Gao
[sad jester jingle noises]
THE LAZARUS.
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RAT
THE
LAZARUS
LAZARUS
ใ
ใ
MOOD
Aggro BUFF RAT
LOCATION
MESS HALL
MENTIONS
ILYA & GROG
MERCY DOWN โ S. JAMES.
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YOUR JOURNEY IS
to be short-lived, and thereโll come a time you no longer search for a remedy, but a soft place to bury your bones.
CHAPTER ONE.
โAwful beastie is named, yes it be,โ a hitch, a pause to unpause.
โGrog.โ
A quieter admission, never fond of names, quick to cleanse it from the palate with a setting jaw. Tempered only because he knows thereโs a future where Oskar will be grateful that a gloomy doctor calls the cat by its correct name and not โShitheadโ or โUgly Bastardโ or โFuckwitโ.
He makes a mental note to later throw the screaming burlap sack into Ilyaโs sickbay and dust his hands of that unwanted responsibility.
But as a pure-born liar, Ratthew is well-versed in the act of levity. Wielding his smile and laughter in even the most dire of situations; there is no magic to it, only illusionary smoke on mirrors.
But even a mirror must warp and fracture under the pressure of someone so insufferable.
They eye from the periphery, taking in too much of Ilyaโs unpleasant halcyon. They have accepted the cat. Too passive, too accepting, too quiet and eyes too heavy and all too much of everything that Rat loathes. It must be intentional, their power of not entertaining misfits, must be some kind of intelligent playโ and yet.
โYโknowโฆ I can't really think about any plants I want right nowโฆโ
Stupid cretin.
โFat lots of good you be.โ Strategic callousness, things can be both insolent and useful, if it is delivered properly. He rakes again for a reaction, for a frown or fracture of composure he can dig his fingers into and pare open like a stubborn rib. โBets Ian canโt thinks of much with a brain oโ nothing.โ
He harbors the energy of a heist, mired in a game where he devotes all his attention. That is the first lesson of dying; when the future no longer matters, the present means everything.
โHey, actually, I used to smoke marijuana to sleep at night. Maybe some weed might be nice.โ
Plagued be the body and sharp be the mind, but itโs still a response that stuns Rat. Debates, for only a moment. Cannabis, greedy grub indeed. If Ilya intended to allocate it to patients for medicinal purposes Rat would have felt justified in demanding a different plant. He argues against the remnants of his morality that he is not interested in being involved in the process of helping others, but if Ilya wants it for personal useโ
โSleepsies often escapes Milky Ilky?โ Some restlessness to seek the truth of their purpose. Cannabis wouldnโt be too hard for the botanist, and there is no dissuasion from the prospect of smell or finicky conditions on a ship. His mind stirs, dare he admit, feather-wisp interest to a challenge.
Stamps down the thought, reminds himself it is an exchange. Cat for weed, a reasonable trade.
โRatsie helps, ya. Ratsie knows lots of remedy, ya he do.โ He mirrors Ilyaโs smile, without the soft beclouded edges. Wider, nefarious and sharp-edged as if whittled on cliff-faces.
The botanist flicks his wrist in hopes to ease some warmth through icy diluted veins, then smacks Ilya upside the back of the head with the quick impulse of a serpent strike.
โAy, hollow! โCourse it is.โ This is Rat having to climb one rung higher after the other in search for a reaction. โDiagnosed a lost cause, ya. Not longs to live, Ramarcus fears.โ
โกcoded by uxieโก