2017-08-07: Nor Heat Nor Gloom of Night

• Log: Nor Heat Nor Gloom of Night
• Cast: Citan Uzuki, Gwen Whitlock
• Where: Silver Coast
• Date: 8-11-2017
• Summary: A little ways out from Lacour, Doctor Citan Uzuki waits patiently for a delivery by courier.

---

===============================<* Silver Coast *>===============================

The Silver Coast is the name given to the northeastern coastline of Ignas. The origins of the name are lost to history, but residents of the area tend to assume it reflects either the famous white-sand beaches northeast of Lacour, or the region's distance from the desertification slowly spreading out from the continent's heart.

The Coast and its surrounding territories are claimed by the Kingdom of Lacour, and contain a wide assortment of biomes, from plains to rocky hills and mountains to rolling beaches. Major roads between Lacour and its next two largest settlements – the Port City of Hilton and the Academy City of Linga – are heavily patrolled by the kingdom's soldiers, and are generally safe. The hinterlands, however, are plagued by monsters of all types; researchers in Linga can find a variety of uses for the body parts of monsters, and do a brisk trade with Adventurers seeking to protect the population and make a little coin to boot.

<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.

Away from the continental heart one can almost forget about the desertifaction slowly spreading outward. The coast is a pretty place, with its white sand beaches and its relatively mild climate. It's a popular vacation destination for those already visiting the Kingdom of Lacour. Up and away from the strand, however, one starts veering into the territory of monsters.

In fact, it's way up in the hills that a certain courier had been bidden to make her delivery. It's there she'll find... no client. In fact, there's no sign of him, although she might happen across a dead, jackal-like monster on the road. Its neck has been cleanly snapped and its eyes are already glassy in death.

Further on, the courier will find broken branches, a sapling tree broken as though a great weight had been thrown against it, and... another dead monster. This one looks like its ribs have been staved in with crushing force, and the red froth at its jaws suggests it is very dead by this point in time.

A rudimentary road, not much more than a deer trail, leads further up towards a rock outcropping. There are two more dead monsters. One of them has a broken spine, and the other's head has been twisted at an unnatural angle, both of them sprawled on the weed-choked sand. One of the two looks like the other had turned on it, perhaps after it had been killed; its throat is torn partway open, and the jaws of the other dead jackal-thing are bloody.

It's at the top that the courier may find her client. Doctor Citan Uzuki sits atop a ridge of stone, one leg neatly folded beneath him, keeping an unconcerned eye on the trail while he polishes his glasses on the hem of his robe. His doctor's satchel sits beside him, undisturbed. There is a bird singing somewhere nearby, the battle being over just long enough for wildlife to start coming back to the recently-disturbed area.

...Is that blood on one lens?

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

BEFORE

It was late afternoon when Gwen managed to finally leave Lacour. The tournament's passing has made the nearby city steadily lose its abundant, overflowing energy, making the streets much easier for her and her horse Gulliver to navigate, but it's had the side effect of there naturally being less jobs. Being a courier is sometimes a feast or famine business, due to the natural convenience the Memory Cubes presented. But a Memory Cube can't transport items. Gwen can.

Stopping by a tavern to haul in a wooden crate of full of various types of alcohol, each bottle nicely cushioned inside, Gwen's client winces as she hefts the crate up, mindful of the glass bottles shifting slightly inside. "Y'don't mind if you open this up in front of me, d'ya? I'd like to take a look t'make sure everything's in one piece. Rough roads n' all." The client nods, grabbing a crowbar to carefully crack open the box and peer inside, his hand checking each bottle for any cracks or leakage. Nodding, he gives the redhead a thumbs up. "You'll be fowarding my payment to the Adventurer's Guild like last time, right? Or are you—" The client, a quiet man, raises a finger and moves inside, disappearing for a few moments as Gwen waits. She doesn't have to wait long, as the bartender comes back, holding a bottle. "O-oh, really? Uh, I couldn't possibly, uh, take this." Gwen stammers with psuedo-humility, her boots scuffing the dirt. It's not even been a month since she got drunk enough to challenge the Crown Princess of Adlehyde to an arm-wrestling match. Having some alcohol around, while useful, couldn't be a good idea. Insistent, the bartender gives her the bottle, which Gwen forces herself to graciously accept with a smile. "Well, if it's a gift, how could I say no, eh?"

NOW

This was all why it was nearly evening by the time Gwen got to this part of the coast, with the sun's angle beginning to cast steadily lengthening shadows across the various stony outcroppings near the road as her wagon passed by. Taking the last part of the ride as far as she could go, Gwen leaps from her wagon, storm blue eyes studying the wilderness around her for signs of her next client. You know, the Simple Country Doctor.

