The Adventures And Mishaps of a Half-Plant Apothecary - Febuwhump 2024

Day 17 - Hostage Situation

CW: Hostage, interrogation, dubious medical practices, needles, blood

AN: nothing really to say except that this is a pretty heavy chapter. stay safe y'all

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"Cal, I just don't know what to do," Nyxie says, pacing around the living room anxiously, "She's just— stuck in some cell somewhere, and we have no clue where she is! I mean, she could be dead for all we know, and it takes ages for news to travel anywhere! We don't even know—"

"Where she is," Calixto interrupts. It sighs, pulling its coat tighter around itself, even though it must be hot standing there next to the fireplace like that. "Well," it adds, "Em's smart. She's not dead or dyin', I'm sure."

Calixto sounds less sure than it says it is.

Nyxie huffs. "It's just—" she inhales slowly— "She could be anywhere by now. It's been a few days. A lot of people live out in the middle of nowhere like us, and we can't just inspect everyone's places like we're the Royal Guard or something."

Calixto sighs, leaning back on the armchair. "We should really get goin'. It's only been three days, four tomorrow, that's not long enough to get outta the country, at least."

"You sure we can't start now?"

"Do you really want to fall asleep on the road?" A pause. "Exactly."

The two sit there in silence for a while. "You sure Em'll be alright?" Nyxie says.

"I mean, yeah. I trust her with my life, so I trust her with her own."

Nyxie lets out a weak giggle. "You trust her with too much."

Calixto laughs in return. "I mean, I lov— she's my best friend," it says, hoping Nyxie doesn't notice the slip-up.

Nyxie does notice, but doesn't say anything about it. "I guess," she says instead, "She'll be fine. She'll be okay."

"That's the spirit."

"Shut up."

---

Emery was, contrary to popular belief, not doing fine at all.

"Look," she said, "Just because I was in town two days before that person died, and left just before, does not mean I killed them."

Their interrogator stares at them, unconvinced. "Then why were there reports of you talking to them just before they ate the food that killed them?"

Emery stares back. "I talked to fricking everyone that day," she says, "and we shared the cookie as well. Why would I do that if I poisoned it?"

"You could've eaten just the non-poisoned part."

"Yeah, but I didn't know!"

"Why did you not die then?"

"I don't know either! I might have the antidote in my blood or something, but I wouldn't know, because no one told me!"

The interrogator stared directly into Emery's eyes right after she said that.

Emery was suddenly incredibly concerned for her future self.

The interrogator suddenly stands up and leaves the cell, making sure to lock the door behind them and consequently leaving Emery alone. She begins to think about what might happen to her. The entire 'antidote-in-her-blood' thing was just to get the guy off her tail for what? Not dying when she was "supposed to"? And now they were actually going to go and test that on her. What would they do to her, anyway? Try to re-poison her? Draw her blood?

Before Emery can go further down that train of thought, though, the interrogator returns, this time with some other person who Emery doesn't recognise. Before she can say anything, the other person strong-arms her out of the cell, firmly disregarding her protests. She can already feel the bruises forming on her skin.

After a while, Emery is tossed onto what looks to be an examination table. She glances around at the room.

Vials containing a suspicious amount of red liquid line the back of multiple glass cabinets along the wall. There's a diagram of the average humanoid brain on the opposite side of the room, with a bunch of notes messily glued on. On the table next to her, there is a concerning amount of needles— fifteen or sixteen, at least— and tiny, unlabelled vials tied with twine to each one. Above the door hangs a set of what Emery thinks are deer antlers, roughly sawed off at the bases. Emery stares for a second longer. Why were they looking for a pair of off-season antlers? They can be gathered quite easily at the right time of year.

The other person moves into Emery's vision, and she starts to turn her head to talk to them. Before she can do that, though, someone who she assumes is the interrogator forces her head to turn straight up to the ceiling. "Don't move," they hiss.

Emery, who actually has self-preservation today, decides to stay still.

The other person, in the time that Emery didn't see them, has donned a white labcoat, covered in dubious stains that she doesn't really want to think about. They pick up a large syringe and hold it menacingly over Emery.

"Now," they say, "I'll be taking out a little blood for your services."

"I didn't agree to be here," Emery protests, "And that's a big syringe you got there."

The person gives her a grin. It doesn't reach their eyes. "For that," they say, "What if, say, I take out a little more than usual?"

Emery pales. She doesn't say anything else.

After a minute of agonising waiting, the person jabs the needle into their arm, before pulling a bit out.

Then a bit more.

This doesn't stop until a while later.

Emery exhales sharply as the needle finally leaves her skin. "What the heck?" she mutters.

The others don't hear her, thankfully, and instead seem to be testing something out in the background. After a bit, though, someone sees her, then, without a word, starts to drag her back.

Emery closes her eyes and starts to try to breathe properly. That had been an ordeal. She did hope that her friends would come for her soon.

Right now, though, she really just wanted to sleep.