The Legacy of Dr. Theo Hanlon
Re: The Legacy of Dr. Theo Hanlon
1328 AS
It had been five years since she killed the cruel and abusive Doctor Howe. No one questioned his absence or her story about how it was time for him to move on and take on a new apprentice elsewhere. It fit with the behavior patterns he was known for and ultimately gave Theo the keys to her freedom and avoiding the consequences of her actions.
She knew it would be too torturous to return to her life before Howe, so she reluctantly left her home. She was determined to start over and use her new skills and knowledge to help those in need. Be the Doctor that Howe promised to make her instead of the thrall he desperately tried to turn her into.
Not wanting to leave the Midlands, she traveled to a small town on the outskirts of the Tills in Ostenam. Howe was nothing if not meticulous with his teachings, so she was readily accepted by the local clinic due to her abilities. Hanlon quickly began to earn the respect and admiration of the lumberjacks, who were frequent patients with their various and unlimited labor-related injuries. They enjoyed making her practice her Yultish to greater fluency and keeping her on her toes. She had almost settled entirely into this new life until, one day, she met the man who was determined to spoil it.
From the moment she laid eyes on the infamous Mister Chadhart, he reminded her of Howe. Even if his reputation had not preceded him, she knew exactly who and what was before her. He was an immature man known to be cruel, abusive, and unable to handle his temper. His irrational demeanor struck fear into the hearts of those he interacted with, as the faintest slight would incur his ire no matter how foolish or childish it seemed.
Despite her reservations, Theo agreed to treat Mister Chadhart, hoping she could help him somehow. Perhaps if she could guide him to see reason and rationality, his cruelty could be shed and allow him no longer be a danger to society. Hanlon tried everything she could using her knowledge to balance his humors and ease whatever ailment plagued him and, to an extent, the townsfolk who had to deal with him.
As the weeks passed, Theo became more and more frustrated and disillusioned. She had given her all to try to help Chadhart, yet he remained unchanged, stubbornly refusing to see the error of his ways. Firmly seated on the Throne of Pride, he refused to repent for his past actions. Showing no remorse for any harm he had caused or would continue to cause, believing himself above reproach.
Finally, Theo made a decision. Under the guise of a treatment plan, she administered a series of purges and bleedings designed to weaken him but not kill him outright. She had to carefully balance every opportunity to not shatter the appearance of being nothing more than a dutiful physician. Over time Chadhart's condition worsened, with Theo playing her part well until his body gave up, and he fell into a deep sleep that no one could rouse him from.
In the end, Chadhart passed away "peacefully," and Theo was hailed for her dedication to saving him, as no one else thought he deserved such attention. As she walked away from the pyre, Theo knew that she had done what needed to be done. Despite the weight of her actions, she was at peace knowing that she had brought justice to a world that often seemed unjust and had rid the world of a dangerous and cruel man.
Re: The Legacy of Dr. Theo Hanlon
Her peace was short lived.
As more time passed, the commendations became harder to bear as she knew she did not deserve them. Theo tried to focus on her work, throwing herself into her practice, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the guilt that haunted her. Theo knew what she had done was wrong, but she also knew it was necessary, especially when Chadhart's death allowed others to come forward and reveal his crimes and just how awful he was without fear of his retribution. The evidence that more lives would be saved in his absence did surprisingly little to assuage her remorse.
Theo tried alcohol to numb her pain, drinking heavily, hoping the liquor would help her forget her sorrows and drown out the shame that weighed on her. But instead, she hated how she felt under the influence of the drinks. She hated the loss of control and the blackouts. Desperate for ways to escape the torture of her guilt and grief, she began experimenting with drugs, hoping they would provide relief that alcohol could not, and at first, they seemed to work. Helping Theo to forget her troubles and numb her emotions. However, she became increasingly reliant on them and began actively chasing that feeling of calm that seemed to elude her.
Despite her best efforts Theo could not escape the darkness that consumed her and she hit rock bottom, unable to continue living under the weight of her addiction and grief. No one knew the extent of her addiction or the depths of her pain and guilt as she managed to keep up public appearances, maintaining a façade of calm and control even as her sanity was falling apart.
She knew that she needed to make a change. She knew she needed to confront these demons and come to terms with the guilt of her actions. She knew she needed help.
Little did she know that surviving this would be the foundation to her future, and yet another necessary evil.
