Lauriel III
Lauriel sat despondently in her truck, glancing upwards to the counter every so often.
She was cast in shadow, the stacks of styrofoam packaging untouched and rising high, blocking out the sunlight. Her grills remained empty, her ovens silent. There was no need to move, no one came to her station anymore anyway.
She had remained hopeful in the first week, when some miners came to her truck to stare. But that was all they did, as if they weren't sure of their decision. Then the second week passed, and it became clear that there was no saving her business. Lauriel was simply a contracted caterer, she did not receive any pay aside from what she made in her business.
This wouldn't be the end of her life, her friends reasoned, she could still make her way to another mine to ply her trade. The only problem was that she was stuck in Broken Hill until the supply landship came to resupply them - and from there she could hitch a ride to another city to renegotiate her contract. That would be at the end of the month, and so until then she kept her hopes up, and did not skip a single day to work.
She liked to believe she was an adaptable person, never one to stay down for long. If waiting for the supply landship was her only problem, she could've more than easily waited for it.
But another problem arose, one far more drastic - her life was on a timer, one very apparent to her.
Lauriel winced, feeling her arm ache again. She glared down at her bandaged right arm with hateful eyes, shifting it out of the light again. It was as if her oripathy was a plant, creeping through her body the more she exposed the crystals to sunlight. Then, it became any light source at all - as if the black rock was devouring in the very light to expand further.
So she bandaged her arm, wrapped it all in linen and cloth to stop its unending swelling.
Another ray of sunlight hit her - and she was engulfed in pain. Gritting her teeth, Lauriel furiously got up and slammed shut her newly installed blinds, engulfing the interior of the truck in darkness. She breathed out, feeling the burn in her arm subsiding, the coolness washing over her.
It wasn't as if she was going to sell anything today either.
Lauriel leaned over the kitchen table, right over the cutting board. Huffing, she carefully unbinded her right arm - revealing the marred, lifeless limb. The flesh was chalk white, devoid of any blood, and great lesions of originium slashed across the outer layers of her skin. Her veins were black, contrasting greatly with her stark skin. The crystals crept up her upper arm, the hungry beasts they were.
Lauriel reached into a cabinet and took out a box, dropping in on the table before reaching inside and pulling out one of many syringes. She looked around her kitchen, hands running over the counter in the darkness before finding a baking mitten. Without hesitation, she stuffed it in her mouth and bit down, gritting her teeth as she pushed the needle into her biceps and injected the originium suppressant inside.
"Khggh," she grunted, suppressing a scream.
Oh, it burned - a raging fire in her muscles and veins as the suppressant combated the oripathy in her to slow down its spread. Even after weeks of use, she still hasn't gotten used to it - most likely because the dosage of the suppressant had to increase after every day. When she was first prescribed originium suppressants by the doctor, she only had to inject herself once a day.
Now it was what - two, three times, depending on the pain?
Her mind grew hazy with agony, and she began doing anything to distract herself from the pain - swinging her arm around, practising faux punches, then actually punching the walls.
Bang! A sharp pain ripped through her arm - and then a flash of relief as the sudden shock pierced the fog in her head. The pain returned soon after, and so she continued punching the wall, desperately trying to stave off the encroaching torment.
Again, again, again - until the noticeable effects of the suppressant wore off. Lauriel withdrew her fist from the wall, finding the wall dented and covered in blood. She closed an eye, inspecting her ruined fist. Shards of originium had been broken off and fell to the ground, other shards had been pushed harder into her knuckles.
She wiped the sweat on her face, breathing heavily. Stumbling across the kitchen, she hastily found a pair of kitchen tweezers before falling to the floor, slumping against the counter. Lauriel groaned as she clumsily plucked the splinters of crystal out of her fist one by one, counting each, counting the time between each.
"Haaaah," she moaned, staring up at the ceiling.
To think she would have to take another dose later tonight.
Lauriel pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the pain of the originium shards on the floor digging into her palm. Brushing away the shards with a foot, she moved over to the broom leaning against a wall. A clean workplace was a healthy workplace, which leads to a healthy mind.
Or at least, so she told herself.
As she made her way over, her eyes caught onto a glint in the darkness. Drawn to the sparkle like a moth to a flame, she soon found that the sparkle belonged to a knife left abandoned on the cutting board.
Lauriel stared at its edge, the blade seemed to entice her with promise of relief.
Entranced, she stepped forward, picking up the knife with her left hand. Placing her right hand on the cutting board, she adjusted her grip, aligning the edge with her wrist. Lauriel had done this a thousand times before - up, and down in a single ckan strike, cleaving through meat and bone alike.
