methuselah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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singillppl2023-12-06 12:21 am
singmod) wrote in singillppl2023-12-06 12:21 am
Entry tags:
December 2023 Test Drive Meme
DECEMBER 2023 TDM
PROMPT ONE — ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST: A new group of arrivals find themselves lost in the frozen wilds and vulnerable to the dangers of nature. With luck, they make it to the town of Milton, and to a friendly face offering food, warmth and shelter — not to mention the fact they are not the first to come here.
PROMPT TWO — MISTY FALLS CAVE: The Interlopers go out in search of a hidden cave in the mountains found by Methuselah, which may still contain the hidden stash of a doomsday prepper. However, they get a little more than they bargained for when they venture inside.
PROMPT THREE — SERPENT'S BREATH: Interlopers investigate the mysterious cause of whatever is killing and poisoning the wildlife and vegetation of the area — and discover a supernatural creature is behind it.
ARRIVAL: METHUSELAH'S FEAST
WHEN: Mid-Decmber.
WHERE: Milton, Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential animal attacks, potential injuries, potential cold injuries/hyperthermia risk.
'You are the Interloper. You are not part of nature’s design.'
It’s the last thing you hear. A dark, deep voice. Impossibly ancient. You feel afraid. Maybe you’re dreaming, maybe you’re wide awake. You saw the lights, and then your world went dark. But you hear it in the blackness, you won’t forget those words.
You awaken. You are not where you were before. It’s different for everyone, there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern in where you find yourself. You may open your eyes to find yourself in a cold, dim and dank cabin. The air is stale, dust hangs in the rays of weak sunlight that shine through the tiny windows. Someone lived here once, but they aren’t to be found. You look around, it seems like no one has been here in a long time. The fire is cold, the dishes in the sink are pretty mouldy. It is quiet. The wood creaks around you. Or perhaps you may awaken to find yourself shivering in the yawning maw of a cave, the freezing stone below you. Or maybe you’re unfortunate enough to sit up to find yourself lying in the snow, in the middle of the wilderness. Snow lies thick around you. It’s freezing out. You haven’t felt a cold like this before in your entire life. Cruel and biting. You have no idea where you are, and what’s worse — you are completely alone.
You may feel different, too. Any powers or magics you may have feel... absent. Disconnected. Things that may not have affected you previously now do. Something in you has changed.
You know you can’t stay where you are. You’ll need to move, try to work out where you are and how you came to be here. So you walk, head out into the unknown, in hope of finding a trail or a road. You’ll find one soon enough. It’s here you may find someone else in the same boat as yourself, equally freezing and confused. You’ll both need to keep going. It won’t be easy. You hear howls of wolves around you, and the terrain is difficult: slips and falls are likely. You’re completely vulnerable out here in the open.
It’s possible you may come across someone here. Another fellow Interloper, out hunting or gathering. They’ll likely offer help and get you into town. However, for the unlucky ones who don’t come across anyone, you’ll carry on until you see it: the lazy trail of smoke rising in the air. Fire. Not just one, but several. Civilisation…?
Follow it, and soon enough the way you’ve taken will certainly become a path or road. Unfolding before you in the mountainous forests, you’ll see the most welcome of sights: a small mining town tucked up in the valley. Battered, rusted road signs will direct to “MILTON, POP. 947”. You’re almost there, you keep going, and it looks like other people have had the same idea as you. In fact, you’ll hear the muffled sounds of life. People. In The town!
As you head into the outskirts and further into town, you’ll find it’s a little easier to walk but the cold has gripped you hard. You’ll find the buildings, both shops and homes, some are dark and lifeless, some of them are boarded up, some of them are occupied. People are going about their business, or stood watching from their tiny porches of their small, timber homes. For a town this big, there doesn’t seem to be many people.
Towards the center of town, you’ll find the building from which the biggest of the smoke trail rises: a school-house of sorts, or some kind of community hall. Perhaps both. You’ll find more and more people all drawn to this place, each and every one of them in the same position as yourself (and your companion, if you’ve found one). Some are in worse states than others: some are bloodied, nursing bite wounds or cuts; others might have some other kind of injury sustained in the journey here from falls. Others may look as if they could faint from the cold at any second.
The door opens, and you’re greeted by the gnarled, wizened face of an elderly man, dressed in thick furs. He has a kind face. He smiles warmly, and with pity, ushering you in with haste.
