Rhacopilopsis

work in progress
drug dealer slash zymurgist that specializes in creating hallucinogenic and toxic brews

R H A C O



The trail of syrupy goop dangling from the lip of the bottle finally succumbed to gravity, leaving an algae-colored splatter on the table below. She could already smell the pungent odor that wouldn't be going away for weeks. Unfortunately, puréed dead leaf mantis was one of those things that was even less appetizing than it sounded.

After thoroughly scrubbing at the putrid smear, she snatched two containers from the wooden shelf overhead: one, a small glass jar; the other, a lidded reed basket, roughly the size and shape of a muskmelon. A tiny bone measuring scoop wriggled its way into the narrow jar. With the utmost caution, it was filled with the unsettlingly cyan powder and emptied onto the concoction.

A cloud of pink wisps rose from the bowl. She slammed the lid on the container and turned away as quickly as possible, burying her nose in her shoulder.

In its liquid form, baku's blood was easy to work with (relatively speaking.) It contained a powerful hallucinogen, but not the fun sort; acting as both a dissociative and a mild deliriant. When large amounts — say, 10 or 12 ounces — are ingested, the somatic nervous system shuts down almost completely; while the autonomic one is stimulated. This causes the subject to lose control of their movements as their fight-or-flight instinct remains intact, agitated both by the elevated heart rate and initially mild paranoia.

Helplessly trapped in a body that moves on its own, the victim becomes more and more distraught, and the involuntary actions only grow worse. However, the effects wear off within a few hours.

This wasn't the case with dried baku's blood.

Some substance in the liquid form, one that antagonizes the hallucinogen, evaporates during the drying process. An 1/8th of a spoonful of powdered blood does the same as two cups of liquid, with the exception of lasting for three times as long.

She made the mistake of smelling the stuff once. Once.

It had taken Zhore, Privithi, and an ex-soldier to restrain her. By the time she was finally able to fight against the thrashing fits her exhausted body kept going through, over and over and over, the restraints had worn through the skin. In places, spasming muscles were exposed to the open air, and others, the bone.

With a shudder, she placed the jar back in its designated spot on the shelf. The reed container was opened, and a handful of mycena mushroom bits, removed. The tiny leathery-papery pieces were crumbled to an even smaller size between her fingers. They slipped into the bowl, landing on top of the other ingredients with a little splish, only to disappear into the colorful mixture. The red of mashed strawberries was tinted by a swirling of blackberry juice and seeds, and once the... less pleasant ingredients were blended in, it looked like a typical jam. Spread it onto a fresh chunk of bread and no one could tell the difference. Adding ground-up blood spath flowers does wonders when it comes to masking rancid flavors.

Of course, she didn't know that from personal experience. It would be idiotic to taste-test something that's meant to, quite literally, throw the consumer into a living nightmare. Rather, she put a bit of the jam in some sweet buns and left them on Kam's table.

If he hadn't recognized the potential for the mixture — even at the mere quarter dose he consumed — she doubted that she'd still be here to tell the tale. Although the resulting delirium was amusing to those watching, the extremely vivid hallucinations, combined with amplified senses and a panicked mindset, were agonizing. She was in her cabin when he finally snapped out of it, but according to Kirave, both Phidias and Charlie had to hold him down and talk him out of slashing her throat.

Smiling at the memory, she tipped the bowl over an empty jar and watched as the reddish-pink substance slowly coated the inside of the glass.