Chapter Text
When he woke up, he was unbearably thirsty and immediately came face to face with a slab of stone.
He blinked.
A… what? Why did he wake up facing a slab of stone, what in the actual…? He blinked again, turning his head as much as the small space he was in allowed him to. And it was a really small space, the walls holding up said slab of stone just a few centimetres away from his arms, so he couldn’t exactly look around a lot. Not that there was anything to be seen in the weird box he woke up in. Well, except more stone.
Another blink. He’d woken up in a small box made entirely out of stone. He’d actually woken up in a box! And why was he really not all that concerned about it? That wasn’t exactly normal, was it! People didn’t just wake up in tight boxes without reason! Actually, they just didn’t at all, period, because there was this really important thing called oxygen they needed that boxes had a habit of keeping out!
He took an experimental breath and— phew, okay, there was still oxygen in this one. He must not have been in the box for very long, then. The very small box. Couldn’t he at least have been trapped in a bigger box??
Was he even trapped? Was this some weird assassination attempt or could he just shove off the lid of the box? Were humans able to do that? He felt like he should know that, but he felt like he should know many things —like why was he in this box in the first place or, you know, his name—
Did he really not know his name? No, no he did not. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t muster up the word that was supposed to describe him— or well, a name at least. He did in fact come up with beautiful and perfect and graceful and—
Hm. So he was perhaps a bit arrogant, okay. Well, there were worse things and in his defence, everything he’d said was true. He knew it on some instinctual level, even if he didn’t quite remember what he actually looked like. He should look in a mirror when he got out of the box—
Right, that thing. He should probably get out of this thing before the oxygen decided to run out. Well, time to find out whether humans were able to move stone slabs.
He raised his hands and gave the stone above him an experimental shove, putting all his strength into it—
The stone slab practically flew away.
Okay then. That must either have been one very thin stone slab or he was just really strong. He was hoping for the later, because obviously he should be extraordinarily beautiful and strong. He absolutely deserved it, especially after getting trapped in a stone box!
Huh, wow.
The air outside of said stone box was much nicer. He supposed there must not have been much oxygen left in the box. Good thing he had woken up sooner than later, then. Though if almost all the oxygen was used up, he must have been in there for a while. How long till Oxygen ran out again…? Multiple hours at least, but maybe a few days?
That would explain why he was so stiff, which he noticed even more when he finally moved to sit up. And also so thirsty-hungry, which he was brilliantly choosing to call that weird combination he was being bothered with.
Oh and hm, he’d apparently been buried with a chest. Opening it revealed some tools and some— food! Oh, that was certainly perfect! The gods must love him, because that was a really unusual thing to bury with someone you were attempting to murder.
(…He was opting not to think about why he knew that. Maybe he worked at a graveyard?)
Well, too bad, that was his stuff now. If his would-be murderers were gonna be this stupid, then they really didn’t deserve not to be stolen from. Also, they tried to literally murder him, which he deserved to be reimbursed for somehow. In much more than some tools and food, certainly, but he doubted the literal murderers would be up to paying in anything else.
Oh well! He’d be happy to take their blood as payment!
(And—hm. Maybe he was also a murderer? But also, he definitely had a right to be— irritated, because that spark of annoyance was really not strong enough to be called anger— at almost being murdered. That didn’t mean he regularly killed people.)
(And see, he was such a good person already! He wasn’t even properly mad at almost dying! He definitely deserved to take their blood.)
With that happy thought to push him along, he finally made his way out of the stone prison he’d still been sitting in. His feet met the ground without a sound— ooo, so he was naturally sneaky— as he looked around curiously, noting the stone pillars surrounding his former deathbed.
This place looked unsettlingly like a crypt.
Was it a crypt? Because now that he was looking at it, the ‘box’ he’d been left to die in rather looked like a tomb.
Some cold feeling washed over him at that moment, making him shift on his feet uneasily.
It was rather smart to bury him alive in a crypt, truthfully. Humans didn’t like visiting places such as these , superstitions and all those ridiculous concerns. And if this crypt didn’t have some kind of keeper, which by the state of it, it did certainly not, no one would have heard him shout for help. And even if they did, they’d likely just assign it to some visitor from the afterlife haunting the place.
