His voice came choked, breath-starved into the communicator. "Arseno…" He inhaled sharply — Faustite could not trap enough oxygen in his lungs to finish Arsenopyrite's name. The communicator continued to crackle and fizzle through the transmission. "Need help. Negaspace. Quick." He let the call die, hoping that the captain listened to his voice well enough to recognize the hailing party. Sitting up through the lot of it was trial enough.
On his back, the pressure continued to mount. The assault on his lungs felt relentless, and Faustite managed only a few shallow breaths at a time before the compression grew too painful. Sitting up left him dizzied, and walking felt much like its own perilous cost if he chose to meet Arsenopyrite in a more neutral space. The main hall of the Cathedral occupied his mind as more prudent, less personal, yet the walk felt impossibly far given his current predicament. And with his promotion only several hours ago, such a blatant failure in his own body painted that promotion as a grievous error. None could see but those he could trust, and Arsenopyrite was the closest to that stipulation.
His room in Negaspace was a mess, however, with evidence of a teenage mire of depression at hand. Much of the loathsome Ikea furniture remained covered in dust, an obvious aspect under the crystals' dull glow, and what few possessions Faustite now entertained were scattered about in benign neglect. He lacked the energy, and now the physical capacity, to clean up the area; books were to remain open on the floor and blankets discarded off the side of the bed where he kicked them off in sleep. Haphazard drawings of people were to remain visible on the far desk in the room, blatantly occupying space meant for Negaverse files and information. He found no great reason to care; if Arsenopyrite chose to sell him out now, for a disheveled room of all reasons, he doubted any punishments could match a partial youmafication anymore.
But even at that, you're not very broken up about it. Faustite managed a vague smile.
So there were worse fates.
Again he called into the communicator. Enough time had passed that Arsenopyrite may lurk in Negaspace now, and Faustite knew he'd never been to the youmafied youth's room. "It's Faustite." A shallow, audible breath. "Second floor. Left side. Down… Third hall." His vision prickled and sparked with taunting stars, telling him of how he would sleep for good if his captain did not hurry.
Maybe that wasn't such a bad fate either.
SSbrosB
It's been a while since we discussed this plotline; I have all the details I could find summarized in a spoiler.
Faustite grew short of breath almost immediately after his promotion. He called Arseno, who will in some way (whether by stabbing him with an improvised trach multiple times, or use a stethoscope, or otherwise) discover that an internal mutation in his back needed venting. By stabbing him and unscrewing the pen (or whatever method suits Arseno best), smoke will flute out and he'll recover. Arseno can decide whether or not to take him under his care or to report this to Schörl.
Posted: Sun Aug 13, 2017 4:42 pm
Faustite was lucky tonight. Arseno had just powered up and was about to go and grab some energy when his communicator crackled to life and he heard Faustite's message. Arseno had been surprised for a moment that the agent had contacted him considering how... well their meeting went. But it seemed he had gained a bit of the other's trust if Faustite was in such trouble and Arseno knew that the other didn't have too long. He wasn't sure what had happened, but knew he couldn't dawdle and immediately teleported to the Negaspace.
He was glad that he could teleport at-will now, however, it had taken quite a bit of energy, but all he would have to do was sleep for a bit. But that wasn't something he should think about now and headed down to the Cathedral.
When he finally got there, he realized that he didn't know where Faustite was. But his communicator buzzed again and he was told where to go. Arseno hurried as quickly as he could up to the other's room. He found the door closed, but trying the knob found that it was open and quickly went in and what he saw almost made him gasp if it hadn't been for some training. Faustite, to put it bluntly, looked pretty freaking bad. And unfortunately, Faustite also seemed to be asleep at this point, which wasn't good. It meant that Arseno only had a minute to get him back or else...
From the messages Arseno knew that it was most likely a problem with the lungs and quickly took out the stethoscope that he was carrying, luckily he was carrying it after his shift volunteering at the jail, and moved over to the other agent.
He got to Faustite's back and with his improved strength, ripped the agent's clothes open on his back so that he could listen to whatever might be happening. Perhaps it was fluid filling the other's lungs? He didn't know but tried to listen as carefully as he could and it sounded like... wind? Not the type of sound that breathing created, but that something was trapped in there that wasn't a liquid or solid.
