the chilly worlds, and the silent fields

[sputnik]

Who: Konstantin Veshnyakov + various
What: catchall / open & closed prompts
When: through March & April
Where: various places in town

Content Warnings: This character comes with a parasitic alien entity by default. More content warnings will be in various thread headers.

Comments

[burying]

[ There's certainly no sign of struggling to keep the pace, otherwise. Kieren keeps up with walking and is otherwise fine — other than the strangeness of his stride. And... perhaps the lack of exertion in him. He's barely even breathing.

... He's not breathing at all, other than the breaths Kieren has to consciously get his body to do — for show, nothing more. ]

Yeah. [ There's a beat before his tone drops to sardonic. ] A real... Interloper OG. Lucky me.

[ The impulse is to consider the fact he doesn't look all that sick, not at first glance. The guy's doing pretty good for someone doing lunges in the Community Hall. But Kieren does remember how he'd found Konstantin throwing up blood on his porch and he... actually gets it. There's a tiny smile that's more like a wince than anything else. ]

Hey, you've— you've got nothing to feel guilty about. [ He assures with a single nod. ] It's not your fault you're sick. And I mean— if anything, the fact you're being considerate of yourself and others is actually pretty great of you.

[ He's quiet as he contemplates it for a moment. The man had already caught him wolfing down deer brain whilst crying like his life depended on it. Kieren's well aware how Not Normal that is. ]

And like. I get it. [ He shrugs. ] Things get tricky when medical conditions and stuff are concerned.

[sputnik]

[ Kieren doesn't seem to be struggling with walking, which is a relief, but although Konstantin soon enough lowers his arms from their crossed position to something more useful for exercise, he keeps it slow for now. He doesn't yet notice the peculiar lack of any exertion, but no doubt after several moments of walking outside in the cold air, he'll realise something is a bit strange with that....

For now, though, things seem.... normal and casual, at least as much as they possibly can be. He quirks a brow at the younger, mouth lifting curiously. ] OG?

[ The 40-year-old from the early-eighties definitely isn't familiar with such terms... But the expression sobers again as Kieren continues, mouth tugging back at the corners, looking downwards for a moment. ]

I appreciate that. It's difficult not to just feel.... extremely useless. [ Another soft laugh, another tightness in his throat that he keeps swallowed back as he thinks of Vasiliy out there facing who knows what. (Is he still alive? Is he suffering?)

A beat, a glance back up to Kieren as he mentions "medical conditions" and alludes to his own, and Konstantin watches him. He's still careful; he hadn't asked any more questions about what was wrong with Kieren that night when he'd followed the boy to that gory scene out in the woods. He'd simply accompanied him back home, waited with him while he cleaned up, made sure he was going to be okay. ]

How have you been, Kieren? Have things... gotten any easier for you?

[burying]

[ Shit, he doesn't know what 'OG' means? Kieren's mouth opens for a moment, almost speechless before he closes it into a smile. He winces, quietly playful. He's really trying not to be mean about it, but it's legit pretty funny. ]

... Original Gangster.

[ Oh, no. Now it's really cringey he had to explain it. Losing the cool points here, Konstantin. ]

You're staying alive. Don't reckon that's useless. [ There's an easy shrug as they walk. Honestly, it's being the bigger person and being upfront about being up to doing something like a... whole arse expedition somewhere in the frozen wilds. Kieren reckons someone selfish would insist on going, being a dead weight on people. That's how people end up getting hurt. They can't afford to take risks, here.

He's quite for a big at the question and his expression shifts into uncertainty, head dipping a little for a long moment. Ah. Right. Yeah. ]

Yeah, alright. [ A cop out. Almost dismissive. It's a knee-jerk answer. ] I, uh— well... stuff's the same. Few more people found out? No one's been a dick about it, though.

cw: nondescriptive suicide mention

[sputnik]

Original Gangster... huh! That's a new one. I'll have to remember that. [ Konstantin laughs again, forever delighted to learn new tidbits of information; he'll have to tell Vasiliy....

'You're staying alive. Don't reckon that's useless.' It's a good point, and Konstantin agrees — or maybe it's that he wants to agree, more than anything. To believe that staying alive means something. That it means he can help, but there's that deep ache, the one that knows he's not supposed to be alive anymore. Not him. Not what he's become. He's ruined, he's dangerous, he's nothing that he used to be.