As more time passed, the commendations became harder to bear as she knew she did not deserve them. Theo tried to focus on her work, throwing herself into her practice, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the guilt that haunted her. Theo knew what she had done was wrong, but she also knew it was necessary, especially when Chadhart's death allowed others to come forward and reveal his crimes and just how awful he was without fear of his retribution. The evidence that more lives would be saved in his absence did surprisingly little to assuage her remorse.
Theo tried alcohol to numb her pain, drinking heavily, hoping the liquor would help her forget her sorrows and drown out the shame that weighed on her. But instead, she hated how she felt under the influence of the drinks. She hated the loss of control and the blackouts. Desperate for ways to escape the torture of her guilt and grief, she began experimenting with drugs, hoping they would provide relief that alcohol could not, and at first, they seemed to work. Helping Theo to forget her troubles and numb her emotions. However, she became increasingly reliant on them and began actively chasing that feeling of calm that seemed to elude her.
Despite her best efforts Theo could not escape the darkness that consumed her and she hit rock bottom, unable to continue living under the weight of her addiction and grief. No one knew the extent of her addiction or the depths of her pain and guilt as she managed to keep up public appearances, maintaining a façade of calm and control even as her sanity was falling apart.
She knew that she needed to make a change. She knew she needed to confront these demons and come to terms with the guilt of her actions. She knew she needed help.
Little did she know that surviving this would be the foundation to her future, and yet another necessary evil.
Re: The Legacy of Dr. Theo Hanlon
Hanlon returned to the Rest, still not entirely sure what compelled her to go to Vectus, of all people, to confide in and request treatment. As soon as she completed that thought, she halted at the threshold of the tailor's house, scoffing quietly. Yes, she did. She knew the Inquisitor would be more brutally honest than anyone else. Deep down, Hanlon knew she wanted such raw honesty, or else it would have been too easy to continue to avoid this melancholy. She wanted enforced accountability.
It would be an understatement to say that Vectus' bedside manner was unexpected, though not as surprising at the realization the proposed treatment plan was not far off of one she would devise for a patient coming to her for the same concern. Nevertheless, the whole encounter left Hanlon mystified in more ways than one. It was a humbling experience and a reminder that Vectus was still a person with humanity and compassion, even if her ostensibly permanent mask and authoritative demeanor all but obscured it.
Shutting the door behind her, she continued into the room she shared, finding it empty. Much like herself, Zafie was not one for idleness and was presumably off perfecting her talents. It was better this way, as Hanlon knew she would be unable to begin her treatment if she had to do it for an audience, even one as dear to her as Zaf. She went through her trunk and pulled out a small tabletop mirror. After setting it up on her writing desk, she began her evening routine. She changed out of her everyday clothes into her evening shift, then moved to perch on the edge of her bed to undo her braid. A task that lasted only a minute every night before tonight now allowed precious moments of respite to delay what came next. She inhaled as deep a breath as she could and held it as the tasks she was given swirled in her mind.
Since she was overburdened by work, and harassed regularly by intrusive questions, one of her tasks was to take part in a social outing on a warm and sunny day with those who would be an uplifting presence. A tea party, in particular, no less. Oh, and she is not allowed to discuss any work-related topics during the entire affair. Theo immediately thought of Hollis and appointed reaching out to her as the next step for crucial assistance with such an endeavor.
The second task, and arguably considered what should have been the most manageable of her assignments, was designed to rebuke the Throne of Shame and acknowledge one's achievements and rebalance the scales of pride. But, instead, Hanlon wondered if she was alone in thinking its actual design was that of mental anguish. She had to look at herself in a mirror and say ten things she was proud of regarding herself. Daily. For an entire week. The held breath surged past her lips in a whoosh as her whole posture sagged.
Very well, let's get this over with...
Reluctantly, she sat at her desk and stared down the wood grain for a long moment before lifting her gaze and beginning.
"I am proud of..."
She began the sentence before her gaze lifted to the mirror, but she froze as soon as her eyes met their reflected counterparts. Her throat felt strangled, an odd sensation of something lodged inside, and her hands grasped at her neck in panic. Her fingertips futilely dug into the flesh as if it were something she could physically touch. She was desperate to claw this intrusion out of herself but unable to do anything other than stare horrified at her reflection, struggling to breathe.
It wasn't until she managed to flail and knock the mirror from its resting place that the sensation began to subside. Stumbling off the seat until she was all but laid out on the hardwood floor as she choked and gasped for air, her vision clouded by tears slowly darkening until eventually blacking out to this fit of hyperventilation.
