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its-echo-song · 2 days ago

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Plague AU Ch. 1

This is a fanfic au of @tuna-jsgross oc, Donny :)

No matter how many rigid, pale, glossy-eyed corpses I toss into a pit- I never get used to it. The smell clings to you, not just physically, but in a way that you can recall it at any given moment and it’ll be precisely correct every time. Your mind locks on to it, a cruel fate when you’d only ever wish the memory away upon recalling it.

But we do what we have to do, those of us who are healthy enough to carry on must bear the burden of the souls that leave us behind. Hundreds of them.

Things have been bleak, lately, the population dwindling, the doctors working tirelessly at all hours, the keepers doing our best to support their efforts.

Despite the curse that’s seemed to land upon us all, the cold grip of death that drifts as fog through the town, I do my best to remain the optimist. I try, through the sweat, vomit, and exhaustion, to be the smiling face that others may need to see. I want to grant the damned one last comfort before their walk to the other side, if nothing else.

I’ve been told that I’m going to fall victim, myself, if I don’t learn to keep my distance. I try -I swear I do- but what is humanity if I allow myself the coldness of turning a blind eye to the tears of a widow in her last moments? I hold their hand through it, I think I always will. If that’s what brings me to the end, I will take that journey with pride.

In some way, I believe this trait is what saves me. I’ve far outlasted friends, those who have worked beside me, and other members of town- the clergyman in our parish says my soul has been granted divine graces for my actions. The plague doctor tells me that his spiritualism is nonsense, there must be another reason.

Though, admittedly, he’s never been able to provide any sort of reason for it.

I suppose it would be hard to believe in divinity after seeing so many people’s lives extinguished, as he has. There’s no sense to it, I confess, it’s hard to believe in anything caring for us when so many have succumbed to the sickness. I’d glanced at the book they keep in the church, records- weekly death tolls growing larger and larger as time moves forward.

I’m on rounds today, moving through the makeshift hospital, trying to keep patients cool despite their fevers, dabbing a rag into a bowl of water and passing it over their foreheads. I try not to look at the blackening flesh, rotting while they’re still alive- everyone knows once this happens, death follows. We’re told to skip these patients, there’s nothing we can do.

The plague doctor is here, letting blood from patients, examining wounds, and swearing roundly at the losses as bodies are dragged out to the street to be disposed of later. I watch him work between my tasks, methodically, moving from person to person with the confidence of a man who seems not to fear death at all. As far as doctors go, when the death started spreading, many of them fled. The plague doctors are mostly new doctors, some not even doctors at all. The instructions they give vary from person to person, but this one in particular has been the most consistent- showing up day after day, always seeming to be around in one way or another.

After a while, it seems that he’s grown familiar with me as well, calling me by name when asking for assistance, sending me on errands for him. I’m happy to help in any way I can, and just like that I’ve found myself becoming a close assistant.

When he shows up in the morning the first thing he does is summon me. He hands me supplies, asks if I’m ready, and we make our way inside.

Despite the time I’ve spent around him, I know very little of him. He doesn’t tell me his name, doesn’t disclose where he’s from, but his accent speaks of France- some things cannot be so easily hidden.

As it turns out, nobody knows much about him. The other plague doctors have names, previous jobs, we know where they were hired from, but this one? It seems he refuses to discuss anything other than business.

This has led to a web of rumors surrounding him. Some of them are run of the mill- he’d run away from some rich family to lay down roots, he’d left his wife when he couldn’t stand her anymore, he’d had so much debt he couldn’t dream of paying it back. Some of the rumors are a little more scandalous. His wife caught him with a mistress, he’d never married due to his affinity towards the same sex, he had a drinking habit and got kicked out of his old town when he performed medicine drunk and killed a man.