Instead, there were the final tracks of a now dead monster. Alarmed, Gwen's hand hovers near her knife, ready to grip it with her right hand. "Dr. Uzuki?" She raises her voice, judging Gulliver to be momentarily safe for the time being as she moves further in.

The man could be in danger. He could be bleeding somewhere, he could—well, no, he's a doctor, he'd probably handle that, wouldn't he? And look there, another dead monster. And another. And another.

"Gosh, you had me scared there for a sec! Y'know, if things like this keep happenin', I may raise my fees," Gwen states with a fair amount of humor in her voice, once she discovers the doctor. "Did y'decide to turn to collectin' monster bounties? I would've thought a doc like you'd have plenty of excitement just from your profession alone." As she ambles closer, she raises a finger, pointing to her eye. "Y'got somethin' on your glasses."

<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.

The man doesn't seem to be in any especial danger. In fact, he's lifting his lenses for another look at them, squinting myopically even as twigs snap underfoot. He looks over as Gwen makes her way into the clearing, placing the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

He arches a brow at the scolding from his courier, tilting his head and raising the other brow in an expression of mute skepticism. Really? Scared about what? Obviously, he's had the situation well in hand. In fact, there's something almost cold in those brown eyes, studying Gwen so closely it might seem like he's looking right through her.

Once upon a time, in the cold windsong halls of Aphel Aura, Yui Uzuki had joked that he looked like he was dissecting people with his eyes when he studied them like that. He had said something sheepish, though he had not argued.

That's the kind of look levelled on Gwen Whitlock. She is being appraised, from several different angles, all with a single cool and undisturbed regard.

"Ahahah, my apologies." It's all warmth and smiles the instant he speaks, back to the persona of the affable, slightly absent-minded country doctor. "No, it is usually my preference to stay away from the monsters, but I suppose they must have smelled something in my satchel that was too interesting for them to ignore. My, my. The monsters here are quite persistent, you know! I was beginning to wonder if I was in trouble, myself, for a few moments there..."

Yeah. Right. He lifts a brow again, taking off his glasses and squinting at them in puzzlement. "Do I? I thought I had gotten it all off. Quite amazing, really. I was able to fend off one of the creatures, and its own companion turned on it. Some of the blood must have gotten onto my lenses..."

Putting them back on, he settles both hands onto the ankle of his folded leg, regarding Gwen with his head slightly tilted. "You have the parcel, I trust? You will be paid in full, of course, and compensated accordingly." His smile is a little thin. "The city streets are too crowded for such a delivery, even after the tournament. You understand, I hope."

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

It's a good tactic to use with the courier, prompting her to fall back on old habits. In this case, falling passive, drawing the cloak of likability like a protective shield.

"Hey, hey," Gwen responds quickly with a nervous chuckle, waving her hands in front of her. "No need to look at me that way. It's just that there's been a really scary guy that's been disappearin' travelers not too far away from this area. Even I'm stayin' away from those roads, and you know that's rare for me." Citan knows very well what tricks she had up her sleeve. Quite literally, in fact. The strange metal appendage that served as her arm, the intricate panels that allowed for life-like movement, and the layered scars she takes pains to cover – one layer from the fire that took her original arm, and the surgical scars from where the hidden parts of her ARM interact intimately with her inner body.

Few people know those secrets without getting to know Gwen first.

Citan had the advantage of being a Simple Country Doctor.

"Y'know, if you could find out what substance attracted them, you could probably market that for a nice bit of gella~" Back to her usual singsong self, Gwen nods in answer to his question. "Yeah. It's back in the wagon, back where our meetin' spot was. I apologize for the wait; had some hold-ups in town." She allows herself a small, fond smile. "Can't believe you were the 'doc' Fei was talkin' about all this time. Should've realized, but I wasn't really squintin' too hard at what he was sayin', y'know?"

<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.

A scary guy who's been disappearing travellers in the area? That sounds like something interesting. He can't resist knowing everyone else's business, especially strange odds and ends like this. If it's a serious enough problem, it might even warrant looking into the next time he finds he has an abundance of free time.

Ha ha... ha... yeah. Free time. Yeah. Funny joke. When was the last time he got to see his own wife, let alone look into strange by-roads?

Citan lets none of the despair show on his face. He just smiles that kindly doctor smile.

"It must be bad, if even you are avoiding the roads." In that instant, he decides it's worth looking into. At the moment Gwen is his only real link to safe and reasonable medical supplies, and the places Fei insists on going are not known for having supply depos. Or sanitary conditions. "Perhaps I will ask around, and see if there is anything that anyone knows."

Settling more comfortably on the rock that he's perched over, he studies her more carefully, as though appraising her condition, and whether or not the ARM is being a bother. Such things require careful maintenance when they're connected so intimately to one's own body, after all.

