12515/The Wrong Supplement

The Wrong Supplement
Date of Scene:	20 August 2022
Location:	Klein's Bottles
Synopsis:	Delores makes Donovan a potion to help him with his migraines. He drinks too much at once and gets knocked out for a fortnight. Oops?
Cast of Characters:	Donovan Rowland, Delores Klein

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Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan ducks into Klein's Bottles looking much better now than he had on his first visit. The supplements he had been dispensed had clearly helped, and now that he'd finally been feeling like he'd started to settle into a routine in this new city, he decides to pick up another couple of bottles of the stuff, as well as find something new. More specifically, the supplement he'd been given for sleep and anxiety had helped, but his passive power of detecting the lost had started to take a toll on his head with so many more people triggering it in New York, and if left unchecked, it could do *much* worse than just some migraines.
    Glancing around the shop, the old man smiles at the person behind the counter as he wanders aimlessly to a shelf, sticking his hands into his coat pockets. "Afternoon. I'm lookin' t' pick up another bottle or two of the stuff I got here last time."

Delores Klein has posed:
    The gothy, disinterested girl behind the counter looks up from her phone at him with a sneer. She looks him over. "Did you come in here before?" she asks.
    Delores peeks her head out from somewhere in the back. She steps out and moves to the girl. "Why don't you take your break," she says.
    The goth looks at the older woman briefly before she says, "Whatever," and walks into the back.
    "I'm terribly sorry about her," Delores says. "How can I help you, sir?"

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    "I did, yeah," Donovan replies with an indifferent shrug before Delores peeks out from the back. He shakes his head as he hears the apology on the goth's behalf. "No need to apologize. Teens will be teens... my granddaughter's sort of the same way. Good t' see you again, Ms. Klein. How've you been?"
    He glances to the shelf he's next to for a moment before looking back to Delores. "I'm lookin' t' pick up another bottle or two of the stuff for anxiety an' for sleep I got from you last time. Also, I'm lookin' for somethin' for migraines. I dunno if it's a New York thing or a thing with big cities in general, but it, uh, really wrecks your head, doesn't it?" He laughs quietly to himself as he trails off.

Delores Klein has posed:
    She smiles, her dimples making themselves known. "Oh, you've said quite a truism there, haven't you." She gestures. "The stuff you picked up last time should be on the shelf, if we've got any. Let me look through my records and see if the shipment of migraine supplements came in." She pulls a binder from under the counter and flops it open with skill to roughly the right page, then flips a page over and starts looking through hand-written entries.

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan nods and browses the shelf he'd been at before, eventually producing a bottle each of what he'd picked up on his last visit. As he does so, he briefly closes his eyes before glancing in Delores's direction, not even thinking as what he was looking for is shown to his eyesight in blue, right through the counter. With ease of instinct, he half-replies to her, "There's some under the counter there, right?"
    Then his eyes widen as he realizes what he's said, what it implies. He'd just spoken on autopilot, as easily as talking to a friend, without thinking at all - and accidentally revealed what he's capable of. Donovan quickly tries to think of a way to cover his tracks, but he knows full well there's no way he could have known through natural means. "... Uh. Actually, nevermind. Forget I asked."

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores stops and blinks, looking up at him without raising her head. She raises an eyebrow and leans, keeping eye contact for as long as possible until she glances down to where she keeps certain things. She stands back upright and narrows her gaze at him. "What's causing those migraines, exactly?" she asks, only slightly suspicious.

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    "... Uh." Donovan hesitates a moment, clearing his throat. He can see she's at least a little suspicious, but he still tries to play it off a little, while not technically lying. "People, I guess. Lots of 'em. They're always outside my apartment makin', uh, noise. It's not so bad at night, but it wrecks your head after a little while regardless. Wherever I go, it's... imagine an orchestra playing inside your head whenever you step out your front door. Chances are you don't have to imagine, with how busy this place is, but you know what I mean."

Delores Klein has posed:
    Definitely not a truthful answer. Delores's smile comes back, but only a polite one. "Guilty conscience, then, is it?" she says, folding her hands in front of her on top of the hand-written book. "Or perhaps you've not the constitution for the big city." She begins a quote in a flawless, British accent.

"Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders I have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come."

    She reaches down and grasps one of the bottles, bringing it up and setting it onto the counter. "Will that be all for you, sir?" she asks. The woman seems a bit more guarded, since he's clearly lied to her.

