Work Text:
Forging in the valley has always been a fun activity, and a quick way to make some extra money, for Boris. He could usually find an assortment of natural berries or edible flowers no matter what season. Even as a child he loved to explore and gather, usually bringing home a bag full of goodies to show to his grandfather and mother. The latter had shown him quality recipes he could help her make with the ingredients he brought home. Garden salads using leeks and dandelions, steamed root platters made with cave carrots and winter roots, the sweet sugar drop plum pudding desserts he adored. These were the things he missed when he moved to the city, the meals he would replicate in his cramped one bedroom apartment never tasted the same. It was the artificialness that never quite hit the same, nostalgic spot. Maybe that's why after a hardy day's work on the farm, he would grab a basket or bag and head out into the woods to find what bounty awaited him.
If there was one season he enjoyed foraging in the most, it was Fall. The bushes were ripe with blackberries, hazelnuts were in abundance, the aforementioned wild plums were a treat. Cindersap Forest was ripe with all these usually, but as Boris spent the afternoon searching he was turning up short. His basket was feeling pretty light, not a single forgeable item in sight! He had to assume the wild life were scooping up all they could for the impending Winter, so he couldn't be mad. Still he wanted to go home with at least a little bit of something!
Delving further into the woods, Boris checked the time and saw how late it was getting. He should pack it in before night fell, the Autumn season meant the sun went down earlier and earlier. He would prefer not to be out after dark, not unless he was in town or something. He could take the long way back to the farm and see if there was anything he missed, stop by and say hello to Leah or check to see how the crab pots were doing. If he couldn't come home with forge goods, he could try to go home with a fish or two!
As he was making his way back up North, Boris happened upon a surprise. There was an assortment of mushrooms and morels tucked under a group of pine trees, shielded by a big rock. He must have missed this on his first trip! He quickly plucked up the brown and tan fungi, filling his basket with many. He found a couple of red spotted mushrooms that he left alone, those were inedible. Good for potions, not for ingestion. There was one more mushroom that caught his eye, a large chanterelle. Though its coloring was a tad off, more like a faded red than the sunset orange he was used to seeing. Maybe it wasn't fully grown? He didn't think much of it as he picked it and put it in the basket with the others. With a hefty haul of mushrooms, the brunette hightailed it home. He had a great idea what to make for dinner tonight, fried mushroom stir-fry!
Now Boris knew how to properly clean and prepare forged goods for consumption. One can eat these things raw, but sometimes there are things lurking within one would not want to eat. He used to eat bugs when he was seven, he won't do that again at twenty-seven. When he returned to his humble farmhouse, he dumped the mushrooms in a drainer and rinsed off each one. He cut the caps off on the cutting board, even the strange chanterelle, and left them on a dry mat. He spent the rest of his night in peace; he took a long needed shower, cooked up dinner and packed away the extra to have for tomorrow. The earthy and aromatic smell of the sliced mushrooms, mixed with some cooked kale on a bed of rice, reminded the farmer of the times his grandfather would pick at the dish wondering where all the meat and protein was. Damn where did the time go, it felt like that was yesterday. Now he was all alone, well except for his cat. Shalla had gathered a whiff of her owner's meal and circled around the kitchen table, meowing and hoping to beg for a nibble to eat. Unfortunately, Boris would not budge. “You have your own food.” He voiced as he pointed with his fork to the corner. The cat's food and water dishes were full. Shalla followed the metal utensil with her eyes, thinking she was getting just as she wanted. When she realized she wasn't however, she lost interest and left the farmer alone to eat.
Pelican Town was silent as many of the residents and animals were asleep, even the dim glow of far off Zuzu City seemed almost peaceful. It was very late at night, the clock in his room displayed the time as four twenty-seven in the morning. Boris had groggily awakened in a sweat. His blankets were long kicked off and he was in his red boxers and a soaked white tee. His stomach was killing him, a sharp pain that roused him from his sleep. His body felt heavy, like it was being weighed down as he reached out for a light. He felt around until he found the pull string for the lamp. His mind was not all there as he was weaving through the sleepy fog, but his body was urging him to get up now. He staggered out of bed and went to the bathroom. The pain was getting worse, and now that he was waking up a little more he noticed how bleary his vision was. After flicking on his bedroom, the hallway, and now the bathroom lights, he could tell he couldn't quite make out what was in front of him. Everything melded into this wavy blur, and naturally with his luck he stubbed his toe as he meandered to the sink. He hissed in pain and propped himself against the counter. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, and not in the exhilarating way like when he did laps around the farm to make sure nothing was wearing down or needed attending to. No this felt different, a quickened pulse that left him short of breath.
