station72 | [closed] a noble profession

[ When he's ready Aoba finds them, just like Cathaway said he would. He wanders and turns down the long, sleek halls until he enters the medical bay as naturally as if the Station itself wanted him to end up there. He's come without his usual puffy jacket - just a long sleeve shirt, belt, and jeans, his hands stuffed into the tight pockets of them. ]

Um... hello Cathaway-sensei. Prince-sensei.

[ This whole setup, the table, the tools, the machines he doesn't recognize - he knows this is all for him, but still he doesn't want to intrude. Cathaway seems so focused on loading her little... is that a gun? With a needle?

His thoughts prickle and shoulders tense a bit, but... if he opens his mind, he can get a better sense of her good mood. It fills the odd, round room all the way to the ceiling. He just has to give into that memory of warm sunshine to feel placated again - like what he's doing is the right choice. Not just for himself, but for the Nest. ]

Thank you both for... for doing this for me.

[And for all that Cathaway flavors the air with her cheery mood, Prince does not.

In fact, if he were going to project anything at all, it would be obvious reluctance and displeasure. The fact that he doesn't project anything does very little to disguise his mood, however, as he stands straight backed, arms crossed tightly over his chest, at as near the the opposite wall of the door as the circular room would allow.

He is not looking forward to this experiment. Agreeing was not the same as approving, even if he could admit the logic buried in Cathaway's insistence. The slight downward turn of one side of his mouth is as much disapproval for the activity they would soon take part in (that he would soon take part in) as it was for Cathaway's complete lack of decorum, considering the situation. Reluctant- yes, in a foul mood- yes, but he was, as he had said he would be if Aoba agreed, here.

His gaze turns away from where Cathaway was to Aoba as soon as he enters the room, doing his most to even the line of his mouth. He had a duty to perform.]

Welcome. Please, come in.

[Cathaway swivels the stool around in Aoba's direction as he arrives, cheerfully clicking the last component into place on the stimgun. If there's a miasma of disapproval in the room to be read in the pointed emptiness of Prince's side of their link, then she's doing an admirable job of ignoring it.

Instead she gives Aoba a warm smile and extends her hand with a jingle of the metal charms at her wrist and elbow.] Thank you for agreeing. Come here, won't you? We'll begin by injecting a dye to mark the symbiote. That way when we image your brain, we'll be able to clearly see what is where.

[ He walks closer at the Prince's welcome, a little confused as to why he can only feel Cathaway in the room. Come to think of it, he's never felt anything emitting from the Prince's symbiote. He must have incredible control. He hasn't seen him in a while, but whenever he does, Aoba can't help but be impressed by him in even the smallest ways...

Oh, right, Cathaway is talking and his focus redirects. A dye. It's loaded into an injection gun, but that doesn't sound so bad. ]

Okay.

[ He sits on the edge of the examination table, and carefully pulls his hair over one shoulder, exposing the back of his neck. He's always gentle with it, but touching his hair still makes him wince. ]

S... sorry. I uh, have nerve endings in my hair.

[ He finds himself apologizing and explaining as usual, though he has to wonder if they already knew. ]

[Prince steps forward as soon as Aoba moves to sit, a few short strides to come to rest beside the table, opposite of where Cathaway and her clever machine would stand. She was more suited to that delicate work than he was.

He finds he has little to say in response- his instinctive thought, that it was useful information, was tasteless- almost vulgar, and he had no intention of vocalizing it. Instead he focuses on paying close attention to the boy, reliant on his outward expressions where he would not be forced to if he simply used the connection always available to him.

It wasn't yet time.]

It's perfectly fine. There's nothing to apologize for.

[She's all kindness in the shape of her words and the sound of her voice as she rises from her stool with the stimgun in hand.]

Now, we'll be putting you through a series of stress tests to determine if there are any particular triggers for activating the shift in your awareness. From there we'll see if we can find a way to effectively reverse the process, but it's possible this will be a data collection test only. We'll be taking periodic images of your brain over the course of this test.

