Since Virgil’s descent into addiction, he’d scaled back his career first and foremost in the sense that he no longer directly saw patients pretty much ever. For one thing, the echoes of whatever ailed them were particularly loud at such close proximity and trying to hide this effect from potential patients would be difficult whether or not they had any education surrounding Pacts and their various quirks. For another, practicing medicine on living patients whilst drunk was an ethics breach he wasn’t comfortable committing. As such, he worked primarily in his basement laboratory as a chemist making medicaments and the like and selling them off to the local pharmacy or to other doctors directly– drunk or not, everything he made was still consummate in quality and local healers weren’t willing to sacrifice patient care by boycotting him on principle.
That was what he had intended to do today, though Hektor’s lingering complicated matters. After the morning sun had fully dawned and both men were dressed, Virgil would set his eyes on the curious Cambion.
“I…also sort of assumed you wouldn’t be lingering, as most drunken lovers do not. I’ve work to get to today, but if I can get to that, I’ll be happy to answer whatever further queries you have.” Having drank enough by now to restore his natural patience, he really didn’t mind.
“Work…?” Hektor spoke the word as if taking the time to taste it, the questioning tone evidently rhetorical by the fact that he would immediately continue.
“In what field? I’ll admit my ignorance to how your society functions. My experience is mostly limited to the bits and pieces I’ve gleaned from the men I’ve previously made into meals,” these sentiments spoken with a smooth casualty as if what he’d said wasn’t at all strange.
Virgil blinked at the implication, but decided not to comment on it.
“I’m an Alchemist. I supply primarily medicinal products to the village,” he’d answer matter-of-factly.
“It’s easier to show you rather than explain– come along, then,” the request accompanied by a gesture as he began to walk towards the door of his room.
Despite the amount of alcohol he’d just consumed moments before, his movements were smooth and functional, which puzzled Hektor. Had he imbibed the same, he’d be unable to form a coherent thought. Was this how it worked to one who drank habitually? Given his general knowledge on the subject of chemical addictions, this did not paint the picture of a stable man. Nevertheless, he’d follow along as he was led from the bedroom to the basement.
Having been in many a laboratory set up by his Haemoran kin, Hektor wasn’t really surprised by the general setup of the place. It was clearly no grand operating theatre like many of those doubled as, but still. What it was, however, was professional and functional– tidy and well organized, with his ingredients and tools carefully cared for and stored as one might expect from somebody experienced with a love for their craft. The first thing Virgil did after their descent was to put on a pair of shoes he’d left at the base of the stairs; they were clean, though not new; likely house shoes of a sort. One could assume this to be because the stone of the floor was cold down here.
“You’re a healer, then? Have you ever worked with people directly?” Hektor would ask as Virgil began to gather the supplies for an order he’d received the other day.
“Yes, I used to.” This answer was contrastingly blunt.
There had only been enough time to have set up his workstation for the day before the sound of a buzzer made Hektor jump and almost did the same to him. Some time ago, Virgil had installed an Artificed system that would cause this alert to sound were anyone to knock on his door. Because if he were to be lingering at home, he was mostly in the basement and didn’t want to miss anyone that sought him out directly on the off chance such a visit were to be for any reason emergent.
“Did something happen?” Hektor’s voice and furrowed brow reflected his confusion.
“It means somebody is at the door,” he’d explain with a sigh as he stood back up.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone to come by, but it’s probably nothing. Just wait down here, will you? I’ll be back in a minute.”
The Haemora crossed his arms and tilted his head somewhat curiously. If it were up to him, his nosy nature would’ve preferred to accompany Virgil even at a distance, but it was possible his presence might cause social dissonance depending on a variety of factors. It was also possible the interaction would be painfully uninteresting and being free to poke around Virgil’s space alone would be the more enticing prospect. As such, he would simply nod and watch as the larger man ascended the steps.
As the Alchemist crossed into his living room– the primary egress of his home– he'd experience a sinking sort of feeling. Though they were largely obscured behind his curtains, he saw through the windows multiple figures present outside his home. Further, some had the strange, spindly silhouettes he'd known to come about as an effect of Servitorship. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps it would've been best had Hektor killed him the night before; that would, at least, have saved him the humiliation of…this.
Nevertheless, he could not wind back the clock– with leaden, reluctant strides, he would approach the door and open it to confirm these suspicions. A handful of policemen and two sets of mage-hunting pairs. A bit overkill, really, to deal with one man who'd only recently acquired Nymheia (and ostensibly harmless Pact), but he supposed they were simply erring on the side of caution– it wasn't as if they were aware of his exact circumstances or the like.
