RP:Surgery Fit for a Queen

Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc

Summary: All of this is a major ic secret. Muzo finally operates on Josleen to fix her sterility as Macon helplessly waits and listens to the grisly sounds (and squawks?) of surgery. Operating on Josleen reminds Muzo of another operation he wishes to perform: vivisection on witch corpses to further his research into their peculiar physiology. He asks the King if he can get his hands on some witch bodies, alive. The King, distracted by his wife's state, mindlessly agrees to sourcing witch bodies, dead, somehow, details not pertinent given the patient of the day.

Secret Royal Laboratory

Muzo meticulously fusses over his prepwork. Scalpels? Check. Freshly sharpened and sitting neatly in their keenly glinting rows. Forceps? Check. Glinting likewise, freshly polished and ready to grip, grope, and grapple as necessary. Fragoraptic recomnabulators? Purring smoothly through their recomnabulation cycles. Needles? Saws? Probes? Check, check, double check. The alchemi-AHEM-doctor is looking particularly well groomed, himself, scales freshly polished and claws neatly trimmed. Muzo wears only a belt and goggles, and even the belt bears little of the usual clutter and accouterments. He's only kept with him what he deems most utterly necessary. There's a white curtain partitioning off a well-illuminated area; presumably this is where the operating table and other necessary instruments would be.

Josleen couldn’t sleep the night before the surgery, and despite her best efforts not to impose her anxiety on the King, she kept him up late too. If the King had a few reservations, by 2am he likely had several hundred more. What if this doesn’t work? What if she doesn’t wake up? What if the anesthesia doesn’t work at all? What if it does, but only partially, and she’s in pain and awake, but can’t scream to stop the surgery? What if she survives, but something goes horribly wrong and she’s crippled or disfigured for the rest of her life? In her more desperate moments she asks, who even is Muzo?! She met him at a bar!!! He is a snake-man! Among these fears, less fearsome than death but more fearsome than physical pain, is the fear that all this was for naught, that there would be no baby, no cure, and she would never be a mother. Eventually the Queen does succumb to a few hours of fitful sleep plagued by nightmares of botched surgeries and monstrous, frog-faced babies like the one she had ordered Muzo to terminate. She never told Macon about that homunculus, and she doesn’t start now. What she did tell her husband was that she wanted him to be there during the surgery, but not as a witness. She doesn’t want him to see her butchered, indistinguishable from bloody, carved up meat. But knowing that he would be nearby, just beyond a partition, brought her comfort. But he must promise not to see her under the knife, she made him swear it. The following morning they made the descent from their room to the royal garden together, hand in hand. With the cellar door in sight, her palms grew sweaty and her head felt light. She stopped just beyond the door and held onto Macon with both hands to steady her sudden onset of vertigo. Deep breaths: in for four counts, hold for seven, out for eight, in four, hold seven….

Macon , since learning of the impending surgery and what his role would be in it, has done his best to maintain a fearless face for Josleen’s sake. He -knows- that she will be fine and will do wonderfully in her role as patient. Muzo is a ‘brilliant scientist that has saved all of Larket’ and there is ‘zero chance’ of failure, let alone disaster. However, during the long night, her anxiety infects him and the king is no longer to convince himself with his own fabricated confidence. If she is not too focused on her breathing then she might just notice that he is slightly less assertive with his assurances this morning while doubt and worry tug at the back of his mind. When he is told that he won't be a witness, he agrees, but with a growl of protest, and tells himself that he will intrude if the mood (read: overwhelming concern) strikes him. He is the king, after all,and takes no orders given to him as absolute, even from the Thane of Frostmaw. In front of the door, when she hesitates, the Rage Knight allows her to take a moment before he comforts her and offers another shower of confidence in the procedure’s assured success, once again as convincing as he was prior to the night of building doubt. When he has done all he can he pushes the door to the lab open and leads his wife into where the snake waits.