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan is mildly creeped out by the Shakespeare quote. Guilty conscience? He knows full well she's correct - he hates lies, even if he sees this as a necessary one. Surely Delores knows, if she's mentioning that, he presumes. Which leads him to wonder, then - just what is *she* capable of? What might happen if he continues to try to hide his abilities from someone who may or may not possess powers of their own?
    As he approaches the counter, he exhales and puts the other bottles onto it. "... Right. So I won't beat around th' bush- I'm sure you figured somethin' was off. I'm also sure, given your reaction and what I read about your aid to mutants in the paper a while back, that you're not entirely unused to potentially superhuman clients in your store. So if you're willin' to keep it on the down-low - and I really mean that - I'm willin' to share what exactly I mean, because what I said wasn't a lie."

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores furrows her brow a bit. "Hmmm," she says, considering him. She glances around the empty shop. "Well, if you hear the bell on the door, I can't hold the person who comes in to your secret if you keep talking, but I've been known to keep my share of secrets." She closes the book and smiles up at him, leaning on the counter and kicking one of her feet over the other ankle. "Spill it," she says, folding her arms below the elbows.

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan exhales, crossing his arms as he glances around superstitiously for a moment. "Good grief. Alright, then. So what's actually causin' me migraines, more specifically, is that these people - this noise they're makin' isn't exactly physical, audible noise. I have what you might call a sixth sense. Whenever there's a person who's lost, who doesn't know where they are or how to get to where they're goin', within a mile radius of me, I automatically become aware of their exact location, and I can see them even from far away. Problem is, I can't turn it off, and it was fine back in Newton where everyone knew everyone, but in this city, where there are people lost constantly, it's givin' me massive headaches, and it can get worse if it's not checked. Like, it can kill me, I mean. I can also make a mental map of any location, and locate any person or thing in that location, which is how I knew where your migraine supplements were. I just did it without really thinkin' and mentioned it before I realized it."
    He sighs, glancing at the door again for a second. "Is that enough of an explanation for you?"

Delores Klein has posed:
    As he's speaking, Delores stands up, takes the migraine pills, and puts them back behind the counter. She listens to him as she starts taking notes. When he's done, she looks at her list of notes, which is not written in English, and lets out a soft, "Hmmm," with her lips in a tight trying-not-to-smile-but-failing expression. She goes back to just openly smiling at him. "See, the problem is that those pills would never have worked for that kind of affliction." She closes her little palm-sized notebook and taps it on the counter. "I can have you something by the end of the business day. Come back at closing time. If my--" She holds her hands up and makes finger quotes. "'herbal tea' doesn't fix it, I will keep trying, but you'll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement for what happens after."

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan nods, seeming a little more relieved. "You could call it an affliction, yeah. But whatever you do or make for me- make sure it doesn't contain iron. Don't even let it touch iron if you can help it. Iron completely exhausts me. It hurts just to touch it. I can't cross over iron, either, even if it's just sittin' on the floor." He looks around again to make sure nobody's around and then extends one arm to his side, rolling back his sleeve for a moment and causing just the arm to shift. It becomes massive, muscular, sprouting a thick carpet of coarse fur while horrible hybrid fingers become capped with wicked-looking claws. After a second, he turns it back to normal and pulls his sleeve back down. "Think of me like the fairy version of a werewolf. Instead of silver, I don't like iron."

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores considers the statement, then the arm, then looks into Donovan's eyes. "Hmmm," she says. She opens her notebook back up and scribbles more notes into it. "How do you survive in this city?" she asks him as she turns her eyes back up to make eye contact. "Buildings, concrete, pipes--it's all made of steel, essentially iron."

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan takes his hands from his pockets, raising up a pair of old-fashioned leather gloves. "That's how. I can touch it with gloves or shoes or whatever on, though not for more than a few minutes at a time. People don't really think twice of me wearin' these, especially during th' winter. Plus, as long as it's not *pure* iron, it's possible for short periods - but certainly not easy. Steel is 98 to 99 percent iron, as you probably know. It's also harder for me if the metal in question is cold. If it's warmer, it's not as tough."

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores considers, tapping the side of her pen against the paper while holding it in her fingers she holds out like scissors. "I wonder if that has to do with the Curie temperature," she considers. She shakes her head as she mentally tosses the idea away. "As I can't test that without harming you, I suppose I'll have to be content not knowing." She stuffs her notebook into her apron and gets back to the task at hand. "Come back at closing time," she reiterates. "I'll have something you can try then."