Whatever may or may not be true, I find myself becoming more and more curious with each passing day. One evening, on a particularly grueling day, the doctor pauses on our usual walk out from the ward. I’m carrying supplies, a bit of a habit from working with him for so long even though he hasn’t actually asked me to in a while. “Donald- have you noticed anything peculiar?” I run through a mental list of the day's goings-ons, turning up only the usual. “No?” “Hm. I’ve noticed things.” This is the most conversation I’ve managed to get from him at evening time, so I take the bait. “Care to share, or are these things going to live and die with you?” “See, that’s just it. You live. The others- they die.” “Oh- we’ve talked about this, I’m blessed-” “-but the others who shared the same disposition? Divinity found it fit to turn his back on them?” “Well… I guess.” “No. I don’t believe it to be so.” “What do you suggest? You’ve found no answers previously, are things any different tonight?” “Not yet- but I want to propose something.” This piques my interest, I move the supplies to one hip, shifting my weight into a comfortable lean. “I’m listening.” “I’d like to do research on you. Nothing terribly invasive, nothing painful. Mostly just observation.” “Observation? Don’t you watch me work all day?” “I confess, I do. Quite closely.” There's a stillness in the air after he says this, a moment where the chirping of crickets and the distant sound of wind through brush is all my ears catch. He sets in again, shifting and grabbing the supplies off my hip. “Apologies, I just want to understand. There must be a reason for it- I’m hellbent on finding an explanation.” “Well- I suppose there’s no harm in it. What would you like me to do?” “Come to my quarters in the evenings. Let me observe, let me perform a physical- probably once a day. I’d like to note any variables or changes.” “A real life science experiment.” I mean it as more of a joke but with a singular bob of his head he agrees. “Right. If I can figure out why you’re immune- maybe we could use it for the others.”

“A worthy cause.” “Quite.” “Alright. You’ve got a deal.” “Wonderful! Let’s head over then-” “Tonight? Right now?” He freezes mid stride, turning to peer back at me. The movement would’ve been bird-like even without the plague doctor costume. “Is that alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t ask if you had plans.” “I don’t I just- it’s somewhat late and I’ve not had a bite to eat all day. I’d like to get supper first.” “I’ll supply food if you’d like. You can eat while I go over the death records.”

“Oh- okay, sure.” I shuffle along beside him, awkwardly. After a few strides it’s evident that the supplies are heavy to him. “You sure you don’t want me to carry that? It’s no problem.” “I’ve got it.” We march along a few more yards before I can hear him huffing as we go, trying to keep up the pace despite restricted airflow due to the mask. “Seriously, boss, I can carry it. Let me help-” “If I accept your help now, I’m admitting defeat. I’m not letting three stone of glass do me in.” “It seems the doctor has a stubborn streak.” I’m mostly musing to myself, slightly amused at this new tidbit of information. He looks up at me, and I swear I can feel the glare behind the mask. “Damn right I do.” He marches forward with determination. “The only way to get anything done around here.”

“Hey! I seem to recall doing a lot of stuff!” He sighs. “Yes, with you being the one exception.”

“So don’t give up on the task. Just… delegate it so you can save your energy for more important stuff like research.” He stops so abruptly that I nearly trample him, the question of who’s carrying what nearly becomes completely invalid as the box almost fully topples out of his hands. “You’re right. Here.” He holds the box out to me with weary arms and I take it easily. It doesn’t feel like much weight to me, though I suppose a lifetime of heavy lifting far better suits me for the job.

We finish making our way back to his quarters. It’s mostly temporary, but he’s been housed far outside the city, quite the walk. When I comment on this he lets out a low hum of agreement. “I can’t be near anyone in good health. I’ve agreed to isolation.” “What about- I’m in good health. Will you get in trouble?” “Well, you’ve been exposed first-hand plenty. If you were to fall to the sickness I’d imagine it would’ve happened far sooner. Besides… I’m my own master, here. Who is going to chastise me for it? Do you see anyone around? Nobody knows or cares what happens in my quarters.” I glance around at the hollow houses surrounding his, empty and dark, somehow cold as if they suffer from the disease as well. I can almost hear them moaning in the same kind of pain, feel them longing for the life that once graced their walls. “I-I guess that’s true.”

“You’re coming in or you’re dropping the box off and leaving, this much is up to you. If you choose to stay I will be grateful.” “I’ve committed, I’m not going to abandon my word.” “Very well, step inside.” He opens the door for me and lets me in, upon entering I see he’s set up a comfortable living space for himself. There’s a stew still warmed on the cinders of the fire, a bed set off to the side, a desk laden with parchments, several lamps and plenty of oil to go with them.

Upon closer inspection, his desk has more than work notes. There’s a few sketches of flowers, each with the scientific name scrawled underneath them. Viola odorata, or commonly, the wood violet.

It seems he has both a knack for artistry and a fondness for botany. “Violets?” I hold up a drawing and he nods without looking over at me, stoking up a fire.

“Yes, they’re used in my mask.” “Oh, so… not because you like them?”

“Well- I find the scent pleasing. As it should be, for a plague doctor’s mask, such is the point of it.”

“What else do you put in there?”

“Lavender, if I can find any. Tea, maybe mint if it’s not too scarce. Mint and lavender work the best, in my experience.”

“The smell keeps the illness at bay, right?”