Boris pushed himself away from the sink as his stomach lurched. A familiar, unpleasant sour bile was racing up his throat and he knew what was coming. He managed to push up the toilet seat in time before he was vomiting in the bowl. The first hurl was oddly euphoric, as if his mind told him all he had was a mild ache and he would be okay after he threw it up. The second and third time hurt but that was to be expected. It was the fourth time though that he had to wonder what was up. He was dry heaving nothing, the toilet was a disgusting mess of regurgitated food and digestive acids. The action of coughing but nothing coming up made his knees shaky, his body weak as a feverish warmth took over. He managed to cough up what very little remained and moved to look at himself in the mirror. His vision was blurry not just because of the tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but it was actually going hazy. Goldenrod eyes were unfocused. He could just make out the rest of his face, flushed and coated in sweat.
“Ph..one.....” He croaked out, his voice sounded nothing like what he was used to hearing. It sounded guttural, inhuman and thrashed. Hell he wasn't even sure if he saw his mouth move in the reflection. He pushed himself out of the bathroom and down the hall. There was a red landline telephone in the corner, a corner that felt like it was getting further and further away from him with every step he took. One moment it was out of reach, the next he nearly tripped over the damn thing by running into it. Boris managed to catch himself, breathing heavily as he pulled the drawer open. There was a little black book inside, his first few weeks being back home he took down every residents' and shops' numbers so he had a sort of personal phonebook. He mainly used it due to how forgetful he was, and boy was it a sight for failing sore eyes.
He flipped the first couple pages and squinted at his handwriting. It wasn't perfect, but it was never this bad. He couldn't read heads or tails the names or numbers. The lines were seemingly melting like running ink. Numbers blended together, threes and fives looked as if they were moving on their own. Shifting off the page or overlapping each other.
He just needed to focus and find Harvey's number. Obviously the clinic was closed, so any calls would go to voicemail, but Harvey's personal number was different. He was a man devoted to his work, he'd pick up any call at any time.
He felt his stomach do flips as another need to throw up hit him. Boris pulled the book away and threw up nothing but liquid, stomach acid burned his throat. It splattered on the hardwood like the slap of a wet paper towel. It hurt so much he cried out, internally praying to Yoba to make it stop.
He couldn't rely on the book, he had to remember from memory Harvey's number. He shakily picked up the phone and pressed the right keys. He hoped they were the right keys and he hoped he was remembering the right number. His mind was throwing out all the red flags and fears that something was very wrong. He needed help or he was going to die. The dial tone began to ring. He waited with bated, wheezing breath.
He wasn't expecting whose grumbly, sleep lulled voice he heard on the other end.
“Mnrgh..... hello?”
Boris had called Marnie's ranch and the person to pick up was Shane. The only number he could confidently remember in his panic frenzy. He almost had half a mind to apologize and hang up because he knew he had the wrong number, but he was desperate. He used the wall beside him for support, the hallway was sifting and swirling around him.
“H..arvey.....” This wasn't Harvey at all, he had no idea why he said his name. He shuddered, the overwhelming fever becoming this white hot chill down his spine. “Caall Har..vey for me, please.”
“Who is this?” He could hear Shane sort of snapping out of his sleep in an annoyed lisp. He must not have looked at the caller id when he picked up, understandable.
“Boris.” The farmer keened, he felt like he didn't have much time left. His head was spinning. In a twisted way he was almost grateful for his vision blanking, the motion sickness of his world going upside down out have made him sicker.
“Boris...? Is something going on?” Shane could hear the pain on the other end. His irritation morphing into confusion and concern. It was almost five in the morning, what was with this ungodly hour call? The man listened intently. Boris never answered him, instead he heard a thud and the line disconnected. “Boris? Hey, you still there?” His brows furrowed. Something wasn't right here. He hung up the phone and went to his room to get some shoes on.
The door to Marnie's bedroom opened, and out came the farm woman. She had her usual red and green attire on, like she was ready to to greet the sun. She was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes when she noticed Shane was leaving. “Where are you going this early?” She asked with a yawn.
“Boris called.” Shane answered as he was shrugging on his tattered Joja jacket. He had on his shoes and had a flashlight so he could see. It was still pretty dark out.
“Farmer Boris?” Marnie shuffled her way into the kitchen to get a pot of coffee started. “Did something happen?”
“Don't know, he said to call Harvey but that was it.” Shane patted his pockets for his house keys.