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    "I'll say these things often don't adhere to science, but that's probably got merit." Donovan nods with a grateful smile, sticking his hands back into his coat pockets. "I'll see you then. Thanks so much, Ms. Klein." As he pays for the other things he'd gotten and walks over to the door, he looks over his shoulder at her for a moment.
    "By the way- it's fair to say you're no normal pharmacist, then, isn't that right? You'll have to spill at some point, NDA notwithstanding. I'm good with secrets too." He chuckles, clearly at least half-joking, as he turns and stretches before leaving the shop.

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores smiles broadly, not answering his question as she walks to the back. "Sarah!" she sweetly calls. "Your break time is now over!"

Delores Klein has posed:
    At the end of the business day, the street lights had come on, and New York, the city that never sleeps, continued to bustle with activity. However, Klein's Bottles' owner was sweeping behind a 'Closed' sign, the lights inside dim. There was no sign of anyone else inside.

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan peeks through the glass and knocks on the door, giving Delores a little wave. "Evenin', Ms. Klein," he calls so that what he is saying is at least able to be surmised through the window. "Now a good time?"

Delores Klein has posed:
    Everyone on the street can hear him, but nobody cares. He's just some guy trying to get into a store after hours. Delores leans her broom up against the shelves and walks to the door. She unlocks it and opens it. "Come in," she says to him. "We'll talk in the employee break room. Go back through the curtain behind the counter." She stays up front to close the door and lock it, no matter what he chooses to do.

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan nods and steps into the shop, slipping through the curtain behind the counter and locating the break room. He'd look around, leaning against a wall as he fidgets nervously with a notepad in one of his coat pockets, his leather gloves on his hands this time, just in case. He'd made sure he hadn't been followed or anything coming in, but he still had a sort of nervous air to him.

Delores Klein has posed:
    When Delores comes into the back, she goes to the refrigerator and draws out a glass water bottle. It's reasonably modern looking, unlike almost everything else around them. It's also filled with a greenish-brownish, goopy substance that almost looks like pea soup. She sits at one of the chairs around the small, round table with it in front of her. Gesturing toward another, she simply says, "Sit."

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan sits as instructed, looking a little comically oversized in his seat. He crosses his legs and folds his arms in front of him, looking at the bottle quizzically. "Looks kinda like kale juice or pea soup. Your shop's got an interestin' sort of air to it. I like it."

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores smiles gently at him. "Thank you," she says. She interleaves her fingers, resting her arms on the table in front of her as she looks across it at him. "I've been thinking a lot about what you told me, this afternoon," she says. "Of course, I took some time to put up some precautions. It isn't every day that a werewolf waltzes into my shop and requests a potion capable of what you're asking for."

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    "To be fair, you were the one who offered. I just asked for somethin' for migraines," Donovan replies, crossing his legs with a good-natured smile. "In all seriousness, though, thank you. I'm not exactly a werewolf, per se, not in the same sense as the werewolf of Western folklore, but I completely understand the need for caution. What sort of precautions do you mean, if I may ask?"

Delores Klein has posed:
    "I've infused iron into my clothing," Delores says. She smiles more broadly, showing her pearly white teeth. "For starters." She pushes the pea soup looking substance with her fingertips across the table toward him, until he can just manage to touch it without leaning over. "I'm not going to lie, this isn't a solution. This is a band-aid," she admits as her smile fades a bit.

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan just nods. "Oh, understandable. For what it's worth, I don't- lose control or anything like that like in werewolf stories. Full moons don't do a thing to me. It's entirely at-will for faoladh... think of them like guardian wolves. They're said to protect lost children and wounded soldiers in the forests, and that's not very far from the truth. That's where my powers come from, anyway, and I spent most of my days post-college helpin' people like that. I have absolutely no interest in fightin' you. Though for your future study, that iron-infused clothing is about as effective as... say, leather armor in actually keeping me out, unless you mean actual iron threads, in which case you've got it right."
    He reaches out and turns the bottle, inspecting its label if it has one. "A band-aid. I see. Eventually, I'm sure I can figure out how to mitigate it or shut it off, but it's... likely to take a while."

Delores Klein has posed:
    It has no label. Delores says, "That will do it," she says. "Well," she continues, hesitating. "It should," she admits. "To tell you the truth, it's a stab in the dark. It shouldn't hurt you, but I devised it knowing what I do about fae." She shrugs, folding her hands again. "It shouldn't hurt you," she repeats.

