West's Room

Despite the generally dilapidated condition of the actual building, a great deal of effort has evidently gone into making this room bearable. Bearable for the owner, that is. The walls are coated in plain white paint and the window that overlooks the road is clean and curtainless, letting plenty of light and air into the room. It compensates somewhat for the lime-green, motheaten carpet.

A single bed, neatly made, is up against one wall. At the foot of the bed is a large wooden trunk, padlocked - it has H. WEST inlaid in silver on the lid and travel stickers from the States and Switzerland on the sides. A desk and chair barely make room for themselves in the small room and shelves loaded with textbooks hover precariously over that. The ubiquitous small fridge is absent from here.

From beyond Green Door, you hear a woman call out, "Excuse me? Sir?"

You call out, "Come in." towards the Landing.

Annwyn comes in from the landing.

Annwyn

A lady with gossamer grey eyes, the sharp stately features of nobility, and skin like moonlight on virgin snow. Her hair is the thick black of a tropical jungle where thatched leaves ward off sunlight. It is chained down in an economical braid, hanging straight and solid, like a halted pendulum. She's dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans, a linen, laced pirates shirt and combat boots. This woman looks out of place in her clothes, like maybe they aren't hers no matter how well they fit.

Annwyn looks to those who know her very well, or who are empathic, mildly distressed. Maybe she isn't sleeping well.

Annwyn opens the door, but doesn't step all the way in. "I'm truly sorry for bothering you...I was wondering were I would go now that I'm here.."

West leans an elbow on his desk, looking up from a book. "Go?" he doesn't seem to follow.

Annwyn says "To help people who need it?"

West oh's. "Well there's always the hospital. And I gather there's an asylum in Elbridge. I thought you were a GP?"

Annwyn shakes her head, "Not exactly. I'm a healer."

West's face registers distaste, "Oh. New Age, I suppose?"

Annwyn shakes her head, "Nothing like that."

West says "Well thank heaven for small mercies. How do you practice then?"

Annwyn's fingers close together, "It's not so easy to explain. Perhaps you could watch?"

West lifts an eyebrow, "I have some dead specimens you could demonstrate on. I prefer not to be a subject myself."

Annwyn says kindly, "No, no, I didn't mean you, I meant perhaps, if you knew someone?" she sighs, "This isn't going to be easy. As for the dead, the best I can do is animate them."

West stares at you.

Annwyn simply looks back at you.

West blinks, once, "What did you say?"

Annwyn says "I said I wasn't going to heal you, you look to be in good health."

West waves that off impatiently, "No. About the dead."

Long distance to Annwyn: West smirks, "Have you ever seen Re-Animator?"

Annwyn says "Oh, I'm sorry, the best I would be able to do with them is animate them."

West stands abruptly, brushing past you, "Follow me."

Annwyn clambers after you, in surprise.

West pounds down the stairs rather recklessly.

West uses the banister to swing himself in a tight corner and tears along the hall into the kitchen.

West fumbles in his trouser pocket and produces a set of keys on a long chain attaches to his belt. He sorts through the keys, selecting one and stuffing it into the padlock on the basement door.

The padlock springs open and West starts down the basement stairs, flicking a switch on the way down. Neon light stutters into harsh being as he calls back to you, "Shut the door behind you!"

Rookfield House Basement -- Banished Sun

The floor is concrete and the breezeblock walls are lined with iron bracket shelves. At the far end of the basement, a large cast iron gas-furnace sits - one darkened window in its panel glowing with blue contemplation. Next to the furnace is the boiler, bubbling and hissing as it feeds the building with hot water through elderly pipes that knock and rattle the nights away.

Under the slatted wooden stairs that lead up to the house, all the cardboard boxes and rolls of offcut carpet reside. Crammed in together and held in place by heavy toolboxes. A large heavy worktable stands almost in the centre of the room, loaded down with petri dishes, test tubes and beakers. A microscope and a collection of slides are congregated at the leading edge. Off to the side of the table, a small fridge hums quietly to itself. A single stool is set before the table.

Annwyn comes down from the kitchen.

Annwyn looks around, slowly.

West moves towards the fridge with his keys still ready. He opens the padlock on the fridge and opens it, his body and the door conspiring to conceal the contents. He pulls out a shallow metal tray with a decidedly dead cat on it and puts it on top of the fridge while he locks it up again.

Annwyn walks over to the cat, she pushes at it with a finger tip, "Quite dead. You want me to animate it, right?"

West straightens, picking up the tray and shoving things aside on the table to make room, nodding. "Yes!"

Annwyn nods, "Of course." she looks down at the cat, and cracks open it's jaw very slightly, enough to allow air in. "Well, it's not so medical as you might think...."

West watches intently, grabbing a small Dictaphone up off the table and starting it recording. "Subject, cat. Dead approximately twelve hours. Time ..." he looks at his watch, "Five thirty PM."

Annwyn looks at you, as if you are nuts. She starts to speak, ancient Gaelic, a chanting sound.

West frowns, but keeps the recorder going anyway.

Annwyn's fingers slip inside the cats mouth and steam starts to rise from the dead cat, as if it was warming.