No one would have been able to help him. If he hadn’t woke up early than he should have, which he was beginning to think considering the rather lacklustre attempts at actually imprisoning him there, he would have died. And no one would ever have found his dead body, because people didn’t look into coffins.
The stupid stone box, the one no one would have looked twice at, suddenly seemed much more imposing, positioned centre of the room, hidden in plain sight.
…
He shook his head, clearing himself of the cold that had begun to creep into his chest, and took a step towards the box, which was all it was. Just a stupid stone box. No need to be concerned.
After a moment of inspection, he found what he was looking for.
‘Here slumbers, forever and for all eternity, Scott Goldsmith. May he never rise again.’
Scott Goldsmith, hm? He couldn’t be sure if it was actually his real name. It probably wasn’t, because if a guy disappeared and a grave with his name on it appeared the literal same day, that would be a bit too quick to be conspicuous. Besides, the engraving was old. Properly old, like it had been made centuries ago, so his kidnappers had likely just replaced the skeleton in the tomb with him.
He’d take it anyway— not like there was any other he could remember. And he felt like it really fit him, somehow.
But still.
It said a lot about his murderers (or perhaps, a little voice whispered, about you) that they’d chosen a tomb with an engraving like this to bury him in. And in the centre of the crypt, too! Any more and he might start blushing!
His stomach was still twisting in hunger.
Scott grabbed one of the breads he’d been buried alive with (he could not believe he’d thought that sentence in full seriousness) and took it to his mouth.
A second later nausea hit him like a racing horse.
—
Scott stared at where the remains of the bread he’d attempted to eat were now scattered across the crypt floor in liquid form, rather than inside his stomach like they were supposed to be.
He was still hungry-thirsty.
Hm. Well, this was rather unfortunate. He was so hungry that he was literally starving with it, so why did that happen? Was the bread no good? No, he wouldn’t have thrown up immediately then, it would’ve taken at least a few minutes.
So… was the starving the problem then? He had heard that eating large amounts of food after periods of starvation had that effect… and he was certainly hungry enough to have been starving for some time now… And his wrist did look properly thin, like Scott hadn’t eaten in centuries.
Hm.
He should perhaps seek out a physician after getting out of this place.
—
Somehow, Scott ended up at the walls of a rather ruined ‘town’. Seriously, was everything in this place just in ruins? First whatever structure he’d been buried under —which Scott was weirdly certain was supposed to be a castle— and now the first town he stumbled across! His would-be murderers were really dedicated to making sure no one ever found him, weren’t they.
Scott had decided to investigate the place anyway, seeing as he could hear heartbeats inside. It could just have been animals, but he’d been pleasantly surprised to discover that no, it had indeed been a group of people.
Why anyone would live in such a ruined town though, Scott couldn’t begin to fathom.
“Hello?” He called out, walking towards the only group of people he could actually see. Though he could hear that there were more people— or at least living beings, it could just be animals— that had found their way inside the walls. The sound only made him even more hungry.
“—ou’re the only twisted one!” A blonde guy with slightly ripped, fancy clothes was saying, before spotting Scott. “Oh, there’s another one!”
“Let me guess,” Another person with bright orange hair said. “You’re also new.”
“Well, I guess.” Him ‘being new’ would imply he’d come here on purpose, which was blatantly untrue. “I don’t quite know how I’ve ended up here though— wherever here is. You’re not from here either, then?”
“No ones from here.” The last guy, wearing a rather unfitting wedding dress, shook his head.
“I’d be surprised if anyone is.” Fancy Clothes said, looking around as he spoke.
“Yeah, this place doesn’t really look like its seen inhabitants in at least the last hundred years.” Scott agreed, looking around in a much more judgmental manner.
“It definitely needs some serious DIY help.”
“And spiritual guidance, if anyone really did decided to live here anyways.” He added.
“Are you well, by the way?” Wedding Dress said, turning towards Fancy clothes first, then Scott. “You look a bit…unhealthy.” What was that supposed to mean. “What even are your names, actually?”
“Sick.” Ripped Clothes chimed in. “You look sick, man.” Rude. “I’m Martyn, by the way. I got lost because I slept outside the carriage and my father apparently just decided ‘see you later’ or just didn’t check, I don’t know.”
