Larimar managed perhaps the most tenuous teleport ze'd ever done, barely pulling together the concentration to make it out of the training room and away from Faustite and into zyr office, and immediately collapsed almost bonelessly against the wall with a ragged noise of pain; something that hurt about as much as it did to make as it was meant to express.
It hurt. It hurt. It hurt it hurt it hurt.
God ******** god it hurt.
Hurt wasn't really a word that applied here, was the thing, but it wasn't as if Larimar had better words for the severity of the wounds. The injuries had hurt at first, but then things had started going cold for a moment, and then it hadn't exactly hurt any more at all. The worst sections hadn't looped around to actually registering the pain again, which was some small mercy, but more than anything probably meant —
Hospitalization. Or medbay. Neither of which could — ze couldn't think. Hospitalization wasn't — even if it wouldn't somehow trigger a radical shift in family dynamics, these things scarred. At best they scarred. When had anything in Sparrow’s life been ‘the best’? Probably never. Probably some point ze wasn’t thinking about. Couldn’t go home; ze’d spent effort and time keeping zyr family, zyr friends, out and away from the Negaverse aspect of zyr life, because what ze did in uniform was zyr business, that was how uniform went. Ze’d hid what few relevant injuries ze’d gotten and explained away the others: clumsiness, whiplash, jokes gone wrong, tech accidents. These wouldn’t be able to be explained. These wouldn’t be able to be anything.
And medical? After direct injury from a General-King? Direct — mutilation — from a General-King? They'd all know. They'd have to know. Might as well just go and turn ******** traitor at that point, go all the way, ******** it; if there was any way to become really and truly persona non grata within the Negaverse without actually leaving it, showing up to medical looking like ze'd been murdered by a very specific superior officer was probably up there. Alongside all the other problems. There were a lot of problems right now. It was hard to put words to them, but, Larimar was certain, ze had perhaps more problems right now than ze'd ever had in zyr entire ******** life.
Ze’d had a lot of problems about ten minutes ago! That was still true! Almost all those problems were still a thing and hadn’t ever stopped being that way in the time between those two points! But there was a thin, important line between I think the General-King is looking for an excuse to kill me and the General-King actively went full ******** out on me with distinct and malicious intent, and one of them involved not being injured, and the other one involved having what felt like — it felt bad. Larimar wasn’t going to put a distinct word to it; couldn’t search through zyr memory for some reference, some quote, something that sounded pretty, not when. Well. It felt bad.
A lot of the damage was still registering, bright and loud and drawing a straight razor across zyr nerves. Larimar didn't have words, didn't have thought or comparisons; ze'd never broken a bone, never twisted an ankle, had gone generally uninjured all through zyr life aside from Negaverse incidents. Which did include being stabbed, so maybe 'uninjured' wasn't as applicable as ze generally treated it as being, but aside from the intermittent 'being stabbed' in-uniform during Negaverse work hours ze'd managed to make it out pretty good.
Which — zyr arms were shaking. (Zyr arms looked bad. Which was, ze reflected, what happened when a General-King caught you in his firestorm. Count zyr blessings. Except ze didn’t have any ******** blessings, ze just had a state of consciousness that was starting to blur out, a lot of second and third-degree burns, and a couple that might have been fourth-degree.
Zyr dumb ******** mouth. Couldn’t shut up for a ******** second even when it would’ve been smart. Couldn’t back down. Couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t, should’ve, couldn’t, and look where it’d gotten zem. Larimar’s cheek wasn’t hurting anymore, but that meant — at least zyr eyes were fine, if red from smoke. Probably there was a very specific set of lines scorched into that side of zyr scalp. But it wasn’t hurting anymore, had started hurting and gone past pain and into agony and had stopped really feeling anything at all before ze’d managed to pull away, desperately dragging Faustite’s hands off zyr head, dragging zyr head away from his grate, stumbling back and pouring every inch of defiance and power ze had into get away, get away, office, I could, maybe - he’s going to kill me, if I don’t get out right now he’s going to kill me —
Maybe if Sparrow lived through this ze’d think about being vegetarian. The smell was still in zyr nose. Couldn’t get it out.)
