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( OPEN | DAY 19 ) the brainiacs club
CHARACTERS: clarke, sam, damon, elena, murphy + everyone who wants to meet the symbiote face to (brain) face
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Graze, an impromptu coroners tent
WHEN: DAY :019
SUMMARY: Before his cremation, Lavellan still offers a few answers to some burning questions.
WARNINGS: Mentions of character death, medically accurate gore, an autopsy, a lot of talk about brains, the symbiote is terrifying, and probably puke.
( ooc | dogpile all in one thread, write your own starters post tent, someone eventually get clarke a jar to put the brain in or something please for the love of god…! basically, do whatever and have fun with it. )
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Graze, an impromptu coroners tent
WHEN: DAY :019
SUMMARY: Before his cremation, Lavellan still offers a few answers to some burning questions.
WARNINGS: Mentions of character death, medically accurate gore, an autopsy, a lot of talk about brains, the symbiote is terrifying, and probably puke.
( for clarke, it seems like the next logical step. first, a rough introduction to the symbiote. second, glimpses of a brain scan from the depths of john murphy's mind. third, seeing it with her own eyes.
so naturally, it doesn't take much convincing.
they have a body. when asked, they're provided with a set of odd tools and a wealth of apologies for their loss by the hyrypian natives. and before they go about building a funeral pyre, they set themselves up in a well-lit tent and carefully remove the corpse coverings. clarke's never done this before, sam's never done this before, and as intently as they hover, damon and elena offer little advice, mostly morbidly driven moral support. murphy has a wide variety of medical supplies at his side, and doesn’t say much. but it's not hard to figure out. under sharp instruments, skin cuts like butter, and dead bodies barely bleed. it's easy to get through the skin and hair, to peel it back and reveal the white bone of lavellan's skull. it's harder to look at the dead man's face, peaceful as if in a deep sleep, while fumbling for an archaic trephine and swallowing down bile.
first, they punch holes. cautious, careful to draw back when the tool burrows too deeply. if they want to examine his brain for answers to all the questions digging (quite literally) in the back of their minds, they can't damage the delicate tissue. as bone dust flies and catches on her hands, clarke quietly wishes for sterile latex gloves — anything to buffer the sensations, to make this feel less real.
then comes the drill, held at an angle to cut relatively straight lines between the burr holes. lavellan's head wiggles under the vibrations of sawing through bone, the same tremors that run up the length of clarke's arms as she cuts, and her throat is uncomfortably tight when she asks elena to hold him still. it takes some time, but piece by piece the hard bone is chipped away, each sliver of skull carefully set aside in a bowl until they're faced with a grey layer of dura. the tissue is cut and snipped, pulled to expose the veins and the intricate tubing of lobes — the brain, the epicenter of all life, now red, and wet, and still.
it's not over. the brain is soft, threatens to break under her fingers as she claws into his skull; pushing and pulling until she can cut at the spinal cord tethering mind to body. and with a trickle of cerebral fluid, the brain is born into her hands, a squishy and floppy mess. the answer to so many questions, and disgustingly delicate.
for a moment, they all just look at it. choke on actions, implications, guilt. then: )
There, ( clarke announces, turning the brain over in her hands. on the underside, just above the base of where the brain stem had been cut, a soft bundle of white. it looks almost like particularly dead nerve endings, a tight grouping of listless threads, but that's not right. clarke uses her pinky finger to shift the elastic folds of the brain, tugging to try to see where the branches of the symbiote dig deeper into grey matter, and brush the hard black flecks embedded into the alien organic tissue. there, that's what it looked like in the flesh.