“Ah, even more, still. Just as I thought.” he muses. “I wonder if this is perhaps the new status quo. I am Methuselah. I welcome you Newcomer, although I’m sorry for how you’ve come to find yourself here. You are not the only one, the lights are changing things. They bring more of you every so often. Come. Mother Nature has not been kind to you, but there are plenty here to help.”
The room is dim, lit only by natural daylight through the windows. A roaring fire sits at one end of the huge hall. It crackles, bright and cheerful…. and warm. Even as big as this place is, the room is pleasantly warm. You’ll also find basic cots set up down one side of the hall, places to rest for a moment and get your bearings, or just trying to recover from the cold. Down the other side are tables and chairs, and long tables with food, drinks and bottled water similar to one might find at a soup kitchen. Once again, Methuselah offers a feast, aided by some of the other Interlopers.
There are canisters with hot herbal teas and coffee, along with soup and stew and trays of charred deer and rabbit meats, plus grilled fish. There's also things like instant mashed potatoes, and tinned vegetables. It’s very basic, but it’s hot and filling. A feast, although newcomers will note from others who have been here some time that this particular feast is less bountiful this time.
Methuselah will continue to busy himself, still; there is plenty to do. He will fetch blankets, tend to wounds, serve food and drinks. He does not have much time to talk. More and more people seem to be coming in from the cold. He will not stop to sit and rest until everyone is seen to, taking up a place by the fire to gaze silently into its flames. He is troubled, thoughtful.
He will encourage newcomers to get warm and eat, and when they are ready to — they can explore the time and find one of the many empty homes to call their own. He will not speak much, but perhaps you might be able to get some answers from those fellow arrivals who’ve been in this place for some time now.
However, he will speak of something important, and will gladly share with others: “I have been looking for something for you all. There was once a townsfolk I knew of: Matthew. A suspicious, paranoid old miner who was interested in Prepping. He often spoke of the world coming to an end and strived to survive it. He often spoke of a cache hidden in the mountains, where he collected things of value. I have found the place, a hidden cave, but I am unable to get through, myself.”
… Well, he is an old man, after all.
“There are signs outside, so it is promising it is still intact. Perhaps the cache is still there. It might provide something useful for your growing numbers.”
MISTY FALLS CAVE
WHEN: Mid-month, onwards.
WHERE: Milton Outskirts.
CONTENT WARNINGS: booby traps; claustrophobic situations; potential injury/maiming; potential hyperthermic situations; exploration horror;
Methuselah gives directions to those willing to check out the lead for the old prepper cache. Following the river up from Milton Basin will lead to rugged, difficult pathways up towards Misty Falls — a waterfall, the river source itself. Most of the river is completely frozen with the freezing temperatures, but it is not completely so the closer to the source you go. Misty Falls is certainly idyllic, or it would be perhaps on a fine summer’s day — good for a nice hike. But the place looks desolate in the eternal winter cursing the Northern Territories.
The half-frozen waterfall is a din of sound, but the water itself is incredibly fresh and cooling for those hot and tired from the hike up. Those paying attention might notice a small space between the water and rock, big enough to squeeze through to get behind the waterfall itself. In the small space, the entrance to a small cave can be found. There are faded handmade signs, all in the same hand, reading ‘DANGER KEEP OUT’ and it isn’t too far of a stretch to wonder if perhaps this might be the secret stash of the old miner that Methuselah spoke of.
Venturing into the cave will not be an easy task. It seems the old miner was keen to keep any trespassers out, and most of this comes down to the cave itself. The walls of the cave quickly narrow, with only enough space to walk in single file. Jutting stone will easily make those stumble and trip. Occasionally the cave’s passage becomes narrower, meaning one might have to stoop or even crawl to carry on through. Here and there, the uneven floor dips, and your feet will find themselves in shin-deep frigid water. It’s slow-going, even if the actual passage itself isn’t incredibly long.
But perhaps the worst of all is the pressing darkness. A darkness so black even with lanterns switched off, one’s eyes cannot adjust to it. It is smothering, pressing. The air is stale and damp, you feel small — and the cave itself still presses in on you. The miner also kept a few tricks up his sleeve in order to keep out intruders. There are dead-ends, making it easy to get lost. Trip wires are hidden in the darkness, causing small man-made cave-ins to fall upon unsuspecting heads.
It might be safer, saner to give up and turn back. But persevering will see the cave opening up once more, this time widening into a room. The place is fashioned into some crude shelter. There is furniture, lanterns to be lit.