The first pair– a sleek, bird-like man and another man who looked passing plain yet bore a mage’s collar all the same– would not immediately act, though from their mannerisms one could tell they were poised to. The second pair– a tall, austere woman alongside a servitor that looked halfway between man and machine– would push past him and the police as they went to search his home. Virgil made no attempt to stop them. Like the first pair, both parties remained wordless; there was little for either set to say unless it would, in some way, aid the investigation as the police present had already been tasked to do most of the talking. Luckily, mage hunters all possessed Mysticism potent enough to search through things without being hideously destructive of his property.
There was a hint of betrayal when he looked over at Adrien's face, but he really couldn't blame the man; he was verifiably guilty. In retrospect, it even made sense for his sudden behavioral shift to have been attributed to cavorting with the arcane.
“Virgil, with respect, I assume you can guess why we've come– it will be easier for us all if you remain compliant and come willingly.”
He'd continue,
“...if you wish, you may give your preference now– to be sundered or live on with the collar– but you may also defer this decision until we get back to the station. You may also change your mind until the moment comes where such a decision may no longer be reversed.”
“I-...I, yes, I surrender to the latter.” The Alchemist knew how this worked.
“I've only Nymheia–...I swear, I didn't want this,” he'd try to explain.
He knew better than to believe this would make any real difference when it came to his arrest, but the point of the explanation wasn't for leniency. Rather, he wanted to make sure the other man knew the state he was in wasn't something he had sought out himself. Adrien wasn't an idiot; part of his training included Theorems specifically so he'd understand the capabilities of mages should they reveal their abilities when apprehended.
Adrien had seen through a cursory Mystic scan that Virgil's explanation seemed accurate, though it would have to be fully confirmed later. The revelation was bittersweet; it made sense given all of the context about Virgil’s case he'd gathered. It was also deeply tragic that the Godheads had chosen to curse one who'd been valued as a pillar of their community in this way. The village did not have the infrastructure in place to support mages– as such, Virgil's fate was ultimately to be taken to Dullahan and be put to work there, thus robbing his hometown of somebody whose skills had been so vital. A crying shame, that.
The policeman would nod in response.
“It’s good to know your heart was in the right place, but I wish you would have turned yourself in instead of spiraling. I wish it didn't have to be this way as much as you do.”
It wasn’t that Adrien didn’t understand why he hadn’t; he could think of many potential explanations for why Virgil had not done so. He’d even heard many himself in the past– fear, panic, a vain attempt to maintain normalcy, on and on. More that, even beyond standard crimes, it was so much easier for everyone if mages– especially those with unwanted Pacts– turned themselves in; the policeman simply hated arresting people for things like this, especially those he knew.
…but then there was the problem of Hektor. Virgil’s home was modest in size; it did not take long for the second pair to descend and find the Haemora as he was entertaining himself by going through Virgil’s notes. He had heard something happening on the floor above him, though he had no way of knowing what and despite his curiosity, he wasn’t of the mind to try and interfere. Vaguely, he had some understanding of the way mages were treated here and as such, he had intended to keep a low profile– yet as he heard the door open and two sets of feet beginning to descend the stairs, that intention evaporated.
“Identify yourself,” the woman would make this demand as soon as she set eyes on Hektor whilst her large, mechanical companion remained silent.
The Cambion blinked in surprise at the sight of the monstrosity that was this particular Servitor– he hadn’t been aware that humans had the technology to have pulled something like that off. Under normal circumstances, such a man would’ve fascinated him, but this was markedly abnormal. He would politely raise his hands in a gesture meant to indicate surrender, wanting to buy some time for himself while he figured out just what exactly was happening.
“My name is Hektor– I’m not from Dullahan, and well…I’m not sure what else you want me to say,” he’d allow his ignorance and confusion to remain transparent in both voice and countenance.
“Are you here of your own volition?” Only this question would be offered in response aside from a brief expression of annoyance on the woman’s face– dealing with foreigners was always tedious and she couldn’t tell right away whether or not the man was lying.
“I…yes, but Virgil and I only recently met; we were discussing his advancements in Alchemy when applied to medicine, but then he left to answer the door. I’m not sure what’s going on…?” Conveniently, he didn’t have to lie about this part– not that it really mattered, however.
However, such statements were not verifiable to the woman.
“You’re going to have to come with us– unfortunately, your new friend’s arrest requires that you also must be cleared of suspicion regarding the arcane and then we will decide what to do with you from there.”