“Not the favourite son, are you?” Orange asked, looking bemused.
“I’m…so sorry.” Wedding Dress said, looking deeply empathetic.
Two types of people, everyone.
“It’s fine.” Martyn assured, shrugging. “It’s not the first time it’s happened. But getting lost for days on? It’s definitely the first time that happened.”
“Oh yeah, first time for me too.” He thought so, at least. “My name’s Scott Goldmsith. Nice to meet a fellow lost person, I guess.”
“Lost buddies, lost buddies!” Martyn cheered. Scott had been wondering why anyone would abandon what seemed to be an adult, but he was starting to get the picture. This guy was not suited for the noble life.
“Anyway, do you know who the other group over there is?”
“Nope!” Martyn said. “I was trying to sneak past them when this one—“ he gestured to Wedding Dress “—spotted me.”
“I have an excellent hearing, I’m so sorry,” Wedding dress apologised. “Part of my training.” Oh? So this guy was a…soldier of some sort? Weird of a soldier to wear a wedding dress, but maybe times had changed in the unknown time Scott has been unconscious.
“They’re lunatics— absolute lunatics.” Orange answered. “I wouldn’t go near them, honestly.” How absolutely reassuring.
“Are they wrongings?”
“They are— They’re very—“ Orange cut herself off, apparently not quite finding any word that conveyed lunatic enough to describe them and so went right to giving an example to prove her claim. “One of them’s looking for bigfoot.”
Unfortunately it was a rather useless example.
“One of them has a big foot?” Scott asked slowly as Martyn chuckled. A new person also happened to arrive just then, one coming from the direction the group of apparent lunatics were, so Scott turned towards him to continue his questioning. “Are you the one with the big foot?”
“Ah, no.” The Butler looking man replied, looking rather put off. Rude, Scott was already looking put off right now! “That’s one of the others I think.”
“This is the butler.” Orange introduced, rather unhelpfully, seeing as that much was obvious.
“I was thinking that you do look like a butler.” Scott said instead of stating that out loud. Wasn’t he just so nice. “Are you here with Martyn or…”
“Nah.” Martyn waved off. “But he really does look like the ones at home.”
“Yeah, I’ve worked with butlers before.” He explained. “I wasn’t actually a butler, I just got taken in by a lord, and as a token I became his butler.” So he was just a butler.
“Yeah yeah, that makes sense.” Scott nodded. “I was kinda getting worried that you mugged a butler on your way over, but that makes sense.” Probably. It sounded a bit weird, but why would Scott know anything about butlers.
“So you’re a butlers butler?” Orange asked.
“Well sort of… in a way.” Now he was a butlers butler? What?
“A double butt, that’s what you are!” Martyn suddenly jumped in. “Double butt, double butt!” By the gods…
“How old are you, precisely?” Orange questioned, laughing.
“When he said his father abandoned him I thought that he’s a bit too old for that, but maybe mentally…”
“I’m starting to maybe potentially clock why.” Wedding Dress added.
“I’m beginning to think it wasn’t an accident, actually…”
“Oh I’m sorry Mr-wants-to-chop-everybody-up-the-second-you-meet-them!” Martyn said, finally deciding defending himself might be a good idea.
“I did not— I just said I would provide—”
“You were gonna take me to surgery for a twisted ankle!” Ah, so Wedding Dress was a surgeon! He felt like that was important somehow… Right! He was looking for a surgeon— well, a doctor. Same thing.
“Oh, are you perhaps a doctor?” Scott asked, because manners.
“I am.” The man who was probably wearing doctors robes and not an ill-fitting wedding dress confirmed, turning back towards Scott. “Doctor Legundo, a travelling surgeon.”
“Well that’s perfect, then!” Scott replied, clapping his hands together. “You see, I’ve been looking for a doctor the whole way here.”
“Oh?” The Doctor said, suddenly looking far more interested. “May I ask why?”
“I’m under the assumption that Doctors usually do that!” Scott laughed. “But yes, basically—“ He cut himself off. Why was he looking for a doctor again? It wasn’t because of the place he’d woken up in —he’d decided that mentioning that to a bunch of strangers wasn’t the best idea— so why had he been looking for a doctor?