[It's light, conversational. She sets the rubber cap of the stimgun to base of Aoba's skull and pulls the small trigger mechanism with a plastic click. The needle prick is minor, lasts a moment and then she draws it back. Easy enough.]

You're welcome to pause the test at any time. Simply lift your right arm and make a fist. We'll hold until you're ready to continue.

[ If Prince used his symbiote, he'd feel how nervous Aoba is. But then, the tight line of his mouth is telling enough. Cathaway's radiant memories of sunshine and rainbows can only do so much for him when she says 'stress tests' - though the explanation of a way to pause them helps. ]

Okay.

[ He repeats, because he shouldn't nod when she has a needle to his neck. The sting is small - he hardly reacts, and re-arranges his long hair again when she's done.

Laying down on the examination table seems like the most logical next step, so... Aoba doesn't wait to be instructed to do so. He's scared, but determined to do this and get some answers. ]

[He doesn't get to finish his motion, as Prince raises his hand and sets it between his shoulder blades to stop him.]

It will be better if you sit.

[On the table, strangely low for a hospital table. Better may not be the correct word. It would likely work equally well for the machines, and equally poorly for Aoba. But it would be considerably more difficult for Prince.]

Do you understand what it is she means by stress tests?

[ Aoba stops, his back tensing momentarily under the Prince's hand. He turns to look over his shoulder, head still low. ]

Um, not the details, just that... this is going to hurt. A lot.

[ Cathaway's exact words had included trauma, but Aoba is trying not to fixate on that. ]

[There are words that rest just on the tip of his tongue, eager to escape the jail he had made for them, but as he so often does he resists. So he does not say 'she wants me to hurt you' because it is- not a lie, but not the whole truth, and not at all useful. Instead he says-]

I am going to hurt you, in an attempt to bring forth the other. I will not do lasting damage, but I will cause you pain, and some may linger. Do you understand?

[A sliver of attention for the thought lurking in the Prince's throat - like a sleeping creature opening one eye, Cathaway looks across Aoba's shoulder to him and raises an eyebrow as she sets the stimgun aside and retrieves a pair of thin metallic rods from the side table.

But she says nothing, verbally or otherwise, and instead holds the metallic rods up to Aoba's head. She draws them slowly apart from one another, a sinewy hologram stretching out between them as she does. It shimmers there for a moment before solidfying, then disappearing. There. A baseline scan has been established.]

[ Aoba can't help his eyes widening in surprise. Prince is going to hurt him? He was expecting... well, he's not sure what he was expecting. Maybe electric shock to his skin, or more needles. His mind begins to race on the subject of how-

Cathaway and her rods draw him back to where he is. Something flickers in and out of view before he can guess at what she's doing, so he looks back over his shoulder. ]

Oh. Um, that's... alright.

[ He's not sure what else to say at this point. This makes things more awkward and, try as he might to block it out, oddly personal. But he already agreed, and even knowing this, he still wants answers. ]

[Prince's eyes narrow slightly at the response, for as unconvincing as it was. But Cathaway had given him a clear way out, should he chose to back out. It was in his hands.]

Very well.

[Prince steps back, straightening his arms and rolling his shoulders back shortly as he moves to stand directly in front of Aoba, glancing at Cathaway to assure she was ready before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

For as seriously as he took this matter, when he draws his hand back it looks casual. The back-handed blow he delivers to Aoba's face with a ringing crack in the silence of the silence of the medical bay is less-so. His violence is artless, but it is, if nothing else, effective.

[ For some reason Aoba was still half-expecting to be hooked up to one of the machines, even after the explanation. Thought that maybe Prince would be operating them instead of Cathaway, but no. Realization finally hits him as the back of the Prince's hand, hard and sudden and stinging. So that's how they're doing this. He lets out a soft cry of shock and pain already as his head is slapped to one side.

He doesn't want this, no sane person would. His right hand forms a fist, but... something in the back of his mind moves, as if on it's own. He's felt it before, and forcefully ignored it every time. He wants it to move again, so he can be sure.

