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 Posted: Tue Aug 23, 2011 9:54 pm
It had been a few days since the wing-implantation procedure. Malodore had slept for many of those days, and had urged Riley to go back to her dorm room and sleep herself earlier. She had finally acquiesced, and the plague doctor settled down to sleep some more...
... until, suddenly, it was awake. Not for any reason it could tell; its back hurt, yes, but that was constant and not unusual by now. The wings were still carefully supported in Christof's slings, and Luce was slumbering against one of its legs. Hrm. Perhaps it had had enough of sleep...
"Riley? Christof?" it called out, then winced. Ugh, its voice sounded raspy and terrible, and its throat was so dry.
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Posted: Tue Aug 23, 2011 11:41 pm
During that period, Christof had barely left Malodore's room. During a period where both had been deep at sleep, he had run downstairs to gather a few things and feed Scruff and Firth but had returned promptly before either had risen.
He had only just dozed off himself for the first time since the ordeal had gone down when the Plague Doctor's voice rouses him. He nearly jumped from the soft chair, lurching quickly to Malodore's bedside with a quiet attending whine in his throat to announce his presence and readiness to do what was needed.
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Posted: Wed Aug 24, 2011 8:59 am
There was no answering mental touch; instead, Christof came up to the bed. So Riley had actually listened to it and gone home to take care of her own needs. Good. The plague doctor opened its beak in a small smile. "I, ah, I am awake," it said, shifting slightly; the movement made its back ache again, but it had to move around at least a little bit. The last thing it wanted was for the muscles to atrophy.
At least it didn't feel quite as disgustingly tired any more. Choosing to sleep was one thing - actually needing it was kind of creepy. "Can you help me sit up?" it asked, shifting its arms to prop its elblows underneath itself. Ugh, that hurt, but it had to get some exercise and flexibility in.
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Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2011 12:49 am
Christof nodded, his face creased with concern as he leaned forward. A pair of hands gingerly slid under the Plague Doctor's back while his more monstrous left reached out to offer support to it's arm as he helped him to rise.
Once safely upright, one of the right hands slipped away to slowly sign, "Hungry? Thirsty? Need-for-defecation?" He held up the bucket he had prepared while Malodore had slept and he had scrambled for ideas of how to prepare.
The truth was, he had no idea what he was doing. Just... be there to help in any way, he supposed.
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Posted: Thu Aug 25, 2011 8:57 am
Defecation? What a thoroughly awful idea, for all that Malodore had done its stint on bedpan duty back at the Casa Cirurgien. "Ah, no - thirsty, yes. And possibly a little hungry." Healing evidently took a great deal of energy, especially for the undead, and that energy had to come from somewhere. Its throat felt parched, its voice a bit raspy.
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Posted: Fri Aug 26, 2011 11:14 am
Christof nodded immediately, turning to hobble off in search of a glass and water. He returned promptly from the bathroom, offering it out with a polite bow of his head. Did it need help drinking again? Or could it do it on it's own? Giving it the benefit of the doubt, he held the glass out for Malodore to take.
He also wasn't sure what Plague Doctors ate... food in general was a somewhat foreign concept to him, he generally survived on Fear alone. Once the water was handed off, he scrambled for his notebook, figuring Mal was too weary to try to translate Sign Language, scribbling out quickly:
Can run to the Cafeteria for you.
What would you like, Master?
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Posted: Tue Aug 30, 2011 8:56 am
Malodore accepted the glass gratefully; it could drink on its own this time, though the movement still made it wince. "Can't... ow... let the muscles atrophy," it managed, then poured the entire contents of the glass down its long throat. The feeling was most strange - it was not used to actually needing food and drink either, but its body needed supplemental energy to heal, it seemed. Undead healing factors were strange things.
"Don't go yet," it said, quickly. "Stay... ah, stay with me?" The question was a little awkward.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2011 8:38 am
The hunchback flushed, twisting his hands awkwardly before gently taking the glass from the Plague Doctor to set it on the night stand for it. That done, it shifted, giving Malodore a nod before sitting hesitantly on the edge of it's bed.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2011 9:11 am
Malodore tilted its head gingerly at Christof. It was not the only one to have modified itself... or to have been modified. "This was... ah, more difficult than I anticipated," it admitted, after a moment. "How do you bear it?" Its gaze lingered on the new limbs that decked the patchwork's body.
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Posted: Wed Aug 31, 2011 9:22 am
Christof twisted his hands up to stare at the various palms before glancing over his shoulder to Malodore with an uncertain expression. How did he bear it? It didn't... hurt like Malodore seemed to be suffering, but it was awkward and the entire experience had...
his head lowered, rocking a bit back and forth as he mulled over a proper response. Finally, he picked up his notebook again, scribbling in:
Must do as Master says.
Do not question Master.
It was not a full answer, it didn't even scratch the surface of what he was feeling on the subject but... well, honestly, no one had expressed any sort of concern, really, save for Barth and Calder, but they had walked in on him still on the slab, unrecognizable as their friend and still in far too many pieces.
It wasn't like this, though. This had been... well, Malodore had CHOSEN this. If Christof had had any control over what Parts he got to use... things would probably have been a lot different. Even with just those simple words floating on the surface of the paper, Christof himself was brewing with the memory of that... violation out of his control, and embarrassment of dealing with the aftermath.
You are lucky, he finally wrote in addition. Shape your own fate.
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Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2011 9:23 am
"Hmm." Malodore studied the notebook. The patchwork was just barely close enough for it to pick up faint flickers of emotion, but the subtleties of Christof's feelings were well beyond Malodore's rudimentary, untrained ability. Lucky, yes, perhaps... but it had done a great deal to get to this point. "I had... not masters, not like your Master, but elders of my family. Who did not want me to leave, but I came here anyway. I am dead to them now, I think. I do not mind."
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Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2011 9:27 am
Christof's brows furrowed as he glanced up at the Plague Doctor, digesting this information the best he could. Finally, he wrote:
Then you are Free.
That is good.
He honestly didn't know what his own Master had planned for him. He had not... left home on the best terms. But what could he have done? Stood by idly while the not-so-good Doctor hacked his friends into Spare Parts? No. Maybe that made him a terrible Igor. But he would rather be no Igor at all then... then to have let that happen. There were probably punishments ahead but...
No matter. There were more important things to worry about now.
You are V. Talented and V. Smart
Mistress loves you a lot.
Have much future now that you are free.
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Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2011 9:53 am
Malodore looked up at Christof, vaguely surprised, and a little touched. "Si... yes, I think so. Grazie."
It pondered a moment longer. "Ah... if I may ask, what is it like, for you? What is your Master like? He was the one who, ah, upgraded you, yes?" The plague doctor nodded towards the new wing and arm.
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Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2011 9:53 am
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Posted: Thu Sep 01, 2011 10:09 am
Christof sat still for much longer than was expected, frowning down at the notebook before slowly turning the page to a fresh one. And then waited a few more moments as he seemed to internally debate something, anxiety and terror pouring off of him.
Slowly, his hand trembling and writing stiffer and slightly more illegible than usual writing down:
Cannot speak ill of Master.
Must Obey.
Master Upgraded me.
Must trust in Master.
These were truths- he could 'say' that much it would seem. Anything more, he seemed to freeze up, pain igniting in his head the moment he tried to write down more. He didn't really have the choice of running away. Eventually... he would have to go home again. He had no choice.
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