With more light, the miner’s stash is revealed: the painstaking, time-costing work of a paranoid old recluse. Crates of non-perishable foods, MREs, and bottled water. Medicines and basic medical supplies, flares and tools.
A perfect supply of survival goods, ripe for the taking.
SERPENT'S BREATH
WHEN: Throughout the month.
WHERE: The entirety of the Milton area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of dead animals; malevolent creature; snakes/serpents; poison/airborne toxins; potential poisonings; potential burn injuries; potential (temporary) blinding.
It’s noticed in different ways: perhaps a trail of dead animals stands before you, each one with no particular injury other than what appears to be burned hides and flesh — it is as if the wildlife simply dropped dead, for the most part. Perhaps you notice huge, tunnel-like grooves in the deepest parts of the snow, a few feet in width — as if something long and thick had made its way through to clear a path. More worryingly for some, they might notice trails of rot: destroyed trees, decaying plant life, as if the very earth itself has been scorched in the wake of something passing through, leaving nothing but destruction and devastation.
Something is destroying the flora and fauna of the world. There seems to be no pattern, simply the random trails all over the place. There appears to be no other tracks, other than the long, smooth tunnel-like pathways. Whatever it is, it must be stopped. Resources are so precious in this world, if the beast is allowed to continue then all who live here will soon starve due to lack of animals to hunt and plants to gather.
Following the tunnels is a sure-way to hunt the beast down, although these paths will lead far from town. It is best to go prepared. But soon enough, you may come across the slumbering beast, curled up on the snow or coiled underneath some jutting space of stone along the mountains. You’ll hear and smell it before you see it: the long grumbling snores as it sleeps, and the putrid stench of rot. Everything in you tells you to flee, much like when an animal senses something toxic, or poisoning.
You press on, finally stumbling across the beast: a long, serpent-like dragon, with tremendous horns and fangs, coloured with muted grey scales and huge, glowing, flamed eyes.
The element of surprise will work in your favour to try and kill the beast, but it will give up a good fight. It will take several rounds of fights with it before it will finally be taken down permanently. It moves quickly, with scales like steel. Its eyes and mouth are its weakest spots, as is the soft underbelly of its body — fire will work well on harming this beast, especially with a well aimed shot into its mouth.
Its open mouth is where it holds its most powerful weapon. Not the fangs, no. The very reason why the air smells of rot, why the wildlife lay dead, why the earth decays at your feet: its breath. The beast’s breath is highly toxic, it will burn the skin of those it comes into contact with. Breathing in the fumes will poison those who breathe it in, and will cause a weakening, sickly illness. The breath may even temporarily blind.
These injuries are not fatal, and will heal with time and the basic medical attention available in the world. Victims will require rest for at least a week, depending on how severe the blast of the serpent’s breath. But killing the best will ensure its havoc is brought to an end.
FAQs
1. Arrival threads can be treated as game canon.
2. Items characters have brought from home can be found either strewn around them when they awaken, or in the community hall — as if someone left them out for them to collect. Methuselah will not know how they got there, and will be quite bemused by the happenings.
3. Reminder that all characters are now depowered upon arrival. They can choose not to notice it at first, or can immediately sense something is different about them.
4. If asked any personal questions, Methuselah will smile and say "Oh, you don't want to know about an old man like me. But I have lived all over in these parts for all my life." He will be more concerned with trying to help Newcomers, and is genuinely concerned for them and their well-being. Other Interlopers will say much of the same — there's little to know about him.
5. More information about Milton can be found here.
1. Tools found would be basic survival/camping tools one might expect: knives, hand axes, rope, handsaws, torches, batteries, etc.
1. The Stoor Worm, or Mester Stoor Worm, was a gigantic evil sea serpent of Orcadian folklore, capable of contaminating plants and destroying animals and humans with its putrid breath. Assipattle, the youngest son of a local farmer, defeated the creature by flinging still-burning peat into its mouth. As it died its teeth fell out to become the islands of Orkney, Shetland and the Faroes, and its body became Iceland.
2. It is possible the harvest the beast once it is killed, particularly for its fangs and skin. The skin/scales will provide ample protection to try to use it for armouring themselves. The fangs would provide useful for crafting knives or weapons.