West says into the recorder distractedly, "Tester putting fingers into subject's mouth. Cat steaming."

The air gets static and thick. As if there is a thunderstorm building.

West records, "Air beginning to ionise."

Annwyn leans close to the cat the chanting quit and her fingers move out of the cats mouth, she looks like she's going to perform CPR. The breath she lets into the cat is deep and hard. She steps back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Nothing happens.

West says "Tester breaths into cat's mouth." he checks his watch, "Five seconds ..." looks back to the cat. Back to the watch, "Ten seconds." back to the cat again."

At the mark of thirty seconds the cats tail twitches.

At thirty five it's legs move, like it's having a dream of chasing mice.

West seems quite highly animated himself by this, "Re-animation at thirty seconds! Cat twitching. Tail, then legs."

The cat's head twitches then the jaw pops closed.

Annwyn watches you, not the cat, with interest. She doesn't seem to know what to make of you.

West jabbers into the recorder, "Movement at the head at ..." he checks his watch, "Forty five seconds! No vocalisations yet." His gaze returns to the cat, as if the cat and his watch were the only things in the room.

At one minute the cat is standing, it's back arching, as if it's stretching after a long nap.

West is sounding more and more like a racing commentator, "Cat stretches! No signs of reanimation trauma! Testing for cognitive responses ..." he waves a finger in front of the cat's face.

The cat follows your finger, then lets out a cry that brings up the hair on it's own back.

Annwyn murmurs, "It thinks it's hungry. It's not, it's still dead...mostly."

West finally looks at you. "This is incredible!" then back to the cat, "Explain it to me!"

West tentatively touches the cat with his free hand, the recorder still whirring in the other.

The cat moves against your hand. Like any cat would.

Annwyn says "It's Necromancy."

West shakes his head, absently stroking the cat, "Explain the science, woman!" he seems truly astounded. "How long will it remain animated? How much of its brain is still functioning? How did you re-spark the electro-chemical processes?"

Annwyn says "That's just it, I didn't really. Feel it's heart."

The cat's heart isn't beating, and you note it isn't really breathing. It's moving, and it made a sound, but it's not alive. "It'll remain animated until I take the spell away or until I leave the shadow."

West puts the recorder down near the cat and puts both hands to its body, feeling about. He blinks, "This is ... this shouldn't /work/." he sounds rather frustrated by that.

Annwyn says "It's a family art, I learned it from my grandfather."

Annwyn says "The cat, is what most would consider /undead/. It's alive, but it isn't."

West thumps a fist on the table, "But where is the science that makes it work? Effects without some traceable process is ... magic." he seems upset just saying the word.

Annwyn nods, "Quite right, young man."

Annwyn says "It's Necromancy. Magic."

West seems about to launch into a denial, but the evidence is headbutting his hand and he stops to think it over a while.

Annwyn just watches her handiwork.

West says slowly, "What would happen if the electro-chemical processes were restarted and the ... the ... /spell/," he spits the word out distastefully, "was removed?"

Annwyn says "Oh, it'd be alive - sick from it, but alive."

West looks at you sharply, "Sick from it?"

Annwyn nods, "It's not easy being dead. You try it sometime, it's hard on your body."

Annwyn adds, "Also depend what the little one died from."

West snaps, "I /know/ the decomposition effects and this thing's been dead for hours!" he sighs, "Even in the fridge its brain and eyes will have decayed. It was given a lethal injection. Overcrowded cattery victim, I fished it out of the dumpster."

Annwyn says "Well, that limits the options doesn't it. Let's see." she considers the cat. "We need to flush it's body, clean out whatever they used to kill it. As for the decomposition, how long has it been dead?"

West hmm's, "About twelve hours, eleven of those in the fridge. The injection they gave it would have been an overdose of anaesthetic. Doesn't help with the damage to the brain, though."

Annwyn taps her fingers together.

Annwyn says "It won't be too terribly extensive, maybe we could do something about it..."

West slaps the table top, turning to pace a bit, "How? Brain cells decay at a frightening rate - and I'm not about to engage in Frankenstein brain-swapping, it would defeat the whole object."

Annwyn nods, "Well then, lets start with a freshly dead cat."

West taps his fingers against his chin, closing his eyes, "There is an additional problem."

Annwyn hrms quietly.

West says quietly, "Mr. Cragvale. Work with me and you'll be working to his betterment, I'm afraid."

Annwyn says nothing, but her eyes close. Something crawls over your hand. It's a maggot. In seconds the cat is crawling with them.

Annwyn murmurs, "I don't think so."

Annwyn turns to walk back up the stairs. Leaving you to the rotting cat.

West brushes the thing off his hand and wrinkles his nose at the cat's condition. "I had a feeling you'd see it that way."

West adds, "I won't mention you. Or this." and after a moment, "Or the card - I like having insurance."

Annwyn says over her shoulder, "Of course you won't." The cat starts to smell, it looks like it's been dead for weeks now.

Annwyn walks up the stairs and into the kitchen.

The cat rots to dust and a couple maggots, that's about all.