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Merasmus cracked open the front door to his castle, casting a withering look to the man on the other side.
Standing on the stoop, holding his hat in one hand and trying to present a facade of comfort and etiquette, Sniper smiled amiably up at the cagey wizard who regarded him with the usual mixture of distaste and familiarity he often seemed to garner from practitioners of the arcane arts.
With a sigh, Merasmus swung the door open, looming imperiously over the tall, rangy mercenary, sure to accentuate his own height and potential menace. "Sniper, it's been some time. Here for more lures? Or is it cures, yet again?"
Sniper cast a look about, as if to be sure they were alone, then nodded toward the interior of the castle. "It's business, yeh? Can we talk about it inside?"
"Yes, because the tumbleweeds might catch wind of your latest eldritch infection. Come on in, then," Merasmus beckoned, stepping aside with a swish of his robes to allow the bushman entry, sure to close the door behind him. He led Sniper to his study, an extradimensional space contained in what was once an empty broom closet. Sniper knew the path well, having traveled it many times since coming to work in the Badlands.
Wizards are often reclusive creatures, and practitioners of magic so well-versed and knowledgeable in the manipulation of reality and the stuff that comprises it tend to sequester themselves away from the rest of the world, or at least its mundane inhabitants. Between misunderstandings that always end with somebody getting lit on fire and unintentional spontaneous quests breaking out, the stress tends to drive mages to the outskirts, or at least several miles from the nearest podunk desert town, in Merasmus' case. Stepping into his study, Merasmus strode forth with purpose, sconces along the walls lighting in response to his presence, until the entire overlarge space was filled with cheery light and a gentle green hue.
Sniper followed, closing the door behind him and taking a moment to enjoy the view, his eyes sliding over shelves and shelves of books and trinkets, tools and reagents, components and foci covering every wall and available surface in the enormous extradimensional space. It was magnificent, and to a man like Sniper, aware of cursory things like parlor tricks and simple gewgaws but not so much as a proper spell or manifestation, more than a little dazzling. He caught up to Merasmus, who had taken up a seat in a large, green, leather chair at one end of the library, gesturing to another nearby. This was how it always was. He'd arrive, they'd banter, and Merasmus would lead him in where they would sit and discuss their business. It was no different today.
"So what do you need of me?" Merasmus asked as Sniper settled into the too-large chair, leaning forward and steepling his fingers.
"Er, well, I've a few lures to pick up. Offerings, calls, those sorts of things. Lookin' for a conch shell, maybe."
"Merfolk. Mmhmm," Merasmus muttered, ticking off his mental list.
"...a lantern in the shape of a gourd, lit with a candle made of horse tallow..."
"Dullahan."
"...some soybeans and holly, picked by a monkey, powdered. Enough for a protective circle..."
"Oni."
"...some sort of protection against unseelie glamours..."
"Any number of things, but likely some sort of hobgoblin."
"...maybe a stronger abjuration on my glasses to help resisting gazes..."
"I don't even want to know."
"And, er, do you, by chance, know how long it takes for lycanthropy to become permanent?"
Merasmus perked up at that one. "Lycanthropy? Let me guess, you got in a fight? Got bitten?" he teased, knowing full well the answer.
"Look, my mate and I--"
"Now when you say 'mate'..."
"I mean my friend, you bloody drongo!"
The wizard leaned forward, his shoulders shaking with barely-restrained laughter. "Of course, Sniper. Has it only been one encounter? And was he displaying the affliction?"
"Er, what?"
"A wolf-man. Was he a wolf-man? Try to keep up?"
"Oh, er, yes. Full hybrid."
"Good gods, how are you able to walk?"
"Well, it was about a week ago. Certainly couldn't the next day," Sniper chuckled, fondly remembering laying useless in his van while Demoman vacillated between apologising for doing it to him and admonishing him for being foolish enough to take a werewolf's prick in the first place, spending the day taking care of him to clear his own conscience. Of course, the three or four times they'd fooled around over the course of that day and many times since didn't hurt, either.
"A week ago? Let me see your teeth."
Sniper smiled broadly for Merasmus, who leaned forward to inspect them. Just as he'd thought. Sniper bore even longer, sharper canines than before, a sign of infection.
"Any reactions you've noticed? Irritation by silver? Any interactions with wolfsbane?"
"'aven't come into contact with either. Where do you think I'm going to find wolfsbane in the desert?"