3. It is... technically possible to eat the meat of the beast. Care should be taken in butchering, however. And it is not advised to eat the head.
no subject
It's reasonable to feel but entirely unfounded, of course. He's sick, and moreover, he served his country in ways Vasiliy never did. Who cares if he throws up on the sheets? ]
Not at all. You slept through the night.
cw: some.... alien slime. goo
Konstantin's still searching the other man's eyes with an intensity, as though trying to find any evidence of a truth beneath his claims — but why would he lie about it...? No, if he'd witnessed it, surely the horror would show.
....Did it really even exit his body? Konstantin looks down himself again, hands coming to his abdomen, fingers carefully pressing against himself, experimentally. Some part of him is aware his behaviour must seem bizarre, but he can't waste time worrying about that, he has to... find some way to understand the situation, to make sense of things. There's a soft gasp of discomfort and ache when the pads of his fingers push against a certain spot, and he quickly removes his hands from himself, only to start looking around the bed. Konstantin's hand pats against the blankets, lifts one and peers inside, then he's sliding off of the bed itself, wide-eyed. Still searching, for what, he isn't even fully sure. Evidence of— of anything. He should stay calm, be more calmed than this, but he's fully expecting to find blood, viscera, somewhere.
That's when his hand brushes something slick and he stares down at it. It's odourless, but unpleasant, the alien substance: a sort of mucous-like texture that he knows all too-well. His throat gives a slight unvoluntary heave; remnants of it are still somewhat fresh within his esophagus. The creature exudes this so as not to harm him when it enters and exits, and often drips with wet, a squelching, slimy thing that crawls more than walks.
It was out. It was out, and didn't harm Vasiliy for some reason, even though he was right there, and Konstantin doesn't know what this means. He only knows something is wrong, and he's gathering up the blanket that he can now see glistens with a trail of slime. Stuffing it into his arms, he stumbles from the bed, ignoring the dizzy rush that comes from suddenly getting up; he can barely walk but he's trying, one shoulder tipping against the nearest wall. He tries to force himself to stand upright, a cold sweat at his brow. ]
Forgive me, I have to leave— I have to go—!
a sludge if you will
Vasiliy's eyes widen in surprise in the split second his patient leaps out of the bed and starts searching around and then under it for... something—then scoops up the comforter in his arms and exclaims that he has to go, slumping against the wall as he tries to make a frantic exit.
What the hell? It has to be some kind of disorientation; he's seen similar behavior in people coming out of unconsciousness, people who insist they have to leave the ambulance and try to free themselves of the straps keeping them secure on the gurney. He's going to seriously hurt himself like this; he clearly doesn't have the strength and energy needed to actually make his exit.
Vasiliy leaps up, quickly bridging the distance between him and restraining him with a gentle grasp on his upper arm—not that he's in a state to go much further anyway. ]
Comrade, Comrade. Calm down. Do you know where you are?
cw: bad worm reactions and some more blood,
Vasiliy's there, blocking off his exit around the bed, and Konstantin stares at him, one arm bent and pressed to the wall for support, the other clutching the blanket to his heaving chest. The other man grasps his arm, gently, but there's no mistaking it; he means to keep him from leaving. A flicker of kneejerk discomfort feels like alarm deep within him, and Konstantin's nostrils flare slightly, jaw tensing. ]
Canada — apparently. [ He still doesn't know how that can be possible. ] I know where I am. I know I need to leave. I'm—
[ There's a sudden sharp gasp of pain deep in his abdomen, and Konstantin staggers again, breath a wheezing sound as the pain almost knocks him sideways. The creature— it's spasming, reacting to the spikes in his upset, the adrenaline coursing through him. Konstantin's eyes go wide as he drops the blanket to the floor, both arms wrapping around his middle as he leans forwards — then cries out as another wave of pain sends him reeling. With it, blood splatters from his shaking mouth, coughed down onto the blanket at his feet. ]
no subject
His voice softens. ]
Easy, easy. Don't move so suddenly. You're still hurt. Do you think you can make it back to bed, Comrade? I should take another look at you.
no subject
[ He barks the word a bit more harshly than he'd ordinarily mean to, trying to turn his body away from the other man in one rough movement, despite the comfort that human touch does bring (despite the fact that this man has offered him more human comfort than he's had in a very long time). He can't, can't be near him. The creature's awake, active, agitated.... If it didn't feed from Vasiliy last night for... whatever reason, then it may be hungry now.
