Warning: This particular Slice has been rated for substance abuse. coughs And by that, I'm referring to the substance of the fic. Or lack thereof winks Yes, I do believe there's a lot of Substance Abuse in this one. Hehe.
A Splice of LifeThird Slice- A Brew Screwed (Part 2 of 3)
As concocted by: Nikoru Sanzo
Nobody stopped to question the angry, huffing friar stomping through the corridors of the Order. Not even when the friar's robes were cut into shreds, his hair matted with dust and a reeking substance no one wanted to inquire about.
Not even when a trail of smoke followed him all the way from the laboratory which now resembled a war zone after that little fiasco with the chemical gattling gun.
The pigswill projectiles shouldn't have posed much of a problem. But monks and friars with flapping robes that could easily get caught in exposed flame, unstable chemicals and jutting pointy contraptions have been added somewhere in the equation.
All of which conspired to compute a geometric progression of disaster.
When the friar stopped before the door to Van Helsing's quarters, the monks who were milling about decided to value their lives and scurry away like frightened church mice.
"Van Helsing!" Carl growled as he barged into the room.
The monster hunter was calmly sitting on his bed, his composure broken only by the sneezing. "Yes, Carl? Everything all right?" he inquired with apparent concern, then sneezed.
Carl's face went white with anger even as he sought to keep his voice down. "All right? Do I look bloody all right to you? Have you any idea what kind of bedlam your boorish manners just caused? I'll be damned if the Cardinal doesn't pick up his skirts and jog over to the Pope to have us excommunicated this very instant!"
He was answered with a barrage of sneezes. All thoughts of vengeance were suddenly wrenched from the friar's mind. So rarely did Van Helsing come down with anything that Carl was convinced only the most insidious and fatal of plagues could weaken the strapping and robust monster hunter.
Carl quickly scuttled over to Van Helsing and knelt beside the cot. Another powerful sneeze startled him, then he laid his hands on Van Helsing's leg and shoulder.
"Goodness! You sound awful. Did you come in contact with the rotting corpse of a plague victim or by any chance ingest, by accident of course, the body fluids of a harpy? You know, the kind that regurgitates a foul and nauseating slop on its prey?"
Van Helsing sneezed again, his eyes already bloodshot and watery. He exclaimed, "Stop it Carl! You're making it worse! Even with the cold I can smell that pigswill on you!"
"Sorry. You just got me worried," Carl apologized and scratched his head. He frowned and looked at the gunk that caught in his fingers. He was jolted by more of Van Helsing's powerful sneezing. The friar patted his friend's back, grave concern etched upon his grimy face.
"I'm fine, Carl. Really, I am. Nothing a good night's rest wouldn't cure." Van Helsing tried to reassure his friend, then sneezed.
Carl shook a finger and scowled indignantly. "Nonsense! Your condition is vexing all the sanity out of me. If this bug of yours spreads and infects everybody else, I wouldn't be surprised if the entire population of the Vatican is decimated within a fortnight!"
Van Helsing rolled his eyes before shutting them in another powerful sneeze. "You're exaggerating, Carl! Next thing you know, you're having me strapped down on the operating table and using the tojos to cut out my lungs for further examination!"
The friar crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. He huffed, "Look who's exaggerating! There'll be no need for such dramatics, not if I can help it."
Carl dug into a pouch around his waist, took out a small bottle and thrust it upon his very ill friend. "Here. Take two drops and call me in the morning."
Van Helsing covered his mouth with one hand as he sneezed. He took the bottle from Carl and eyed the friar suspiciously. "Just two drops? Shouldn't my grave condition require more than just a trickle?"
Carl walked over to the door and peered through it anxiously. Good. No sign of the Vatican guards yet. "Oh, don't be such a big baby! It's the most potent cold medicine one could buy from street hawkers," he proclaimed with much certainty.
Van Helsing sneezed and muttered, "Street hawkers? You have faith in street hawkers and quacks?"
Carl grinned. "Well, I bought some rat poison from them and the little buggers in the laboratory died from the mere stench of it."
"As everybody else nearly did." Van Helsing snickered, then sneezed.
The friar wrinkled his nose and tilted his head. "I beg your pardon? I've inquired with doctors but they haven't found any cure for the cold or allergies. And what better way to see the effectiveness of that medicine than to have someone test it?"
The mere premise of Carl's argument should've alerted him, but all the sneezing must've jolted Van Helsing's brain from its place. "All right. If it makes you happy, I'll drink this medicine of yours and pray I don't die a horrible death within eight seconds."