But, even if it were just air, there was really only one thing to do to get it out and unfortunately, it was going to be painful. But he didn't have anything to create the opening but... Hopefully this won't be too big. He thought to himself as he summoned his weapon and quickly stabbed Faustite with it in the neck, making sure to miss any arteries, and was surprised to see what seemed to be smoke coming out. It was a bit hard to see in the dim-crystal lights but it was there. Surprisingly, Arseno had a tube that he could use to keep Faustite's neck from being hurt by the smoke.
He sighed, hoping that he had done enough in time to help Faustite.
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Tried my best! XD
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Posted: Mon Aug 14, 2017 1:08 pm
Clothes shuffled distantly. Footsteps echoed from a mile away, resounding on surfaces unknown. His vision, bathed in starry skies, allowed him no comprehension of his surroundings. He simply laid in the primordial soup of sensory inputs, left to coast without understanding.
And he found no great quip about it. He felt shifted and shuffled, pressure formed on his chest. Some part of his back groaned against his lungs, demanded its own space. A rasp rattled in his chest.
A knife sunk in his throat.
Faustite jerked, arms spasming weakly before they found the energy to search for his attacker. Pain throbbed through his neck and rivulets of blood sluiced down skin, warm and dark with depleted oxygen. His weak grip sussed out a handle and it sprung from his grasp in an instant. His throat yawned open and panic clutched at the ragged edges of the hole. His breath quickened, rasping through a hollow tunnel. Again his fingers fled to his neck, and found a tube in place of a knife. Pale fingers spidered over it, tested its grip, its tensile strength. Someone still loomed above him - someone who wasn't killing him.
Arsenopyrite? The captain tried to bat away his starry gaze with thick lashes. Faintly he recognized a figure out of his dying vision - a mask from old history books, a swath of greys -
Lightly he shook his head. His panic lulled, and with it, he began to take measured breaths. Shallow as they were, they chased away the stars a measure more.
His fluttering grasp closed over the stiff tube in his neck. "Still can't breathe," he supplied, his own words sucking at the tips of his fingers.
ssbrosb
it works fine! pardon my rust
Posted: Mon Aug 14, 2017 8:20 pm
It seemed that the first aid had done the trick for now as he watched Faustite come back from the brink. At least now he could work on the main problem without worrying that the other was going to sink into oblivion. He looked at Faustite. "That was probably surprising and unfortunately there's a lot more work that needs to be done. I'm going to have to do some work on your back and unfortunately there's no anesthesia for that. So just try to bear through the pain." He said, putting what he believed to be comforting hand on the other's shoulder for a bit before maneuvering the other so that he could see Faustite's back.
He looked around the room for a bit, trying to see if he could fine a makeshift... anything really to help with whatever was in Faustite's lungs. He quickly spotted a pen and figured that it would be good enough and grabbed it, unscrewing it and taking the ink and the pointed end off and out. He moved back over to the agent. "All right this is going to hurt... a lot probably. But we need to see what's going on. I'm going to make a while in your lung. There's some sort of gas in there or something. I can't really make it out without being able to see what's in there. But just bear with me."
And, without waiting to get the okay from Faustite, mostly because he wouldn't listen to any objections the other made since this was about life-saving, he stabbed the other again deeply with his poker, enough to go into the lung, and after taking it out, inserted the pen.
Immediately smoke seemed to fill the room and Arseno couldn't help but cough a bit as it got into his own lungs and hurt his eyes. Yep, definitely something going on.
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Posted: Tue Sep 12, 2017 7:35 pm
His objections bubbled up, intermingled with the pain that formed in red beads around his throat. Instead, he was forced to hold fast to the tube as Arsenopyrite reversed his position, and Faustite braced a shaky arm against the bed in response.
Carefully he tugged on the tube, fingers delicate as continued sparks of pain stopped his progress. It stuck outward like an unwanted spine, ready to puncture the bedding. Ready to drive itself to the back of his throat and assault his cervical vertebra. Thin rivulets of blood coated its smooth surface, rendering the plastic sticky and slippery beneath his grasp. He knew that, in moments, Arsenopyrite might try something more drastic than before; he might know a pain worse than his throat run through by a hidden blade. So shaken fingers played at the piece, struggled against the tight grip of his throat, and pulled the device free. Blood spilled after it with only his cupped, blackened hand to stop its flow.
Faustite warned him, though the words sounded distant over a sea of static. A burning certainty flooded his ears, and with it came a whisper of knowledge that he might pass out from such a feat. He didn't want to look. He didn't want to chance glancing back toward the captain, where clandestine medicine was the sole plan to save his life. He didn't want to see what came next. He would take the stars cluttering his vision and the aural fog in his ears over foreknowledge of the next procedure.