He has a choice. He is not a monster. ]
You don't understand, I— [ He struggles to speak through the slick wet of his own mouth, blood dripping down his chin. Konstantin unwraps one arm from himself, plants his palm against the wall again, trying to steady himself. But the pain is intense, relentless, as the creature convulses inside of him. ]
There's something wrong with me! I shouldn't be here. I don't want to hurt you.
no subject
It resonates, deeply. He's thought the same thing, even if hurting other people—at least, based on the fact that he was? is? a dead man—wasn't the major concern. He's not sure what he means by that, but he's certainly not just going to back down and leave a patient, a Hero of the Soviet Union, to suffer alone like that. Konstantin is under his care. He does, however, respect the evident desire to not be touched, withdrawing his bare hand. ]
There's nothing wrong with you. People come here from different circumstances. You are not the only person who's died and come back into this town. You won't hurt me. Let's go lie down, Konstantin. You're not well enough to be moving around like this.
no subject
...But something gives him a momentary pause, enough to have him looking back over his shoulder at Vasiliy. 'You are not the only person who's died and come back into this town.'
There have been... others? Something in his eyes betrays his curiosity by that thought — a sort of horror that swells in the dark browns of them, and yet a desperation to know more — but for the moment, something else takes precedence, and he's shaking his head, trying to turn away from Vasiliy again, shuddering softly, skin rippling with the waves of sickness, pain. ]
You don't understand, Comrade. I haven't... let you understand. I shouldn't have come here. To your home.
[ He grimaces, straining against himself. He doesn't know what to say, do. ]
I have a... condition. Something very dangerous. Something I can't control.
no subject
He yields to the man's assertions this time, at least enough to hear him, and quietly issues the single most pressing question: ]
Is it bloodborne?
no subject
No, it's not.... something like that. I don't think it could infect someone else.
[ ...He doesn't know anything about the creature as a certainty; the thing adapts, changes, who knows what it might be capable of? He doesn't think it could infect someone else, only because it hasn't so far. But why would it need to? It only requires him to live. ]
It's... like a parasite. It lives inside of me. [ Telling someone is a huge risk, for several reasons, and Konstantin winces through grit teeth against another wave of pain, before he continues. Perhaps Vasiliy really will think he's insane; that may be the best outcome, actually. He'd let this madman leave his home, encourage him to. Konstantin doesn't know what he'll do from there, has no plan this time, but he knows he can't be around people. ]
It's not of Earth.
no subject
An alien.
[ Nothing like the Americans' E.T.—something far more primitive. A digestive parasite like the ones bothering people in disprivileged countries. It's about as believable as a hypothetical multicellular alien life form could be, and the severe, unending pain and vomiting and fever seem to corroborate it—maybe the gunshot wound did fully recover. Maybe the blood is coming from severe irritation. And the gunshot itself... ]
Is that why you were... shot...
cw: suicide
'An alien.'
It's... rare that he's heard the word said. Often it was referred to as "the creature", even by himself. But that's what it is. An alien. A thing from beyond the boundaries of Earth. Something completely foreign, unknown. Something that doesn't belong here, requires a human's body in order to survive, and has a difficult time doing it anyway.
He stares, not responding verbally, but his eyes stay locked onto the other man's. Then comes the question, and he's silent for a few lingering moments, unsure how to respond. Everything he says could push him closer to being captured again. What if Vasiliy actually believes him instead of just thinks he's crazy? That could be damning in itself. ]
....Yes. [ And now his brow slants upwards, and he feels something desperate leaking out of him. ]
I shot myself. To kill it. So that it couldn't hurt anyone again.
[ A bold confession, and one that surprises even himself, a little. But if Vasiliy actually does believe him....? Then he needs this man to understand the scope of this situation. The severity of it. ]
It kills humans, Comrade. It feeds on them. It— .... it should have fed on you, if it was out. Perhaps it's too wounded. But it will try again. It has to feed.
I have to go.
no subject
Suffering from this horrific fate. 'If it was out— Had it been?
'It should have fed on you,' he goes on to say. Should have, just as he should be dead, ashes long incorporated into the earth, his body reduced to grains of sand mingling with his victims' in Common Grave Number 1, Donskoye Cemetery. There's a sinking feeling that the two are connected; he knows it without knowing. He shouldn't be here; he already died once. Somehow the creature can sense it.