It would be an understatement to say that Vectus' bedside manner was unexpected, though not as surprising at the realization the proposed treatment plan was not far off of one she would devise for a patient coming to her for the same concern. Nevertheless, the whole encounter left Hanlon mystified in more ways than one. It was a humbling experience and a reminder that Vectus was still a person with humanity and compassion, even if her ostensibly permanent mask and authoritative demeanor all but obscured it.
Shutting the door behind her, she continued into the room she shared, finding it empty. Much like herself, Zafie was not one for idleness and was presumably off perfecting her talents. It was better this way, as Hanlon knew she would be unable to begin her treatment if she had to do it for an audience, even one as dear to her as Zaf. She went through her trunk and pulled out a small tabletop mirror. After setting it up on her writing desk, she began her evening routine. She changed out of her everyday clothes into her evening shift, then moved to perch on the edge of her bed to undo her braid. A task that lasted only a minute every night before tonight now allowed precious moments of respite to delay what came next. She inhaled as deep a breath as she could and held it as the tasks she was given swirled in her mind.
Since she was overburdened by work, and harassed regularly by intrusive questions, one of her tasks was to take part in a social outing on a warm and sunny day with those who would be an uplifting presence. A tea party, in particular, no less. Oh, and she is not allowed to discuss any work-related topics during the entire affair. Theo immediately thought of Hollis and appointed reaching out to her as the next step for crucial assistance with such an endeavor.
The second task, and arguably considered what should have been the most manageable of her assignments, was designed to rebuke the Throne of Shame and acknowledge one's achievements and rebalance the scales of pride. But, instead, Hanlon wondered if she was alone in thinking its actual design was that of mental anguish. She had to look at herself in a mirror and say ten things she was proud of regarding herself. Daily. For an entire week. The held breath surged past her lips in a whoosh as her whole posture sagged.
Very well, let's get this over with...
Reluctantly, she sat at her desk and stared down the wood grain for a long moment before lifting her gaze and beginning.
"I am proud of..."
She began the sentence before her gaze lifted to the mirror, but she froze as soon as her eyes met their reflected counterparts. Her throat felt strangled, an odd sensation of something lodged inside, and her hands grasped at her neck in panic. Her fingertips futilely dug into the flesh as if it were something she could physically touch. She was desperate to claw this intrusion out of herself but unable to do anything other than stare horrified at her reflection, struggling to breathe.
It wasn't until she managed to flail and knock the mirror from its resting place that the sensation began to subside. Stumbling off the seat until she was all but laid out on the hardwood floor as she choked and gasped for air, her vision clouded by tears slowly darkening until eventually blacking out to this fit of hyperventilation.
Re: The Legacy of Dr. Theo Hanlon
With unexpected help, Hanlon brought her humors back to a tenuous equilibrium, emerging from her melancholy like a flower in spring. Almost on cue, as if only to prove it had never truly left and never will, chaos came back in full force to the Province.
News of Lucien Silvercrest's death spread.
It was confirmed by the Herald paired with some outstanding criminal fines attached. Hanlon assumed this meant it must have occurred on Foundry ground since they cared little for what happens outside of their purview unless they could find a way to profit. If all of the penalties levied with murder charges had to do with Lucien, it seemed the cost of a life was worth one hundred and seventy-two gold and forty-five silver. She sighed heavily with her lips pursed, air coming from her nose. Even in death, Lucien was valued higher than an entire settlement.
The author of his memorial was wise; you either loved or hated him, and Hanlon held little love for the man. She could not find it in herself to laud his philanthropic efforts when his misdeeds kept the scales to a near-equal balance. She would not have been surprised in the least if his only motivation was to erase the red from his ledger in the court of public opinion than anything else.
Tossing the paper aside after she finished reading, she sat for a long time to absorb the news and reflect before slowly making her way to the memorial garden. The second anniversary of the massacre was a fortnight ago. Hanlon wondered if they had intentionally planned this to fall close to that date. Teneborough had become a litmus test of character; the line in the sand for those with egos so easily bruised they would rather erase history than accept a modicum of accountability. A warning to those unjustly seeking sanctuary and those offering it. But, most of all, it was a powerful reminder that no one is safe in this world where safety is so desperately desired.
For all intents and purposes, at least Lucien's death closes that chapter now, for good. It wasn't the justice they deserved, but it was justice nonetheless, and now was the time to lay it to rest.
---
She had failed her assigned treatment.
Though she wouldn't dare admit that aloud, she made sure she could prattle off a list of accomplishments as expected and still be genuinely uncomfortable enough while doing so not to belie its sincerity. Even still, she fled to find some solace.