"Gella? Perhaps. On the other hand, it would be irresponsible of me. I would not trust such a substance to be used responsibly." Most people aren't capable of utterly destroying a small pack of monsters like that. Handing over a pheromone like that would be akin to pulling the pin on a grenade and then gluing it to one's own hand.

He shakes his head as he hops to his feet, with all the spryness of someone a lot younger who hasn't just spent half an hour murdering monsters. On the other hand, it's always a good sign when one's doctor is in very good health! Right? "I trust you brought the delivery with you? Where is your wagon? Down the trail, I hope. Should you be leaving your horse, if you think someone is really ambushing travellers?"

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

"I wouldn't." The reply comes like an arrow, faster than any tone or context to soften the blow. Gwen sheepishly scratches the side of her head, directing her eyes towards the way she came. "Well, I mean, I kinda had a close call with him? Possibly? He ain't direct. He's the sort to use trickery. Make you question your grasp of reality."

Gwen may not know the doctor all that well, but she can make an educated guess as to what he's possibly thinking. Or play it safe and assume that he *is* thinking about it, regardless. Her lips thin. "I only escaped because he let me. I wasn't all that interestin' to him." Which, Gwen hopes, may prove in itself a clue to the doctor.

Because Gwen herself isn't quite sure what to think of it all herself.

"Y'soundin' like my auntie," Gwen states with a laugh, but not entirely dismissive. "Yeah, yeah. I suppose that'd be the natural result. Perhaps it was meant to be that you were the one to make this discovery, eh?" Which, hopefully, is not actually what attracted the monsters.

Because what if it's something she's transporting to him?

"I thought you were inna tough spot, remember? Can't have my favorite doc be lyin' someplace with a broken foot or somethin' terrible like that, y'know?" Gwen chuckles, thumbing the rim of her hat. "But that's all the reason to get back soon. Shall we? It ain't too far."

<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.

That their mysterious highwayman is a chessmaster more than brute muscle is an interesting tidbit. Citan is careful to let none of it show on his face; Gwen's immediate concern is enough to convince him that he should investigate this even more quietly than usual. It wouldn't do to upset her.

Right now, he needs her deliveries too much to take any risks with them. It would be an interesting diversion, anyway, and take his mind off of other problems for a little while.

He isn't very concerned about getting into over his head into trouble. He's always had a knack for getting back out of it. Eventually. Somehow.

Citan just smiles that unassuming smile. The one that says he's not very good at handling monsters, and he had managed to get lucky with these four or five, and that he's really just a simple country doctor with an endearingly absent-minded professor sort of personality. It says he's the kind of man who forgets details like monsters on the road because he has other things on his mind. Which is... not wholly a lie, really.

He can't remember the last time that monsters were the greatest threat he had to keep in mind. In fact, he isn't quite sure he's ever had to worry about that.

Yui and her grandfather are by far more terrifying than the most horrific of monsters. Hyuga graciously concedes that Gaspar can still snap him in half with comparatively little effort.

So, the good doctor pushes himself to his feet, moving to join Gwen on her way back down to the wagon. "Hmmm." Citan smiles pleasantly, and that noncommittal comment is all he says in response to whether or not he's thinking about tracking that highwayman down. Is he or isn't he? He's not telling, hiding it behind an obfuscating layer of Pleasant Simple Country Doctor.

That Gwen wasn't interesting means that either the highwayman is blind as a bat, or perhaps that he's looking for something very specific. The scientist in him is inclined to lean towards the latter; all things being equal, it's more of a simple solution than mere oversight. Somone going through the trouble to make such an inconvenience of themselves isn't going to pass up something of potential interest when it's right in front of their nose.

"Ah, no, I am more careful than that. And perhaps it was. I do not know. It will no doubt have its uses, but I believe it will be safer to sit on it for a time. I suppose an idea will come to me in time." Citan dusts his hands, following her downhill. It's much quieter going down than it was coming up, broken only by the soft crunch of dry grass underfoot. "Good. I should be returning to town after I have picked up the delivery, myself."

Fei will be wondering where he's gone off to... except not really, because Citan makes a point of cultivating that slight air of mystery. It allows him to work unimpeded, when he needs to see to business that requires secrecy.

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

Just a Simple Country Doctor, in the same way Gwen is a Simple Desert Courier.

But it's this small similarity that perhaps allows Gwen some level of trust in the doctor, in that she trusts him to see her for what she is, rather than a monster, or worse, a invalid that needed to be pitied. Whatever secrets may lie behind the doctor's outward persona are impossible for Gwen to really guess at without indulging in a bit of artistic license.