It would be painless, it would get rid of the pain.
She raised the knife up, her palms getting sweaty.
She licked her lips, she only had one chance at this.
The palm on the cutting board curled into a fist.
"...Grah!" Lauriel spun around and hurled the knife away into the darkness, feeling it thud against something.
Cooking was the last thing she had left, she couldn't bear losing her hand. Not now, not yet.
She sniffed, wiping the tears gathering in her eyes. The broom now completely out of mind, Lauriel numbly stepped towards the blinds, peering through the gaps. The mess ward was completely empty, and it appeared her truck was the last one there.
Lauriel glanced at the styrofoam boxes sitting on the counter, clenching her fist.
A sharp pain - and then a wetness. She slowly glanced down to realise she had clenched the wrong fist, and blood was dripping onto the floor. Bringing her hand to her face, she saw four holes in her palm, and four fingers encased in black rock. Lauriel let out a chuckle, a mocking laugh of disbelief.
"What…?" she smiled, "What… no, no, no- NO!"
She screamed, slamming her fist on the counter, shards of originium breaking off and set flying.
"NO, NO, NO, NO NO NO!"
Lauriel rushed back over to her box of suppressants, peering inside to see only thirteen syringes left.
"FUCK!" she wailed, "How- why so fast, why now!?"
The doctor barely entertained her now, she had to beg for this box of suppressants! Fat fucking chance she was getting anymore, this was all she had left until the supply landship arrived. When will it arrive!? She was dying - dying!
The thought crashed into her like a truck.
She was dying. She was staring death in the eye. Oripathy had a hundred-percent fatality rate, there wasn't a single recorded case of anyone making a full recovery. She was a dead woman walking.
…
Like hell she would lie down and take it! Lauriel had a family to feed didn't she? A mother, a father, a baby sister, all waiting for her safe return! If she was going to succumb to this fucking disease it would be after she had ensured their safety, after she ensured they would be fine without her!
Flustered, she slammed the lid of the box shut - fully intent on rationing it. Lauriel stumbled around the kitchen, crashing into things on weak legs - eyes searching through the dark for anything, anything, that could help her.
She crashed into a table, and the sight of a knife rack caught her eye - the silver blades taunting her, mocking.
Lauriel didn't have a choice, did she?
Grinding her teeth, she gripped the handle of the largest knife there - a cleaver - and pulled it out cleanly. Bracing her arm against the table, palm planted flat against the counter top, she brought the cleaver to her shoulder, aligning the edge to her skin. Sucking in a breath, her eyes sharpened, and she slid the blade down her skin.
"GYYAAAAGGHHH!" she screamed, feeling the cleaver slice through the lesions, as if she was peeling a fruit.
Then, the blade hit something solid, and she hazily looked down to see the metal edge stuck against a solid crystal protruding from her skin. She hadn't even reached her elbow. Licking her lips, Lauriel raised the knife again, aligning it parallel to her skin - before slamming it down.
Agony pierced through her body, but she did not stop - raising and slamming down the cleaver repeatedly, until the countertop was littered with black crystals, until her arm was coated red in blood.
When she no longer felt any resistance sliding the knife up and down her wet flesh, she finally breathed out - tossing the cleaver onto the slick countertop. Grabbing a towel, she wetted in the sink before cleaning out the blood - revealing gaping holes in her arm where originium crystals once were. Not to mention, her skin had been all but flayed off, exposing the supple pink flesh underneath.
Lauriel grabbed a roll of linen and unfurled it, pouring alcohol all over it before plastering it over her arm. With her nerves torn and ripped up, she couldn't feel anything and so swiftly wrapped up her arm without any pain.
There was a knock on the back door, but she didn't pay it any attention.
But the knocking was persistent, a fist hammering against the door unrelentingly.
"Who is it!?" Lauriel finally roared.
"Miss Lauriel," Florence's voice responded, "It's me! Open the door!"
"Go away, you stupid girl!" she snarled, "I don't want you catching the infection!"
"I'm not going away!" she shouted back, "...Fine, is that how you want to play!?"
There was a pause, and Lauriel hoped in her heart of hearts that Florence had given up. She had told the girl to stop associating herself with her, because doing so would have the miners ostracised her as well. Most of her peers gladly accepted her advice, no doubt wanting to distance themselves from a severely infected person as well.
Jackson took some convincing, but after the drop in business became noticeable to him, even he finally relented.
But Florence? Even after a severe lack of customers, she would stop staying back to help Lauriel - continuing to tout about her debt to her. Ridiculous.