her stomach churns. nausea or nerves, the uncomfortable idea that that is inside all of us at the forefront of her mind — her distress is tangible in the air, but it's anyone's guess so far as contributing factors. she extends both cupped hands, offering a better look to those around her. )
( ooc | dogpile all in one thread, write your own starters post tent, someone eventually get clarke a jar to put the brain in or something please for the love of god…! basically, do whatever and have fun with it. )
no subject
[She's not angry, she's just annoyed. Like a low-key headache, tension in her face-- that's not a fair comparison, Shepard's been carrying pain like that for years now. Ever since she woke up to Miranda Lawson, that headache's lived. Maybe that's why she's like this; the kind of person who says exactly what they mean, even when it's not what they meant to say:]
You obviously don't have a legitimate reason why they shouldn't have done it, or you'd have stopped them. It's not like Neriel had a problem with the concept, but you do. [Shepard doesn't disapprove of the drinking; she got hers out of the way already, is all. It's a natural reaction, to run, to hide-- even when Annie had so badly wanted to avoid it. Anadoning her strength of conviction was her own choice, not Shepard's] So what's your problem?
no subject
[ She shrugs to the high heavens, tilts her head back, and drinks deep. ]
How about I tell you what I told him. You get the fuckin' symbiote out within the first few weeks, and you might stand a chance. After that, the fuckin' thing is gonna be twisted into your goddamn nervous system and that's the end of it, it's not going anywhere. Did we learn something different from this escapade? Don't think so.
And that-- [ Another slow slug of drink. ] Makes it gratuitous, in my book.
Look at me, giving a shit whether something is gratuitous or not. [ A snort. ] Nevermind, carry on, kids.
no subject
[Shepard turns away, suddenly aware that she is, perhaps, going to have to be the one to say it aloud. She scratches at the skin around her amp port, searching for the words, while Annie drinks and whines and tries to talk sense into herself.]
You know, we've all been in cryo for at least a few years, now. Nobody who's thought about it for more than ten minutes thinks we're getting these things out of our heads.
[Shepard is not comfortable, exactly, with alien things being stuck in her brain forever. But then, she doesn't have a choice, so she's made her peace with it.]
Even if we cut open one of the new guys as soon as they thawed out, it's too late for that. That wasn't the point of this.
no subject
[ She whirls, irritated that Shep thinks that has any relevance to anything. Whether it was years or just a few weeks, it didn't undermine her ultimate point that this was a fucking worthless expedition. That it was in them, fucking accept it. ]
What was the point. You tell me. I clearly just can't see it.
no subject
[Shepard says it a little too calmly.]
Let's say, we get this thing done. Mission accomplished, all this war was waiting for was a couple dozen assholes from Earth to put a bow on top. Are we going home? Symbiote or not, is the Nest ever gonna let us go? Even if they answer questions, can we trust anthing they tell us?
[Only one way to find out; look for yourself. Compare. Shepard shrugs, caught somewhere between bitterness and apathy. There are no decisions here, only hard truths and the choice of whether or not to accept them. Being an N7 meant turning towards the former, always.]
Lavellan was practical. He wouldn't have had a problem with this.
no subject
[ She's just getting meaner as the liquor hits her system, diffusing anything resembling her outward personality from her, frosty with hate. ]
Of course not. What, you think I spent my entire life brainwashed by a fucking alien and didn't learn anything? Nobody fucking listening to me when I tell you how similar Cathaway is to that cunt? Jesus fucking--
[ She stops, purses her lips, and then she turns away to keep walking.]
Don't care. It's done. I don't give a shit.
no subject
[God, she hopes not. But Shepard follows; if she knew hot to let something go, she wouldn't be Shepard.]
Or mine?
[Really hopes not.]
I know the selfish hedonist act is your thing, but you're not actually that far up your own ass. Running a fucking autopsy is not the same thing as what was done to you and you know it.
no subject
[ What is wrong with people. She remembers suffocating Murphy inside the cage of her own mind, just screaming at him to stop and to shut up. To stop making things hurt, to stop antagonizing her. It's like they want her to lose it.
She turns to head for the tents, ready to just tuck herself into nothingness so that she can't be the one to fuck this up. ]
Didn't say it was.
no subject
[But you can't tell Annie what to do. Shepard waves her off, knowing it won't matter; they'll talk again, later. When, jusy maybe, they can be less emotional about all this. Shepard might not, after all, have lost yet another friend.]
Go the fuck to bed.