Instead of raising his hand, he grips the edge of the table, sets his jaw, and sits back up. ]

[She is an observer, going so far as to nudge her stool back from the table so as to get a better angle on the two of them. A weight moves here as she does - the pleasant and crawling sensation of her attention narrowing into this room, a metallic crackle of readiness.

But there isn't a kind word - neither in her mouth or her thoughts. Cathaway makes no effort to reassure either of them.]

[Prince has killed men. It isn't a skill, not in and of itself, but it there was something of that to it- something practiced. That you could hear the cry of a person in pain, someone that was to a certain point helpless, and continue with your work. Partitioning off the part of yourself that might react with sympathy. That might weaken the next blow.

It requires more effort in this place then it might on a battlefield, the ambient white glow of the med bay seemed to fight against the visceral nature of it. But he had already begun. It would be pointless to stop now, before the deed was done or Aoba called it off. So, after the boy steadies himself, sitting straight again, and in spite of the way Cathaway's focus only narrows, the inherent cruelty of her silence, he draws his hand back again, delivering an identical blow, knuckles against the bone of his cheek with another sharp crack.]

[ Aoba is suddenly aware of the missing warmth and excitement coming from Cathaway, and that a pointed attention is narrowed on him and the Prince in it's place. This has all gone downhill so quickly.

Knowing what's coming doesn't make the next hit hurt any less. It doesn't keep him from crying out again either, though this time it's followed by a sharp inhale through firmly set teeth. Pain spreads over his face, and Aoba thinks some part of his mind might have shifted again, but now it's more difficult to tell.

As he rights himself again, Aoba gets the sinking feeling this could take a while. ]

[Prince only waits as long as it takes for Aoba to steady himself again before he sets back to work, trusting that Cathaway and her readouts- and likely more so her mind, trained on Aoba's- would let him know if anything seemed to produce more reaction.

Until that point, he merely proceeds along a steady route- He slaps him again, on the opposite side of his face, and then, when slapping does not seem to be producing the desired effect, he switches to a closed fist. And while he is hesitant to strike his face- there was no guarantee that teeth, you see, would grow back- he doesn't seem as uncertain about internal injuries, if the blow he delivers to Aoba's stomach is anything to go by, his opposite hand settling across his shoulder to steady him, a secondary point of pain as he digs his thumb into the joint.

Prince, unlike most tormentors, was unlikely to grow tired.]

[ One cry follows another, each growing in desperation for something to come of this so he can make it stop. The pain in his face is coupled by a pounding in his head, and he's half certain it's one of his regular headaches. Or maybe that's just his heartbeat rushing blood in his ears.

The hit to his stomach momentarily knocks the wind out of him. Aoba sags forward, gasping. He'd crumple and fall if not for grabbing the Prince's arm in a flimsy attempt to keep himself upright. If he could make a fist and raise it now he would, but he's too busy trying to find breath again. He'll ask with his symbiote, call out to Cathaway-

But before he can finish the idea, that Aoba disappears mid-thought. A completely new set of thoughts takes to the forefront of his mind, with an opposing agenda.

He wants to keep this up for as long as physically possible.

His breath stills, and Aoba's hands tighten around the Prince's arm. He pulls, rough and sudden, so the knuckles against him dig deeper and the pain intensifies. He looks up through messy strands of blue, and a gives the Prince a yellow glint-

And then just as suddenly, Aoba is back to gasping and mentally looking for an escape. ]

( There. For a moment, something shifted. )

[She'd tasted it like copper on the back of her tongue, like ozone or something burning. Peering through a pinhole to see an eclipse. Cathaway raises the pair of metallic rods, readying her end of this work.]

( Harder, please. )

[He didn't need Cathaway's confirmation to know that they had scraped the edge of success. He has seen this before, seen Aoba's eyes like this, sensed the darker mind butting against the edges of his own. At that time he had chosen to stop it. Time was pressing. But now, now he was driven to pull him forth.

An unfortunate turn.]

I understand.

[Aoba's hand on his loosens, and Prince takes the chance to pull his arm off of him. Not for long, reaching up, instead, to fist cruelly in the tangle of hair on the back of his head, tightening into a rough fist and using it to wrench his head back before drawing his other arm back and again striking a blow, directly to his gut.]