Carl stuck out his tongue at Van Helsing as he stepped out of the room. "That's good. I'll just change into clean robe, pray to every saint in heaven for a miracle that'll wash off this stink and I'll be back to check on you. Remember, you must drink only two drops. Just two bloody drops!" And he was gone in a flurry of torn robes.
Though danger, certain death and minuscule probabilities of succeeding in a mission had never drawn a single string of hesitation from him, Van Helsing couldn't bring himself to follow Carl's simple but questionable prescription. He sat on his cot for the longest time, forcing a coherent thought between the sneezes.
Perhaps he should wait for Carl in case he drinks the medicine and something does happen to him. That way, his corpse won't have to reach an advanced state of decomposition before everyone finds out about is tragic fate.
He shook his head to chase away the morbid thoughts. Since when had the harmless little friar done him harm?
Apart from that time when Carl nearly set his hair on fire with a Bunsen burner? Or that time when Carl tripped on a rock and accidentally pulled the trigger of a flamethrower as it was aimed at Van Helsing? Or that time when Van Helsing was sitting next to the campfire as Carl attempted to put it out… with a wineskin full of kerosene instead of water? Or that time when…
He shook his head even harder to chase away the even more morbid thoughts.
Van Helsing rolled the bottle between his palms. Another powerful sneeze rocked his body. He gripped the bottle hard to keep from dropping it to the floor in case it turns out to be one of those things that explode upon impact.
The monster hunter rubbed his nose as he examined the unintelligible writings on the bottle.
Now why on earth would a cold medicine have drawings of naked men and women on its label?
But before he could hypothesize (as Carl would say with immoderate emphasis), he was interrupted by a series of hard sneezes. The situation was fast becoming intolerable even for Van Helsing. The monster hunter made up his mind.
Van Helsing took off his shirt, accidentally sneezing on it. He grimaced at the mess he had made, threw the soiled garment at his bed and opened the bottle. With his heightened senses still slightly capable despite the cold, Van Helsing sniffed the contents. It didn't smell like anything rotten or disemboweled. Rather, its odor reminded him of roses, jasmine and musk.
"Just two drops? If something can cure you in just two drops, then the entire bottle could only do you much good," Van Helsing reasoned, in the same way that he would reason with –" Just two hacks with the tojo…?"
Van Helsing raised the vial in a mock toast before drinking the medicine. The last drop had already plunged into his throat when the friar burst into the room. Carl was paler than usual and was gasping even harder than that time when they tried to outrun a pack of hellhounds in Baskerville.
"Van Helsing! I gave you the wrong bottle! For the love of heaven, stop!" Carl screamed in between wheezes.
The monster hunter only raised an eyebrow at the sight of the breathless friar. "What took you so long? I might need a witness who'll testify that I was poisoned by your so-called medicine and not struck down by an act of God. That should at least keep Jinette from having the last laugh!"
Van Helsing paused for a moment. He touched his throat, then his nose as his face brightened. "What do you know? It actually works, Carl!" He beamed at the friar.
"Well I'll be! It also cures colds! But-!" Carl covered his mouth with his hands in clear horror.
The slip didn't escape Van Helsing's attention, now that he wasn't being jolted by any more sneezing. "Also, Carl? Are you telling me this potion of yours does something else other than curing a cold?" he growled.
But before Carl could give an answer, Van Helsing was seized by a sudden and immense pain. He fell to his knees as he hugged his sides. A burning sensation washed over his entire body and he felt his chest about to burst any moment.
The friar knelt beside Van Helsing and gripped the other man by his shoulders. He then frantically searched for the bottle and found it on the floor not far from them. Carl picked it up and his eyes widened in horror as he discerned the markings on the label.
"Saints preserve us! I prepared this potion from a recipe book from that crazy hack of an alchemist whose evil plans you thwarted last week. Do you recall him? Anyway, I intended to test this potion on a willing wench although I'm aware the value orientation of such an action is still rather questionable so I didn't push through with my plans and… "
Carl looked at his friend, helplessly struggling against whatever pain was searing through him. Van Helsing was now thrashing about and pounding his meaty fists against the floor. Carl gasped.
Did he just put a crack on the cobblestones? By the Holy Cows of Saint Bovine! I'm going to die!
Van Helsing writhed in agony. He grimaced in pain as he grabbed Carl by his robe and roared, "Carl! What have you done to me?"
The friar, in a miraculous surge of adrenaline, managed to pry himself from Van Helsing's death grip on his robe. He ran to the door but before he could take flight, Carl felt some last words would be fitting.
"What have I done to you, you ask? Nothing! Nothing that will compare to what you'll be doing to me when you find out! I'm sorry! Goodbye!"
To Be Sustained…