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benthic_universityThis evening the class is delayed by five minutes (approximately). It is because a very officially looking paper – that is torn from a notebook and hastily written on in nearly unintelligible lettering, which is a true mark of authenticity it comes from a lecturer and the information is important, rather than the official letterhead of the Benthic admin which a) is very easy to forge, b) is usually bullshit reminding you of tuition fees anyway – informs you that today’s Selected Chapters from Practical Mycology are moved to Laboratory 11, and furthermore that the classroom is currently in use for Dental Ablutions 201. By the sounds of muffled explosions from within, DA201 is indeed there and will be there for a while.
Laboratory 11 turns out to be a bit further down the hall. You’ve probably passed by it on your way to the classroom and now have to backtrack. It is easily recognisable by a brass plaque that has been edited several times (currently most of the information is inscribed upon paper glued over the brass).
There is a helpful basket of goggles to borrow, in case somebody doesn’t have their own. You are studying practical mycology, everyone would expect you to have your own goggles. Everyone would also expect you to be scatterbrained and forget them in your other lab-coat. Or maybe something ate them, you know how some slime moulds are.
Beyond the door is a standard laboratory, clean white space smelling of disinfection, acid, acetone, alcohol and an absolutely abysmal amount of academic abuse. Highly unusual for a mycology lab is the lack of fungi anywhere. Instead it seems that every horizontal surface is covered in wine bottles. The labels have been torn off and instead the neck of each bottle bears a handwritten tag.
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist does not fit well into this place. Not due to spatial limitations – there is plenty of room, the lab has been designed to hold a lot of large stationary objects, all of which are currently missing except for an empty terrarium in a corner – but because he is the dirtiest thing in the room. At least his lab coat is. At some point it had been white cotton. Probably. But definitely not after it had been singed, chewed on, bled on and dragged through… well, whatever it was, it was colourful.
Then again, this is a practicing mycologist who has been put to the steering wheel of this part of your education. For a change he looks the part to the T.
“Today I wanted to change up the pace, because listening to me laying down the theory for you can become unbearable after a few hours. Thus, today is purely practical, and I suppose a bit of a breather. Unless you overdo it, in which case breathing is overrated.”
He smiles brightly, although not all that softly, as he elaborates: “As the Famoso Doctor Paracelsus claimed, poison is in the dose. Please, welcome to the tasting course! I’ve spent the past couple of days extracting toxins and other physiologically active substances from various fungi all around the Neath, or at least for some I’ve found sufficient substitutions. We are entirely out of false parasol extract at the moment, you can thank Professor Guildenstern for that. Left half of the laboratory are toxins, labelled by the fungus of origin. The right half of the laboratory,” he makes a sweeping gesture behind him, nearly knocking some of the bottles over, “are antidotes, labelled by their actual names. Several of them have more than one name, I had limited myself to writing down the three most common at most.”
A clap of the Mycologist’s hands snaps your attention back to him – no tippling in quite yet: “In the wild nearly all fungi toxins have a delayed time of showing symptoms. Usually in hours, but there are extreme cases such as the marrow amanita. I have managed to circumvent this with… a lot of work and several more esoteric fixatives. Because of that I would ask you all not to sample more than four times, as none of the antidotes present can fix your kidneys and liver experiencing seven years in the span of four seconds. It is not going to kill you permanently and it is a death-reversible effect, but it is one of the least entertaining ways to visit the silent river. Not to mention the cleanup is… an unique experience which I personally do not wish to repeat.
You still do not avoid a lecture, although it is a much shorter one. Now that you are actively learning about what various types of mushroom poisonings look like, you can now spot them easily – or at least you are supposed to – in yourself, your family, neighbours, guests, whoever you encounter. So why not throw some first aid while we are at it?
After all, a practical mycologist finds themself often in the field where there is no doctor of medicine for miles and a hint of civilisation is as distant as the Sun. (‘What about the surface?’ Well, you can see the Sun there, but try getting to it. The analogy is perfect.) Often you are going to be alone or at best in pairs.
(Fortunately the Mycologist remembers this is a mycology class and you are only half-listening, so you hear more about heat-strokes, anaphylactic shocks and transports of an injured body rather than improvised barber-surgery. Still, you are glad there isn’t a slideshow for this.)
Since your teacher is on the prowl among you, checking for anything going wrong (You are taking diluted poisons by spoonfuls. What could possibly go wrong? He must be paranoid.), it is easier than ever today to have a word with him in the false privacy between the desks and bottles.
After two hours you can stumble out of the classroom with a poison-induced hangover. But you’ve certainly been educated.
Laboratory 11 turns out to be a bit further down the hall. You’ve probably passed by it on your way to the classroom and now have to backtrack. It is easily recognisable by a brass plaque that has been edited several times (currently most of the information is inscribed upon paper glued over the brass).