... After all, he clearly is some famous champion fighter from some far off land, whose identity was lost the moment he crossed the oceans to Ignas in order to escape a dire fate. Maybe he spurned the wrong person, or was threatened when he refused to back away from a match, or, maybe he fell in love, but couldn't express it due to his fame and fortune. Or maybe he was a master surgeon, trusted by some sultan or king, only to be forced to flee when a surgery went bad, or he was framed for the sultan's murder. Maybe he simply wished to live a nice normal life as a doctor, moved someplace, married someone he liked, and had a kid.

The last possibility is not as exciting for a cheap novel as the others, but real life never does quite match that specific format.

Gwen's lips twist in scepticism at Citan's innocent demeanor, but finally opts instead to continue on the path back to the wagon, where Gulliver still stands, demurely munching on some grass. "Did'ja miss me?" Gwen greets her horse with arms outstretched, Gulliver responding by raising his head and sniffing around her, looking for any tasty treats in a pocket or nook in her clothing. "Such a hungry boy! I'll feed you soon, don't worrry~" Gwen pets her equine partner's long nose, then moves to the covered wagon itself, hopping up into the back. "Annndd, ah, here it is!" She pushes the parcel to the edge of the wagon, then jumps down onto the ground. "Will y'be payin' the same way you usually do? I can tell you that I can't accept any monster teeth or eyeballs, if you were thinkin' of doing that."

Judging by her wide smile, she's joking.

It has happened before, but those sorts of clients usually don't hire her again.

<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.

The doctor and the courier are a good team, in a way. Both are steeped in secrets, and both are able to keep secrets in turn. There is a necessity to keep those secrets and this mutual dependence has forged an excellent professional rapport.

It doesn't hurt that he really does rely on the delivery of medical supplies. At this point, there aren't very many couriers he would trust with sensitive materials. There are even fewer he would trust to deliver to him in rough areas, or in the shockingly fast time frame that Gwen tends to complete her tasks in. If he neds something in a hurry, he can count on her to deliver it safely and quickly.

He can also count on her to keep a secret. Dispatching those monsters was an unfortunate necessity; neither could he have moved to a different location by the time he was expecting her to arrive. All the same, he can trust her not to talk about the incident too much.

Simple country doctors just have this funny habit of getting lucky.

Especially when the situation should be life-threatening.

Whatever his situation really is, though, he isn't talking about it or offering her any answers. Reality has a way of being both more and less than the wild imaginings of strangers. The reality is that he moved someplace (in a manner of speaking), married a woman he liked (whom he's convinced is the only one who can keep up with him), and had a kid (even if she's somewhat intimidated by her own father).

He gives the horse a pat of his own, offering an open hand for the horse to smell. Gulliver might be about as smart as a box of rocks, but one can hardly fault his willingness to work. Horses are good companions in that sense.

Squinting against the sun, low on the horizon, he watches as she hops up into the back of the wagon.

"I will pay the same as I always do. No sense in changing routine, is there? How is your arm doing?" Citan adjusts his robe before twisting to reach into his satchel, coming up with a set of tools that look entirely too sharp and fine to be surgeon's scalpels. That's because they aren't. They're made to work with machines, and very delicate ones; the same tools that he always uses for maintaining Gwen Whitlock's mysterious ARM. "Why would I bring you monster teeth or eyeballs? Disgusting, unsanitary things, you know; and I am only a country doctor. Though, if you would like anything from the monsters on the trail, have at."

He gestures toward the back of the wagon. "Have a seat. Would you like me to tune up the internal workings, or are you short on time?"

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

Everyone has their reasons. Everyone has their secrets. It was a lesson every child who grew up in Little Twister had to learn early. One can never trust everyone to be good at heart, just like no one can trust everyone will act selfishly. A person just needed to let things stay as they are until they know the reality of that person.

Citan is a peaceful doctor with a strange, unexplained dark matter present in his past; something that cannot be explained, and may never be. If today's any indication, this may be for the best; Gwen doesn't want to be on his bad side.

Citan's hand is greeted by Gulliver's velvety nose and mouth, ever quick to remember a familiar presence.

Especially if that presence has ever fed or petted him. "Gentle, gentle," Gwen says quietly, brushing her hand through the grey dappled horse's mane. "Pretty good. Had a scientist named Emma Hetfield look at it at one point when it got chopped off by a Metal Demon. I think I kinda neglected t'tell y'about that, with everything going on. But it was something that got resolved." She even was able to talk to the Metal Demon who did it, who indicated, in the clinical way he had, that it wasn't personal. "I suppose that's the closest I've ever come to being scared in a long, long while."

"Nah, you were my last delivery today. I figured I'd set it up that way in case something came up." Gwen grins. "Though, there was a really strange man who attacked the tournament right after the last match. He seemed to know Fei. Never seen a guy go through so many people. Nearly got done in myself." Gwen looks to the tools with a detached gaze, seeing them without the aversion most would. "Go ahead and check. I haven't had a chance to really clean out my ARM since the fight."