It was a quiet moment in the middle of the night; the darkest hour was at its peak, and no matter how well-fed her campfire was, the blanket of black devoured its illumination. After a while, another figure eventually joined her in the firelight. His presence was not surprising as he shared this little hidden nook with her, but this meeting was not planned. If it was, she doubted she would have had the courage to show up if she knew how the evening would play out.
He was frustrated and stressed, and she was sad and lonely.
They exchanged superficial stories about why they were there, both very well aware they were each holding back something more. Her melancholic mood made her uncharacteristically vulnerable, and his frustration was smoldering like heated metal left too long in the forge. Perhaps it was seeing her at the precipice of breaking, but it felt as if her sadness washed over him, quenching the molten mess; each fallen teardrop a hammer molding towards a new purpose. The world blurred around them, and while neither would know for sure who made the first move, both fell into step instinctively. This exchange of give and take replenished them with something they each had needed and ignored for too long.
They stared at each other wordlessly the following morning, drinking coffee prepared over a small spitfire. The unspoken conversation hung in the air between them. What did this mean? The benefits of the choice were clear; her melancholy melted, bringing her back to a better balance overall, and the significance of his stress lessened, leaving his muscles lax and refreshed.
Ultimately, they parted, knowing nothing else had to change because of this. They had just helped each other survive another day, which was more than they could have hoped for. Of course, she would not give up on the assignment in the long run, but now she would not feel so rushed.
News of Lucien Silvercrest's death spread.
It was confirmed by the Herald paired with some outstanding criminal fines attached. Hanlon assumed this meant it must have occurred on Foundry ground since they cared little for what happens outside of their purview unless they could find a way to profit. If all of the penalties levied with murder charges had to do with Lucien, it seemed the cost of a life was worth one hundred and seventy-two gold and forty-five silver. She sighed heavily with her lips pursed, air coming from her nose. Even in death, Lucien was valued higher than an entire settlement.
The author of his memorial was wise; you either loved or hated him, and Hanlon held little love for the man. She could not find it in herself to laud his philanthropic efforts when his misdeeds kept the scales to a near-equal balance. She would not have been surprised in the least if his only motivation was to erase the red from his ledger in the court of public opinion than anything else.
Tossing the paper aside after she finished reading, she sat for a long time to absorb the news and reflect before slowly making her way to the memorial garden. The second anniversary of the massacre was a fortnight ago. Hanlon wondered if they had intentionally planned this to fall close to that date. Teneborough had become a litmus test of character; the line in the sand for those with egos so easily bruised they would rather erase history than accept a modicum of accountability. A warning to those unjustly seeking sanctuary and those offering it. But, most of all, it was a powerful reminder that no one is safe in this world where safety is so desperately desired.
For all intents and purposes, at least Lucien's death closes that chapter now, for good. It wasn't the justice they deserved, but it was justice nonetheless, and now was the time to lay it to rest.
---
She had failed her assigned treatment.
Though she wouldn't dare admit that aloud, she made sure she could prattle off a list of accomplishments as expected and still be genuinely uncomfortable enough while doing so not to belie its sincerity. Even still, she fled to find some solace.
It was a quiet moment in the middle of the night; the darkest hour was at its peak, and no matter how well-fed her campfire was, the blanket of black devoured its illumination. After a while, another figure eventually joined her in the firelight. His presence was not surprising as he shared this little hidden nook with her, but this meeting was not planned. If it was, she doubted she would have had the courage to show up if she knew how the evening would play out.
He was frustrated and stressed, and she was sad and lonely.
They exchanged superficial stories about why they were there, both very well aware they were each holding back something more. Her melancholic mood made her uncharacteristically vulnerable, and his frustration was smoldering like heated metal left too long in the forge. Perhaps it was seeing her at the precipice of breaking, but it felt as if her sadness washed over him, quenching the molten mess; each fallen teardrop a hammer molding towards a new purpose. The world blurred around them, and while neither would know for sure who made the first move, both fell into step instinctively. This exchange of give and take replenished them with something they each had needed and ignored for too long.
They stared at each other wordlessly the following morning, drinking coffee prepared over a small spitfire. The unspoken conversation hung in the air between them. What did this mean? The benefits of the choice were clear; her melancholy melted, bringing her back to a better balance overall, and the significance of his stress lessened, leaving his muscles lax and refreshed.
Ultimately, they parted, knowing nothing else had to change because of this. They had just helped each other survive another day, which was more than they could have hoped for. Of course, she would not give up on the assignment in the long run, but now she would not feel so rushed.