#doctorsflora

The gargantuan corolla of a mammoth rose loomed over the odd pair. The doctor pumped the unicorn’s chest with skilled hands. His voice swaddled in tears; the flora responded to Livingston’s thoughts. The rose’s root system created a small dais upon which Oswin rested. Each of his labored breaths was a rattling wheeze and copper blood poured from his nose. The corners of his void eyes wept with the same bronze tears while his cracked Black lips spoiled in uneven, milky white patches. Oswin’s infinite skin gave his unique blood a venomous gleam as his lifeforce leaked from every orifice of his magnificent body. 

He shook Oswin’s shoulder then tapped his cheeks with the back of his hand before he cocked his right hand back and slapped him hard across the face. Livingston muttered his apologies. Green stems coiled underneath him in response and pushed him closer to the table. They sprouted tiny, shimmering bronze bulb which opened around glowing pistils. 

“Check his pulse, Liv. You’re a doctor!” 

He scolded himself. He touched two fingers to Oswin’s neck and the faint throb of blood pumped against his fingertips. Livingston breathed out a deep sigh and shifted to his knees. 

“Subject over five hundred years old. Hybrid species? Aconite poisoning. Quantity undetermined. Potency, however, is at its max as the aconite was infused with several medical grade chemicals. Symptoms are blood hemorrhage, unconsciousness, and irregular heartbeat. The aconite cannot be working alone. It must be reacting to something!” 

Livingston rubbed his palms together and a ginger aura enveloped his hands. He moved them along Oswin’s body and, as he passed his shaking hands across the unicorn’s broad chest, his stomach turned. A metallic taste coasted his tongue. Doctor Crane touched deftly at his chest and a sharp pain gripped his flank. 

“Pariche venom!” Livingston cried. “Not just wolfsbane, but a venom! Okay, think! The Pariche is a nocturnal arachnid whose venom targets the nervous system. Combine that with the aconite fibers and we have a the most potent toxin in the Abnormal world. No need for that, right?” 

Livingston laughs as he rechecks Oswin’s vitals. The unicorn’s breathing slowed to an imperceptible huff and the doctor rubbed his temples. 

“I injected him with a sample of trial forty-seven which contains metallic honey, Dragon’s Blood, Asper’s Cashmere, a neutralized aconite extract and twenty-seven milligrams of Euphorium!” 

Livingston dashed into his laboratory and frantically rummaged through a small refrigerator until he found a beaker stoppered with a spherical stone cork. The liquid inside, and its thick fibers, clung to the neck of its container. The beige concoction hung like a spiderweb. He jammed the beaker into his lab coat pocket and spun around to the luxuriant belladonna plant. 

Its bruised violet blooms opened and closed when it grumbled at him. Livingston’s narrow laboratory vibrated with the acidic echoes of the voluminous plant's primal tones. 

“Bella, love, I need some bulbs. Please.” cooed Livingston. “I need your help to save my—my friend.” 

Belladonna softened. Thin green stalks dipped into his cupped hands and sprouted spiraling double-sided bulbs in decadent aubergine and glowing white hues. The soft, snowy floweret sizzled in his ungloved hand. Livington used the hem of his shirt as a napkin between the acidulous flower and his skin. The violet bloom, however, cozied up again his shaking thumb. 

“I owe you one, Bella!” The doctor exclaimed!  

He yanked the mortar and pestle from its perch on a high shelf and raced back to Oswin’s side where the unicorn thrashed wildly. Livingston instructed a set of creeper plants to hold Oswin in place and they slid over his muscles. They hugged him tightly around the middle and Oswin’s writhing body stilled. 

Livingston dumped all the ingredients into this stone bowl and pushed his weight against the handle until the bulbs turned to pulp.  

“Perhaps if I make a universal antibody, it’ll catch whatever venom this is on a molecular level. These herbs should intersect the toxin. I just need a carrier with a serious kick!” He mused. 

A lengthy, long-stemmed plant budded to an appetizing green under his nose. Tiny chutes sprouted at oblong angles and produced a crop of dome-shaped petals with thick antennae jutting from its center. The petals quickly matured to brilliant white and crimson tones. The bulb snapped from the stem and careened into Livingston’s bowl. 

“Perfect!” Livingston called. “Enchanter’s Herb is just what I needed! 

He crushed the plants until a dark liquid swirled in the stone basin. The pungent odor reached his nose long before the heady pink steam curled from the antidote. Livingston thrust the bowl to Oswin’s quivering lips and his body seized as the simmering elixir passed down his throat. His body relaxed and his everchanging eyes open. His emerald, green gaze found Livingston as he sat up and he coughed as the last of the antidote passed into his system. 

