Solana and Solanum

Curg Ridel was not a town in which Solana had ever imagined she would take up residence. The gnome town was bustling for nearly twenty-four hours, with a slight lull for maybe a couple of hours on the dark side of the morning, with emphasis on ‘slight’. At half past noon, nearly all residents, even those who had sung away the later hours of the night were up and about. Those just waking were starting out for breakfast at one of the myriad inns, diners, or streetside vendors. Others, who had the sense to have slept when sensible people slept and risen when sensible people rise, were enthusiastically attacking one task or another, all of which, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, required the making of one of her least favorite things: noise. 

Tinkerers and engineers, the lot of them, they each added their own tune to the cacophony. There were hammers hammering, hydraulic presses pressing and machines of all shapes and sizes machining. Those who made trinkets or baked goods had filled their stalls to brimming and were calling out to prospective customers, each trying with gusto to outdo the others. Life in Crug Ridel was…exhausting. 

A tall, voluptuous wood elf, Solana stooped in the five-foot doorway of Thistlebottom’s Alehouse where she had just finished a hearty meal and more than her share of mead. Most importantly she had just made seven silver selling poison to a dwarf with a “rat” issue. She looked out over the chaos that was, to a gnome, the epitome of good order. She was ill-suited to town life, a gnome town least of all. Still, information wasn’t free and money didn’t make itself, so here she was, stuck in this cesspool of noise, smell, and even- dear Goddess what is that taste in the air? Oil? Why does oil have a taste? She took a shallow breath, gagging on the smell-taste, and stepped out into the sunlight. 

“Oof! Hey! Watch where you’re going!” Solana grunted with a scowl. 

The diminutive figure who had run headlong into her lay sprawled across the ground. Solana growled in frustration and stepped deftly over the creature while wiping imagined dust off her moss-green tunic. She hardly glanced down as one long leg stepped over them with ease. She had no intention of stopping to help them. Their being careless and in a hurry was hardly her fault, and she was in a hurry herself. Had she looked down, even out of curiosity or mockery of the pathetic thing, she would have seen that they were not only quick to fall; they were quick to get back up. Her trailing foot caught on a bent-over torso as they brought themselves quickly up to their knees. 

“Terribly sorr-” they began to say as Solana’s foot met with their side. “Ooh!” They let out a breath and fell back to the ground, this time with a very grumpy wood elf who was nearly twice their height sprawled on top of them. 

“Now look what you’ve done!” Solana shouted into the dirt. She pounded her fists down, kicking more dust up into her face. She used them to raise her torso up, pushing her weight down onto the gnome. 

“Ow! Get oooooff me!” The small figure shouted, also into the dirt. “And what do you mean ‘what I’ve done’? Don’t you - umph- look where you’re going before jumping out into the streets like that?” The voice was markedly feminine, high-pitched, and screechy. To Solana’s delicate ears, male gnome voices were high and screechy as well but she had learned to tell the difference. 

“I did look, you buffoon!” She fell back to the ground as one of her wrists gave out. She must have sprained it in the fall. “You littles are too fecking quick for your own good! Or anyone else’s for that matter.”

At this point, hurried or not, neither was going anywhere, tangled as they were. Solana felt the intolerable thing wiggle beneath her, fighting to free herself from Solana’s not insubstantial legs. Wood elves were typically slender things but compared to a gnome, they were quite large. She was also on the heavier side for a wood elf, being as she was quite fond of lavender delights and honey mead. That and she hadn’t been training for months while holed up in this backwoods gnome town. It was a disingenuous way to look at her (rather lucrative) situation, but she was feeling particularly bitter that day. 

The gnome woman finally worked her way free, kicking Solana’s slightly uplifted butt cheek as she worked to free her leg. Solana cursed but said nothing more as the two stood up and began bapping dust off their clothes. 

“Sorry for running into you. It's a busy day, you know, what with Second Harvest. It's a good rule of thumb to- woa.. I feel funny.” She swayed. She reached her hand behind her and touched her back; her hand came away with little dots of blood on it. “I, uh, oh, this is not good.” She began to stumble. 

“Damnit!” Solana cursed, catching hold of the gnome and stabilizing her. With one arm holding up the half-sized woman, she used the other to pull up her leather pouch. The leather was moist and broken glass protruded through a tear. No, wait, several. Two on the side that had squished against the gnome and one more on the opposite side, which meant… She looked down.  “Damnit all to hell!” She cursed again. Blood seeped from a small tear in her leggings.

“Wha- what is it? Is it bad?” The gnome tried to turn her head around enough to see the wound. 

“Oh calm down. The cuts are superficial but you’ve been poisoned,” Solana looked at her stoically. As have I. Fecking perfect. The first wave of dizziness struck her. 

