dream a little dream of me | Glowfic Constellation

God fucking dammit.

"Ah. Um. Good catch thanks."

He will go ... pour out the flagon of mead for Anatole ... and the rest of the barrel, so she doesn't notice later how perfectly good it is.

Dorothy Ueda

Dorothy returns to picking at her breakfast and staring dourly into the middle distance.

And Camillo returns to Anatole's little house with breakfast, and mead from a fresh barrel, and a tale of woe.

of-the-west

"Good morning."

He offers the mead.

of-the-west

…he takes the mead.

“Thank you,” he says, in a tone that is only not personally offensive because it’s clearly wholly undirected.

This is maybe a bad time to bring up the poisoning failure.

"I've got food too. When you're up for it."

Also, orgasms release headache-relieving endorphins, he doesn't say, even though it's totally true.

of-the-west

Taking a few good swallows of alcohol first, and then grimacing.

“If I even think about eating I think I might be sick,” he says, reaching out and taking the first food item his hand touches.

"I tried to give it to her but she said the mead was off," says Camillo, who has a guilty conscience.

of-the-west

“Did you put it all in at once.”

"You said multiple drinks if I could! I didn't think I could!"

of-the-west

He lets himself slump backwards, the back of his head thunking on the support beam behind him.

of-the-west

(Ow.)

of-the-west

He drinks in moody silence for a minute.

“…you handed her a drink, it tasted terrible, and her first theory was that it went bad?”

"Y....es?"

of-the-west

“She really does consider you one of them.”

It’s difficult to tell if he likes or hates this news. The only emotional affect he’s capable of at the moment seems to be “hangover”.

He has the absurd urge to defend his honor, to argue that she's right to consider him one of them, that he'd never poison her.

This seems, to put it mildly, unhelpful.

"I guess that makes it more likely to work, at least."

of-the-west

He nods, in as small a motion as possible.

Will a bite of cheese kill him? …not yet.

“I bought more than I gave you. I’ll—”

of-the-west

“…find that now, actually.”

He clambers out of bed, wincing, and pulls a small lacquered wooden chest out from underneath.

"Where do you buy something like that?"

of-the-west

“Apothecary. Have you not heard of the opium poppy?”

He unlatches the chest, removes a smaller box, sorts through a few dubious little vials and packets until he comes to one that looks familiar. He stows box two back in box one.

"...heard of it. Never seen one before."

of-the-west

“They mostly grow it further south.”

He opens the top of the packet, dips his pinky nail in and measures a bit out into his cup.

“Better smoked than eaten, but…”

of-the-west

He downs the rest of the flagon as quickly as possible.