"I have no idea what components you keep laying around your van," Merasmus reasoned. "Anyway, usually you have until the first transformation to cure lycanthropy. After that, the curse becomes permanent and the only cure is to murder the one who did it."
"Which is not an option I'd like to explore."
"I would assume not, considering your relationship with him."
Sniper jawed at the air for a moment, "It's-- it's not a relationship. We're just mates."
"There's that word again," Merasmus teased, rising from his seat. He strode over to a table littered with vials and jars, all labeled in arcane scripts.
"Now Merasmus, that's not--"
"Calm down, Sniper. Let a wizard have his fun. It's not like I'm able to have much these days. Now, what you'll need is a simple curse removal potion. Nothing too intensive, but with a bit of powdered silver added to the mix," the wizard explained, spooning some of the stuff from a jar into an empty bottle, then uncorking one of the vials and pouring it in, stirring it with a long, thin animal bone. "I do have an important question regarding this werewolf, though."
"Ugh, what is it?"
"Is this going to be a regular occurrence between the two of you? You say he's a friend of yours, so I assume you're going to have recurring contact with him, rather than the once-and-done encounters you normally seem to seek out."
"Well, I mean, we've shagged a few times since, but 'e's been human then."
"I mean 'do you intend to keep having sex with a full-hybrid werewolf every twenty-eight days', Sniper. Are you just going to keep getting yourself re-afflicted every month?"
"Er, well, I was hopin' to do it again, yeh," the bushman admitted, a little embarrassed. Usually when he spoke at length about his sex life it was in the form of spinning yarns in smoky bars and opium dens. The clinical, matter-of-fact, and often ribbing way Merasmus questioned him always set Sniper off-balance, ripped from his element.
"Then you're just going to end up back here for more of these potions. You're going to need some sort of protection, and we both know how loathe you are to use protection with your conquests."
"You try gettin' a bloody werewolf to use a rubber," Sniper groused, crossing his arms.
"I'd like to see you make the attempt." With a laugh, Merasmus opened an oaken box and began to rifle through it. "I should have some sort of periapt or amulet or-- aha! Here." He withdrew a leather necklace with a large fang hanging from its end. The tooth was carved with runes which glowed a soft green in the wizard's hands. "This should provide proof against lycanthropy," he explained, turning and handing the necklace to Sniper.
The bushman looked down at the thing, eyes wide. "It's warm to the touch."
"Yes, a side effect of its enchantment. That fang was willingly given by an ancient werewolf. The amulet was made for his... mate," Merasmus shot Sniper a smirk. "When they were married, he pledged to never make her suffer the curse as he did, and had this crafted. Time goes by, lives end, and wondrous items transfer to collector to curiosity shoppe to adventurer to the hands of Merasmus. And now, for a price, it shall pass to you."
"And this'll stop the curse coming back?"
"So long as you wear it, the curse will not take hold. Taking it off doesn't curse you, however, but makes you vulnerable to the affliction, just as you were before you gained it."
"I'll take it," Sniper confirmed, waiting a moment to be sure Merasmus wasn't readying a joke based on his phrasing. "And the removal potion. About those others?"
"I'm relatively sure I have a summoning conch around here, do not worry. The spells are a simple matter, the holly and soybeans are also simple, and I know I have that. I can't help you with the lantern, though. I don't have anything like that right now, and I'd advise against seeking one out. Dullahans are no trifle, Sniper."
"Merasmus, I'm here to buy, not for a lecture."
"And I can deign not to sell should you grow short with me," the wizard warned.
"Fine, sorry," Sniper sniffed, pouting a bit.
"Anything else?"
"I think that should be all, this time. What do I owe you?"
"I'll write you an invoice. That necklace doesn't come cheap, and the components I'll need for the abjurations are rare, at least for the potency you want. In the mean-time, you know where the kettle is. Help yourself to some tea and I'll be back in a few moments", the wizard explained, drifting off deeper into the stacks of his library.
"Right," Sniper mumbled, looking down at the necklace in his hands. It would protect him from Demoman's curse, but not from Demoman himself. They could keep having their fun, keep reaping the new-found benefits of their friendship unfettered by fear of loosing two werewolves on the surrounding area. He chuckled a bit. It was almost a commitment, this thing. Proof of his intention to keep shagging the great wolf, to keep his secret and share their pleasure, and if he were to take it off, a sign that he was done. Or that he wanted the curse.
A small smile played at Sniper's lips at the thought of two werewolves, with only three eyes between them, howling to the moon as they wrestled and ground together in a mock-struggle for dominance in the dry desert night.