The Hand That Mocked Them

"And you think I can be of assistance?" He looked around. "I've been, ah, distracted as of late with another project, but I have been studying demons extensively. I may be able to help. Homunculus!"
"Sir?" Hieronymus hurried back into the room.
"Fetch my demon journals. All of them."

Kivvien produced his own journal and placed it on the cleared space on the table.

"What was your focus when studying the creatures?"

"The anatomy, primarily, but I learned a considerable amount about their circulatory system and their humors. What is the nature of the antidote? It's components?" He patted his pockets for a pen. "...How long was I asleep? Can't have been long..."

"You were out for at least a few weeks," Kivvien said distractedly as he flipped through the journal. He found the page he was looking for, one that was primarily written by him with a note or two from his lab partner. The page detailed how the antidote was made. "Here, it seems from your description that you could have stumbled across the same things I did had you continued your studies."

He took the page. "Homunculus, read this to me." Hieronymus peered at the page and started to read off the contents. Laurean nodded slowly to himself.

Kivvien stood to the side. This had better be worth it.

"Is it possible this antidote could be made contagious?" Laurean asked after a moment. "A virus or sickness of some sort that we inject into a live specimen?"

Kivvien considered it. "Possibly. If there were an illness that affected the demons, perhaps we could bind the cure to that."

"Do we know of one currently?"

Kivvien shook his head. "There are none to my knowledge."

"Then I will make the focus of my studies and set aside my other projects." He smiled, showing browning teeth. "I won't let you down, sir. I swear to you."

"You best not. It's enough of a risk working with you at all."

He blinked, brow furrowed. "I beg your pardon, sir?" His head turned as he looked for Hieronymus. "What did that little monster tell you about me? He's lying, I assure you."

"Sir, you wear the robes of your college, but they are unkempt and clearly years-worn. No reputable scholar would live in a cottage so dilapidated the setting itself could easily taint any research done, need I go on?"

"Sometimes scholars fall on hard times," he replied, drawing his robes tighter around himself. "I sank a lot of money into my research."