Or maybe it didn't emerge at all, and it will emerge tonight, and attack him. But Vasiliy can't leave him; it's not even an option he can consider. The only thing that will happen if Konstantin leaves is that he'll get hypothermia, collapse with exhaustion, and the parasite, if it doesn't die with him, will run loose in the town and hurt someone else, someone who hasn't already lived one life, who isn't living on borrowed time. Every second that passes is another second he's overstayed his welcome, cheated the fate he earned. If he dies tonight... he's still lived longer than he had any right to expect. The same can't be said of a potential victim in town, although that's admittedly a secondary line of thought to a more emotional sense that he simply cannot let him leave. ]
No. Stay. —...You'll die if you go out there. I have a gun, I can protect myself—we can find a way to get it out.
[ Don't go. Please don't go.
—Please don't leave me here. ]
cw: for my own broken heart......
But there's no pride in him to voice it now. All he feels is horror — it had been for nothing, because he's still alive, and his son is still alone, and they might even go for Aleksei, or his mother, might try to use them to get to him again. He's completely helpless to save them.
He's still alive, inhabited by a monster and putting an innocent man in danger. No, there's no pride, only desperation, only a plea. He killed himself and it wasn't even enough to stop the creature, somehow. He needs Vasiliy Yegorovich to understand the danger of this. There's still much Konstantin hasn't revealed, but if the other man can just grasp that the thing is an absolute danger to him, then—
'No. Stay.'
The cosmonaut blinks widely, stunned. "You'll die if you go out there", Vasiliy says, as if that matters. This man is worried that he'll die? He should die.
Konstantin stares for a long moment, eyes wide and wounded and amazed in equal parts, before he's stumbling, leaning down with a pained groan to pick up the blanket from the floor where he'd dropped it, forcing himself from where he leans against the wall so that he can shove the comforter back onto Vasiliy's bed. Weakly, he uncurls a section of it to reveal a glistening trail of slime — mostly clear, mucous-like. ]
It was out. [ He'd said 'if' moments before, but... the evidence is here. This is reality. ] It— came out. Usually I know when it does, but I can't.... I can't read its memories right now. I just know that it was out, and it could have hurt you.
[ There are other things to say, a multitude of them — regarding what Vasiliy just said. It's symbiotic, killing it will kill him, it can't be easily removed (if at all)... he'll get to those things, but first... Evidence of it. Evidence Vasiliy can see, so that he'll understand. Maybe it's too hard for him to accept all of this as reality, maybe that's why he's not fetching that gun and aiming it at Konstantin instead.
So he'll show him reality, though it brings him no pleasure to, and he's frowning deeply as he tilts the blanket towards the other man. The one he was curled into not even an hour ago, so close to; god, how is Vasiliy not dead right now? ]
I'm sorry. [ His face falls, crumples. ] I put you in danger.
no subject
With obvious pain, the cosmonaut apologizes, pulling him from his thoughts. Vasiliy swallows, it hurts—that he feels this way, and that he doesn't know that it was probably never as much of a concern as he thinks it was. It hurts that he can't tell him that. ]
No. You tried to warn me. I didn't listen. I couldn't... leave you out there to die, Comrade. That was not an option. [ Even knowing now what he does, he doesn't for a moment think that he would have or should have done anything differently. Even if it did go for him: in theory, in the theory he has adopted, every life is equally valuable, but... That's not reality. A cosmonaut and a Hero of the Soviet Union has a lot more reason to continue to live than a man who sold out thousands of his own countrymen, innocent people, and cheated the death he earned. It's a math that diverges from what he was always taught, but that sort of equation has always silently occupied the background of life in the Soviet Union. ]
...It could have hurt me, but it didn't. It didn't want me. Please, Konstantin. Lie down. You're very weak.
cw: dramatically passing out
Is it kindness? Empathy? Altruism? To care this much about a stranger? Maybe Vasiliy doesn't truly believe his claims, thinks he's suffering mentally, wants to coax him to lie down so he can't hurt himself. It could be any number of things that have the other man inviting Konstantin back into his bed.
Any of them would leave him stunned. He stares, not knowing how to handle this. He'd expected Vasiliy to kick him out one way or another, no matter his duties as an EMT.
And something sticks out. 'It could have hurt me, but it didn't. It didn't want me.'