Her hopes were shattered the next second, when there was a sudden click, and the door swung inwards. Lauriel swung around in shock, watching Florence climb into the truck with a frustrated expression, holding a pick in her hands.
"How…"
"I was a thief, back in the alleys," Florence answered, "After an incident, I like to think I flipped a new leaf. I didn't think I would have to lockpick this door, though."
Florence took her phone out from her pocket, switching on the flashlight to inspect the truck's interior. Her eyes raked over Lauriel's slouched, sweaty, and exhausted form - then across the floor and counters.
"What happened here…"
Florence kicked a shard of originium away from her, before picking a marker out of her breast pocket. She made her way to the calendar, shining her flashlight on it - revealing the knife Lauriel threw embedded deep in the wooden board the calendar was mounted on. Florence gingerly plucked out the knife before setting it on the counter, then uncapped her marker and crossed out the date.
"What's the point?" Lauriel bitterly asked, looking down, "It makes no difference."
"Keeping some habits keep you sane, I find," Florence murmured, "Offers some semblance of order and discipline in your life, you see?"
"...I suppose."
"Looks like you've calmed down," Florence grinned, "Someone wanted to meet you."
"Who…"
There was a knock on the open door, and a man stepped into the truck - glancing around. Lauriel's eyes widened at the sight of him, and she hastily brushed her hair over her eat in an attempt to clean up the sight of herself.
"Manager," she greeted him, "What can I do for you?"
The head of operations at Broken Hill, Manager Elliot, cautiously stepped forward, reaching into his coat and producing a sheet of paper. He placed it onto the countertop, before sliding it to her. Lauriel snatched the form, eyes scanning the heading and lines, before glancing up at him.
"Miss Lauriel, this is the official termination of you contract with Broken Hill," the manager thumbed his lip, "The landship Limbourne will arrive here in three days, so pack your things and prepare to depart."
Lauriel glanced the termination in her hands again, before releasing a long sigh.
"Where to, sir?" she asked, "And what about my contract with Ravensthorpe?"
"Gold Rush, just east of here," the manager answered, "As for your contract with Ravensthorpe, that's up to you to renegotiate."
Manager Elliot sighed, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.
"Listen, miss. Understand that there aren't any hard feelings here, it's not like I pay you or anything. But your presence here is becoming a strain on my boys' psyche, and productivity is falling."
"I understand, sir," Lauriel wetted her lips, "But if I may ask…?"
"Go ahead."
"Why are they so scared of me?" she blurted out, the words spilling from her lips, "It's not like… like oripathy is anything new-"
The manager narrowed his eyes, pushing himself off the wall before brushing a hand through his hair.
"Miss Florence, can you have us a moment?"
"Of course, sir."
The lady left through the door soon after, closing it behind her and shutting off the source of light.
Manager Elliot pinched his nose, "I fear you may have contracted a new, more severe and infectious strain of oripathy."
Lauriel's heart fell the the pits of her gut, and she could feel a headache brewing.
"We discovered it in a cave a month back - the fact that you've caught it is a combination of bad luck and gross negligence," the man sighed, "If it is any consolation, your… severance… pay will be quite hefty."
She bowed her head, clearly understanding his words, "Thank you, manager."
To her surprise, the man stepped forward and patted her on the shoulder, before handing her a slip of paper.
"This is-"
"A contact," Manager Elliot whispered, "I'm sure you understand that Rim Billiton is not the most morally dependent country. We are all expendable workers, you will not receive any treatment - or you will, as a lab rat."
Lauriel suppressed a flinch, but managed to shakily nod her head nonetheless.
"Consider this a personal apology gift, or a little help from one Infected to another," he closed his eyes, "All the details are written here, this will be your ticket to the Empire - where you may be able to find treatment."
"I…" her voice cracked, "I don't want to return to Victoria- no, I can't return to Victoria. What about… what about C-Columbia?"
The manager squeezed his eyes shut, and Lauriel feared that she had just pushed too far, and wasted any chance of getting treatment at all.
"I-I mean! Uh- Victoria's good, I'll take anything, really!"
"No," the manager murmured, "Columbia's fine, it's a bit far, but I'm sure you can make it work. Some new scientific research companies had been founded, I heard. If you play your cards right - using your special infection - you might just be able to get into the Union…"
But risk becoming a lab rat anyway, she finished the unspoken words in her head. But wasn't the Union a shining light for all Infected? They were much more tolerant of the Infected, thanks to their culture of scientific advancement and logical thinking. Oripathy doesn't spread from skin-to-skin contact, nor from breathing the same air as an Infected.