Marnie put the pot under the dripper and turned the machine on. The gurgling sound of the water rushing into the machine could be heard. “I'll call him and have him meet you up there.” She said, though her urgency was lacking. She didn't hear how out of it Boris was, she didn't fully understand why Shane was in a rush. “Be careful.” She warned as the man was out the door and booking it up to the neighboring farm. She could see the column of light from the flashlight waving sporadically as Shane was running. He was absolutely going to tire himself out if he tried to sprint.
Of all the things to feel when dipping back into consciousness, laying in a puddle of his own vomit and sweat was not a pleasant experience. Boris had hit the floor and passed out for a minute there, the loud disconnect beep echoing from the upper end of the telephone. He couldn't even remember what he said, much less who he called. If his body felt heavy when he was in bed before all this started, then it felt like he was being held down by cinder blocks and crushing gravity. The first thing his weakened mind instructed was to crawl away from the mess. He felt like he needed a drink, water for his burning throat and cotton dry mouth.
He made it about as far as on his knees before giving up. He didn't feel like he could get to his feet. What was happening to him? The initial need to throw up had died down as there was nothing left to throw up, now he was left with near blindness and a fever, and what sight he maintained he was seeing things. The colors of his world were saturated, the light was like a holy beam hellbent on permanently disorienting him. He had to keep his head down as the migraine scrambled his brain. Was this even real life? Maybe he was still dreaming and his alarm would go off any minute now and yank him from this nightmare, back to reality on the farm where everything was alright.
If the visual hallucinations weren't enough, he was starting to hear things as well. He heard the sound of somebody pilfering in his kitchen, the clang and clatter of bowls making him curious. Shakily, he managed to his feet and staggered down the hall. He saw what looked like a frog, this child size amphibian with big bulbous eyes, raiding his fridge for food. He stared at the creature for a long moment, confused as hell. He mouthed a silent 'what the' as the frog kicked the fridge door shut. In its webbed hands it was holding the fried mushroom stir fry meal Boris had portioned out yesterday evening. The two never broke eye contact, even when the frog's warped tongue licked its eye. That made his stomach turn in disgust.
“Hey... that's not... yours...” It was kind of comical the way the farmer argued with a mutant frog. He reached out to take the container from it, but the frog stepped back. Boris would take a step, the frog would mirror him backwards. One step forward, one step away. Just when he thought he had it cornered, the frog duked him and took off. So began the chase, Boris ran around the whole of his farmhouse trying to catch the frog. It was weird to him how he had this sudden strength and energy after being a shambling wreck up until then.
He ran the kitchen, the living room, his room, and finally down the hall after the frog. “Wait!” He called out. He stepped in the lukewarm puddle of sick and slipped in it, hitting the floor hard just as he did when he passed out. He groaned in pain and looked down to see why he fell. Instead of seeing vomit, he saw grass. Soft, brightly colored grass with blades tickling his legs. Looking around, the hallways distorted into a long, never ending farmland with a tinted, hellish red sky. The hallucination frog stopped running, looking at the farmer in wonder. Boris felt like this was the perfect chance to catch it, but as he went to move he found he couldn't. Vines entangled his legs and slowly worked up his body, like a snake constricting its prey. Boris struggled with heavy breathing, clawing for purchase of the ground to get away. In a way it tickled, clinging to his body in a strangely pleasing way like an enveloping hug. That didn't make the fear ramping through him any less.
“Help!” He shouted. Every second he was being consumed by the vines, the harder it was to breathe. Like his lungs were seizing up, refusing any air to come in or escape out. The frog looked from the struggling man to the container in its hands. It popped the lid off and picked at the food, until it found a piece of mushroom. Not the shriveled common caps or the darkened oily texture morels, but the thinner bits of what he believed was the chanterelle.
“You Goddamn moron.” The frog spoke, its voice assertive and slimy like the rest of it. It was a voice Boris hadn't heard in years, his boss from his old job. It caused him to freeze in dread. “What kind of farmer poisons himself?” It continued with a sneer. It flicked the piece of food in Boris's face.
His nose wrinkled and he tried even harder than before to get up, but by then the vines had pinned him down. Poison himself, then that must mean... his vision really took a hit as the scene around him began to fade. His body slacked, his mind going blank as he fell unconscious all over again.
The Roberts' Farm up North was so large, acres of land yet to be utilized by the fledgling farmer that owned it. The barn and accompanying coop had their doors shut, keeping the animals that inhabited safe and warm. Shane was on his way to the small house, and not far behind after him was Marnie. She couldn't help herself, she had to come along and see what was going on.
“Harvey's on his way!” She hollered out to Shane, her voice loud and carrying as always. Shane went up the porch steps two at a time and tried to open the front door. It was locked, as expected. He banged on it a few times. “Hey, Boris!” He called out, “Boris answer already!” Marnie had caught up, mildly out of breath but there to calm her Nephew's impatience. There were columns of window glass on either side of the door that Shane peeked through to see inside. His breath was fogging the glass, so he had to wipe it clear with his sleeve. He saw what looked like legs in the hallway.