There was an urge rising within Hektor to activate Therianthropy and attempt to escape, much like the instinct of a cornered animal. In fact, that was a compulsion that took genuine effort on his part to ignore and the only reason he did was because he didn’t want to complicate this scenario even more. It had escalated beyond him; were he to use violence, it would be difficult to explain his actions to his Alítheian kin. And while uncharacteristic of him to care, he also didn’t want to make this more difficult for Virgil.
For those reasons, he’d put on a façade of politeness and acquiesce.
“Ah, sure thing– I don’t want to complicate things further.”
Regardless of whether or not he was marked guilty of any sort of crime, Hektor would remain without restraint only temporarily as he was escorted back to the living room where Virgil and the others still stood. The sight of such compliance brought some modicum of relief to Virgil’s features when he saw the trio rise from the basement; he’d held onto some tension regarding the potential for Hektor to have reacted violently.
“Who is that?” Adrien would ask as they approached.
“He claims he’s a friend– a foreigner visiting to discuss medicine. There is little else to go on,” an answer given businesslike and devoid of emotion.
“Restrain him; unlike Virgil, we have no idea what he's capable of– and surely, you see it, too, don't you?” Adrien directed the woman, the latter sentiment being in reference to the alien Metaphor overwhelmingly present within the Cambion to which she would nod.
As the two accompanying Hektor moved to carry out this directive, Virgil's countenance bore a silent plea:
please comply. And much as the Haemora’s blood itched for violence, much as his instinct told him to flea leaving naught but gore in his wake, he wouldn't end up offering any resistance beyond frustration contorting the elegance of his features. Desperately did he hope that this was the right choice and that whatever presence Alítheia had in Dullahan would be able to prevent this arrest from tearing the Veil, something he knew was a distinct possibility should he have chosen violence.
/ ⛦ /
Virgil's rural wealth only bought him a property of so modest a size because primarily what he had paid for was the location. It was in the heart of the town, built within its first residential district back when it'd been founded. As such, the village's police station was not far, much to his relief. Because while many had gathered to bear witness to the rare procession of a mage's arrest– and that mage being a beloved figure– it was a blessedly short affair, at least.
He had to imagine that the addition of Hektor’s unexpected presence would only fuel gossip, but at least he'd be long gone and never have to hear it. Having become known as something of a hermit even before the alcoholism, a foreigner being arrested alongside him would serve as an odd sight to say the least. What rumors might they conjure? Virgil didn't really want to entertain the thought– he supposed that was one good thing about being forced to leave; he'd not be around to hear any of it.
Upon arriving at the police station, the two newly discovered mages would be separated and brought to different rooms for processing. For Virgil, it was fairly quick; as a citizen, he was relayed his basic rights and then told a brief summary of the sequence of events that were going to take place upon his arrival in Chevalier, a process he coasted through in a largely dissociated state. The problem for him, really, would be the waiting– something that would be made far worse by the fact that he knew his physical and mental state would start to decay as he slowly sobered up.
For Hektor, his processing was a bit longer. He was first brought to an interview room, wherein one of the local investigators would enter after a short wait.
“State your name and from whence you come,” she'd begin bluntly.
“Hektor, and…” he wasn't quite sure how to answer the second part.
“...and I'm from Arcanis.”
The interrogator lifted a brow at that answer given the man's pale as snow complexion, but she admittedly had little to no familiarity with the place and didn't possess much knowledge thereof to press him on the subject.
“And what is your last name, Hektor?”
Haemora did not have families the same way most living things did nor did Hektor have a past that conferred such a thing onto him…or did he? Upon thinking about it, one came to mind, though from where he couldn't say:
“Můroš.”
The name didn't sound like a family name from Arcanis, but perhaps his kin had been immigrants from somewhere else– it wasn't really her job to care about his genealogy, though.
“What brought you to Dullahan?”
“Curiosity-...um…tourism,” he'd correct the first word with ostensibly what he'd meant.
“It would have saved you quite a bit of trouble to have learned about our laws before your arrival. Unfortunately, it looks like you will need to be further processed in our capital before a judgment may be ultimately made for you,” she'd explain in a blunt, businesslike manner.
“What? Why? Can't you just kick me out? I didn't actually do anything,” he'd respond, irritation visible on his features.
“Hence what I said before; simply existing as a mage is a crime. Your ignorance of our laws does not exclude you from them.”
Vexing as this was, Hektor managed to retain his sanity only because he knew Alítheia had roots here somewhere– he'd rather deal with their chastisement than navigate a foreign legal system blind.
His jaw clenched in irritation.
“I see.”
There were a few other questions asked for the sake of recordkeeping, many of which he also had to lie about– for example, his age– before Hektor would then be moved to an isolated cell similar to Virgil’s. They would remain separated before arrangements were made for their transport to the capital via train.