Muzo snaps his attention to the door the moment he hears it budge, and he welcomes the royal couple. "Your majesties." Removing his goggles to set the on his forehead, the naga slithers over to greet them, offering bows, ring kissing, and whatever other ritual greetings befit their station as heads of state. It's considerably more formal that his usual oblivious nonchalance. "Ask that you make yourselves comfortable," he indicates his model parlor in the corner (https://www.hollowgame.com/wiki/RP:Creature_Comforts), "while I make final adjustments. Should have ever-" oh dear! Within the deep and twisted conduits of Muzo's mind, somewhere an alarm klaxon sounds. The anesthetic. He's completely forgotten. "-rything ready. Nothing left but a handfull of," he gulps, "minor details. Wouldn't bother you with trivialities. Please." With some more profuse bowing and gracious hand gestures, he points at the chairs. As soon as he feels he's adequately fulfilled his obligatory reassurances, he rushes off to his cabinet to fish and rifle through for something that will (hopefully!) knock Josleen out without actually killing her. This? No, a laxative. This? Goodness, no, unless he wanted to operate on a pile of goo. The absurdity of completely dissolving a living organism and THEN trying to operate on it makes the snake chuckle, but he quickly remembers his decorum and resumes the search. No, no, no, aha! Muzo discreetly plucks his own handwritten label off the bottle's neck and slithers back over to his bank of surgical tools. "Ready when you are."

Josleen doesn’t know it, but at this moment she is blessed in her inability to read minds. She sits in Muzo’s kitschy model living room, which Macon may notice has an uncanny resemblance to her mother’s living room in Xalious, with one key difference: this living space has framed photos of dogs dressed in regal, ceremonial attire instead of family portraits. The Queen is too anxious to take much notice of Muzo’s sudden onset of obsequiousness. As he fusses in the cabinets, Josleen takes in every saw and needle and purring wackadoodle tool. She squeezes Macon’s hand and meets his gaze, finding him preferable to the torture spread. Muzo’s chuckle reassures her that he is relaxed and has everything under control (refer to point 1 of this post: blessed is she who cannot read minds). Muzo announces that it is time and the color drains from Josleen’s face. This is really happening. She kisses Macon’s cheek then leaves him on the couch and closes the screen behind her. The bright light overhead casts hers and Muzo’s shadows on the screen’s thin muslin. Josleen wears a wrap-around, disposable dress over a modesty band that covers her breast, and shorts that cover her hips. She fingers the knot at her waist anxiously and waits until the absolute last minute to de-robe, her back to Muzo, her silhouette on the screen shedding the dress before Macon’s eyes. She lies down on the bed and pulls two separate blankets over her chest and legs, abdomen exposed for Muzo to cut--after the anesthesia, you psycho.

Macon nods towards Muzo’s display of fealty that does not include the kissing of rings as this is decidedly not a Larketian thing to do. In the staged living room, the King does not sit, a sign of his own anxiety. He picks up one of the framed photos and gives it a confused slate stare. ‘Why?’ he wonders. The mystery of this whole section of the lab is a welcome distraction from the snake rifling through his workspace for something to knock the Queen out. Truly the Rage Knight needed to see the naga’s interpretation of a comfortable living space for the royals (specifically Josleen) to believe it. One more time before she leaves him for the operation to begin, he reminds her that they are nearing the end of this ordeal (or is it a strife?) and that she will be excellent at being knocked out and operated on. He squeezes her hand, gives a kiss, and a moment later she is a shadow behind the screen. Muzo probably receives a look that says, ‘you did not see me being tender,’ and the Fury Knight drops into a seat at the couch and stares blankly at the forms through the screen. All he can do is wait now. There is no urge at the moment to take a peek, even once Josleen is put under.

