Chapter Text
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit!”
Lanyon’s feet were slipping.
The wet mud beneath his feet was, unsurprisingly, providing absolutely no traction whatsoever and, with the very steep slope Robert had just stupidly placed his foot on, he was certainly sliding.
The one foot shot straight downwards, pulling his entire body down with it at horrible speed. His arms and other foot flailed as it tried to find something stable to stand on but he found nothing but more wet mud, managing to do nothing but mildly slow himself.
The mud soaked through the bottom of his trousers and splashed into his shoes and socks, going unnoticed by Lanyon whose life was currently flashing before his eyes.
As he slid down, a flock of birds erupted from the bushes around him, squawking in panic at the intrusion. There was the heavy beating of many wings taking to the air, the crashing of bushes and leaves being pushed noisily aside to allow them clumsily through and out.
Still gripped firmly in his hand was the flower bouquet he had come out there to collect.
It wasn’t the most pretty looking bouquet a person could have found. Most of the flowers were quite dull in colour or very small and some weren’t even flowers at all but, rather, herbs or berries.
There was a reason for this. That reason was that Robert hadn’t been looking for pretty flowers but, rather, ones that could be used for science. Wolfsbane, mustard seed, juniper berries, that sort of thing.
As he hit the bottom of the slope, his feet finally found slightly firmer ground and his feet came to an abrupt halt.
But the rest of his body kept going.
It was like watching a domino fall, he just toppled straight over. His hands shot out to stop him, just managing to stop him from face planting the mud. However, with that, his hands and the bouquet in them went straight into the mud, disappearing right up to the wrists with a final squelch.
He slid forwards a couple more inches and, at last, his body came to a halt.
Still, the birds flapped and cried out in a cacophony, black wings beating the air, blotting out the sun above in flashes as the last of them disappeared.
Then, at long last, silence.
In his ears, Robert could still hear his heart pounding.
His breathing was laboured and his entire body was shaking badly from the shock.
For a few seconds, he just knelt there in the silence, panting. He felt the warm mud around his knees and swallowing his hands whole. Above, the trees rustled softly.
Dappled light fell through the branches, illuminating the forest floor with glowing speckles. Shrubbery of every shade of green surrounded Lanyon, tulips of every colour waving gently in the breeze.
As he sat there, trying to regain his breath, he stared at it.
He had never been one for the beauties of nature and all but, looking at it all, he couldn’t help but admit that it was… well, beautiful.
The air smelled earthy and he breathed it in deeply.
Steadily, his heart rate began to slow and, with it, he became aware of a growing pain in his back from being bent over too long.
Reluctantly, he tugged at his hands.
At first, the mud refused to release him, a hard suction holding them in place. However, with a little more effort, he pulled them free with a horrible squelching sound.
Finally, he sat upright and looked at his own flowers.
There was no way around it – They were ruined.
Once an array of purples, whites, and yellows, every flower was now the same consistent brown. Most of them were bent or snapped, many were missing multiple petals if not entire flowers, and every last one was dripping with thick, oozing mud.
For a moment, Lanyon could do nothing but stare at them in despair.
Nobody could use them now, not as decoration or an experiment. They were beyond saving.
He couldn’t even do this right.
Slowly, despairingly, he lowered the bouquet and looked up at the trees above.
The idea had come from Everly once Robert had explained the situation to her.
Now that he didn’t have his father’s money to help with the exhibition, he felt nothing but useless. Yet, he didn’t know what to do to help.
He didn’t have a skill with talking to help the lodgers and neither did he have the science knowledge, he wasn’t sure where to hang decorations or where the stepladders were kept, Jekyll had written the script for the speech before Lanyon had even gotten there, his attempts to find Hyde and get to the bottom of Jekyll’s dip in health had been futile, and he was well and truly at a loss.
So the solution had been a bouquet to surprise Jekyll with. Something that, with any luck, Jekyll could use. Just something to make himself feel useful.
Not that he was planning to confess it was from him, against Everly’s protests. His plan had been to leave it in a vase with an anonymous note.
He had been going through a book of Henry’s on different scientific plants that he had nabbed from Jekyll’s office, collecting those which Jekyll would find interesting.
Thankfully, the book was in his bag and, therefore, hopefully unspoilt by mud. He couldn’t deal with ruining Jekyll’s book on top of everything else.
He badly wanted to check that the book was ok. However his hands were now coated in mud and he felt like he would get more mud on the book trying to check than whatever was already on it.
“And now the mud is going to harden on my hands and be a nuisance.” He muttered under his breath. “Great.”
Robert threw back his head and groaned as loudly as he could to the silent trees. Another flock of birds scattered to the air in a panic at the sudden noise.