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan takes it and opens it up, taking a sniff of it before nodding and steeling himself internally. "Only one way to find out, isn't there?"
    He grins and then downs it, swallowing it all in one go. He puts the bottle down onto the table once he's finished and shudders briefly, waiting cautiously for a second. "Worst comes to worst, I vomit in the middle of the street. Could be worse, I'm guessin'."

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores blinks, her eyes wide as she looks at the empty bottle. "I didn't expect that," she confesses. Donovan quickly begins to feel strangely numb. Numb to every lost thing in the city. And also to himself. Not all of himself, but the wolfier parts of himself. If he flexes any of those 'wolf-change' muscles in the moment, he will find that they can't be flexed. They are limp, metaphorically, like they've been shot full of novacane in a slapstick comedy sketch. Useless.
    And then he will start to feel dizzy as his normal muscles start to feel numb. "You AuGHt NoT TO Have done THaT," Delores's voice says in swirling tone and tempo just before he loses consciousness.

Delores Klein has posed:
    When one sleeps, there is normally a time gap. That's normal. The numbness keeps trying to force Donovan's body awake, but consciousness is fleeting moments of darkness. When he awakens, it's not in his own bed. It's in a stranger's apartment. Mostly empty, there's a bed in this room and a little bit of medical equipment, but it's clearly not a hospital. However, there is an IV in his arm, along with a few other hookups that imply he's been there a while. There's a chair and a small table in the room that contains enough evidence of meals taken there that Donovan will know someone's been looking after him, though he's currently alone in the room.

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan's eyes widen for a second before going half-lidded, the wolfishness, and then the feeling, seeping from his heavy limbs. "What... did..." He grunts and collapses before he can finish, slumping off of his chair and landing with a thud on the floor, completely unconscious.
    When next he's conscious, he's in a bed in someone else's apartment. As he wakes up and gets his bearings, he becomes frantic for a second before realizing there's an IV in his arm, forcing himself to stay still and calm down. "Who- where am-" he mutters to himself, taking stock of everything in the room before attempting to map out his location in his head, if his powers have yet returned to him. If they haven't, he just sits there looking dumb for a few seconds. Regardless of whether or not he'd succeed, he'd try to move one arm slowly, experimentally, and call out, "Hello?!"

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores walks in in moments. "Oh, good," she says with a smile. "You're not dead." She grabs the back of the chair on her way past it and drags it across the empty room to swirl it around to face him in the same motion she sits herself down in it. "How do you feel?" she asks.

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    "Good grief, it's you," Donovan says with a great exhalation of relief, visibly relaxing. "For a second, I thought I'd been kidnapped. ... Hell, for all I know, I *have* been, but I'll burn that bridge when I come to it if that's the case."
    He very carefully tries to sit up in bed, rolling his neck a little. "Ow... out of sorts, but could be worse. How long have I been out? Did that thing have iron in it? I felt the part of me that changes go... null." He attempts to grow claws, just to check if he can still use his powers, and sure enough, his nails grow out with a sound like metal against a knife sharpener, though it feels more difficult than usual. "... Right. I probably shouldn't have downed the whole thing. Every time someone's given me a potion, they've told me to down the whole thing or else it doesn't work. I assumed that was how witchcraft worked, kinda."

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores smirks and lets out a soft, singular chuckle. Almost a scoff, but a little more cheerful than that. "Yes, well, you're not talking to AN Alchemist, you're talking to THE Alchemist," she says. "I know how to distill down ingredients to full potency." She lifts her right leg and holds her skirt with both hands as she crosses it over her left, smoothing things down after. "So, you've not moved from that spot for--" She looks at her watch. "Fifteen days, three hours...let's call it three and a half." She looks at him. "I assume some of that was just your body still sleeping." She reaches over and slaps him. It's not hard, but it's firm enough that it's not just a playful not-slap. "Alright, now that that's out of the way. I'm very glad you're well again."