Muzo makes a show of fussing with the scalpels and such while Josleen undresses and covers up. Once she's sensibly modest again, he estima-AHEM-carefully measures a dose of the anesthetic and slips behind the curtain to join her. There's a bit of muttered dialogue, and Macon will see the pass-off, one shadow to another. Knowing it'll take a moment to set in, Muzo should have just enough time to grab his tooltray and bring it, likewise, into the surgical sanctum. A few simple tests, he seems to be checking her pulse, checking her eyes, all good? Must be. The naga's shadow slithers around to perch before the queen's middle, much-too-conveniently obscuring any truly juicy details, even in silhouette. Muzo raises the scalpel... and veritably dives in. What then follows is a steady stream of activity set to the busy click of steel on steel. The recomnabulator purrs and whirrs ever louder, and Macon can make out more figures (is that a threshing sickle!?) accompanied by rending groans, and shuddering squeaks. Something noisily flutters and whistles, and Muzo grunts with exertion. There's an audible pop, a wet splat, and a live parrot flutters up over the curtain; Muzo's hand darts to sieze the bird, and the operation resumes. Thuds accompany bright flashes, and several spurts of green liquid splatter to noisily speckle the sheet in bright dots. "Oops," Muzo's chipper little cry of childlike self-reproach sounds through the laboratory, but no matter, as a deep, rumbling chuffing soon drowns out any possibility of further audible comment. There's a crack, a hiss, neighing horses, a blast of steam, and soon the whole laboratory is clouded with a thick, impenetrable haze. When it clears, Muzo is standing outside the surgical partition, goggles around his neck, wiping his hands on a (very bloody) towel. "Believe it went well."

Macon , as promised, stays on the ‘waiting room’ side of the curtain. It does not take long before the king even stops staring at the screen (it's mostly the silhouette of the snake anyway) and looks around the unobscured parts of the lab, including the machine he was relatively recently hooked up to in order to alleviate his inherited Rage Aura. That thing had worked, albeit not as a permanent fix, so why won't this procedure be a success? The Naga scientist has a good track record with solving problems that have gone unsolved previously. The Fury Knight cannot ignore the odd and somewhat disturbing assortment of sounds coming from behind the screen and is eventually drawn towards it, thinking it is time to take his peek. “The ‘ell..?’ Just as he reaches the curtain and is about to move around it, the bird squawks and shows itself and is suddenly snatched back down into obscurity. The King doesn't peek after that, but he does keep his slate gaze fixed on the screen for the remainder of the procedure. He flinches at the splattering of liquid on the partition and adds his own growl to the varying sound effects of the operation. When Muzo emerges and gives good news, Macon gives half a sigh of relief, the very bloody towel cutting it off. Without seeking permission, he now moves past the alchemist and looks around the partition to see the operating table and the state of his wife. “Did it work? ‘Ow long until she wakes?”

Muzo startles as Macon pushes past, and he hurries to slither back, offering the King room to see his anesthetized wife. Josleen lays there looking pretty darn well unconscious and covered in a sheet speckled with blood, burn marks, phosphorescent flecks of... jello, and feathers. Care was evidently taken to keep all this away from the queen's face, which positively glows with unblemished serenity. Some of the heavier instruments sit back here too, generally a mess of hoses, flywheels, and vats. "Sutured very nicely," Muzo notes, and he reaches around Macon to tenderly pull back a corner of the surgical flap and expose a tiny bit of the neat, delicate stitching. The snake has nimble fingers indeed! Laying the sheet back down, Muzo clears his throat and slithers back out of the enclosure, obviously expecting Macon to follow. "Reminds me, had been meaning to ask you," his digits twirl thoughtfully, and he looks to the ceiling, "just that I hadn't gotten around, and now that I'm thinking about it," Muzo's scaly brow furrows. He looks back to Macon. "Coming up against a wall with my witch studies. Not sure how much you've followed, likely physiological cause, etcetera, but, ah," he plucks a bloody scalpel out of his belt and casually twirls it between his knuckles, from finger to finger, "doubt I can do much more without a vivisection. Not sure how I'd go about getting a specimen." His tone is utterly matter-of-fact. "Trust you could arrange access? Vivisection, preferably. Autopsy would be better than nothing."