“It’s the theory- the scent is what makes you sick. But then you have others who… don’t seem to obey that rule. So now I’m trying to figure out what else it could be. I thought perhaps contact, but that doesn’t seem to bother you whatsoever. I have to wonder to myself how someone could be in such close contact, breathing in the same air, and still be left standing a month later? It’s phenomenal… it’s maddening.”

I chuckle, cocking my head at him. “I’ve kept you up at night thinking about me, then?”

There’s a long silence before he shakes his head. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint. What do you want me to do first?”

He stands and collects a bowl, filling it with stew before handing it to me. “Eat. Keep your strength up. I’d hate to lose the subject of my interests so early.”

I take it and make a ‘cheers’ motion. “Yes sir.”

#darvey #stardew valley darvey #darvey plague au #donnytunajsgross #donny tunajsgross #fanfic

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its-echo-song · 2 days ago

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Plague AU Ch. 2

I sit on his bed, watching him as he fills out paperwork on his desk. I’ve finished eating already, even the second and third helping- at his insistence, ‘the least I could do as payment for your time’, as he said.

He shuffles papers together and sighs, turning in his chair to observe me. “Alright, I suppose it’s time we get started.”

“What’s the first step?” Is he going to wear his mask the entire time? I’d hoped that maybe, since we aren’t around the sick, he’d take it off. I would like to see who's hiding behind it. It would be a wonderful story to be able to tell the other keepers. I suppose I’m not so lucky, though.

“I’m going to take some measurements and make notes about your general physique- then I’ll take a few pulse readings.” He shuffles through his supplies, producing a cloth measuring tape akin to that of a tailor. He stands and makes his way over, peering down at me for a moment. “I’d prefer to get accurate measurements-” He tugs gently at the cloth draped over my shoulders. “Right- sorry.” I pull it off over my head and he gives me a stiff nod. “Quite alright-” he takes hold of my arm, stretching it straight out and measuring from my shoulder to my wrist. He grabs his notebook and starts writing measurements down. “I apologize, this process may be timely. There’s a newer study, one that focuses on…” He pauses, struggling for the word as he measures wrist to fingertip. “The human body, I suppose.” “Oh? What do you mean?” “Well- the study of humors is widely accepted but- there’s a theory that perhaps by observing the body we can figure out how illness comes to be and why.” “Then why do you want to observe me? Wouldn’t it make more sense to do this to someone who’s sick?” “Well, if I can figure out why someone is sick, maybe I can figure out why someone is not sick.” “What’s wrong with the current method?” “It doesn’t make sense. If humors are truly the answer- why do others who seem completely in balance fall ill? There’s got to be another reason. I don’t believe in a divine being sending punishment- I don’t believe the stars control us so closely- could you please flex this arm? Thank you.” He wraps the measuring tape around my bicep and takes note before moving on to measure across my chest, then around my rib cage- wrapping his arms around me to pull the measuring tape into his other hand. It’s strange being this close to a plague doctor, even in the workplace we never seem to touch in any way. Though he’s still veiled in leather and cloth, it’s the closest I’ve ever managed to get to him. I try to glance a hint of his face behind the mask, peering into the round glass pieces- it’s far too dark to see anything behind them.

“How long do you think the research will take?”

He doesn’t answer, turning and writing in the pages of his journal instead. “Would you stand please?” I give him a sidelong glance but follow his instructions, staying still as he measures my height- feeling a small spark of delight as he swears in French. Tall enough to astonish the good doctor.

“So I take it that your silence means it’s going to take a while?” He gestures for me to sit and slides off a glove, kneeling next to me and taking my wrist in his gloved hand. He uses the other to run his fingertips along the vein in my arm, palpating gently and then stilling on my wrist.

“Good things do not get done quickly. Science takes time if it is to be done correctly.” He counts softly, then gently releases his grip. This, too, gets written down. “I don’t mind, I’m just curious.” He chuckles, I’d bet money that he’s smirking under that mask. “You certainly are. Lots of questions.” “Can you blame me? You’re an enigma.” “Enigma? I quite like that.” “Well, if you’re going to be doing experiments on me, I’d like to know things about you.” “This is not experimentation, simply observation.” “If you’re going to be observing me,” I correct myself pointedly, “then I’d like to know a little bit about the man behind the mask.” “And so I answered your questions, every one of them. Have I not?” “I- well… I guess so, yeah…” “Then I’m meeting the terms you’ve set forth, though you haven’t been upfront about such things from the start.”