Basic education teaches this, but fear is often more potent than logic.
However, she had seen the travel advertisements, the Union prided itself on its high standards of education and logical thinking. Because of that, the Infected were treated the same as any other citizens, able to work and run businesses without disadvantages.
If her 'severance pay' was large enough, she might even be able to bring her entire family to Columbia, though it was unlikely.
A sharp ache in her right arm speared her out of her thoughts, and Lauriel hastily ripped her shoulder away from the manager's hand, stumbling backwards.
"Why…" she muttered, "Why are you helping me?"
The manager smiled, "Why do you think? It's because I have a stake in this situation."
"...Huh?"
He leaned in, "Don't trust anyone, you hear me? Not even me, if you must. Remember that, it'll keep you alive until you reach the Union."
Manager Elliot took a step back, and pulled off a glove, revealing a hand scarred by originium lesion. Lauriel glanced at it for less than a second, before taking it - shaking his hand. The man tipped his hat and left the truck soon after. Lauriel glanced around the ruined interior, before deciding to leave as well.
She took a kitchen apron from a hook and wrapped it around her arm before stepping into the sunlight, feeling her skin sting and prickle from its newfound sensitivity. Closing the door behind her, she turned around to see Florence waiting for her outside with a curious expression.
"What did you talk about?"
"I'm going to-" Lauriel's mouth snapped shut as she remembered the manager's words.
"...Hm?" Florence tilted her head, "Going to where?"
"Going to Victoria," she lied, "To find treatment."
"Huh? Haven't you said that you'd never return back to Victoria before?"
Lauriel shrugged, "I wanted to go to Columbia, but it is too far away. Besides, I no longer have a choice, do I? Victoria is close by, and I know people there."
"Ooh, smart!" Florence nodded, "So does that mean you're leaving Ravensthorpe?"
"Very likely," she admitted, "I doubt they'll just accept that I'm leaving Rim Billiton to Victoria in the middle of the year."
"You only have three days left here, right?" Florence smiled, "I'll help you pack up, it's the least I can do."
Why do you think? It's because I have a stake in this situation.
"No no," Lauriel waved her off, "It's not like I have much, anyway. And besides, you're shift's still on!"
"Hey! You're still my friend," she cried, "At least let us cook a big farewell feast!"
"...Alright," Lauriel relented, "The night before?"
"The night before," Florence agreed.
The clouds above them cleared, and the sun's golden rays pierced through the sky again. Lauriel winced, instinctively jerking her arm into her own shadow.
"Best we leave now," she told Florence, "Let's go back together."
The young lady grinned, "Sounds good!"
Lauriel returned to her truck, climbing into the driver's seat. Immediately turning on the air conditioning, she sighed in the cool air, finally relaxing. She had plastered old newspapers all over the windows as makeshift sunshades, leaving only a small open section in front of the wheel to see out of. Even then, she had lowered the interior sunvisor to block out as much light as possible.
Revving up the engine, she turned the truck around and began rumbling to the exit - the roar of Florence's own truck close behind her.
As she left the compound, Lauriel thought of her future plans. She had no other choice but to go to Columbia, but she didn't want to leave her family without a word. Should she send a courier?
The thought left a bad taste in her mouth.
Her parents and sister lived in Iron Fist, and last she heard the nomadic city was stationed to their northwest, in a large mining valley known as Peak Downs. Though, that news came from a supply landship that stopped here several months ago - considering the nature of nomadic cities, Iron Fist might have already moved.
Lauriel resolved to acquire transit to Iron Fist at any cost, for she also had to drop by the city's Ravensthorpe branch to renegotiate her contract - or terminate it if necessary. Gold Rush had a branch, but she would much prefer to visit the branch at Iron Fist - it was there she first signed her contract, and she was familiar with the people there.
Yes, she would then visit her family and give them all the money she had - she herself would only keep enough for a round trip to Columbia and back. It was a good plan, she thought, she had to travel minimally.
If she was to never return, Lauriel would prefer that her family had as much as possible.
Author's Note: This is my first time writing a 'psychological' piece of work that focuses more on internal processes than actual actions. I hope I managed to vividly convey that Lauriel's headspace has been through a blender, and that both outward and internal changes are occurring in her.
I'm not really good at writing emotions like angst and stuff like that, but that's why I'm writing this fic - to try my hand at it. If you haven't figured, this is the type of story that I'm going for - though admittedly I'm still quite uncomfortable with writing something like this. Any advice would be greatly appreciated.
Next chapter will be back to William and his own mental decay.