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    "The Alchemist, huh? Knew there was somethin' more to you." Donovan sits up a little more. "Well, you coulda told me not to down the whole thing. Just said 'that will do it,'" he grumbles to himself half-jokingly, though clearly he understands it was his fault for jumping the gun a little.
    "... Wait, I've been out for TWO WEEKS? You're kiddin', right? Good grief, am I glad I don't work anymore... what the hell was in that thing that knocks a grown six-foot-six man out for fifteen days?! You sure this isn't an elaborate kidnappin' attempt?" He laughs nervously, visibly uncomfortable with the notion that he was helpless in someone else's bed for such a long period. His non-IV'd arm instinctively goes to his chest, under his shirt, and he glances around the room again anxiously.

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores shakes her head. "I'm sure," she assures him. "You'd have woken in an iron cage were that the case." She looks to places he looks. As the two check the room together, she continues. "It was meant to be diluted a bit, one shot worth in a glass of any beverage you chose to put it in, so long as it's water-based and non-alcoholic. For the next twenty-four hours, your non-human extras would be numb. I expected that to be unpleasant for you, but as I said, it was meant to be a bandaid, not a long-term solution."

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    "... True. Alright. Well, that's a pretty good bandaid all things considered. Better than anything I'd have come up with, anyway. Am I good to detach from this IV drip or am I bed-bound for a while?" Donovan asks, his hand coming out from under his shirt as he relaxes a little. "Two weeks... good grief. It's a long time to have to look after someone. I'm sorry for passin' out in your store like a dumbass and I really appreciate it. Hope you at least got some research off of me for the trouble."

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores shrugs. "I'm pretty proud of myself for getting that set up," she says. "I have single-serving potions that will feel like eating a full meal, but you should probably drink plenty of water and eat lots of bread and other foods with fiber for a while." She looks at the door, then back at him. Standing, she says, "I'll wait outside. If you need me, call, but I'll give you privacy while you...unhook."

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan nods. "Got it. Thank you." Once Delores leaves the room, he carefully unhooks himself from the IV and gets himself in order, eventually managing to get to his feet and get his coat and gloves back on. He feels... heavier, number than usual, but it's not so bad as to inhibit him much. He opens the door, stretching carefully. "Alright, done. Thanks again... I take it this is your own apartment. Hope it wasn't too much of a hassle draggin' me up here."

Delores Klein has posed:
    "It is not," Delores says. The whole apartment is only about three rooms, and it's tiny, but in NYC, it's still likely expensive. "Should anyone have managed to track you to wherever I took you, I would not have wanted that to be to my own home." She gestures around. "I've been coming by every day to make sure you're well. I'm no live-in nurse, but you're still well, so..." She picks up a bottle and hands it toward him. "This one you can down in one go. It should help you get your strength back."

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    "Oh. Makes sense," Donovan replies, accepting the bottle gratefully and downing it in one go as directed. He shudders as he feels a refreshing feeling flood his system. "Which reminds me. I told you what I am, so I think you ought to tell me at least a little bit given your potions are pumpin' through my system. An alchemist- er, The Alchemist, right? Are you a witch? A psychic?"

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores furrows her brow as he attempts to guess what she is. "I'm. An. ALCHEMIST," she says, as if that clears everything up. "The Alchemist, sure, but that's what I am. No witchcraft, no psychic powers, no spells. Alchemy. That's what's coursing through you, right now."

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan blinks. Though it does little in the way of clearing up his question, he nods anyway. "Right. Alchemy. Usually hear that term where it pertains to magic powers, so I thought it was a witch thing. Maybe it is. Hell if I know."
    He checks his watch and groans quietly to himself, still reeling a little. "I really ought to get back home and let my granddaughter and my friends and such know I'm okay. My phone's at my apartment. Thanks again so much, and if you ever need somethin', just let me know, alright? I live just a few blocks from your shop."

Delores Klein has posed:
    Delores nods. "Yeah," she says. "You definitely need to come back. I avoided probing around while you were out--consent issues, you understand--so you should definitely come back another day when I can figure out more about you and concoct a better solution." She shoves her hands in her pockets. "Even though potions contain magical ingredients or ingredients combined with special non-chemistry properties, I'm not a witch. I need to look at you and figure things out so we don't repeat ourselves or worse."

Donovan Rowland has posed:
    Donovan nods. "Appreciate it. I'll definitely be seein' you soon. You can experiment on me all you want for the trouble." He laughs quietly, rolling his shoulders a little with a relieved sigh. "So it is magic, but you're not a witch. No rituals, no spellcasting. Think that makes more sense now." Wandering towards the door, he looks over his shoulder back at her. "Thanks again for everything. I'll be able to pay you back for it in the near future, I hope."