Tugging on one finger of her glove, she reveals the strange slightly pliable metal of her right hand. With a familiarity that suggests much practice, she also rolls up the sleeve of her blouse, then pauses. "... I don't have to, uh... show the rest of my shoulder, right? Sorry, I just feel naked, even if I'd have my shirt coverin' my chest n' all that."

<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.

There's no telling what lies in the doctor's unexplained past. He harbours a great many secrets and keeps them well, like a shepherd tending his flock with meticulous attention to detail. For the time being the doctor is an ally, albeit one with a subtle undercurrent of danger. Thinking of him as a friend might be presumption, and dangerous in its naivete.

The way he pats the horse's nose suggests his past is as transparent as the coastal sky. Citan is simply a doctor of the country, one who has a way with country people and country animals alike, whose cares are no more diverse than ensuring that his deliveries of medicine are kept routine and dependable. Surely there's no more to the man than that. Those dead monsters must be one whopper of a coincidence, but surely it's just a coincidence.

His mouth twitches when she mentions having her arm severed, but he doesn't comment. Already his eyes settle on the point of her shoulder, as though he were studying her for any difference in mobility once the truth is out. Any ruffled feathers soothe when she makes it clear it's already been taken care of.

A strange man who attacked the tournament, and seemed to know Fei. In truth, he had been skulking about the stands that day, and he had seen the whole affair. In keeping with his nature as a simple country doctor he had not interfered. Indeed, he had been most interested to see how Fei would react to such direct provocation, and found himself gratified when the day did not erupt into violence. He had calmly and dutifully reported his findings, later; had calmly returned to figuring out how to juggle the myriad of issues while calmly sewing together a patient's wound.

The simple country doctor may be no more than a facade, but his professionalism drives him to excel even at what amounts ot a sham. His work and his skill as a physician gives truth to the lie.

Citan smiles benignly. "Was there? That is too bad. I hope Fei was alright. I spoke with him, but it was after the tournament. He seemed reasonably alright, although perhaps he was a bit distracted." Some seriousness returns to his expression, dark eyes lidding. "He is determined to venture into the Badlands on personal business. I am going with him to ensure that he does not come to any harm; however, it is still important to me to receive my supplies." He tilts his head very faintly as Gwen bares her hand and arm. "Would you be willing to venture there, in the event that I continue contracting your services, Miss Whitlock?"

He shakes his head, though, in answer to her question. "No, unless you have had any problems with mobility. Please hold still," he adds, pleasantly. "This will only take a moment, and it will not be any more intrusive than it needs to be."

"I am thinking about acquiring a horse for the trip into the Badlands. It is not the best of places to take a beast of burden, but it would certainly help with mobility, and carrying our supplies with us." It might seem like Citan's chattering aimlessly, but it's the same strategy he uses with other patients – talking about something to take their minds off of what he's doing, to put them more at ease as he practises his trade. "Do you think you would have any suggestions? I am familiar with horses, but I am no expert, and my experience with them is chiefly with those beasts of burden that are found on most farms. Quite like you, friend Gulliver," he adds, with a chuckle and a look to Gwen's dumb-as-rocks faithful steed.

While he distracts her with words, his tools are already poking and prying into the ARM, seeking the inner workings with deft manoeuvres. His skill in engineering is as adept as his skill with a surgeon's tools; his hands are absolutely steady, and his efficiency of movement is no less absolute. Not a single component is put out of place any more than it needs to be; not a single thing is poked or prodded at if he doesn't feel he has good reason to. He's almost gentle in the way he examines the ARM – checking for dust, corrosion, any foreign matter that might have gotten into its inner workings.

Of course, he's also taking note of the details as he does. It'd be silly not to. It's an interesting piece of machinery, and he's ultimately a man of science. Right?

"Thus far, everything would appear to be in order," Citan comments, in a light and distracted tone. "You have certainly been taking good care of it, and whatever you have had done by Miss Hetfield, she has done quite well."

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

"If it was still that way, I'd likely be dead by now," Gwen states with a laugh. "Or alive. I ain't sure how long it'd take my heart to fail at this point." She was not, of course, as easy going about it when the evnt happened. It shook her to the core, to be brought back to such a helpless state by a few surgical slashes of a blade. It would be too embarrassing to reveal that it was done by a Metal Demon who had a chance to examine her, months ago when he and his kind were infiltrating the groups of Drifters around Adlehyde.

