faderift | (open) I said "doctor, ain't there nothin' I can take?" I said "doctor, to relieve this belly ache"

WHO: Étienne Guerinet Beaumanoir & the blessed souls who speak with him.
WHAT: an open post & introduction for Dr. Beaumanoir
WHEN: through April
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: some gentle nsfw, also he is generally low-key terrible in generic Thedas ways (esp re: elves and mages) and is a tool for playing out hideous historical medicine.

OPEN PROMPTS.

1.

"Behold!" He takes a step back from a man whose cheeks look a little puffy, and whose eyes could be considered a little glazed over. "He may yet be reeling from his treatment, but before you stands a man cured of the worms that invested his jaw! He has been gifted with the virility of the templars, the soldiers who give up their lives to protect our lands from powers that would overwhelm so many of us. He stands before you yet a man, but tomorrow, and in the days that follow, he will be a hero!"

He grabs the man's hand, and holds his hand over his head, in a show of victory. The crowd cheers—

Doctor Beaumanoir's Dashing Dentures is written on a nearby poster.

2.
Healing wonders! Potions galore!
DR. BEAUMANOIR'S MEDICINAL ALMANAC.
HELP HIM HEAL YOU! Inquire within.

A handsome man stands; a doctor, a hero - and so much more.

"Can I help you?"

He smiles. It's extremely Dashing™.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yeah, this is cool and all, but money and diamonds. Sarah slips a couple of the diamonds into her pocket before opening the leather pouch and dumping some coins into the palm of her hand. She'll leave some in the pouch out of pity, but not much. It's not like this guy is starving out on the streets, right?

Money and diamonds in hand, now it's time to get the hell out of here. She gently closes the drawer, makes sure everything looks as it should, and heads for the hallway again.

She's in the home stretch— and yet. In the living area that the hall leads into, there is a table of potions, bottled and not yet labelled. They are green, with a faint metallic glow to them when the light hits them, and an herbaceous smell.

It would be a shame if someone were to... walk into them and make a sound. Also there's some more money next to them.

Sarah probably shouldn't be taken in by the mere sight of money at this stage in her life, but also: she's been sucked into a strange universe, and in this universe, if she wants money she has to work for the Inquisition. Which she does not want to do. So she beelines for the extra cash. Her hip bumps the table, the potions jostle, and she freezes—but nothing falls or crashes open, so she continues on, slipping the money into her pockets.

Oh, bless. That's just some casual loose change. Only a few gold and silver coins, nbd.

Étienne was drifting to awakeness. He'd forgotten, actually, about the woman who had been in his bed, until he hears the quiet rattle of glass being jostled. A memory trickles back in and he smiles as he pushes himself up out of bed, and starts walking near-silently down the hall. Unlike the rifter, he does not take the time to grab clothing.

He's sleepily running a hand over his eyes as he draws closer, until he sets his hands on her hips, and draws her back. It takes him a moment before his memory helps him out.

"Bonjour, Sarah," murmured, as his arms wrap around her waist.

Oh, Jesus. Sarah manages, barely, not to startle at his touch. A tiny sound escapes her mouth—kind of a squeak, but that's all. She tries to relax into his grip, only half succeeds. This was not what she wanted to deal with this morning.

"G'morning," she says, falsely pleased.

He does not detect any falseness, largely because... why would it be false? He's wonderful. She's the weird rifter.

"You're awake early. Rushing off to Inquisition duties?"

"Yeah, something like that." As if the thought of working for the Inquisition doesn't fill her with anxiety and disgust. "I'm really just an early riser." As she speaks, she turns, trying to extricate herself from him.

He makes a quiet humming sound as she eases away, and he makes no move to try and detain her. He also resists making any flirtatious comments around the theme of early rising.

"If you must. Before you depart, though, I've a proposal for you. A matter of business, if you're interested."

"Yeah? What kind of business matter?"

If this guy is about to ask to be her medieval-style pimp, she's going to crush his bollocks with her bare hands and then hang them out her window for everyone to see.

"Well," he starts, leaning against the wall in a very charming and beautiful way, because that is how he does everything, "you've access to rifters and potentially access to items from rifts. I would like to be able to acquire such materials to experiment with their medicinal merits."

There is a pause, not to allow her to digest this request, so much as for her to appreciate the gravity of it.

"I would, of course, expect to be the only person that you supply with such goods. Locks of hair, for example, but for certain things I would pay a premium. Blood, for example." Or organs, should the unthinkable happen, but he'll build up to that one.

For several moments, Sarah just looks at him, open-mouthed.

"You want locks of my hair?" When he'd said "items from rifts," she'd been thinking of... Cheetos. Teapots. Other weird shit. Hadn't Helena found an entire crate of peanut butter? Anyway, things like that. Not her hair and blood.

"Not much," he says, imagining himself to be very reassuring, when in reality he is just leaning nakedly against a wall. "I would not wish to see beauty sabotaged, even for science. No, just a little, for experiments. If you were able to get hair or anything from other rifters, I wouldn't say no."

"Uh... yeah..." Before she found out she was a clone, an experiment, Sarah probably wouldn't have had qualms with handing over a few pieces of her hair to some guy for his "experiments," if it meant she would get some cash in return. What could it hurt, as long as the hair wasn't going to show up at an active crime scene? But now her mind goes to all the unethical shit this guy could end up doing with her hair. A piece of her. Dyad doesn't exist in this universe, but Cosima'd mentioned other groups, religious cults. And even if it weren't her hair or blood, it would be someone else's.

"Let me think about it," she says finally. "I'll get back to you."

A sigh. Alas, she was not immediately convinced - but there would still be time. With a smile, he steps forward and catches her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"As you wish, Sarah." He holds her hand a moment longer, insistent. "Get back to me as soon as you can. My future lies in your hands."

(open) I said "doctor, ain't there nothin' I can take?" I said "doctor, to relieve this belly ache"

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