Macon does not ask for an explanation of what was done as he stands over the unconscious Josleen and is shown her stitched up stomach. There is no hope that he would understand the necessity for a horse in this procedure, probably, so why bother asking. The former sheriff nods and remains silent even after his wife is covered back up and Muzo is clearing his throat for the king to follow him back out of the operating area. Once he has had his fill of seeing Josleen still breathing, the Rage Knight backs up a few steps and only then turns to follow the snake. ‘Vivisection’. That's right, the King remembers now, just how many baskets the Naga has his scientific eggs in. He is looking into the Witches as well, and now -really- wants to look into them. For the most part Macon’s mind is on the Queen, and Muzo’s request goes in one ear and out the other. The key words register, ‘physiological’, et cetera. So there -is- something that makes the Witches different from -ordinary- Larketians. Finally, after a silence that might have been a little too long, Macon nods, shaking himself out of his daze, “I will see abou’ gettin’ wha’ you need.” It is perhaps too late to use the one Eirik killed. She's in the ground already, or whatever they do with their dead, and was not in prime condition for study anyway. Surely a witch will die for Muzo to use sooner or later.

Muzo fidgets through the pause, his tail curling nervously against itself until, oh sweet relief, the king consents. "Saves me a great deal of trouble," he blurts out at once through a sigh. "Easiest way. Least trouble, by far." The matter apparently settled, Muzo's mind has room to meander again. Oh right. The queen. Macon *had* asked how long she'd be out, didn't he? The answer is "until I give her an antidote" and also "hopefully before her diaphragm is paralyzed" though he prudently neglects to mention EITHER of these particular caveats. "Should check on the queen. Wait here," the naga bids Macon, nodding to the parlor again. It's a quick stop to the cabinet, a moment or two behind the curtain, and Josleen should very soon be groggily coming around. Ideally. Any second now.

Josleen takes a second, then a second second, then a third, and a fourth and does not stir. Her breathing grows increasingly shallow and slow. Color drains from her face and her pulse fades. Dammit, Muzo, you should have given her the antidote -before- asking for corpses. Juuuuust as Muzo begins exhibiting outward signs of distress, the Queen groans weakly. Her eyelids struggle to open, pinching and squinting instead as her mind wakes ahead of her body. She exhales sharply as her lungs spasm to kickstart full breaths again, but fail on the first attempt. Finally her eyes open and she gasps loudly for breath, like a driver surfacing after a dive a meter too deep and dangerous. Breathing again, she groans and fidgets her leaden limbs. She calls Macon’s name and searches for him (though he’s likely right there). Her speech is slurred as she asks, “D-did it work?” She searches for Muzo next, her gaze drifting slowly as she’s still partially under the effects of the poison.

Macon waits. It is a good thing he cannot read minds either, as those little tid-bits that Muzo keeps to himself might have been cause for a royal headbutt. The Rage Knight is patient enough for the snake to find and administer his antidote in private, but by the time Josleen is stirring, he is indeed there at her side for the Queen to see. (He never went back into that weird parlor, just stood where he was left.) His questions are the same as Josleen’s, and he's already asked it after the operation was complete. ‘Did it work.’ Sure, it is more than likely that the only way to know is to successfully have a child, but it sure would be nice if Muzo could give them an answer now, even if it is a veiled guess.

Muzo is on the verge of fainting himself by the time the queen comes around. Both of them are busy remembering what it's like to breathe, and so, when Josleen's question strikes him, he has to blink, his train of thought switching tracks. "Yes, just in time." A pause. "Oh!" Muzo's eyes widen to great black saucers. "The surgery! Flawlessly. Yes. Bedrest. Get a healer. Might have to operate again if the stitches pull." Muzo wags a finger for added emphasis, trying his best to look stern. It's an unpracticed expression, and ill convincing, but still, the prospect of another operation should be dissuasion enough. The warning is issued to the king as much as it is to the queen; if Muzo's suspicion is correct, Macon will surely see that Josleen does nothing to over-exert herself.

Josleen does not plan on over-exerting herself as a general rule, and that’s especially true now that the prospect of a baby depends on her inertia. She smiles at the news then more dreamily at Macon without any self consciousness about her tenderness for him. Her lids grow heavy again and she’s eager to follow Muzo’s instruction for bedrest. She’ll have to thank Muzo later, when it’s easier to rub two thoughts together and spark a sentence. With a look to Macon and a sleepy moan, she indicates that she wants to go and rest in her own massive bed. How the King sees to that is his problem, because she soon after knocks out. When she wakes she’ll take stock of the damage, the pain, and the sacrifice that should, hopefully, be worth it in the end.