“Oh no! No no no! Noooo!” The gnome began chittering excitedly.  “I canth be poizzzoned! I’m not rea’y to die! I’n not! I got thith projeck I’n working on, a cl-cl-clock tha uthes wather tuh-” She thought she was speaking clearly but her words were growing increasingly slurred.

“Will you shut up?” Solana said. “Come with me. I have the antitoxin back at my room.”

“Yeth. Yeeeeeth. Lez go. Lez go!” She tried to take a step but faltered and nearly fell, had the taller and significantly less affected woman not been holding on to her. 

Solana mumbled rather than spoke. “We should hurry.” The poison was potent! She would have been proud of herself if she wasn’t suddenly so worried. 

The two moved a dozen or so paces back toward the apothecary’s shop, above which Solana had been living the last few months, selling her less questionable tinctures and poultices for the healing of everyday wounds, infections, and maladies. 

“I thing I needta sleep for a bit,” the gnome said drowsily. “Juss fer a minnit.”

“No, that would be bad!” Solana frowned and pulled the other woman along beside her, refusing to let her drop. “Less keep talkin. Wass yer name?” She worked hard to enunciate as the toxin continued to do its work. Her tongue was getting thicker and suddenly she desperately wanted a drink of water. 

“Less see, you can call me, uh, Ginger Pop. Or,” she thought hard before continuing, “Tom. Or Timber. Or, or.. I cannit thing of more.” Gnomes had many nicknames, which changed at the whims of themselves or others. Ginger clearly liked a few of hers or she would not have offered them. “Yooooooou? You’re pretty. I bet you have a pretty name!” 

Solana rolled her eyes at the compliment. She squatted down and picked up Ginger Pop, who had become quite adamant about finding a place to lie down. She noted and ignored the pain in her wrist. Once she had the woman securely cradled like a small child, she said “Solanaceae. But you can call me Solana.”

Ginger began to laugh profusely, wriggling excitedly and nearly causing Solana to drop her. Solana cursed at the obnoxious woman. It seemed to bring her out of her stupor a bit though for which she was thankful. 

“Whash so funny?” Solana asked dryly. 

“Yer name meansh…hmph…nightshade.” Ginger explained then laughed more. 

“Yesh, and?” Solana had chosen her name for its very meaning when she had walked away from druidry and taken up darker, more questionable employment. It would seem ironic, but indeed it was by design. 

“And my birth name is Solanum Lycopersicum Timberlyn Runkle-Ferrin.” Ginger looked up at Solana with bright eyes and a wide grin. Her excitement had brought sudden, if temporary, clarity. She continued, “And Thalanum Lycoperthicum means-”

“Tomato” Solana finished. Her lips moved nearly indiscernibly into an almost-amused almost-smile. “That ish funny.” Her tone remained stoic, but a chuckle escaped despite herself, something that did not happen often. 

Ginger put her arms tightly around the other woman’s neck and nestled in. “You sthmell good.”

“You don’t.” Solana returned sarcastically, suddenly uncomfortable. 

They both laughed again, Solana’s actually audible this time, although it was edged in nervousness. She reasoned her sudden gaiety was likely a result of the toxin’s impact on her mental faculties. That was no good. They just had a little further to go and she did her best to pick up the pace. She wondered for a moment at the symptoms. They seemed a little odd. She, too, now had an overwhelming urge to go to sleep. 

  “I don’t think this is poison.” she mumbled, only it came out more like “Imph thin di poshun.” 

Ginger chattered incoherently as Solana dodged back and forth through the busy street. At least it meant she was still awake but Solana was beginning to question if that was something she truly wanted. She stumbled across the road toward the small shop. As they approached a dark figure emerged from inside the shop, crossing his arms and blocking their way. Solana’s vision was growing blurry but she didn’t have to see him to know exactly who he was.

She stumbled to a halt, very nearly dropping Ginger. She controlled her fall with a wide stance and set Ginger down with an awkward thud. 

“Whaddar you do in here?” She took a step toward him. The adrenaline that hit her when she saw him at the door cleared her mind just enough to be able to stand. 

“You drunk or something?” His deep voice was mocking. “You spend all that money you owe me on ale?

“Noph, lemme thru n pishoff.” She tried to sound tough. Damnnit! She thought. Not what I need right now! 

“I’ve given you a bloody extra week and this is what you do with your time?” The man was livid now. 

“Fegg you!” Solana spat toward the dirt, then wiped drool from her chin. 

He chuckled and charged at her but stopped short as she swaggered and swayed but managed to yank her knife from her belt. 

He pulled one from his own in one smooth, controlled motion. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Heeeeey!” Ginger cut in, “leef her awone! We nee anti- antic- shtuff fer this.” She gestured to herself and Solana as though the wave of her hand explained everything.

“This you’re new girlfriend?” He switched his focus from the elf to the gnome. He grabbed her tunic and pulled her close, smelling her. “You have a thing for littles, Solana? Maybe if I gut her you will pay up, yeah? Aarrgg! Feck!” 