“Are you well?” The Doctor asked, taking a step towards him with a worried frown when Scott failed to continue within the next minute and eleven seconds. No he did not know why he had counted the seconds.
“Hm.” Made Scott. “You know, I actually can’t quite remember why I was looking for a doctor.” He stated, hearing his own uncertainty quietly reflected in his voice. Sure, he’d woken up trapped in… something stoney. A crypt! Right, a crypt. He…probably should not say that, just in case someone here worked with his would-be murderers or something.
But that did not explain why he’d been looking for a doctor. He felt perfectly fine, not counting the weird mix of hunger and thirst he was being tormented with. Maybe it was that…? No, obviously not. He literally just needed to drink something to rectify that, no doctor needed. And also eat, duh. He had no idea why his brain for some reason jumped to ‘drinking will fix all my problems’.
…
“Am I an alcoholic?”
“Are you— what?” The Doctor, whose name Scott definitely remembered, it was L-something, said, incredulous. “Again, are you well?”
“Just very thirsty.” Scott waved him off. “Like, weirdly thirsty. Downright craving liquid kind of thirsty. But that’s not why I was looking for a doctor. There was something else, something more important…”
Scott’s focused was quickly pulled elsewhere when another person walked up to their group, followed by a second. This one had purple eyes, which was…odd. Humans weren’t supposed to have purple eyes, right? But much more concerningly, he had a stake. A wooden stake, neatly strapped in front of his heart and looking very ominous, for some reason.
“Is this the one with the big…whatever it was?” Scott asked, trying o distract from the stakes existence. For some reason. It made him weirdly anxious to look at it, if anxiousness was a small bit of pressure. It was more like mild concern, actually.
The Doctor was looking at him weirdly. Well, he was looking concerned, actually. But Scott hadn’t said anything particularly concerning, so his expression reading skills must be rusty or something.
“I don’t…think so.” Orange answered, sounding a bit confused at…presumably the interruption? What had these two interrupted again? Eh, couldn’t have been important if he didn’t remember.
“Don’t listen to the bigfoot gal!” Stake-Wearer insisted. He had the most annoying voice Scott had heard in a while. “She’s kind of downplaying the whole seriousness of the situation right now, okay!”
“Wait, I’m confused.” Scott said honestly, not addressing the second part. “Are they looking for people with big feet or do they just have big feet?”
“I don’t really get it either.” Confessed the other newcomer, who Scott was choosing to dub Monocle until he got her actual name.
“Same.” Scott agreed.
“Okay, I’m sorry, who are you all?”
“I’m Scott.” Scott provided as answer. “Scott Goldmsith.” Until he remembered his actual name, at least. Was it lying if it was a name you choose to use temporarily because you couldn’t remember the old one? Philosophy, anyone?
“Oh, hi.” Stake Wearer replied absently, rummaging around in his pocket. A moment later— “Here, take some of this!” — Scott suddenly found himself in possession of a garlic glove.
Hm.
“Why, thank you.” He answered pleasantly, hopefully in a way that wasn’t giving away his plans to burn it later. He had no idea why the idea of eating garlic was making him twitch this much, but he was definitely gonna listen to his gut. What if he was allergic or something?
Still, not accepting didn’t seem smart either. Something about that guys nervous energy and unusual possessions left him cautious. Like he was dangerous, despite looking like a mouse would make him hightail it towards the other end of the forest.
He only realised he’d been absolutely zoned out, staring at the garlic like some kind of madman, when the others pointed out some weird beacon in the ruins of the towns tower.
Scott shook his head, making his way over.
—
“Here.” Someone with weirdly wolf like teeth shoved a bunch of baked potatoes in his hands. “Take these.”
Scott stared at them blankly. “…Thank you?”
“No problem!” There were a few awkward moments of silence. “Eat one!” The other person insisted. Was this a poisoning attempt or something? Why was she so insistent he ate a damn potato?
…Well, he was hungry. And it’s not like poison would work properly on him.
Another moment in which he considered that last thought. He was somewhat immune to poison, apparently. Sweet.
He took a bite, swallowed and immediately regretted it when nausea surged up. He somehow managed to hide it underneath a smile. He wondered what kind of person he was that it came so easy.