"The guy called himself 'Grahf, Seeker of Power'." The courier nods. "Well, last I saw em', Fei was 'bout as alright as a person could be. He hugged me even, even with how bad he probably felt right then. There's another girl, named Xantia, who seemed to have some connections with the guy, if just in terms of her fightin' style. Guardians know she was probably up there with Fei in bein' the most successful of us to get any damage to stick on that man. She's been dealin' with amnesia as well, so I told her I'd be tellin' her any leads I get."

When Citan reveals Fei's plan, Gwen's eyes widen. "The Badlands? I wouldn't blame ya for wantin' to stick around him, Dr. Citan. I mean, he'll probably have an easier time blendin' in from anybody still hot on his trail, but the Badlands can be a challenge onto itself, provided you even get past Aveh." She flashes the doctor one of her easy smiles. "I'm headin' that way myself, once I get a few threads tied up. Just need the blockade to end. Got family that way, n' Memory Cubes don't cut it for contact after a while, y'know?"

"Not that I know of. In fact, I'd say it's gettin'... better?" The redhead's willingness to follow directions, as well as her practiced stillness, speaks of the many past events where she's had to be the patient, allowing Citan to check her over without much in the way of stiffness or nervousness, but lacking familiar ease. There's still tactile sensations that feed into her nervous system, as evident by the flickers of reactions that read on Gwen's face, but nothing painful, owing to the doctor's great care. Unlike a machine, some things have changed, but in ways owing to a more organic nature – some fittings in different places, streamlined parts, and even new parts that would only be noticable by a careful eye.

Even still, the small talk is appreciated, especially on a subject Gwen feels somewhat knowledgeable in. "If you're goin' to the Badlands, you'll probably need a Badlands horse. The steeds around here are plenty tough n' may even be faster, but a proper Badlands horse'll get you where you need to go." Gulliver looks up at Citan's friendly slight, nonchalantly shaking his mane. "His intelligence is sorta a side effect. I wanted a pretty easy-going horse. Some Badlands horses can get pretty high-strung, since they're descended from herds that just've naturalized to the area. They still got prey animal instincts. Even Gulliver here can get spooked by some things before I even know they're there." She flexes her fingers. "Just watch out for charlatans n' the like. I lucked out since my auntie knew some nice ranchers who specialized in these sorts of horses, but you're gonna get people lookin' to sell a pretty-lookin' horse for a hefty fee, only to find all sorts of health problems down the road."

As Citan releases her hand, Gwen flexes it and nods. "Y'do a good job. I'd say 'you should meet my auntie', but..." Her constant smile begins to wear thin. "She's... not always that great with other scholarly types."

<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.

If the name draws any recognition from the doctor, he shows no acknowledgement. He continues his examination with no apparent disruption to his concentration. Every so often Citan pauses to inspect the machinery in front of him from a different angle.

As she describes the situation at the arena, he reaches up to swing the magnification lens down over his regular lens. It magnifies his own eye to proportions somewhere between comical and unsettling, if she should catch a glimpse of it; more importantly, it allows him to see her ARM in unprecedented detail.

Citan frowns, using his tools to tease a bit of grit from the inner workings. Now, however did that get in there? Yet for all that he might seem like he isn't listening, he is. Very carefully, in fact.

His head tilts very faintly when she reveals that Xantia has some connection to Grahf. Now, isn't that interesting? She already seems to have some manner of connection to Fei, enough that the young man is willing to drop everything he's doing to go haring off into what is possibly one of the worst places to go haring off to. There must be some kind of connection, although he wonders sometimes if he seeks patterns where there are none.

A product of a Solarian upbringing, one must suppose. One looks for sinister avenues in everything, especially where there are none. Citan quietly chides himself for his momentary distraction.

He doesn't frown when Gwen comments on Xantia's evident amnesia, but he does inwardly. How coincidental is it that another amnesiac, with an apparent connection to Grahf, would seek out Fei Fong Wong? How coincidental is it that they would become travelling companions on this road to nowhere? He will have to confer with Cain about this, and ferret out whether or not this mysterious girl is of any significance; if, indeed, the Emperor knows anything. There is always a chance he does not. Cain is fearfully ancient and appropriately knowledgeable, but there are limits to the breadth and depth of his information, just as there are limits to the breadth and depth of Citan's own information.

As Citan Uzuki peaceably examines the mechanical array in front of him, Hyuga Ricdeau internally paces, and wonders what to do about the situation. Perhaps the answer is to report and do nothing. The details will reveal themselves in time to the still and patient mind. His Solarian instincts say that there is something he must do abotu this, but his time in Shevat has taught him to be even more patient and still.

He must thank his wife for those lessons later. She'll be puzzled, but it will assuage his idiosyncratic conscience. They are comfortable with secrets between them. It defines them, in a way. Those secrets are a mutual grey area that they learned long ago not to queston; a mutual compromise for the sake of their shared happiness.