The trees, unsurprisingly, said nothing back.
“Maybe I should just go back. This was a waste of time.”
Once more, he looked down at the sad bouquet. Then frustration rising within him, he dropped them to the ground. They flicked up spots of mud as they hit, speckling his face.
Another groan. He wiped off his hands on the few clean spots on his shirt.
It didn’t clean his hands completely but he was no longer wearing enough mud on them to form gloves and that was all that mattered.
With that out of the way, he turned back to the slope and squinted up. The sun above stabbed at his eyes and he screwed up his face.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t see any good way back up.
The mud (which now had a lovely long ditch through it where his shoe had slid) was too slippery to climb and there were no visible footholds.
It was fine. He would just have to go around.
It was a nuisance but it wasn’t like his day was getting any better.
He would follow the slope, he decided. Hopefully somewhere there would be a shallower slope or a section with footholds that he could climb back up.
Hoisting his bag closer to him, he set off once more, miserable, tired, and already dreaming of his bed back home.
It felt like hours had passed.
Lanyon wasn’t sure how long he had been walking for but the slope wasn’t getting any easier to climb.
As he had predicted, the mud had dried into an itchy layer of crust over his skin with sharp edges that would occasionally poke him when he flexed his arms. He had chipped some of it off but the rest wasn’t going to come off without a good shower.
Exhausted, he slowed to a stop.
That was enough. He needed a break.
The mud around him was too thick to sit down in without muddying himself further so, with one last glance at the slope, he turned towards the trees and headed off. With any luck, he would find somewhere a little less muddy.
His eyes quickly caught on a clearing and, hopeful with ideas of tree stumps or rocks, he headed for it.
The clearing was silent upon entering. Not an animal stirred.
However, he was thankful to see, looking down, that the clearing was more grass than mud. He would still probably get mud on his trousers sitting down but he also wouldn’t disappear up to the waist in a puddle.
With a sigh of relief, he sat himself down.
The sun was starting to get low and he was mildly concerned that he wouldn’t make it back before night fell. The society would be closer and it seemed that he would have to go there instead of his normal house if he wanted any chance of a place to sleep for the night.
They had spare beds at the society. He could sleep in one of those.
He squinted at the low sun for a second longer, then his eyes drifted around the clearing.
It was certainly odd.
He supposed he never went into forests so he didn’t know what was odd but there really was nothing in there. The clearing was a perfect circle of grass, not a tree or rock in sight, all surrounding-
He stopped.
Sitting there, right in the middle of the circle, was a patch of flowers.
The petals were a vivid purple, speckled with bright yellow spots, the petals shaped in the same way as a tulip. A very long, pink stigma rose from the top, curled around into a spiral shape and almost fluorescent in colour.
A few bees buzzed happily above.
Lanyon’s hands reached for the bag with the book but stopped himself.
He was still muddy. He couldn’t risk getting mud on Jekyll’s precious book.
Reluctantly, he pulled away.
They had to be scientifically curious though, right? They were in such a perfect clearing and they looked like that.
It would mean his little adventure wouldn’t be a total loss.
Standing up, he wandered over and gently touched one, checking that there weren’t any immediate unpleasant surprises. To his mild intrigue, his hand withdrew covered in pink pollen.
Curiously, he sniffed his pollen-covered hand.
It smelled sugary sweet in a way that reminded him how hungry he was. Like candyfloss perhaps or some other sweet that was more sugar than anything else.
Not like he would ever stoop to eating a random flower but the reminder was there.
They didn’t feel sticky to the touch and they didn’t sting so he plucked a few from the ground, as close to the roots as he could.
For a moment, he looked at the ones he had picked, looking for imperfections. As he did so, his eyes caught on the bees once more.
One of the bees, he noted had suddenly started swerving in the air. He lifted his head to watch it.
It was zipping back and forth like a drunkard, crashing into the flowers and knocking other bees out of the way. At last, it dive-bombed, landing within one of the remaining flowers.
There it sat, cradled in the petals, legs kicking happily in the air.
It seemed drunk, he thought.
Lanyon knew that wasps could get drunk on rotten apples. Perhaps the bee had fed off an apple or something recently.
With that, flowers in hand, Lanyon turned and got back to finding his way home.
As he walked away, his nose twitched, acutely feeling an itch. Annoyed, he raised his hand and scratched at it, dislodging more mud.
As he removed his hand, a trail of pink pollen was left on his nose. It filled his nose with that same sweet smell. Even more annoyed now, he raised his hand again to try to wipe it off but it was no use. He was simply getting more pollen everywhere and that scent was getting ever stronger until it was so overwhelming that it made him dizzy.
Pulling a face, he powered onwards.
Towards the society.