—
“Sooo since we’re roommates now, you should take some bread as a welcome gift!” Shelby— at least Scott thought that was her name— insisted, promptly handling him said bread. It happened so quickly that he had no choice but grab it so it wouldn’t fall to the floor. He was getting some kind of déjà vu.
“Oh, thank you.” Scott answered. “But I’m not hungry.” That much was true. The nausea was doing a pretty good job at cancelling out the overwhelming hunger-thirst sitting deep in his stomach.
“I insist!” They replied, and yeah, Scott could tell. She was looking at him very insistently and Scott had the weird feeling that she wouldn’t leave until he’d at least taken a few bites.
“…Well, alright.” He conceded. He supposed he could eat a piece or three.
Wrong.
He threw up one piece in. Once again he was overcome with a sense of déjà vu.
—
“…And are you sure you’re actually up to this?” A guy with bandages asked, for the third time now. Granted, he always changed the wording, but still. Scott swung his pickaxe over his shoulder. Besides being a bit hungry or thirsty or both, Scott felt just fine. Safe to say, he did not get the concerned looks people kept throwing him.
“Pretty sure, yes~” He said back, saccharine sweet.
Bandaged guy just stared at him for a few moments, before shrugging as if to say ‘well, not my problem’. “Alright then.”
And so they descended down the mine. Scott didn’t much like manual labour, but he needed the stone for the house. He wasn’t quite sure which part it was again, but he needed it.
“So why are you in Oakhurst?”
Someone tried to murder me by burying me alive, but they messed it up so now I’m lost and have no idea where I am. Or who I am.
“Oh, I was traveling.” Scott answered mildly. “Got a bit bored of my home, so I left. Wanted to see what was out there, you know how it is.” He made some vague gestures. “Got a bit lost though, so I ended up here. What did you call it again?”
“Oakhurst.”
“Oakhurst…” Hm, sounded vaguely familiar. “What about you? What brought you here?”
“I came home.”
“Home.” Scott repeated, somewhat incredulous. “You lived here?” With how destroyed everything was, he would’ve bet no one had visited the town in at least two centuries.
“Ehh, I used to.” Bandages answered. “A long time ago. Maybe… maybe forty or fifty years ago?”
“Huh?” What? “But you don’t look old enough for that?”
“Well…well, I was just a boy then. I’m not sure, I didn’t really keep track.”
“Eh, fair.” Scott couldn’t really judge, seeing as he was the same way. Years passed very quick, in his opinion. He paused mining for a moment. Wait, how old even was he? He shook his head and let his tongue continue the conversation, lest he get some sort of crisis over that. “Hey, what’s your name actually? I don’t think I caught it, before.”
“Oh uh, it’s Owen.” The newly named Owen answered. “What about you? I don’t think I’ve caught your entire name…”
“It’s Scott.” Ohh, an opening! He didn’t know much about mining, but that seemed good. “Scott Goldsmith.” He wondered why it rolled off the tongue so easily. Maybe his actual name sounded similar? Hm, what rhymes with Scott…Hot? Well, he was definitely hot, but that wasn’t really a name. Maybe he just got called hot a lot, and that was why it felt so right.
“…Goldsmith.” What’s with that tone. “Huh, that sounds familiar.” Really? Really? “Is your family from around here?” Of course he went into the mines with the one person who knew about the guy whose grave he’d been buried in.
“Perhaps.” Scott shrugged. “I don’t know much about my family’s history.” His lips pulled into a wry smile. “Don’t have the memory for it.”
“Ah, well, I think your… family must have been around a long time, if they’ve been here.” Owen said, in a weird, almost cautious tone. Like he was testing something. “Your clothes are really old fashioned, you see.”
“Oh, are they?” Scott asked, genuinely surprised. “Well, I like them. The collar especially. I sunburn easily.” Or he at least thought so. The sun certainly made his skin tingle weirdly.
“Yeah.” Ow…Owen? Yeah, Owen. Owen was looking at him strange. “Me too. To the sunburns and old fashioned clothes.” Really? Scott had never seen clothes like Owens, true, but the same went for everyone actually. He’d just assumes it was the local fashion. “Luckily Oakhurst is overcast most of the year.”