(Why didn't it?) ]
Vasiliy. [ He says his name now, eyes locked on, voice quiet, pleading. He is very weak; he feels dizzy again from the adrenaline, in threat of toppling over again. And the creature still hurts inside of him, is making him hurt. He weakly places his hand against his stomach again, fingers pressing inwards, but lightly. If he could dig it out of himself, he would. ]
You don't have to— ...it's all right. [ Is he really just this kind? This brave? ]
I won't tell anyone I was here. It'll be like I never was. It's all ri—
[ It's too much. He can feel the breath being sucked out of himself, losing control of everything. His eyes roll back, up into his skull; he's giving another convulsive spasm, body shuddering, and then he falls to the floor, fast and hard and unmoving. ]
no subject
Vasiliy goes about scooping up his unconscious form and lays him supine in bed with a soft grunt of effort, lifting and placing each long leg to be in line with the rest of him and then smoothing the comforter, slimy-side-up, over his limp body. He slides into bed beside him again, ghosting the back of his hand over the man's forehead: no fever. It was probably just an effect of his hypovolemia—it takes time to regenerate the kind of blood the human body would lose from an abdominal gunshot wound when a transfusion isn't available, and he'll be weak for a while.
It's a few hours before Konstantin stirs, but it's clear that he's sleeping, not unconscious; Vasiliy lets him be until his eyes crack open again. ]
Hey, Konstantin. It's me. Vasiliy. You fainted.
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This time, it takes him less to be able to identify where he is, although it all still comes to him blearily — eyes heavy and watery, giving a groan as he stirs and looks up and over to the man nearby. (This time, he remembers the warmth of the bed, the blankets, the smell of Vasiliy's bedroom, the awareness of the body near his.)
He tries to prop himself up a little against the pillow behind him, eyes widening as flickers of memory come in. He's.... still here. He's back in the bed. Vasiliy must have.... gotten him back into the bed. And tucked him in again, and gotten in beside him, even after everything he'd said.... even after the warnings. He swallows, hard, eyes lingering on the other man. ]
Why are you still helping me?
[ Though his voice is thick with drowsiness, it's asked softly, as though wounded by the concept. He's not ungrateful, quite the opposite, but— why? ]
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[ Truth be told, the thought hasn't crossed his mind once since they first saw each other. Even apart from his contributions to their shared motherland—and the people—Konstantin is the first Russian he's encountered since coming here, and even more importantly, the first Soviet and the first Communist.
He hasn't felt this... unalone since the moment he woke up. He's been extended a lifeline, an island of familiarity in this situation, and he'd all but walk to the ends of the earth to maintain it. He doesn't include the factor of his own loneliness, however, in his answer. ]
You're my patient. I cannot leave a patient to die. And you've done so much for the Motherland... a Hero of the Soviet Union. A cosmonaut. You must live.
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And it's because he's his patient, which makes sense, but it's also because...... of who he is? Konstantin's listening with surprise and, mingled up in all of it, a sweep of warmth, something that jolts his heart despite himself. Despite the fact he knows he hardly deserves that title anymore. To be faced with someone who... recognises the importance of what he's done, of that particular role. It's... ]
You saw my photograph. [ He realises, quietly. The one of his uniform, the one that would immediately be telling to anyone familiar with their country and culture. (Did he see the other thing that was with it? The x-ray of the creature? He'd tucked it into his clothing, he thinks, maybe it's still there.) ]
My name is Konstantin Sergeyevich Veshnyakov. [ He says, softly. A proper, full introduction for the man who has risked a great deal to keep him safe. ('You must live') ] I was on a space mission a few weeks ago. That's where it.... happened.
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[ Part of why he believed him. Formal as the introduction is, it feels paradoxically warm, intimate. He's revealed something of himself, something that, for the time being, only Vasiliy is privy to. ]
Vasiliy Yegorovich Ardankin. [ A small, genuine smile. ] It's an honor to meet you, Commander, I never thought— [ He lets out a little exhale, barely audible. He never thought mankind would enter space, but he doesn't voice that part. ] I'm sorry you're here, but I didn't ever think I'd meet someone who's been in space. Or a Hero of the Soviet Union. [ The smile broadens, playful, congenial in a way he hasn't been since waking up here so many months ago (and has barely been since waking up before that). ] I've only ever seen people like you on stamps.
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...Is he really that starstruck, despite everything else? Konstantin can recognise it in a person — especially those who know the value of that very thing, a Hero of the Soviet Union — and... even with the ache of his own condition and the constant presence of anxiety, that warmth flutters within him again. Commander, he calls him. It feels good. He missed it, wants to hold onto the way it feels. To stay in this moment.