Faustite waited not long, though the moments before the strike spanned hours. Cold beads of sweat welled up on his hands, clamming his skin, before the blade met his back. And when it did, a hissing rush of black smoke coupled with his hoarse scream. He drew a ragged breath, cluttered with blood and spit. The billow of smoke quickly lessened, and a few desperate gulps of air returned some of the color to his lips, his nails. He could breathe, albeit barely.
Faustite coughed, and immediately regretted the motion. His back muscles tensed around the intruder with such force that they renewed his anguish. A wince seized his otherwise haggard expression. "What happened?" Slowly he turned his gaze skyward, and witnessed the last coils of smoke vanishing as vapors. "What was that?"
ssbrosb
the smoke coming from his back is harmless, so arseno won't choke to death here or anytihg like that! to explain why he can produce caustic smoke in a limited amount, he basically has an appendix-looking sac on the end of this smoke-producing organ that adds the toxicity into it. so think of the smoke curling around the room as black water vapor.
good job arseno, though! i'm sure stabbing one of your allies is a tough task to tackle, even if it's for life-saving purposes.
Posted: Sat Oct 07, 2017 5:22 pm
Arseno cringed a bit as Faustite struggled a bit and more blood was spilled. He didn't mind the sight of blood, but it was hard to look at when it was someone whom he called an acquaintance if not a friend. That and although he was going for a medical degree, it definitely wasn't going to be in surgery.
However, it seemed to have work, and Arseno was able to speak to Faustite. Arseno had to make sure that everything was in it's proper place and that nothing would fall out. He looked at his bloodied gloves, thank goodness his uniform had gloves, before taking them off and setting them on the pile of other bloody instruments.
"Well it certainly wasn't anything a normal human would go through." He replied. "Faustite... you're changing, and I haven't seen anything like this except when agents have eaten starseeds. Granted, it hasn't been anything like this before, but I am sure that's the case, or you've gotten a ton of chaos pumped into you somehow. Either way... you're lungs are creating smoke somehow and it's not going to stop. I'd have to go in deeper to see what's really going on, but it almost doesn't seem compatible with your body yet. Your... mutation, if you're okay with me using that word, seems to be happening too quickly for your body to keep up with it."
Arseno rubbed his hand against his face a bit, trying to think. "What I've done is only a temporary solution. We're going to need something long-term, and if after a while it doesn't change... probably something permanent. I've inserted an empty pen tube for right now, but you're going to need something bigger. I'm not sure who we would talk to for that, but I can try and make something for you, or we can ask another agent who's a bit better at machinery for some help in designing a device to filter it out. And quickly."
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Posted: Sat Oct 07, 2017 5:50 pm
Because it has to be my fault that this happened to me. Faustite closed his eyes to Arsenopyrite's explanations, his simmering anger stifled only by the pain in his back and chest. The slow throb acted as a grounding agent while the other agent prattled on about changing biology. He spoke as if Faustite fundamentally failed at retaining proper functions through partial youmafication, as if he had a choice in the matter, as if he had agency in this pitiful half-life. And at the end of it all, Arsenopyrite embarked on the path of dehumanization.
Of course it's a mutation. At least you called it what it is.
Faustite stewed in his own aggression. He wanted to snarl into the mattress. he wanted to castigate the man behind him for every misstep made, for the simple fact that a Bic pen was now lodged in his back. He wanted to blame the pain on Arsenopyrite, and boil about every subsequent surgery implied. He cursed his condition. He blamed the world for the setbacks he endured. Why should he suffer some maladroit pseudo-medical student and his meandering speculation? Why trust that Arsenopyrite knew a damn thing about youma alterations when Chrysocolla (another abysmally untrustworthy source) explained that no one understood youmafication to even a basic degree? Caught firmly in the clutches of experimentation, Faustite lost further agency of even his own body.
Finally he collected his hands into fists and pushed himself slowly from the bed. The pen constantly warned him of shifting, of moving too far and popping the tube from his back or pushing it further in. Pain's favored cold sweat painted his face and soaked his hair. He sighed shakily. All things unsaid clung to his tongue.
He spoke softly, as if spending his air carefully. "Then let's find out now."
ssbrosb
we can probably end here; this gives ample material for a tense opener to the following rp