“That sounds nice.” Scott hummed. Just a second later, him and Owen finally managed to widen the opening enough for them to drop in. The cave turned out to be weirdly bright, like, weren’t they supposed to be really dark? Either he just had really good eyes or the humans had been exaggerating.
—
Later, after the weirdest mining trip of his life and an even weirder accusation of murder following that, Scott found himself getting pulled aside by a guy wearing a wedding dress. It was too short.
“Your wedding dress is too short.” Scott informed him graciously.
“My— These are doctors robes!” The apparent Doctor— he seemed kind of familiar, now that Scott thought about it— replied, rearing back in shock.
“Oh.” Scott said. “So you’re a Doctor, that makes sense.”
“I— yes, I’m a Doctor.” He frowned. “Do you…not recall?” Oh, had the man already told him about his profession and Scott had just forgotten? That’s embarrassing.
“Oh, no, I totally do.” Scott said. The other didn’t seem very convinced, so Scott decided he was justified in giving up. Not his problem if the man got offended by the truth. “Okay yeah, I forgot. Also our entire interaction and your name, apologies.”
Luckily the Doctor didn’t seem upset, so that was one less hassle for Scott to deal with. Unfortunately, the concern on his face spoke of another one coming up.
“I think it would be best if we did a checkup.”
Called it.
“I mean, you’re the Doctor I guess, but why would I need one?” Scott asked, tilting his head. Something about the action seemed to make the Doctor uneasy.
“Earlier you said you were looking for a Doctor.” Was his answer.
“Why would I look for a Doctor?” Scott asked, bemused. He was perfectly fine, after all. Had the interaction even happened or was the human just messing with him? No, something about it rang familiar. And, to be fair, Scott’s memory of … everything after waking up was pretty fuzzy. The thing he could remember the clearest was being accused of murdering his…roommate, was it? By a guy with a stake he was professionally avoiding. But even that was…unclear.
“We were interrupted before you could recall why.” The Doctor explained. “But I think I have a guess.”
Scott had a pretty good one too.
“My memories?”
He was getting fairly certain that this fuzziness replacing his memories, and also the lack from before the stoney place, was not normal.
“Yes, but also…you look unhealthy.” At Scotts offended frown, he added: “And Shelby told me you threw up earlier.”
“Shelby.” Scott repeated blankly. That was…his roommate, right?
“Your roommate.” The Doctor confirmed. “They told me you got sick after eating a piece of bread.”
Hm.
“Maybe I do need a doctor.” Scott acknowledged, now slightly uncomfortable. Throwing up would certainly explain the foul taste in his mouth. Had he really just…forgotten all that happening? Jesus. Was he forgetting something else?
For some reason, the Doctors shoulders slumped in relief at that. “I’m glad you’re seeing reason, at least.”
“Did I not see reason before?” Scott asked, mildly intrigued.
“Well, you jumped on the first chance to change the topic when you couldn’t remember things last time.” He frowned. “Although maybe …” A head shake. “Either way, I’m glad we can agree a check up is wise.”
“Oh, I definitely agree.” He wouldn’t want to die of some mysterious disease and deprive the world of his beauty after all.
(… wow, okay, so maybe he was more than a bit arrogant. Was it really arrogance if it was true though?)
“I’m glad.” The Doctor repeated, then stepped aside to gesture towards a somewhat unfinished looking house. “If you’d follow me to my clinic, then we’ll do it right away.”
Oh, not a house then.
“Sure.”
—
“What was your name again?” Scott asked once he sat down, tilting his head.
“Ah, right.” The Doctor said as he walked ten steps to the other side of the room, grabbing a bag before walking over again. “I’m Doctor Legundo, nice to meet you.” The again went unspoken, but was very heavily implied. “Speaking of names, can you tell me yours?”
“It’s Scott.” What was his last name again? Something with gold… “Scott Goldsmith.” Well, that sounded about right. “Did I not tell you before?”
“No, you did.” Legundo assured him. “I’m just testing your memory. Do you remember why you came to Oakhurst?”
Scott had answered that before, hadn’t he? What was it he’d said… “I’m travelling and Oakhurst was my next destination. Clearly, no one told me that it wasn’t inhabited.”
“The only thing I actually learned from that answer is that you’re an excellent liar.” Legundo sighed, irritation digging its way into his voice.