'I've only ever seen people like you on stamps' — oh, it's so effortlessly charming, and Konstantin can't hide the little quirk to his own mouth, eyes softening with a particular fondness.
But it can't last. He's... still dangerous. Perhaps more and more so with each passing second. And the smile is gently easing back into something more serious. ]
I appreciate everything you've done for me, Comrade. ....You saved my life.
[ He would have died out there. ...If he can even die anymore. He doesn't know, but for all intents and purposes, Vasiliy saved him. ]
But you don't have to keep helping me. You've done enough. More than enough. If there's an inn here I can stay at for a few days... I'll go there tonight.
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[ There is the community center, of course, but he doesn't mention that—less out of a desire to mislead him and more because, in the mind of someone who knows his current medical condition, it's not even an option. He must be supervised in this state. He should really be in a hospital, with machines to monitor his body as it clings to the sharp precipice separating life from the endless ravine of death. The next closest thing is someone trained to stabilize remaining a few inches away from him at all times, going to sleep beside him in case something happens in the night—but even then, Vasiliy is trained to do just that and only that: stabilize, not treat. He's an EMT-Basic, not a paramedic, not a traumatologist. He's only able to offer the bare minimum, in addition to what little he's absorbed through osmosis and the Prescriber's Desk Reference he found in the pharmacy, but no more. He can't offer the full extent of care this man needs; nobody can. ]
It's okay. You need to stay here. You've lost a lot of blood. You're very anemic, and at any time you could have complications from... [ He gestures. 'The alien' still feels a little weird to say. ]
I should examine you properly. Now that I know what I'm looking at.
cw: X-Ray of parasitic wormlike creature inside stomach (in linked image)
It.... probably is better that he stay here, with someone who can watch over him, and can understand him (does anyone else around here even speak Russian? If this is Canada....) But how can he stay in this man's home, with one single bed, such a small and enclosed space, when he is what he is? A host body to something that functions beyond his control. It will have to feed sometime.
His eyes fix on Vasiliy's face, studying the EMT who has been so loyal and devoted to his safety, who is offering, no— insisting that he remain in his cabin. And if he's going to stay here while recovering, then... he will have to reveal more to him.
There's a soft sigh, and he slowly nudges the blankets down off of his body a little so that he can look down at himself. Carefully, he starts patting his clothing, as though searching for something. Hopefully it didn't fall out, not that it's an item he has any fondness for, but... ah— he feels it there tucked into the waistband of his track pants on the inside, against his upper thigh. Konstantin slips his hand in to extract it and then unfolds the thing, keeping it in his hands for a long moment before he holds it out to the EMT. He'll certainly recognise it as an X-Ray — and Konstantin's mouth forms a grim line as he watches him. ]
This was with me when I woke here. It's.. the creature. If you're going to examine me... this might help.
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Not that Vasiliy himself is particularly disgusted when he sees it: more sympathetic, horrified. It's so much larger than he was picturing. Of course Konstantin was throwing up, of course there was gastric bleeding, of course he cried out with the slightest addition of pressure to his upper abdomen. It's a massive foreign body, larger than any tumor or earthly parasite, larger than the gastric balloons that sometimes got misplaced and resulted in 911 calls back in Chicago. It's stretching the largely vertical organ of his stomach horizontally, or partly occupying the start of his small intestine—he doesn't know how to read a radiograph, and is making his best guesses based on his knowledge of the human body, a very theoretical understanding over where things should be overlaid with an actual image of a living, unique body.
What he does know is that from size alone it must be terribly painful, and that it's surprising that it hasn't come with any abdominal distension. That gives them a good yardstick, though, in monitoring for intestinal obstruction, which is his current concern as he considers the radiograph. There will be bloating if it truly blocks his intestine—not that Vasiliy, or anyone here, will be able to do anything with that diagnosis once it is made, but at least they'll have an inkling as to what's going on. It's a lot easier to detect a change like that on a patient with next to no visceral fat and a starting point of minimal, perhaps nonexistent, water retention. ]
That must be... agonizing. Do you hurt, right now? Do you remember if the people who took this did anything to treat you?
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Konstantin: Don't worry, I'll leave in a few days | 5 months later:
PICKING UP ON HIS COP VIBES LMAOOO
surely he's not sus!! not Vasiliy!!!
look at him! he looks so trustworthy (:
cw: mention of animal death
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