(Untitled)

[emptyyourself]

Who: Snape, Open
Where: The Freakshow
When: Any time!
What: Impotence? Hair loss? General malaise? There's a potion for that! Unscrupulous salesmanship, under-the-table bartering, etc.

Comments

Who is Dr. Ridcully? The new TLV Mystery.

[emptyyourself]

"Trouble with the fairer sex?" Snape asked sympathetically - or as sympathetically as he could muster. How sorry could you feel for someone who thought they had to rely on potions to bed a woman? He produced a bottle with a violet liquid. "Dr. Ridcully's Fabulous Elixir. Guaranteed to cure impotence, nervousness around your object of devotion, and aid you on your quest to become the Don Juan of the county. One dollar a bottle!"

The man probably already was the Don Juan of the county, if the rest of the gawkers were anything to go by.

"...If you're interested in something slightly more exotic," he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I have just the thing, with only a small addition to the cost."

This man definitely looked like the type to fall for the "more exotic" horse piss.

[emptyyourself]

"I see you're a man of fine tastes," he replied, pocketing the blue tonic. "I have in my possession ingredients from the darkest reaches of the Orient. A recipes which promise heightened senses, increased size where...size is lacking," he raised his brows emphatically, "and the ability to charm even the most resistant paramour."

He motioned to the tent behind his stall. "Of course, they are only for the most discerning of customers."

After the carnival's closed for the night.

[thegooddrjones]

Martha Jones was old in a field that was dominated and made for the young. Twenty years of conforming her body into various pretzel sort of shapes had made it so that after a day of performing in the freak tent (Once upon a time Martha Jones had been famous, and she had been the star attraction; times had changed) her bones had an ache. At the moment it was like her spine was throbbing, and Martha had tried everything that she could in order to release the pressure that had been building there.

For a moment before she made her way to his tent, Martha had even tried walking on her hands to allivate the pressure, but it didn't do any good. She flipped back over to stand properly, pulling her robe over the tight outfit that she preformed in. Yes, at twenty-five Martha was practically an old woman. She made a knocking sound, and her voice was soft with a bit of a Southern accent in it. "Doc? Ya about?"

[emptyyourself]

Snape, tired from his own long day of shouting and convincing the townspeople that their lives were not nearly so complete as they could be if only they bought a bottle of this potion or that tonic, was ready to see the end of the day; unfortunately, the end of the day usually brought his "colleagues" for actual cures for their ailments.

He glanced over his shoulder at the flaps of the entrance to his tent, then snapped shut the small pine box where he kept his more potent ingredients.

"I am." Martha again. If she kept coming to him for balms for her spine, eventually she'd have to find a new line of work. He doubted she'd wend her way into Morgan's employ, but there was always the rather ominous possibility.

[thegooddrjones]

When he said that he was, Martha made a relieved sigh. She didn't much like wandering about the grounds after dark, while Morgan and her girls plied their trade or people got drunk and came out to relieve themselves of whatever tension in their lives that the carnival could reduce. People tended to assume that she was a girl like Morgan's were if she was found out after dark.

She walked into the tend and smiled at him quickly, her hands in the pockets of her oversized robes. Martha was worried about her back. Eventually she was going to need to find someone to step on it like Mrs. Chang used too, or she was going to need to do something. Her voice was soft and there was an odd formality to it. "Did ya have a good day, Doc? Bitin' fishes and all that?" She'd had a fairly good day, which was why she was here now; she could afford to pay him for his time.

[emptyyourself]

He settled into a chair near his bed - a cot with some blankets pieced together from old clothes - and eyed her quietly. While he had never thought too hard about it, he had always been able to read people. Something in their eyes gave him the sensation of mentalism, though he had never exercised it because, as with the potions he sold, he put little stock into it. This was all for money.

"It's hardly a challenge. I promise cures to everyday woes and these small-town fools can't help but empty their purses." He waved a hand dismissively. Comparing earnings was as natural as asking about the weather. Being vague about it - or exaggerating - was, as well.

"You didn't come here for a chat."