[ The slapping and punches resulted in cries, but when Aoba's hair is pulled, he screams. Outsiders touching it is painful enough, but pulling is agonizing. Every strand in Prince's hold turns to a hot thin wire, and the pain Aoba has carefully avoided over the years erupts throughout his scalp and head. He reaches up and back to free himself, but quickly finds that trying to remove Prince's grip is like attempting to bend steel.

Aoba wants it to stop, but he's forgotten to raise his right fist. His thoughts are too absorbed in fight or flight when the Prince's other fist reconnects with his stomach. It only silences his screaming long enough for him to get enough air in his lungs again, though it's proceeded by a several wet coughs.

Acting on instinct, he makes a kick at his tormenter's stomach. It's weak though, and not because Aoba can't deliver a mean kick. His limbs feel heavy and his vision is going red with veins and spotty with black. He's feeling that familiar sensation of his body moving against his will, dreamlike and sickening. He wants to give up, retreat into it and let it dictate his movements, but the part of his mind that would usually take over doesn't want this to stop. Sly Blue knows the pain will likely end when he switches, and he is enjoying this. ]

Yes... harder, please. [ A voice like Aoba's quietly agrees. Whether he heard Cathaway or not, this is what Sly Blue is here for. ]

[Prince doesn't attempt to dodge the blow, and wouldn't, even if it weren't as frail and weak as it was. It was only fair that he be allowed to strike out against his tormentor, even if he had asked for this.

Prince is considering loosening his fingers- allowing Aoba a moment to compose himself when the voice comes- and Aoba may have asked for this, but he hadn't asked for that. It was as unlike him as the sharpness of the earlier gaze. More so. Prince has managed, through practice and through effort, to maintain his balance, to allow the flow to continue as it should through this ordeal, but he finds himself unbalanced by this. The rise of fire in his blood. It turns the corners of his mouth down, even if his barriers stay firm.

He releases the hair grasped in his hands- not carefully, tugging the tangled strands as he withdraws that hand and instead grabs the boy's throat, palm of his right hand tight against his windpipe, fingers curled exactly over his arteries. And it is with that firm grip that he steps backwards, dragging Aoba off of the table, holding his hand high enough to allow his feet to only just touch the floor.]

[ The pain in his hair stings and then lingers, even as Prince pulls his hand through the tangled strands to let go. He lets out another loud cry before the liquid in his throat makes him cough to clear it again, and now he can taste it. Copper and bile.

He's barely given a moment to inhale before he's grabbed by the neck and dragged, slowly, off the table by it. Still acting on instinct, he grabs hold of the arm lifting him, trying and failing to pull himself up by it. For a moment Aoba hangs there, choking on his own blood and lack of air as the Prince's fingers tighten around it, his view going redder and swimming with spots, heart beating in his ears to the throbbing of pain...

It only takes a few seconds in this position before his mind stops fighting itself. Where Aoba's vision fades, Sly Blue's becomes clear. His thoughts shift again, and this time solidify. Fear changes to eagerness, pain adjusts to thrill. ]

Here I am.

[ As hazel eyes light up with yellow, his mouth twists into as much of a grin as he can manage. ]

Don't stop...

[She rises as the Prince drags the boy from the bed, wrenching him high between his hands. She's ready for this, like a creature that's been poised in the long grass. She closes distance, the metallic rods held high as she snapshots the image of Aoba's mind.]

( There. ) [The shape of the thought both bitter and sweet, electric and breathless.] ( Exactly like that. )

[He has no interest in talking to this one, or of answering his mind. It wasn't a privilege he has been granted, and he did not like this- whatever he was. Personality. Fragment. Disease.

Instead, he focuses his eyes keenly on Cathaway as she winds closer to them, holding the simple-seeming equipment in her pale fingers. He waits only until she has what she wants before he lowers his arm, allowing Aoba-this Aoba's feet to touch the ground. He does not, however, remove his hand, or loosen his grip. When he does respond, it is only to her, along the line between them, shivering and bright silver, open enough to taste the electricity in her mouth in his.]