"Aveh?" Citan looks up, stirring himself from his own reflection. "I am somewhat familiar with the city, although I have not been there. It is very hot, and very dry. Unfortunately, sand is something of an impediment to a physician's trade. It makes the task of keeping one's surgical tools clean and sterile somewhat difficult."

He's faced worse, he decides, with some resignation. Better sand than plague.

"Oh, yes," Citan offers, to the issue of the horses. "Even the most docile of farm horses are not immune to certain stimuli. They will run, if they feel threatened. Unfortunately many horses feel threatened by things that are simply not threatening. They are successful prey animals, because they are governed by those instincts, even when it would be better not to allow themselves to be."

Citan's quiet chatter has only a fraction of his concentration, but that isn't a problem for him. He's used to letting his mind run in a half dozen different directions while carrying on a conversation and concentrating on some delicate task or another, like surgery.

He leans forward to inspect the ARM more carefully. "Thank you for the advice. I will look into a beast of Badlands pedigree; I do not doubt that it will be better-suited. Perhaps a mule of Badlands descent, for I find them much more steady-minded and sensible than their equine brethren. No offense," he adds, to Gulliver's benefit. The horse won't know the difference. Gulliver is afably stupid in a plodding, endearing sort of way.

Just look out for charlatans, she says, and Citan chuckles. It's a pleasant, comforting sort of tone, but inwardly he's figuring it would take a clever, clever sort to pull the wool over his eyes. He's reasonably knowledgeable about such things. Agriculture isn't one of his strengths, but it isn't one of his weaknesses, either. "As you say, Miss Whitlock. I am not looking for attractive appearances or good conformation; I am looking for a beast that the desert will not kill, who is capable of carrying a heavy load."

He quirks a brow as Gwen mentions her auntie, blinking somewhat owlishly. "Scholarly? Ah, ha-ha! You flatter me, Miss Whitlock. Thank you for the compliment, I suppose." He leans back, stowing his tools back into their pouches and holsters within his satchel. "Why is that, do you suppose?"

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

Idly distracted by something Gulliver is choosing to munch on, Gwen looks back to Citan and flinches in surprise as there's suddenly a large, magnified eye in front of her, likely jostling Citan's view of her ARM very briefly before she immediately stills her ARM. "O-oh, haha, sorry. Startled me for a sec." The bit of grit is there, caught in some part that seems to have been telescoped out at some point near the center of her ARM. Sea grey eyes peer down through her angled perspective of Citan's lens. "It's shown me a new trick recently. Well, it didn't 'show' me, I guess, since it was me who did it? There's some parts that can come out of the sides to serve as a small shield. Happened when I was sparrin' a guy named Claude. He got a little carried away in the middle of it, but he pulled back when he realized what he was doin'."

It still didn't help him get to the top tier of the tournament.

"I didn't think of that," Gwen says, chuckling. "The sand wears down everythin', given enough time. I suppose it'd be the same for surgical tools as it would wood." Adjusting her shoulder for Citan to have an easier time examining the next area, Gwen continues on. "I've been to Aveh before too. Grand city, has some great food. The policy there on ARMs makes me nervous to really play around there, though. It's not like they can take my ARM into custody of the state and not, uh, have me go along with." She flexes one finger carefully, watching the movement through Citan's lens. "It's a part of what I signed up for, though. Not everyone's gonna be all that willin' to think of a body with an ARM attached as necessarily 'human' itself, but I've been amazed about how many understandin' people there are out there already."

Even Citan's discovery of Gwen's ARM was likely by accident; she was hardly the sort to reveal it until she was forced to. Such circumstances were common, however, given Citan's residence up a monster-infested mountain.

"A mule'd work." The redhead nods her agreement. "My auntie has one. Honestly, I'd have a mule, but speed was needed on top of strength. In your case, though, it could be a good fit. They sure can be stubborn, though." Gulliver blissfully munches on some grass, ignorant of their talk of mules and horses, as well as any need to speak for one team versus another. He does, however, eventually come over to mutely gaze over their interactions, though he's well-behaved to not stick his nose in just yet. "Of course, the most important thing is th'name you give them," she says, with an ounce of playfulness. "What're y'gonna name your brave steed, Dr. Citan?"

At the talk of scholars, Gwen taps the side of her forehead. "When y'live with one for a good chunk of yer life, you notice certain patterns. You handle my ARM a similar way when you find somethin' new. You wanna understand why it is the way it is. Mysteries are there to be discovered and looked at. Many people'd shrug and look away, or even be scared of it. A scholar looks ahead, and rarely flinches from the unknown."

<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.