I clear my throat, glancing away and staring into the fire. “I suppose.” “Eyes forward, please.” I’ve hardly shifted my gaze when he reaches up, holding my jaw with his gloved hand and placing his index and middle finger just under my jaw. “Double checking your pulse readings.” He explains, only after having made the movement. An eternity passes before he releases me once again, returning to his notebook. “So- is this it? Just being looked over like cattle?”

“Yes, essentially. I’d like to ask questions about general diet and habits.” “Meat and potatoes, mostly.” “Water or wine?” “Wine each meal.” “Very good.” He sets his notebook down, sitting back on his heels. “I suppose that’s all for tonight. I’d like to make drawings tomorrow, but for now- it’s late.” “You want to make drawings of me?” I ask, half amused, half embarrassed. “Of course. Studying the body is rather useless if I’m not recording my findings as accurately as possible.” I pull my shirt on, grinning down at him and offering a hand up. He hesitates before taking it in his gloved hand. “Then I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. I’ll be sure to be presentable.” He laughs softly. “No, come as you are. Don’t skew the results.”

“Well, then I suppose I’ll make my way home.” “Would you like me to accompany you back?” I stare at him for a moment, slightly amused at the offer. “Whatever for?” He goes quiet. “I suppose you’re right. Have a restful night, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow.” “I’ll see you in the morning.” I start making my way back home, realizing slightly too late that perhaps I would’ve preferred the company. I’m not scared of anything, per say, it’s more of the fact that the chill seems to cut deeper in the silence. The wind howls through the marsh in the distance and it brings my mind to unpleasant thoughts, bringing uneasiness to my core. The silver of the moonlight is enough only to navigate, but the unlit houses seem to loom more imposingly as I make my way past them, the shadows shift and move when I’m not looking. Tomorrow night I think I will accept the offer, after all. “Yes, yes, I see you’ve got prominent muscles- please humor me in putting them away, for the sake of neutrality.” The doctor seems a little more frustrated than usual today- we’ve lost more people than… well, when do we ever wish to lose anyone? So when we got back to his dwelling at night, ate, and set to work, I did my best to humor his every request. Except when he says ‘pose’ he intends me to sit idly for hours. I move too much for his liking, as he tries to sketch as quickly as he can, he begs me time and time again to revert to the way I was sitting moments ago- if I get distracted by my stories and start talking with my hands he chastises me. After a while he places the sketchbook down with a hefty sigh. “Perhaps this isn’t the day for this kind of study.” “Oh- I’m sorry, I’m trying. It’s hard to stay still for so long.” “It’s not just you- I cannot get the lines right. I’ll have to try again another night. Everything must be just so.” “You’re after perfection, I can’t provide that, maybe you’d find a better subject more compelling-” “Nonsense, perfection is an illusion but you’re as close to it as one could find anyway. I’m simply suffering from fatigue.” “You’re saying you think I��m perfect?” Sometimes the mask is far more expressive than it should be, for instance, I can tell he’s giving me a glare that would wither me if I could see it. “A perfect riddle.” “What happens if you never find the answer you’re looking for?” “I’m not sure. I guess things keep going the way they are… dismal thought, let’s not dwell on it.” “You really think the answer to this illness is something as simple as the body itself?” “I think… I have a lot to learn. I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for but I’m convinced this illness must be something physical. It manifests physically, it feels as if- when I see someone suffering from it- it’s as if the body itself is turning against its owner.”

“So if you figure out how they work maybe you can make them behave?” “Eh- I suppose, in a way. Maybe there will be a medicine that can tame the disease and it’s something you’re doing, eating, drinking… there’s so many variables.” “Maybe it’s good humors.” “Yes, I know.” He sounds more frustrated saying this. “They all tell you that, they all believe it. I’m tired of hearing it.” “But what if it’s the truth? Would you reject it because it’s not what you want?” “I’m very well versed in rejecting things that sound as if they’re children's tales.” I sigh, gesturing to his outfit. “What children would want this?”There’s a stillness that falls over the room, he looks down at the floor and we sit in silence for a moment. The fire crackles in its hearth, gently licking at the cast iron within, throwing its warm light around the room- throwing shadows that dance upon the walls.

