[closed] a noble profession

[polyphonos]

CHARACTERS: Aoba, Prince, Cathaway
WHERE: Medical Bay
WHEN: Day 0:10
SUMMARY: Cathaway and Prince do some investigation into Aoba's condition.
WARNINGS: Violence, mental trauma, other stuff probably. DmmD is a walking warning ok.

[The Station's medical bay is an almost perfectly circular room. It also appears at first glance to be totally empty. However, by the time Aoba arrives, Cathaway and Prince have opened a number of the built in compartments - unfolding an examination table, retrieving a series of tools and various monitoring machines so that it almost resembles a medical facility instead of something merely alien.

Cathaway has perched herself on a tall stool beside the examination table and is busying herself with the preparation of some minor equipment. She's-- not quiet, actually. Rather, Cathaway's humming absently under her breath as she loads a liquid filled cartridge into a small plastic device shaped vaugely like a gun with a capped needle instead of a barrel.

From the feel of her half of the room - bright sunshine, a warm breath of air, something sweet on the tongue -, she's in a good mood.]

Comments

[polyphonos]

( 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. )

[regalled]

[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.]

[vocalis]

[ 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. ]

[regalled]

[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.]

[vocalis]

[ 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...

[polyphonos]

[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. )

[regalled]

[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?

[vocalis]

[ 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. ]

[polyphonos]

[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.

[regalled]

[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.]

[vocalis]

[ 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...

[polyphonos]

[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?]

[regalled]

[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.]