Are we finished?

Edited 2017-02-23 07:18 (UTC)

[ He's lowered, feet allowed to touch the floor. Though he does not want the Prince to let him go and end this, it is a relief, and his mind radiates nothing but twisted, awkwardly sappy attraction and admiration for the one with a hand still firmly wrapped around his neck. Sly Blue has a much higher tolerance for pain than his alternate - perhaps Cathaway will see it in the image of his mind. Still, the physical body can only handle so much, and Sly's vision speckles the same as before.

He says nothing as Cathaway waves her rods around his head. Honestly, he wishes she'd leave them. Dragged out this way, he's hanging onto consciousness by a thread, yet still his mind is wandering. Thoughts of desire involving the Prince are open and throbbing right along with the pain he's had inflicted on him, shameless in nature. ]

[It's viciously honest, isn't it? Every piece of those thoughts threading free of him, a bitter and throbbing heat pulsing under the shape of the Prince's hand. They lay heavy on the tongue, a persistent unbowed pressure--

She snaps the metal rods together with a click and takes a full step backward with a sway of fabric, a delicate chime of fine metals.]

That's enough.

[He is unfazed, at least on the surface, by the stranger's illicit thoughts, the shameless open pages of his mind. In this aspect, at least. Still, he would be far from the first to attempt to shake Prince with lascivious desires. There was a time when it would have affected him, when he was much younger, an inexperienced and sheltered child. But he has been the guardian of this place for some time, and it is far from the first time he has been assaulted with such thoughts, even maliciously. And so, even with the pain like an echo, seeping in like poison his expression manages only the faintest signs of distaste. He cannot muster disgust, not with his hand curled tight around Aoba's delicate neck.

He is focused instead on Cathaway. Waiting for her word. He doesn't need to hear it, but there is something steadying in the sound of her voice. He did not need permission to narrow that connection, to withdraw back into his own mind, but he took it as one, anyway, drawing his hand away at the same time. Locking shutters into place. He takes a breath.]

You may go.

[It is directed, very clearly, to this other. It is not quite a threat, but he knows what Prince is capable of.]

[ Once freed, Sly Blue stumbles forward and lands on his knees before the Prince. His thoughts momentarily cease as he breathes in heaving gulps of air, coughing up spit tinged pink with blood across the pristine white floor.

He's still gasping as he leans back up to look at Cathaway, then Prince. His eyes linger, enjoying the view as he cracks half a grin. ]

As you wish...

[ Like a light switching off, the yellow in his eyes fade to their usual hazel. His body slumps forward but he catches himself, blinking and panting and looking around confused.

Aoba doesn't remember falling to the floor. ]

I... I blacked out...

[The shift in him reminds her of a series of locks - a door closes, water rises behind it a and whatever the yellow eyes creature is pushed slowly higher until it reaches some kind of spillway. Airlocks. Breach doors. All those twisting, low thoughts shuttered abruptly as something-- shifts.

Cathaway places the metal rods back on the small tray. She makes no immediate move to help Aoba from the floor and instead snaps her databank from some interior pocket of her wrap, unfolding it for review.]

Not quite, but we understand the sentiment. Would you like some water?

[To the Prince and only to him radiates a pulsing warmth, a nonverbal flash of sterile gratitude underwritten by the texture of a question - would he prefer to leave?]

[Yes, he would.

It's not an answer to her question, though, no returning thought pressed into her mind like a flower between pages of parchment. It is just his thought. An honest desire. He has no wish to stay here looking down at the boy and far less of one to reach down his hand and lend assistance. He does not want to face the possibility that it will be rejected, and even less doesn't he want to face the possibility it may not be.

He was fine. It was a duty easily enough performed, and I'd his jaw was tense and his nerves thin, then that was simply- it simply was.]

If you will excuse me.

[It's a unique form of cowardice, unsteady, too hasty. He will regret it later, when the rest of his regrets run dry. For now he merely bows slightly and turns away from them, towards the only visible exit.]

[closed] a noble profession

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