“Gods, that’s terrible.” Oswin winced. “Next time let me die. Ugh, magic be damned.” 

“That was science, Oswin.” Livingston said. “And I’m sure you’ve had worse. 

Oswin squeezed his hand and Livingston blanched. He was unsure when he laced his shaking fingers through Oswin’s cold grip, but he withdrew it and let his shaking hand fall to his side. 

“I am grateful for you...and your science.” Oswin said. “It, and you, saved my lives.” 

“Lives?” Livingston questioned. “Whatever. I’m happy you’re alive.” 

“As am I.” Oswin laughed. “I owe you a great deal, Doctor. It was your voice which held me to this existence even in the presence of the God Black. I will not forget what you have done for me, Doctor Crane.” 

to everyone who read the new crossover short! It truly was one of the best experiences to write this! I love Oswin and Livingston. They are my babies. I spent a lot of time with them and loved telling one of their stories! If you haven't read it, CLICK THE FIRST HASHTAG TO CATCH UP. We're going somewhere fast!

-JDJ

Livingston’s mind was never idle. His thoughts were constantly consumed with his research and herb quantification. He found extraordinarily little need for social interaction. He thought most human interaction could be summed into two categories: the conversations we desire and the conversations we avoid and often chose the latter. 

He now lay rigid on a grim gram couch with his wide eyes glued to his television screen. The remote dangled precariously from one hand while the other rested beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. He was determined to prove Canaan wrong, so he considered this a research experiment—a hypothesis he needed to prove. 

“This is torture.” he groaned. 

His eyes darted to his laboratory—the hall closet adorned with a red oak door and golden handle—and he bit his lip. Doctor Crane’s ambition was to transmute wolfsbane into a cure for lycanthronoma and he believed he was on the precipice of discovery. The time flashed from the corner of the screen, and he curled his fingers into a tight fist. 

He puffed out his frustration and slid lower onto the couch cushions. Livingston mashed the remote buttons and his oversized television flitted through show recommendations. His first year of graduate studies was the last time he followed a show from start to finish. It was not a habit he wished to cultivate. So, Livingston tossed the remote onto his circular coffee table and hopped over the back of his couch. 

He threw open the closet door and pushed his arms through his white lab coat hanging just inside the door. The room glowed with a blue light and the long closet transformed into a sterile lab. 

“Home, sweet home.” he murmured. “This is my fun.” 

Livingston swept up and down the long closet and read thermometers. He adjusted warming lamps attached to warbling plants which quieted as their leaves touched the light. His gloved hands moved deftly across tablets as he scribbled his notes, and he sniffled when a plump green vine stroked his cheeks. Its violent white bulbs sizzled against his skin. 

“Not now, Bella. I am almost done.” 

Livingston nudged the growling plans, and it withdrew its stinging vines into its deep ceramic blue pot. Bella grumbled her displeasures as Livingston searched for an empty viol. He inspected one after the other until he dropped the last claimed viol back into its space with an irritated huff. 

“No aconite...out we go.” he said. “Be right back, Bella!” 

The doctor grabbed an empty syringe and marched to the patio door. He pushed outside as he twirled the lithe syringe in his hand and stopped in his tracks. The plants sighed when he stepped to the rose quartz bordered edge. The blackened blooms growled in the darkness and shone their faint lights onto a unicorn.  

“What I’m saying is: I’m normal now, Canaan!” he insisted.  

Dr. Livingston Crane threw himself against the door of his townhouse and slid to the floor in a heap of grocery bags and textbooks. The cap of his California Farms Oatmilk popped off the container and he heaved a heavy sigh as the viscous liquid emptied itself onto his organic chemistry textbook. 

“You can’t just be normal.” Canaan countered. “You’re the literal opposite, Liv! You’re Abnormal and you’re the most powerful Naturalist I’ve ever seen. Mama Liliana thought so too.” 

“Well, she’s not here anymore, and I can be whatever I want.” Livingston hissed. “Besides I gave all that up when she passed. I couldn’t save her with my Abnormal powers, so I’m not Abnormal anymore. 

“I get it, Liv. I do. I felt the same way after my pops passed. He taught us everything we know about who we are, and I wasn’t half as powerful as you are! I still wanted to quit!” Canaan whispered. “But we can’t stop being who we are because things get hard. We are born special. Our Abnormalities are our pride, bro! You’re special!” 

“My degrees make me special. My work is my pride. And my research makes me normal. I like my life this way.” Livingston replied. 

