Cure for Mondays.

[Reaver]

Summer 12, 511 AV It was the start of a rough day, with rough people, who had rough times the night before. No-one likes starting their work hungover, and it was the very rare day that Reaver was to find the cure. The mercenary was supposed to be guarding the docks tomorrow, and had too much to drink. He found his way around to the clinic, before passing out after taking Reaver's advice. Now, Reaver had to observe just how effective it was. The guard woke up from his chosen position... the floor. He looked around to find himself in a strange house, with a stranger person standing above him. His scream made Reaver jump back suddenly, not an easy feat in his gear, and his house groaned a heavy complaint. "Now that was rude. How about we start working on that hangover cure you talked about yesterday?" "What hang... ah, my head." "That one? Here, drink this while I go rummage through my cures." Reaver knew he didn't have a list of cures, just one. And he was about to drink it. "Gah, that really burned. What was that?" "My cure, actually. You shouldn't have troubles with your hangover for the next... two hours? Just come back then and I'll get you your next dose." "I'm patrolling the docks today. I can't find the time to stop by here that often." "These ARE the docks, you'll do fine. I think you said your shift starts in an hour, you have time." The man stood up confused, and made his way outside, a slight stumble to his step. Reaver looked to his cure, the bottle of liquor the man brought with him that night. I hope he isn't too mad when he returns.

[Reaver]

The two hours went past without a knock or whistle. Reaver decided to spend the time practicing his Projection... carefully. It had been a while sense he had practiced it, the last time being on a poor soul who deserved better... much to the disappointment of his ambushers. Reaver slowly drew out his left leg this time, and practiced with kicking various things. Seeing just how far he could kick it out without hurting himself. He kicked his chest, his coffin, and even nudged his bookshelf, knocking the books over. Satisfied with the training, he set his leg back into place. He did so slowly and carefully once again, as to not upset anything. The man returned half a bell later then expected, which was a surprise. Reaver knew it was him well before he knocked on the door, after all, who else would he be expecting? All the same, he opened the door, and there he was. "Your cure needs work, I've not been feeling my best at all today." "Drink more water, it'll keep your body's inside moving, and thus aid your recovery faster. Ready for another dose? I'll go prepare it." Reaver went to his table, and took the small shot glass the man brought in. He mixed the man's liqueur with some of his own, though not much of either. He brought it back to the man outside. "Here we are, it's a touch strong, so be sure to drink more water this time." The man looked to the 'cure,' recognizing the smell rather well. "You're curing my hangover by having me drink more? What kind of doctor are you?" "The practical kind. You don't, or I should say won't, drink enough to hinder your performance at work. Water and physical activity, even just walking about town, should be enough to do the rest. Tomorrow, you should be just fine to do whatever." The man looked suspiciously at the strange doctor, and with a shrug took the shot. "Why not give me the rest of it now?" "You'd drink it all. Moderation is key to the cure. Too much cure is a poison." He laughed, and made his way off, to continue his rounds. With a heavy sigh, Reaver closed the door. He looked to the bottle, there was a surprising amount left. Maybe just selling this would pay for his visit. Reaver smiled to himself, he wouldn't need to charge very much if the man thought Reaver was just using his own sources for the cure. Maybe he'd have a guard who didn't find him overly suspicious all day in the area, that would be a pleasant change.

[Reaver]

Reaver contemplated how to spend his next two hours. He decided it would be best to learn a bit about that magic he learned from that incorporeal fellow a while back. He looked about, it wasn't often he had an uncertain two-hour stretch of time on his hands. He thought about working with his glyphing, but realized that would be a waste of ink. He didn't have a whole lot of money to spend on it lately. He sat down on his table, and focused, releasing his Djed from his body as Res. He trained, but not in making it into fire. He tested it, somewhat rough, but being sure to watch his energy levels. He tried knocking over cups, moving and opening books, turning pages. Delicate movements and forceful movements, control. If he could control it better, he could control his fire better. It was an hour of practice. Testing, learning, experimentation, exploration, all words to describe it. He didn't waste the rest of his time either, but spent it doing something else. He focused on control, and guiding the Res around the room. He set up obstacles, and worked on avoiding them as he guided it around the area. He even tried a few simple mazes, but he couldn't avoid knocking down his paper walls. It was during one of these practices that he got a knock on his door. He opened the door, to find not two, but three hours had passed. The mercenary at the door spoke up. "I thought I could tough it out from there, but it got a lot worse as time went on. I think the next drink will be my last for this week, for better or worse." "Ah, well then." Reaver filled the glass once again. "For better or worse, cheers!" Reaver handed over the glass, and the mercenary took one last drink and headed off again. "Didn't even think about paying, what a jerk. Ah, well, I didn't get nothing. Maybe a friend will be a fun change of pace for a while. I'll see if he's around tomorrow then." ...He didn't come back that day.