the time you're settled in." Needles glint as Muzo thumbs through a set of hoses, checking each their labels. Though they stretch the limits of Hollow's available craftsmanship, they look outright brutal compared to a modern hypodermic.

Josleen turns her sensitive ears away from the din and wonders if this laboratory was built to be soundproof. Muzo suggests the restraints and Josleen squeaks, “Why? Why does he need restraints?” The answer is obvious and she knows it, but she wants to hear what to expect in detail. She sidesteps closer to Macon and slips her hand into his. It isn’t clear if the reassurance is for him or her. Perhaps both.

Macon’s eyes widen at the sounds the odd machine makes as it comes to life. He stands tall in defiance of fear towards the contraption, the likes of which he has never seen before in his life. He looks upward, as they are inside some kind of basement, wondering if those in the gardens could hear the the machine rattling and breathing. When Josleen takes his hand, he can easily see her concern, and gives a squeeze of reassurance while he maintains a brave face for her sake. The King leans in towards her and gruffly whispers a promise that he may not actually be able to keep. Something along the lines of ‘I'll be fine.’ With that said, he takes her towards the contraption’s throne and drops into the seat. He does up one of the wrist restraints himself and relies on her to do the rest, providing calm nods and forced smiles where she needs them to complete the task.

Muzo doesn't seem bothered by the chuffing, clanking, and mounting hissing. With Macon seated, there's little else to do; precious reagents and essences are being wasted with every passing moment, for drops of thin, amber colored liquid are already dripping from the needles' tips. "A priming serum," Muzo explains matter-of-factly, "to put your innate essences into a tenable state of selective flux." Apparently considering this a good enough warning, he slides the first needle into Macon's arm. Whatever Muzo means by "selective flux" is unclear, and it's quite likely that no one knows quite *exactly* how it will interact with the rage stone's magic.

Josleen reluctantly straps Macon in. Before attaching the iron band, she has the foresight to ask for a cloth, which she folds over and tucks between the band and Macon’s forehead for comfort. Once he is secure, she sneaks a kiss against his temple then stands upright and holds his hand so that he may squeeze hers if need be. Thinking of how that may go, should this be very painful, she quickly removes her hand to remove that hand’s rings so that his squeezing won’t hurt her as much, then holds his hand again. She gulps as Muzo injects Macon and suddenly wonders ‘Why do we trust this person?’ Of course, she does trust Muzo, but seeing him poke and stick her husband arouses her paranoia. “Do you expect this to be very painful?” She asks. “What exactly are you doing to him?”

Macon, with his head restrained, can't really see what Muzo is doing to him. Though it is not through lack of trying at first. He looks out of the corner of his eye and downward when the Naga sticks him with a needle filled with what sounds like nonsense. There is a brief, weak pulse of that Furious aura that flows outward from the king, though it is unclear whether it is a reaction to the serum or just a normal angry reaction from the Fury Knight from being poked and prodded. The facade of bravery falters for a moment when Josleen asks her question, and it sinks in that he is in quite the vulnerable spot here, shackled to the chair and at the mercy of a mad scientist. ‘Let's hope the answer to her question is ‘no. Not very painful at all.’ Right, wife?’ is the rough translation of the look Macon gives Josleen now.

Muzo skips directly over Josleen's question of pain. "To draw out his rage, it must first be separated, then isolated." He tugs aside Macon's collar and slides another needle just above his collarbone, missing his jugular by an uncomfortably narrow margin. Muzo hesitates, considers twiddling the hypodermic, reluctantly decides it can stay where it is. "First treatment. Plan to take it easy. Won't push it too far. A test extraction." He turns a stopcock. The machine lurches, coughs, and reverses flow as raw, undiluted rage burbles up through Macon's chest and arm, up through the hoses, and into the serum tank, clouding the amber contents a foreboding reddish black. Muzo doesn't say if it's painful. He doesn't know what it feels like to have pure rage coursing out of one's veins. Muzo watches with bright, impartial fascination.

Josleen, who knows human anatomy well, leans forward making a sound of protest as Muzo gets too close to the jugular. He misses it and the sound dies in her throat audibly. “F-first treatment? There will be more of these?!” She squeezes Macon’s hand as she sees the reddish black ink bloom in the amber liquid. If he starts to scream, or show signs of holding back a scream, she hums a low tone behind her speaking voice. The hum sucks in sounds and smothers them in her magical vocal chords. The screams won’t leak to the garden above, thanks to Josleen’s real time soundproofing. Does Macon even know she can do this? She’s never had cause to use her bardic magic, and it’s so second nature to her that she never thought to disclose it, because she never thinks about it. She can speak over her own humming. “Darling, if you need to scream, do. We can stop whenever you want. Just give a signal.”

Macon growls, low and guttural, when the essence of Fury is extracted. Yes Muzo, this hurts, a lot. The King does not need to outright scream or roar just yet, but he comes close enough to prompt his wife’s preventative humming, and if this is ‘going easy’ then Josleen’s magic might really be needed in future visits. The Rage Knight is unaware of her abilities, but can see one in display as she speaks and hums simultaneously. He remains as still as he can in his pain, not wanting to struggle too much with a needle sticking out of his neck. He grits his teeth and growls again, where normally those present would be treated to a strong wave of the Rage Stone Aura, now that ambient Fury seems to be weakened and fading while the infection is being drawn out of his body. He gives up on trying to look at Muzo and his machinations, instead he looks to Josleen for comfort and calm while he gives her hand a hard squeeze reflexively.