“What life, Liv? You don’t come out with us anymore. You don’t date. You don’t do anything but fuss with that creepy Belladonna plant and that godforsaken garden—which I am certain violates five Perliament statutes at minimum. We miss you, man! You have to have some fun! Your life can’t be all about foliage!” 

“Why not?!” Livingston whined. 

“Cause you ain’t no damn house plant, Livingston! You’re a doctor—an actual Doctor of Medicine—not a paper doctor like me. You’ll save humankind after you get some! How long has it been, bro? Be honest.” Canaan chided. 

“Excuse me!” Livingston said. “I still have a roster.” 

“Lies.” challenged his friend. 

“I do!” The doctor defended. 

“Who then?” 

“That cute guy from LSU, Tre. The one with the cornrows I took to Greek formal!” Livingston stammered. 

‘Nigga, that was entry year at Brimmens for us and we graduated three years ago!” Canaan exclaimed. 

Livingston curled his knees into his chest. He lay on the floor with his sleek smartphone sandwiched between the hardwood floor and his ear. A pack of peas defrosted against his calf as his leg jumped. 

“Fine. It’s been a while! So, what?” he defended. 

“So, what? --So, what? You’re wound tighter than that the spool of magic thread that got us out of Harmon’s Haunted Labyrinth last Halloween!” Canaan teased. 

“I still think you should curse Nigel with uneven boobs for locking us down there with that minotaur...” Livingston murmured. 

“Quit whining. It was a baby. At least you could defend yourself. I didn’t have any actives, but we survived; and that’s my point, bro!” Canaan elaborated. “You don’t have any fun anymore! Man, I challenge you to have fun ass, good ass time for the next twenty-four hours. Watch some TV. Some something growing in that hellscape you call a garden, and don’t science shit!” 

Canaan took a deep breath and continued his rant. 

“Call one of these alleged players on your roster if you still have anything in that phone besides Happens All The Thai! Live your life, Livingston Crane!” 

“That’s Dr. Livingston Crane.” he corrected. “And fine. No work tonight.” 

“That’s my guy! Cam wants to hit Tate’s tonight. Wanna slide?” Canaan offered. 

“Ummm...I think I can find my own trouble.” Livingston mumbled. 

“I hope you do, man.” Canaan said. “Cause I would hate to put that picture of you and that leprechaun in the group message--” Canaan started. 

“--you said you deleted that!” Livingston scolded. 

“Being a witch has its perks. I knew this day would come and I am only doing this with your best interest at heart. Have fun tonight, my nigga. You deserve it. Wish on a star or something. I don’t think they’ve made that illegal yet. Love you, man.” 

Livingston dropped his gaze to the ground where his toes danced in his slides. He bent and scraped the water from his legs before he answered but found it lost somewhere in his chest. Oswin beckoned him closer, and the doctor walked into his open arms. He settled in Oswin’s embrace and the unicorn closed a blanket around them two of them. They gazed off into the distance and time slipped by. Oswin rested his chin on the crown of Livingston head and hummed a short tune. 

“I am deeply sorry for your mom’s departure. Your demeanor and attitude towards your abnormality now makes sense. You ran from your fight because the person who helped you cultivate it is no longer with us. I trust you know the God Black will grant her bright passage. She sounds like a remarkable woman. 

“How many are there?” Livingston asked. “Overall, I mean.” 

“I wager there are more gods in existence than stars in Estrelle’s dark garden. There is Ordan, King of the Godlands. Bae, His Queen, The Magic Godhead. Bayu, the mighty lord of the Seven Seas. His longtime lover, Wryth, whose blessing we experienced tonight. Also, Usa, the Proud Patron of War and Battle, the child of The Great Conflict. Choi, the Etern of Love, The God Black--” 

“--you mentioned the God Black earlier. I don’t remember that one.” Livingston interjected. 

“The God Black is the oldest god in existence. She oversees all transformations and the passage of souls. The Godlands as a neutral sanctuary to host her warring siblings and eventually retreated to her own domain. The Ultimate Impartial, sees all but chooses only to dwell in what is.” 

Oswin pressed his chin into the crown of Livingston’s head and let his cool breath wash over him. He ran his fingers along Livingston's damp skin and the doctor squirmed under his touch. 

“She is the being your mom met when she passed on. She councils the deceased as they move through the afterlife. She is in excellent care. All those who are capable of transitioning from this life are.” 

“Everyone doesn’t transition?” Livingston asked. 

“Not everyone. Some souls are incapable of making the necessary journey into the next stage of life. They may owe a debt to vengeful deity or are cursed by tradition or cultural ignorance. The entirety of Homoambrogus Cotardum adopted her as their patron.” 

“Homoabrogus Cotardum...” Livingston mused. “The Living Dead?” 