(Get up, Larimar.)
If I don’t get up I’m going to die. I have to get up. Get up. Get up.
It felt like it took forever: a moment that stretched into infinity. Zyr nails found some burgeoning purchase on the wall, enough to start getting up, enough to get off the floor, enough to do something that was a lot like standing but not doing it very well. Couldn’t hear anything over zyr heart racing in zyr ears, but mostly ze was trying to hold still, trying not to cry, trying not to scream, trying not to move too suddenly. Even in zyr own head, if ze was pitiful ze was going to lose it.
I can’t go home I can’t go to medical I have to. It has to do something. It has to do something. I can’t think of anything else, I can’t, I can’t —
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to live like this
but I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to live like this
but I don’t want to die.
Larimar’s hands were trembling almost too hard to work open the desk drawer with the starseeds in it. They’d come away better than zyr arms, but that wasn't exactly unscathed — if it felt this way, ze wasn't looking in a mirror. Wouldn’t dare. Zyr stash was running low, even; ze hadn’t been hunting lately, hadn’t been going for starseeds, had been burning through zyr supply. There was three left in there, dim crystalline glow and sparkle still alive enough to shine.
—Larimar felt faint, then. Probably shouldn't have been standing. Probably shouldn't have been doing a lot of things, highest among them being pissing off a General-King and then trying to stab him in a 'spar' — it hadn't been a spar. It'd never been a spar. He'd wanted to hurt zem the entire time, ze was sure about it. Ze was sure —
Larimar didn't feel particularly sure about anything at the moment, to be honest. Except pain. Pain was something ze was particularly ******** certain about.
Ze was also pretty sure zyr cloak had managed to make it mostly through the fire, given zyr half-awareness of the weight of it and the shape of it sliding along the wall, which honestly felt like adding insult to injury more than anything else. What the ********? What the <********> (Where was zyr hat? Probably burnt to ashes. Ze’d liked that hat. Who knew if it’d ever come back. Maybe it’d come back if ze lived, which was really feeling really uncertain as an outcome right now; that uncertainty might have been shock setting in from injury or might have been an all-consuming panic about as bad as ze’d ever had it. It didn’t matter which. Not really.)
Starseeds could fix a lot. Starseeds were — they weren’t going to reattach limbs, probably, but all zyr limbs were still solidly attached. Small mercies. They were souls, and that had to mean something, as flippant as ze was about it most of the time. They didn’t immediately fix injuries, but three of them, at once at once at once —
Probably it was a bad idea. Definitely it was a bad idea. Weren’t Officers advised against taking too many in too short a time? Consequences, changes, shattering, things you couldn’t take back? Ze’d needed the energy to keep up with zyr overburdened schedule and life. Which — was an excuse that didn’t even work even in zyr own head, because Larimar had a problem. Larimar knew damn well ze had a problem, and knew ze could’ve talked to Ashanite or anyone about it at any time in the last goddamn year or whatever, but boo ******** hoo, ze didn’t have any officer friends to confide in. Ze’d made zyr bed and was going to lie in it. Ze’d already had a couple this week, even; the side effects were easier to work with than caffeine, usually. But three at a time was a lot — ze’d been saving those, tried to only do one at a time, like that made the fact ze kept going back to starseeds any less of an actual problem.
But what were zyr other choices? They weren’t choices at all. Ze’d barely managed to get out of the training room in the first place and didn’t have the energy or the focus to go anywhere else, and Medical wasn’t close. Wouldn’t be able to make the walk even besides the thought of I don’t want to walk into Medical after General-King Faustite almost killed me, with my luck they’ll finish the job for him, maybe they’re loyal to him, maybe maybe maybe bearing down so close it was physical weight, a knot in zyr throat, choking zem with panic.
Biting down on the starseeds hurt a little. They were hard to choke down, two and one, Larimar leaning on zyr desk so heavily it was keeping zem more upright than zyr legs were. Swallow them dry; it wasn’t as if you took starseeds with water. They weren’t medicine or some kind of pill.