The information on the ARM's new abilities is taken in quietly, like a conductor listening to a choice bit of music, with eyes closed and in total concentration. No doubt the good doctor is putting the pieces together in his mind, imagining procedurally how the device might unfold and telescope to form a barrier; how the pieces would efficiently lock into place and—

Sand?

Oh.

Yes.

Citan Uzuki has a bad habit of getting distracted, and losing himself in his own mind.

"Ah? Oh. Yes, but not precisely," the doctor comments, cleaning off one of his tools with the hem of his robe. It doesn't need much in the way of cleaning, as it isn't a surgical tool so much as a mechanical one, but it's something for his hands to do. "The sand in and of itself does not necessarily wear my surgical blades and scalpels, but it is a problem when it has made its way into things such as herb packets or water that I have taken pains to keep sterile, for the washing of wounds."

He shurugs one shoulder in response to her thoughts on Aveh. Personally, in his heart of hearts, he finds most surface settlements to be overly paranoid and closed-minded about a great many things, but privately, he also thinks the same thing of a great many of Solaris' policies. Shevat is considerably more open-minded, but even they aren't perfect. For all Shevat's melancholy and windsong, there is a certain charm to its cold, clean air; for all its struggles, he finds it peaceful, and not simply because he met his beloved wife there, or spent some years in their captivity... in a manner of speaking.

Citan reaches up and adjusts his glasses, thumbing the magnifying lens back up and out of the way. Mules. Mules are a much safer topic than other things.

"Ah, one must simply know how to understand such creatures. They are willful, and intelligent, but they are no more stubborn than you or I. One simply must use the proper leverage in coaxing the animal to do what one wishes." the doctor concedes, with a placating wave of his hand. He returns to stowing things in his satchel, before pausing to fish something else out. "It is the same as training any other animal. Certain methods will be more efficient than others."

The thing in his hand is a bit of currency, which he offers to Gwen. "For your trouble, Miss Whitlock. Buy something nice for yourself. If you do not, then buy quality fodder for Gulliver."

He does not say anything else about scholarly pursuits, though he does manage a half-smile. "I should like to introduce you to my wife, someday. I think she would like you, Miss Whitlock." Why, or in what way, he doesn't clarify; he simply leaves it at that cryptic observation.

Shouldering his satchel, Citan turns, soft-soled boots making little sound as he starts down the path, back towards the strand and the city beyond. "I will be in touch, if you require more work," he calls, cheerfully. "For the time being, I will be in Lacour for some days yet. Look me up, if you are in need of work, or if you would like to talk! I should be going now, though. I have patients to tend in Lacour itself, and I do not want to be away so long as to worry Fei. Goodbye, Miss Whitlock! Be careful on the road."

<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.

There. There's one of those tendencies Gwen sees in Citan, that mark him as of the same kind as Frea and various other 'scholars' of various levels and fields she had met before on her travels. His distraction causes Gwen's lips to perk in a fond smile.

It's why, even when her instinct tells her to regard the doctor as suspect, another part of her regards him with nostalgic warmth, regarding him with respect and a certain level of trust. It's why she comes here, to the middle of nowhere, a prospect that would make her feel nervous if it were a random client. It's why she's done it before, and probably will do so again.

"You're probably right," Gwen concedes, with a nod. "Auntie was kinda against the idea of me havin' a horse instead of a mule, come t'think of it, but it felt like a proper Drifter out seein' the world needed a horse. That's what it was in all the stories I read, and I'm still a little kid at heart, I guess." She chuckles. "So, a name. You better pick a good one, Dr. Citan!" Her cheery chuckle is interrupted by Citan's offering of her pay, which she accepts graciously. "You're a great client. Few would think t'clear an area of any monsters for that hapless courier comin' over!"

'I think she would like you, Miss Whitlock.' "You're a lucky guy, to find someone yer equal." Gwen just assumes Citan's wife is just that; after all, who would dare feel up to keeping up with this man otherwise?

"... Auntie Frea simply dislikes the idea of someone possibly inferrin' that she may be wrong," Gwen finally says to Citan's earlier question a bit ago. "So the trick is to 'allow' her to discover it herself. Then she's satisfied. 'Course, I could possibly count the amount of times I've been right about somethin' she believes otherwise on one hand, and..." She holds up the hand of her right ARM, her gaze solidly set on Citan. "It's then I remember why it doesn't really matter, in the scheme of things." She chuckles. "She knows you help me with my ARM, so I guess that's one advantage y'have that others don't."

Of course, what Gwen doesn't know was that the woman was surprised any simple human would deign to tinker with the ARM and not mess it up, much less be keen enough to fix it. Gwen may accept the doctor for what he presents himself to be, and be satisfied with it, but her aunt, on the other hand...

It was clear to Frea that day forward that Citan was no ordinary man.

And she was irritated with the idea that her mind would not rest until she found out why.