> to distract yourself from your crippling injury, continue with vesta's grammer lessons.
You spend fifteen minutes explaining the use prepositions and articles. Vesta does not get it. It may be that she's not smart enough to get it yet, or it may be that you're a little too preoccupied with your crippled arm to be much of a teacher.
It's a nice gesture, though. Knowledge is night!
Othodox's Devotion has improved!
Othodox is now a Keeper of the Flame!
> Take some more MooMooMilk but dont drink the whole thing unless its the only way to heal again. If it is, tie yourself down with whatever you can before you drink it so you dont run off and do stupid stuff on a Milk high. Once that wears off, take a minute to think about why you have so much random knowledge.
> Drink Moo moo milk but first put your stuff your bag than hide it and vesta outside the elevator try to get the crab claw out too, than press the close door button and chug a bottle use the elevator as a detox room, and tell Vesta what's going on so she doesn't freak out and feed her a lot before just in case this takes a while, if that all works than keep exploring, And sorry for crippling you with my command
The milk. Oh God, the milk!
A whoop and a little victory dance seem appropriate, but you really aren't up to anything more than a wheezy exhalation and a slow shuffle. This done, you move on to setting up your detox chamber, moving Vesta outside and putting a bit of wood in her jar.
what? she asks. we going?
“Not yet,” you say, voice dry and cracked. “Give me a minute. I... I need some medicine.”
That seems to satisfy her, and you press the close door button.
You attempt to tie yourself down, but given that you have one working hand, nothing to tie yourself to and nothing to tie yourself with, it doesn't work. Your attempt to shift the two-hundred-kilo crab claw meets with similar success.
All right. Nothing you can do about that. You're just going to have to get on with it.
You sit down, back to the wall, and laboriously unscrew the lid of one of your remaining bottles of milk one-handed. That done, you consider what might be a safe dosage, and settle on half a bottle.
Othodox is Fairly Majorly Wounded!
With a loud crack, your nose slots back into place; bruises disappear like fading inkstains.
Othodox is Quite Badly Wounded!
Your arm deflates abruptly, down to the bone, and then begins to swell back to normal size.
Othodox is Badly Wounded!
Large quantities of white venom force their way out of the pores of your left hand.
Othodox is Wounded!
Something deep within your arm, something crunches ominously.
Wait, shouldn't that have changed?
Something's not right. Even through the pleasant buzz of the milk, you can see that.
Your left hand looks normal – but, you realise as your panic begins to outweigh the effects of the milk, you still can't move it.
Another gulp of milk – nothing. Another – still no change. Another...
Yes! A twitch! The faintest of faint movements, but still!
You drain the bottle and toss it aside. Slack tendons tighten inside your hand with a feeling that would be horrifying if you weren't so high, and abruptly your fingers curl into a fist.
Othodox is A Little Wounded!
Oh yes. You feel so much better now. Really good, actually. It's the milk, no doubt – peps you up. You knew that already, though. Everyone knows that. Milk. Good stuff. Not even that venom from the crab seems to be able to cancel it out.
Man, that crab blood is such a pretty shade of blue.
You run your hands over the crab claw and stare at the blue patterns that form on your palms. Gorgeous. Hey, could you drink this? Maybe not. It looks like antifreeze. Actually, it doesn't, but it looks like what you imagine antifreeze looks like.
Not like milk. There's a substance you can trust. Opaque. White. Creamy. Peps you up, puts a zip in your step.
The idea of eating the crab claw now occurs to you, but thankfully your body realises at this moment the biological impossibility of the damage and healing you just underwent and deals with it by passing out into a deep and dreamless sleep.
You wake with your face on the claw, crab blood dripping off your chin, and the remnants of the milk high humming in your head.
That was pretty intense.
You climb stiffly to your feet and test out your hand. It's much weaker than the other – the muscle tone has significantly deteriorated – and stiffer with it, but it still works, which after the punishment it just received is more than you could have hope for.
For a long moment, you stand there, leaning against the wall and flexing your hand in front of your face. Then you sigh.
OK. Not thinking about that any more. Not thinking about it. You think of something, anything else to put the events of the last few hours from your mind – and hit upon your unusual knowledge of sea creatures. Where is it coming from? Who knows. Why do you have it? Likewise.
This is an excellent distraction, as it makes you too frustrated to worry about the state of your hand.
> Do you still have any moo moo milk? If you do I suggest drinking it all and hoping it has the same effect as last time. Also stuff the claw in your backpack you never know when it might come in handy. Then move further up the light house. But try to be quiet and not attract any attention.
There's no need to move further up. As you step out of the lift, it becomes abundantly clear that you're at the top: to your left and right, you can see the great curved windows of the lantern room. They're obscured by hanging shrouds of cloth and plastic, reducing the light level to that of a late November evening, and the other end of the room is entirely invisible – but you can see the ring of lenses in front of you.
Slowly, cautiously, with your mind full of the possibility of an Eldritch Ampharos, you make your way out towards the lenses.
There! A movement in the shadows, at the far end of the room. You step between the lenses, move carefully out into the centre of the ring. Something gleams in the dark, and you raise the Hideously Dangerous Stabby Thing warily.
“THAT'S ENOUGH!” says a voice – though patently not a human one; it grinds and shrieks like tortured metal. “DON'T COME ANY CLOSER.”
You stop. The Hideously Dangerous Stabby Thing wavers.
In the shadows, something shifts – something that might be man-sized.
Looks like you've found your contact.