Ze felt cold. Ze felt so, so cold. Sparrow had always run cold, always been miserable in the winter, always needed to layer up even in summer; Negaverse temperature mitigation made up for a lot but couldn’t fix everything. Cold in a General uniform even in winter,
—It didn’t hurt coming on but it didn’t not hurt, either. Something sliding its way through zem, chilly in zyr veins, like if ze breathed out there would’ve been fog in the air. There was some lessening of pain, some slow surge of energy - maybe it was working. Maybe. Maybe ze’d make it out of this remotely okay. Maybe maybe maybe.
...Probably wouldn’t. It was a stupid, stupid thing to hope for. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. ******** around and find out. Pick any one of those kinds of phrases, they were all coming true at frankly incredible speed; great ******** going, Larimar, really screwed the pooch this time, dumbass.
It wasn’t pain but it wasn’t not pain, either, was the thing. Zyr fingers, hands, forearms were tingling, prickling like they’d fallen asleep; so were zyr ears, the destroyed side of zyr face, the back of zyr neck, patches of skin all down through zyr body even covered by fabric.
Sparrow had always been pale, genetics amplified by an indoorsy sort of bent: ze never tanned, only burned. But through the torn patches of zyr sleeves - zyr arms looked pale. Paler than they should be.
Not bloodless-pale. Something else. Something ze could almost identify and didn’t want to name, like refusing to give it identity would mean it wasn’t ********,” Larimar said, for no real reason in particular, and staggered back over to slide back down against the wall again. Ze felt lightheaded: shock setting in, or something else, maybe. Something else. That tingling pain was on zyr back, centralized there, intensifying —
Ze was so cold.
If zyr head hadn’t felt like such a ruin ze would’ve bitten down on something, then, because very suddenly it all got worse.
That was when ice started blooming up on zyr ribcage, ice on zyr skin, freezing with the chill. Knives in zyr chest, clavicle, heart, lungs, all of it, any of it; Larimar doubled over in pain, spasming, hands almost numb. And it was in zyr feet, too, almost like zyr extremities had all fallen asleep and were coming back online all simultaneously, prickling so bad ze choked back a raw animal moan.
And zyr ******** back — the muscles had gone tight next to the shoulderblades, long, aching lines of pain, nails on skin but — not quite like that. Different. Different in a way Larimar didn't know how to describe, couldn't describe, didn't want to describe; describing it meant ze had to think about what was happening, and try to understand it, and try to understand why a body ze struggled so hard to feel at home in and twist to make less alien was making itself something far more foreign.
That didn't stop it. Nothing was going to stop it.
It was something a little like needles, blood draws, injections, through the skin, and a little like the freezerburn of too-hot too-boiling water, and like a strained limb, that horrific, radiating pain that just wouldn't stop: it was replacing the burns, which was theoretically a comfort, but in practice it was just one agony exchanging itself for another. Something was ripping zyr shoulderblades out of socket. Something was shoving daggers into zyr arms and legs and face, zyr vision gone blurry with pain and tears.
Everything felt too concealing and constricting — ze ripped zyr cloak off with clumsy-numb fingers, horned snake cloak pin clattering to the floor, the sound of it drowned out by the wild beating of zyr heart in zyr ears, and promptly overbalanced and collapsed on the floor on zyr side. Hard to think, everything was so cold, why was it so ******** cold -- Metallia needs to pay the heating bill, Larimar thought, hysterical, and managed to get out a strangled laugh. It wasn't even funny —
And then zyr vision went white with pain, or something that wasn’t pain but shared a shape with it, and Larimar did something that felt a lot like blacking out.
Consciousness wasn’t gone for all that long. It was long enough for things to stop hurting, and the bone-deep aches to stop, but Larimar didn’t recognize zyr own hands in the aftermath for a lot of reasons.
Partially the feathers. Partially the talons. Partially the blotches of ice, intermittent through the feathers, tied to that bone-deep chill.
This was better than being dead, or being crippled, or being permanently scarred. It had to be. It just didn’t feel like it was: this didn’t feel like zyr body. Not with any of this added on. It felt foreign. The fact it didn’t hurt anymore only made it worse.
Larimar made sure zyr door was firmly closed and locked, taking some comfort in the mindless aspect of routine, and then — finally — let zemself really cry.
[wc: 2534]