Laboratory XI | ||||
| Authorised personel only Nur Mitarbeiter N'y pense même pas
|
There is a helpful basket of goggles to borrow, in case somebody doesn’t have their own. You are studying practical mycology, everyone would expect you to have your own goggles. Everyone would also expect you to be scatterbrained and forget them in your other lab-coat. Or maybe something ate them, you know how some slime moulds are.
Beyond the door is a standard laboratory, clean white space smelling of disinfection, acid, acetone, alcohol and an absolutely abysmal amount of academic abuse. Highly unusual for a mycology lab is the lack of fungi anywhere. Instead it seems that every horizontal surface is covered in wine bottles. The labels have been torn off and instead the neck of each bottle bears a handwritten tag.
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist does not fit well into this place. Not due to spatial limitations – there is plenty of room, the lab has been designed to hold a lot of large stationary objects, all of which are currently missing except for an empty terrarium in a corner – but because he is the dirtiest thing in the room. At least his lab coat is. At some point it had been white cotton. Probably. But definitely not after it had been singed, chewed on, bled on and dragged through… well, whatever it was, it was colourful.
Then again, this is a practicing mycologist who has been put to the steering wheel of this part of your education. For a change he looks the part to the T.
“Today I wanted to change up the pace, because listening to me laying down the theory for you can become unbearable after a few hours. Thus, today is purely practical, and I suppose a bit of a breather. Unless you overdo it, in which case breathing is overrated.”
He smiles brightly, although not all that softly, as he elaborates: “As the Famoso Doctor Paracelsus claimed, poison is in the dose. Please, welcome to the tasting course! I’ve spent the past couple of days extracting toxins and other physiologically active substances from various fungi all around the Neath, or at least for some I’ve found sufficient substitutions. We are entirely out of false parasol extract at the moment, you can thank Professor Guildenstern for that. Left half of the laboratory are toxins, labelled by the fungus of origin. The right half of the laboratory,” he makes a sweeping gesture behind him, nearly knocking some of the bottles over, “are antidotes, labelled by their actual names. Several of them have more than one name, I had limited myself to writing down the three most common at most.”
A clap of the Mycologist’s hands snaps your attention back to him – no tippling in quite yet: “In the wild nearly all fungi toxins have a delayed time of showing symptoms. Usually in hours, but there are extreme cases such as the marrow amanita. I have managed to circumvent this with… a lot of work and several more esoteric fixatives. Because of that I would ask you all not to sample more than four times, as none of the antidotes present can fix your kidneys and liver experiencing seven years in the span of four seconds. It is not going to kill you permanently and it is a death-reversible effect, but it is one of the least entertaining ways to visit the silent river. Not to mention the cleanup is… an unique experience which I personally do not wish to repeat.
You still do not avoid a lecture, although it is a much shorter one. Now that you are actively learning about what various types of mushroom poisonings look like, you can now spot them easily – or at least you are supposed to – in yourself, your family, neighbours, guests, whoever you encounter. So why not throw some first aid while we are at it?
After all, a practical mycologist finds themself often in the field where there is no doctor of medicine for miles and a hint of civilisation is as distant as the Sun. (‘What about the surface?’ Well, you can see the Sun there, but try getting to it. The analogy is perfect.) Often you are going to be alone or at best in pairs.
(Fortunately the Mycologist remembers this is a mycology class and you are only half-listening, so you hear more about heat-strokes, anaphylactic shocks and transports of an injured body rather than improvised barber-surgery. Still, you are glad there isn’t a slideshow for this.)
Since your teacher is on the prowl among you, checking for anything going wrong (You are taking diluted poisons by spoonfuls. What could possibly go wrong? He must be paranoid.), it is easier than ever today to have a word with him in the false privacy between the desks and bottles.
After two hours you can stumble out of the classroom with a poison-induced hangover. But you’ve certainly been educated.
Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-12-18 08:55 am (UTC)They are looking less put together than usual today. Seems like they lost track of their day before this. Well. They're here now!
Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-12-19 07:13 pm (UTC)Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-12-21 08:40 am (UTC)In an effort to rectify her previous tardiness, the Cackling Authoress arrives right on time, only to be stopped by a notice on the classroom door. It piques her curiosity to learn that class will be held in a laboratory today—perhaps the activity will be something that puts her right at home! She is fortunately not late when she scurries to Laboratory 11, as the change of venue has delayed the other students, too. She signs her name in the attendance ledger, then plucks a pair of goggles from the basket of loaners. If she had known that she would need one, then she could have brought her own. There would be no reason for it besides proving to everyone that she was a real scientist, with her own equipment, which is the sort of thing that she’s been telling all of them anyway. But still, it would be nice to feel professional.
Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-12-30 04:42 am (UTC)Shrugging, he put a set of goggles over his eyes and looked at the variety of wine bottles with interest. This will be an excellent chance to test his skills with Kataleptic Toxicology...not to mention endurance and resistance to poisons. But first, he signed his name in the ledger.