“The Ambiguous Dead.” Oswin corrected. “Those who have departed this life but find their souls immovable.” 

“Hold up. Vampires?! The Ambiguous Dead are vampires, right?” 

Oswin held his breathe. He drummed his fingers on Livingston’s thigh and the doctor nudged him in the ribs. Oswin exhaled his laughter in throaty coils. 

“The Vamir are an exceptionally reclusive and territorial branch of Abnormalkind, Livingston. We don’t deal with them as most suffer from insatiable hunger. Some adapt modern conventions but there are the stolid few who do their best to instill their hatred in their...offspring.” 

“That. Is. Wicked!” Livingston exclaimed. 

He lurched forward. His mind reeled with the new information. Livingston thought of the infinite possibilities immortality could offer to his research when he turned to Oswin’s stern face. 

“Dangerous, of course. We’d never, like, play with them if we saw them in public. We’re responsible adults, but that is cool.” 

“It’s curious Liliana never told you about them. They are a favorite bedtime story for parents with unruly children as I am certain you were a handful.” Oswin joked. 

“...Liliana.” Livingston repeated. “I never said my mom’s name, Oswin. 

Silence enveloped them. Livingston moved to his feet and loosened the coil at the base of his spine. The decadent scent of magnolias filled the air and a twisted branches grew from the windowsill. They wrapped around Oswin’s sinewy limbs and hoisted him into the air. Roots arranged themselves into steps and Livingston climbed toward the Oswin’s shocked face. Another branch slithered around Oswin’s neck at Livingston’s command, and he held his everchanging gaze. A clap of thunder illuminated is navy irises as spoke. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Livingston breathed. “I will not ask again.” 

Livingston’s eyes snapped open. Oswin’s heavy arm coiled around his waist. His ancient, dark body filled every empty space created by the shape of his body. Livingston smiled when Oswin’s snores reached his ears, and he listened to his many mumblings of gods. 

Livingston’s own internal ramblings set him motion and he soon untangled himself and navigated the intricate root system sprawled across his floors. He moved quietly up the stairs. He was cautious of the creaking fourth and ninth stairs as he crept into his room.  

He shut the door, turned the lock, and fell face first onto his bed with a muffled grunt. The silence pounded on his ears, and he did his best to sink into memory foam mattress. His pristine white sheets bore green stains, and he brushed the dirt off a pillow before he tucked it behind his head. 

Incredible flowers dominated his bedroom with their electrifying shades. They secured their spooling limbs around his nightstand; and the mirror in the corner lay in shards on the floor as a bulbous magnolia tree bore a hole through its frame. Livingston shook his head. He was never this fluent in his abnormality and this new expansion frightened him after so long away from the craft. 

“Canaan is going to love this.” he grumbled. 

He crossed into his bathroom and slid the shower door open. He spun the knob for hot water, hopped out of his boxers, and stepped into the scalding stream. Livingston breathed out a hiss under the biting water and he focused on growing a plant with oval shaped leaves in long, straight around the shower head. Moments later a crop of eucalyptus dangled from the faucet, and he inhaled the scented steam while he let his mind wander. 

His eyes shot open. Moments before, a bright flash touched his eyelids and, after the day he had, he grew curious. Livingston climbed out of the shower and padded into the light of the bathroom mirror wrapped in a towel. He looked down at its white and green stripes and his mind flitted to the man downstairs muttering in his sleep. The doctor dashed the steam from his mirror with a swipe of his pruned hand. 

The wild vapors stormed his bedroom when he opened the door. He followed their current across the floor until he noticed Oswin’s shadow jutting out of the shadows. He froze. The full moonlight highlighted the taut skin of his chest. It shaped around his muscles like a loving embrace as he gazed out the window lost in thought. 

“You scared the hell out of me!” Livingston growled. 

“I thought you absconded into the night.” Oswin flashed a bright smile. 

He turned his head back to the night sky and the once inviting light now placed his luminous face in darkness. Livingston found it impossible to discern the shadows from Oswin’s skin. He bit down on his lip. Oswin was a still from a movie he could not rewind. 

“I have not seen a night like this since the birth of the Virgo one lost September in ‘84. I can only marvel a Estrelle’s ornate work. My gods, what a tapestry!” 

“Estrelle?” Livingston asked. 

“The Star Maker? Lost child of The Void? She wanders through her mother’s vast black expanse and weaves her echoing cries into galaxies. Are you not acquainted with The Great Tales?” Oswin aimed at him. 

“I’m familiar.” Livingston moaned. “I just put the godtheory and The Great Tales to rest long, long ago. All that was behind me.”