“Why thank you~” Scott cooed on instinct, before scrunching up his face in a mockery of confusion. Mockery, because he wasn’t really… feeling that much confusion. But it was the typical response to that, no? So he should show some. “Wait, how did you—“
“Earlier you told us you got lost.” Yeah, Scott had assumed that he’d forgotten about something he’d said before. “So are you lying because you don’t remember or because you don’t want to tell me?”
“Both in a way, I suppose.” Scott answered honestly. As much as he wanted to continue playing, this was really not the time. How was the Doctor supposed to figure out what’s wrong with him if Scott isn’t honest about his symptoms, after all. “I can’t recall anything before waking up in the woods—“ Well, mostly honest. “— and everything that happens since then is fuzzy. I honestly couldn’t tell you what I did most of the day.”
“Thank you.” Legundo said, grabbing a…pen from a pocket. “Could you follow the pen with your eyes, please?”
Scott did so, although he didn’t exactly get what the good Doctor needed him to do it for. Must not be from…wherever Scott had lived, if the medical practices had changed this much. Legundo frowned, instead taking something else and—
Blinding Scott with a flash of light, Jesus! Scott couldn’t help the instinctual hiss, which got him a weirded out look from the evil Doctor.
“What was that for?” Scott complained, crossing his arms.
“To test your eyes reaction to light.” Was the absent reply he got. “Huh, it’s completely normal… Are you nauseous or dizzy?” Well that’s weirdly specific.
“Nauseous.” Scott confirmed.
“But you can think clearly?”
“Absolutely clearly.”
The frown on the Doctors face deepened. “Do you remember if you take any medicine?”
“No?” Scott answered, now throughly confused. “But I don’t think so. I feel fine besides the nausea.” And the hunger-thirst, but he didn’t want to get food he couldn’t eat shoved at him again.
“That’s…hm.” The Doctor crossed his arms, fingers tapping his elbow. “Usually I would have assumed your memory loss comes from a concussion, but your pupils behave completely normal and you don’t seem injured either…?”
“No.”
“Right. So the only other physical causes for your memory problems I could think of would be either drugs, alcohol or strong medicine. You’re not on drugs or drunk though, which shouldn’t cause such extensive memory loss anyway. But if you’re sure you don’t take any medicine, that can’t be it either.”
“…And that means what? That I have some mysterious memory-eating disease?”
“No, it just means that the cause for your problems is probably psychological.” The Doctor shook his head. “A traumatic experience could explain the lack of memories from before your arrival in Oakhurst, but I’m still not sure about your foggy memories.” He looked at Scott with a thoughtful gaze. “Though perhaps extensive exhaustion…”
“I’m not exhausted though, I feel fine.” Scott felt the need to clarify.
“Now you’re definitely lying again.” Legundo sighed deeply, gesturing at Scotts… at Scott. “You look unhealthy, downright sick actually.”
Scott looked down at himself, but due to the fact that he was mostly covered up, he couldn’t really judge all that well. But sure enough, his wrists were properly thin, almost like he hadn’t eaten in quite some time. He was suddenly understanding why everyone kept acting like he’d kneel over any second if he didn’t eat whatever was thrown at him this time.
“Oh— hm. I confess I hadn’t noticed that.”
“How did—“ A shake of the head. “I can tell by just looking at you that you’re definitely malnourished, but I’ll need to examine you more throughly to come to a more detailed conclusion.”
“Fine by me.” Scott shrugged.
And on went his visit to the Doctor, who kept getting more and more confused the longer the examination went on. Apparently his heartbeat was either too slow or too weak for the man to make out, same with his breathing. That was very much not good, apparently, but he didn’t seem to know what to do about it. Not a very good Doctor, apparently. But at least he seemed to know what he was doing when it came to about everything else, or maybe he was just specifically good at dealing with starvation?
Either way, he’d determined that Scotts nausea was likely caused by said starvation, so he’d been given a detailed plan on how to deal with that and also a journal to write stuff in. After that he’d been led back towards where he and his roommate lived, and Scott had started a sketch of the house so he could find it again afterwards while the Doctor informed Shelby about Scotts situation.
Scott was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear that last part, but he supposed he had pretty sharp ears.