Muzo overtly studies Macon with uncomfortable interest, and though the naga has the decency not to take notes here and now, every inflection if the king's demeanor will soon be filed away in Muzo's journals. Gradually, a little dazedly, he reaches into the machine and makes a silent adjustment to its running. The billows wheeze, the chuffing slows, and a grand silence settles. Muzy delicately, cautiously slides out his needles. There is something he wants to say, and he is mustering up the courage. His eyes sweep over the bound man's body, and as soon as the needles are safely away, he pops open the head restraint. "Describe your experience."

Josleen can feel the fury agitating her own infection, which is weaker than the King’s, but no less material. She scowls at first, furious at the contraption and the rage stone and Kelovath for being ‘responsible’ for this, but the fury passes as the machine siphons off that rage. Her scowl quickly turns to a sympathetic frown. She holds Macon’s gaze as she cooes reassuring phrases that he’s doing great, she can feel it working, she can see the magic in the chamber, etc. Her free hand caresses the back of his squeezing hand and forearm. Rarely are others allowed to see the King and Queen so intimate. They don’t display this much affection publicly, but the circumstances are unique, and Muzo has earned her trust in the intimate way of physicians and their patients. As Macon answers Muzo’s question, Josleen unfastens the rest of Macon’s restraints.

Macon does not seem affected by Josleen’s brand of the Rage infection for whatever reason and allows himself to be calmed by her reassuring words during the procedure. He growls again once the needles are out and the round of treatment is complete. It is not until the head restraint is undone that the king gives Muzo his answer, now being able to tilt his head and give the question the amount of side-eye it deserves. He angrily describes the experience as ‘hurting a lot,’ with an expletive included to emphasize the level of pain. Once all the restraints are removed Macon feels he must stand immediately and tries to, only to find that his let's are exceptionally weak and shaky. He has to grab onto the Queen’s shoulder to steady and keep himself upright instead of falling back into that abominable chair. There is a really only one question that matters here, and it is the one the Fury Knight shoots towards the Naga, “Did it work?”

Muzo tips a siphon, and by the grace of the alchemist's true craft, the inky essence is swiftly drained into a waiting flask. The last drop falls, and the researcher picks it up, offering it to Josleen. "The king's affliction." Even holding it feels a little bit like standing on a high ledge or having a spider sitting in his palm, and he will be relieved when Josleen takes the glass and contents away from him, if she dares. "Appears a success. Monitor him. Look for improvement." A hesitation. "Any changes." His attention drops to Macon's faltering legs, and his tongue flicks. "Will take time to refine the process. Feedback always helpful."

Josleen catches Macon’s arm to help him stand. As he and Muzo converse, she looks over the King for visible wounds or marks. She hesitates before accepting the flask. “...What should we do with this? Is there a way we can store it here?” She nods at the instructions, but she’s staring at the flask. She glances to Macon to gauge her reaction to see the rage aura suffused in the liquid.

Macon takes a deep breath in and out before finding the strength enough to stand on his own. He maintains contact with Josleen for reasons of affection, but he is no longer relying on her to support any of his weight. The King eyes the liquid in the flask, ‘ugly, but harmless’ is how he describes it to himself now that he can see his affliction given physical form. “We ‘ave no use for this.” He reiterates the queen's question for what it was, a statement that they are not taking that stuff with them when they leave here. Macon is only slightly relieved to hear that the procedure was successful. Perhaps he won't truly believe it until the prognosis is put to the test out in the real world.

Muzo blinks, and he accepts the flask back, looking a little confused. "Of course," he shakes his head, rubbing one of his scaly temples, "should keep it here. Yes." Where better for something so potent, volatile, and hazardous than in his constant immediate vicinity. "Should be... safe."

Josleen takes a quick, deep breath as if gathering herself, which is her signal that she wants to go. “Thank you, Muzo. Our faith in your has been rewarded. We’ll keep you informed of any changes or side effects. Take care, and if you need special equipment to safeguard that,” she nods towards the vial of rage, “let me know and I’ll see to it you have the resources for it.” After Macon and Muzo say their goodbyes, the Royal couple leaves the laboratory and head for their chambers so that the King may rest for a bit before resuming his duties. On the way, she comments on the procedure when it is safe to do so, asks after his health, and agrees they need to wait and see the results. If he asks about her bardic talents, she’ll disclose them honestly and in total. She even demonstrates some of her skills playfully, mimicking Gigi’s signature whine and throwing the sound behind Macon for effect. If he looks, he’ll not find Gigi (Gigi is on a squirrel hunt with Reinhardt, who likely has no idea he’s on a squirrel hunt and is engrossed in serious knight business).

Macon is a little out of it and does not react as he might usually to her playful display of talent. He only really manages to force a smile and look groggy. He remarks to her that if this is the worst of it and it works, then this course of action is definitely worth it to be rid of the Rage infection, given the multiple Kingsguard they have lost to the insanity it breeds and the countless other instances where his inability to control the residual effects of the stone have led to misfortune and violence for Larket. He needs to rest... How can he not think fake Gigi noises are charming?