The Vestal's oddities had been known to the party for some time; with the constant threat of death and madness looming over their shoulders, the four often found themselves without the luxury of the masks they all wore in the hamlet. Here, they were constantly made to face what lay beneath that stoic surface; their pride, their cowardice, and the unyielding fear that today may bring with it the clutching embrace of damnation.
The Vestal, a woman of commanding virtue, had something else laying dormant beneath those often-frowning lips; a desire, and the most basic of which to afflict humanity. There was no explanation for this hunger, this burning heat which raged within her, and yet it remained, clawing at her devout soul with each passing day in the hopes that, one day, she would be consumed by it.
Her robes, now stained a dark crimson by some tainted mixture, told a grim story of how it had finally triumphed; She had drank from the devil's chalice, and now, affliction had claimed her mind.
"She is in no condition to keep going." The Plague Doctor insisted, risking another glance at the woman beside her, watching as the Vestal's hand slipped down to rub feverishly between her thighs, another heated grunt leaving her lips as she sought to ease this fire inside of her. "She's a danger to herself, and us."
"What are you proposing, then?" The Grave Robber was first to reply, lips pursed as she too glanced at the Vestal. "We can't very well leave her behind, Cels."
The eyes of the Plague Doctor's mask seemed to emanate with contempt at the mention of her name. "I'd never leave Junia behind!" She rose from her seat, towering over the blonde who still remain sat beside the campfire. "I say we turn back; we need to get her back to the hamlet-"
"So she can be railed like a sow until she snaps out of it?" The burglar's lips cracked a wicked grin. "What a lucky girl."
"What other choice do we have?" The Plague Doctor gestured with an open hand to the Vestal. "We all know her; the only thing that seems to cure her is.."
Her words trailed off into nothing more than a silent trembling of her lips as she felt a hand gripping her wrist, and a sensation of warmth wash over her fingers as a pair of surprisingly soft lips wrapped around them.
For a moment, the Plague Doctor couldn't bring herself to look; she knew what sight she would find when she did, and yet she tried to deny what was obvious to her – for Junia's sake. Her heart began to race, and with a trembling sound leaving her lips, she tried to pull her hand away from the Vestal.
The hand on her wrist held tighter, shivers racing up the Plague Doctor's spine as the Vestal's hot tongue began to coil around her fingers; the sensation was peculiar, sure, but not one that the doctor disliked. Under different circumstances, she might even..
"...Fine." She spoke again. "I have an idea."
The Grave Robber quirked a brow, eyes darting from the doctor to the nun still presently sucking on her fingers. "You do? From where I'm sitting, it looks like you're just indulging her."
The Plague Doctor sighed, her beaked mask drooping as she glanced away. "...That is my idea."
The idea seemed reasonable – at least, it did in the doctor's mind. If the Vestal's affliction caused her to crave that which would cure it, it seemed only reasonable to just give it to her. When the Plague Doctor had finished explaining herself, she found a rather different expression across the faces of her fellow adventurers. Grave Robber, of course, was wonderfully amused by the idea, a snide grin on her lips as she glanced to the Crusader, who had his head resting in both hands now.
Considering his background, the Plague Doctor could imagine how he felt on the matter – still, it was the vote of one against two, and the Vestal too seemed to be all for this idea, pressing to the Plague Doctor's side, trembling subtly with anticipation. Looking to her, the Plague Doctor pursed her lips, the question rising on her tongue.
"Junia, are you okay with th-"
An outburst of laughter echoed through the halls of this antiquated crypt when the Vestal suddenly tackled the Plague Doctor to the ground, her hands wildly exploring her form through her cloak, grasping on something as her hands slipped between the doctor's legs – something surprisingly large, and something that dear Paracelsus would certainly need to explain at a later date.
While the Grave Robber watched with an incredibly interested expression upon her full lips, the Crusader quickly broke his gaze from the display, sighing and turning onto his side, facing away from the campfire as he heard the sound of a doctor's uniform becoming unbuckled, of a nun's robes being cast aside, and finally, a stream of quiet, excited gasps, prolonged groans, and the slapping of flesh.
Looking up into the Vestal's eyes as the holy woman eagerly bounced in her lap, her generous "surprise" held tight in her quim, the Plague Doctor knew that neither the Vestal nor the Grave Robber would forget their friend's unconventional idea whenever they made camp in the future.
After all, there was no better time for healing stress than this moment of respite, where the silhouettes of lovers are outlined in a beautiful orange flame.