“Perhaps it’s time to retire.” He finally states, dryly, quietly. “You- you didn’t even do the physical yet-” “You don’t believe in it.” “Well- just because I have my doubts, that doesn’t mean we give up. What if you prove me wrong?” “What if it hinges on you believing it can be done? Being unwilling to give up? When we don’t see results, do you abandon me?” “Abandon? No- no, of course not. I want a cure for this as badly as you do.” “Enough to fight for it?” “Certainly.” He spends a moment gazing down at his gloved hands, then heaves a heavy breath. “This is going to be a challenging journey. Let’s get your physical done and- then we should be done for the night. Try again with a fresh day, with fewer losses weighing on my mind.” “You know- you shouldn’t let that discourage you. You can’t do anything about them- not right now. But we can try harder, for the future. Don’t tell me I have to be fully committed if you’re going to fall apart because of the losses. Kindling, not water.” He clears his throat before standing and gathering the measuring tape. “That’s reasonable.” He grabs my arm and stretches it out to my side, taking the same measurements as yesterday. The way he does it today, though, seems slightly… slower. More careful, perhaps. I don’t say anything as he goes about his business, instructing with few words, moving me rather than telling me what to do. By the end of it I’m glad to be done, feeling a little like I’ve been inspected for auction. “Any changes?” I finally ask as he hands me my shirt back. He shakes his head. “Changes to diet? What did you eat?” “No changes, beef and potatoes, red wine.” “Do you particularly like that diet?” “Uh- it’s fine? It’s what I’ve always eaten.” “Hm. Alright. That’s all for tonight.” “Oh- okay. Well- I guess I’ll head out.” “Goodnight.” I hesitate, waiting for him to offer to walk me home like he did before. It seems a singular rejection is all he needed, he doesn’t offer again. It’s childish to let my hesitancy keep me here, it’s not as if it’s dangerous in reality. Yet I find myself lingering in the doorway, trying to think of an excuse to stay longer.

“You know- they say you left due to gambling debts.”

There’s a moment where I stand and curse myself for bringing it up, why can’t I just shut my mouth and go home?

“Do they?” It’s not a question as much as it’s a droll response to me, no tone indicating any sort of real reaction.

“Well- a lot of things get said, actually.”

“I’m aware.” He crosses his arms, staring me down. “Is there any particular reason you’re bringing this up? Are you curious which rumors are true?”

‘Which’ implies that some are, in fact, true. I hadn’t given much weight to them until just this moment- suddenly they all pique my interest.

“Yes. If- I mean, if we’re working together.”

There’s a moment more of silence. “I have no gambling debts, nor do I come from a rich family. I’ve worked for everything I’ve ever owned and that hard work matters far too much for me to gamble it away.”

“And all the stuff about a mistress? Being married? Killing someone?” The questions escape before my judgement can tell me to stop. “Or having never married? Preferring the company of men?” There is a stifling silence before he chuckles. “I shouldn’t be surprised that people give space to these rumors- but it still catches me by surprise all the same.”

“So… are they true?”

“What do you think? I’m curious.”

“Well- I don’t know anything about you, really so… It’s hard to say. The most realistic may be that you had a mistress.”

“You think so? You flatter me. I’m not sure I possess such graces as to land me not only one, but two partners in life. I don’t possess the lack of scruples, however, to do such a thing.”

“So obviously I wouldn’t believe you’ve killed anyone, not on purpose anyway.”

He shakes his head. “I’m- I was good at what I did in my schooling. To tell you the truth, I didn’t have the time to set up my own practice before all of this happened. I don’t have much of a reputation, positive or otherwise.”

“So… that just leaves one final rumor…” I flush at the thought, turning my eyes away to focus on his desk rather than him.

“I suppose it does. Would that be a problem for you?”

“If- if you-” I clear my throat, shuffling slightly. “I guess it’s not my business.”

“And the rest of them were? Either way, I’m not sure I possess the social graces for such a thing as that, either. I mostly keep to myself and my sciences.”

“So most accurately- you’ve never married.”

“And don’t plan to. Now, sir, let me ask you- why did you volunteer for such a dangerous position?”

“Being a keeper?”

He nods at me, suddenly it feels as if his gaze is slightly too intense, like I can feel it from behind his mask.

“I guess I’ve just always wanted to do the right thing.”

“Even to die doing so, it seems.” He sounds slightly reproachful, like this is a negative thing.

“Clearly you don’t approve.”

“If I lose you, I lose any chance of finding a cure. Of course I don’t approve.”

“If I hadn’t done it, you’d never even know that I’m able to surround myself with the disease and survive.”

“A double-edged sword. I worry that with enough exposure, somehow you might find yourself falling ill anyway.”

“A risk I’d rather take, then.” I glance back outside at the fog, sighing. “Walk with me, we can discuss it further.”

“I see you’ve reconsidered the ‘walking by yourself’ stance you held last night.” He says, almost with a hint of teasing in his voice. I turn and step outside the door, avoiding looking over at him.

“I have no idea what you mean.”