He released Ginger with a yank and backed up a step, blood dripping from his hand. She was holding a small dagger that gleaned as she turned it side to side. 

“Liddle ish nut a nish word, ash-hoe!”

“Shtop, boff of you, or shomeone’ll git hurb.” Solana’s stance shifted back and forth as she fought the urge to crumple. She smacked her face to try to bring herself out of the stupor.

There were no more words now, only action. The man lunged at Ginger, attempting to take out the annoying little pricker first. Ginger threw herself to the side, kicking out as he passed by her and connecting with his leg just above the ankle. He screeched out in pain as his leg crumpled. He swung his arm out at the last minute, clocking her in the side of the head. She went down in a puff of dust. 

Now Solana was on him but he was quick and she was debilitated. He turned and caught her under her arm as she swung in at him with the hand holding the knife. He pulled her over his back in a sweeping motion, attempting to throw her to the ground. She rolled her body weight forward in the direction he was propelling her, using the momentum to flip and land on her feet. 

She landed shakily took two tumbling steps backward then fell on her ass. Her knife was on the ground between them. She looked from the knife to him. He was unstable with his injured ankle. Nevertheless, his eyes burned brightly with rage. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he squatted on his good leg and grabbed for the knife. 

Solana’s foot shot up, kicking dirt into his face. She brought herself up to her knees. He cursed and wiped at his eyes, but when he stood, he had the knife in his hand. 

“Bitch!” He yelled and postured to bring the knife down on her.

There was a juicy thwomp and he staggered back, dropping the knife as he brought his hand up to his neck. Solana didn’t waste the opportunity. As the knife hit the ground she lunged in, grabbed it, and moved. She pushed her weight up toward him and drove the knife at an angle up under his ribs. She used both hands and pushed with all her strength. She moved to the side as he fell to his knees, pulling hard with both hands to free the knife from a different angle. He held his chest, trying to cry out, but was prevented by the small dagger protruding from his throat.

Ginger strode from where she had recovered from her fall as the other two were caught up in their deadly tussle. She pulled her small whittling knife from his throat. It had cut through his windpipe. He would have died eventually from asphyxiation, but Solana had quickened the process.  

The two women took hold of each other and dragged themselves to the back of the shop where the hard part began: climbing the stairs. It was arduous, but Ginger, who had a zest for life and was not ready to die, kept insisting in garbled speak that they “keeggoin” and “dunschtop!” Solana had half an idea of what was happening but couldn’t get the words to form. 

Her bedroom was a meager little thing, sparsely furnished. There was a disheveled bed, a wardrobe, and a small shelf, upon which were myriad bottles of various sizes holding liquids of different colors and opacities. Small dishes held dried herbs and there were several others hanging about the room, tied in bunches. There was an open incense pot with a cold, half-burned chunk of incense. This Solana knocked over as her hand swept heavily over the table in search of the antidote. 

Ginger Pop leaned her head against the shelf. “Schmellsh gud n here,” She mumbled. 

Solana picked up a bottle and held it up, squinted hard, then started laughing hysterically. 

“Whaaaa?” Ginger asked. 

“Thish….” Solana held up the bottle, swaying. She steadied herself. “Thish ish da poishun,” She tried to place it carefully on the table but knocked it on it’s side. The stopper held. She sighed, not bothering to right it as she slid to the ground. 

What little laugh made it out of Ginger’s barely conscious lips was manic. “Wha… Wha…” she struggled to get the thought out. “Wha wash in da bobble?” She tried to point to her back but her hand fell heavily to the floor. 

“Tran…tranqa…shleepy ssstuff.” Solana garbled as she passed out. Ginger was not conscious enough to hear her answer. 

When Ginger awoke hours later, consciousness came slowly. She found herself sprawled across the floor. She must have fallen over while she slept.

“Take it easy” a voice whispered calmly beside her. 

“I’m not dead!” Ginger squawked excitedly. 

“No, you’re not dead, Ginger Snap,” Solana said as she sat against the bed frame and rubbed her own stiff muscles. 

“It’s Ginger Pop,” Ginger corrected as she sat up, “on account of my-”

“Whatever,” Solana winked. “You’re not really a tinkerer, are you?” 

“Sure I am. As much as you’re an apothecary,” she returned, her eyes shining with glee. 

“You wanna get a drink?” Solana asked. 

“Mmmm. I could use a drink. I am partial to honey mead.” Ginger Pop swayed her hips excitedly. She finished wiping the blood off her knife and replaced it in its tiny hilt on the side of her tinkerer’s bag. 

“Hmm,” Solana raised an eyebrow. Her favorite. 

Solana studied the wild-haired, fast-tongued woman before her. Ginger studied the unfriendly, aloof wood elf. Both gleaned more from that single silent interaction than from all the other interactions up to that point. Slowly, cautiously, a smile broke out on each of their faces.