“Shane I'll go see if I can get Mayor Lewis, he has the keys to every home here in town.” Marnie offered a solution. It was clear the concern had come to her now that she was more alert and awake. “Harvey should be here any min- oh my God!” She jumped in surprise as she watched Shane put his whole arm through the glass he was just peering through. He smashed it out and hurriedly worked the deadbolt and locks.
He felt the metals click and he was able to open the door. He rushed in and found Boris, limp with his eyes open. They weren't the bright shiny gold, they were dilated. Pupils blown out in a deep fog. His skin was hot, he was covered in God knows what and unresponsive.
“Boris?? Boris, hey!” Shane shook him, a hard jostle to try and snap the man out of it. He managed to roll him onto his back. His breathing was barely there, a rattling wheeze.
Marnie came in and gasped. It was like a scene out of one of her trashy drama shows. “Grab an arm and lift!” She dropped down and picked the farmer off the floor. Shane quickly helped so his Aunt wasn't doing all the heavy lifting. Boris's head lulled more towards Shane, releasing a subconscious mewl in pain.
“Hang on, buddy. We got you.” Shane reassured. He hooked his arm around the farmer, taking the guy for himself instead of letting Marnie help him. Screw waiting for Harvey, they had to get him to the clinic and fast.
“Well it's a good thing you brought him in when you did.” Harvey sagged back in his chair and rubbed his temple. He looked distraught by the turn of events this morning. Marnie had gone back to the ranch before Jas could wake up and wonder where everyone was, so that left Shane to hear what happened. He leaned on the wall of the office. On the other side of the wall was the room Boris was in, resting and being cared for by Maru who came in to work not long ago. She was listening closely as she worked to cool the farmer down with wet rag after wet rag.
“It looks like Boris ingested an amanita muscaria, also known as the fly agaric mushroom.” Harvey read over the clipboard, and when he caught that confused look in Shane's eyes did he elaborate further, “They look very similar to chanterelle mushrooms. They're toxic for nearly all animals, including people.” He adjusted his glasses as they were sliding down his nose. “This species can cause vomiting, high fever, temporary blindness, and hallucinations if ingested. In rare cases it can even cause seizures and internal bleeding-”
“And this isn't one of those cases, is it?” Shane interrupted Harvey with a scowl.
“If it was, I wouldn't be talking in a positive light.” Harvey frowned, not one to like being interrupted when explaining something. “He digested very little, so while this all sounds serious he's going to be fine. Very worn out, but he'll live.” His eyes looked over the other, noticing the restless way Shane bounced his leg and most importantly the blood stains on the cuff of his sleeve. “Shane, you should let me take a look at your hand.” He said.
Shane blinked and looked at his hand. There was a noticeable gash around the knuckles from where he punched out the glass to get inside. The fresh wound stung in the sterile air. “It's fine, doc.” He declined, “When's Boris gonna wake up?”
“Later this afternoon, hopefully.” Harvey really wanted to insist, but at a glance it didn't look like it was in need of stitches. It still looked pretty gnarly.
“Alright, I'll be back later then.” Shane pushed himself off the wall and turned to leave the room.
“Wait where are you going?” Harvey sat up a little at attention.
“Somebody's gotta take care of his animals while he's out.” Shane looked back at Harvey, and the doctor could see that the ex-Joja employee needed something to occupy his time. Otherwise he was going to run himself ragged with worry.
“If... you insist.....” Harvey relented, “At least let me take care of your hand before you handle live feed.”
“Take care of your other patients, Harv.” Shane opened the door, he was giving the cold shoulder and not wanting any help. “I'll see you.” And before any other arguments could be made, Shane was out the door and walking through the waiting room. He caught a glimpse of Maru in the doorway, and Boris's unconscious body behind her.
“You know.....” Maru began with that know it all look on her face, “He'd be telling you the same thing.” She was referring to Boris telling him to take care of himself.
Shane sighed and left without another word. He didn't mean to slam the door on his way out but he did, internally regretting how dickish he must have been to the ones that were wanting to help his sorry ass. He took another look at his hand. Yeah it hurt like hell, adrenaline was tempering the pain for the most part, but hearing the farmer was gonna be okay calmed him and it was trickling through. He swore he could see a sliver of glass still embedded in the gash.
Well his day went from uneventful to busy. First things first was he was going to go back to the farm and clean up. He'd kick himself if Boris came home to a mess.