There's a certain lingering horror to the fact that he may not be able to die. If he survived the wound he made sure was fatal the first time, then will he survive another? The thought of being kept alive against his will is a strange fear. ]

I'm glad to hear that. [ He means it, looking over at Kieren for a moment to see the younger's head dipped down, uncomfortable, maybe embarrassed. Maybe ashamed. It can't be anything easy for him to talk about, or to experience, but at least no one's been... well, a dick about it, as he says.

He's quiet for a few moments as he walks, and he keeps the question casual, his curiosity more conversational than pressing. ]

Is that all you eat? Do you eat regular food at all? [ And quicky, an add-on, because this is a conversation and not an interrogation (he knows how important that distinction is)— ]

My condition means my diet gets pretty gnarly sometimes, too. It can be hard to find the right stuff in a place like this.

[burying]

Yeah, just make sure you shorten it to 'OG'. It's cooler than way. [ There's an almost gentle teasing tone to his voice. You wouldn't want to be uncool now, would you Konstantin? He smiles a little, shaking his head. God, it's like something he'd be teasing his dad about, and there's a feeling of warmth there — along with the pang of homesickness. He misses his family, more than anything.

It's a brief thing, though. The smile, the warmth in him. It subdues. The question adding a little more weight to him.

It's not been easy, explaining things. Explaining what he is. And... people have been pretty good about it all, so far. Accepting. It hits like a sucker punch he doesn't quite expect. But there's always that feeling of dread — waiting for the other shoe to drop. There's always another shoe to drop. So he's careful, clearing his throat a little. ]

I.. can't eat regular food anymore. It's— [ Oh, boy. ] it's toxic to me.

[ So... yeah. Brains are the only thing he can eat. He wishes it wasn't, but it is— that's the only thing he can eat without it being... uh, a mess. He pauses, though. Curiously, unsure. At first, he doesn't say anything — wracking his brain, trying to put the pieces together. His condition..? ]

You said you got... hurt, when we first met. [ He offers cautiously. ] Did it... has it caused complications? Is that why?

[sputnik]

[ Being around The Public is a huge part of what Konstantin is and the particular roles he plays. It's a variety of types: women, mothers very often — but also young men who look up to him, who know the importance of his uniform and the various things that decorate it. Military commander, cosmonaut, Hero of the Soviet Union; such titles are meant to inspire, to motivate, the younger generation. He's no stranger to starry-eyed youths.

What he is a stranger to are... moments like these. Face to face and unfiltered, no cameras or conferences, no press. He can't remember the last time he spoke to a young man around Kieren's age while alone. In truth, despite his surface ease and the seemingly easygoing laughs, Konstantin is awkward with this. And maybe, possibly, mildly nervous, if he were to closely examine it — but hearing that touch of something light-hearted, even teasing, to Kieren's voice makes it seem a little less strange, a little easier. 'It's cooler that way.' Teaching him, like he's some uncle or father learning how to be cool from the youths. ....He's never known that, either.

But then come more sobering things, and Konstantin's startled to hear the words to come — 'It's toxic to me.' Food is.... toxic? Brain matter is the only thing his system is capable of consuming? Even for Konstantin, that isn't the case: his own diet hasn't even changed. He doesn't need the hormone, the blood, the brains, the gore, himself. It's only for the creature's sake. (...Although he does have to wonder, if time passes by and the lines between them keep blurring the way they were before.... will he develop his own appetite for such horrible things? This place seems to have either frozen or severed that particular connection between himself and the creature inhabiting him, but how long can that last?)

Konstantin pauses, digesting everything, considering some things of his own. Finally— ]

It was like this before. I got... sick, a few weeks before I came here. A sort of infection that changed the way my body works. [ A beat, and he's looking over, lifting a hand— ] It's not contagious. But it does mean that I have to eat a certain hormone to keep my body stabilised. A hormone found in blood.

[ ....There's no sense beating around this bush. Not if this conversation is going to mean anything on his side, too. Not if he's going to... maybe help? Maybe offer something? What this boy is going through is.... horrible. ]

...It's the most effective if it comes from brains. [ He pauses, lifting his eyebrows at Kieren, not-quite but almost smiling. Not in any way that's humoured, but.... it's all a kind of bizarre coincidence, he knows. Something very rare to be able to relate to a person over, even if their situations are clearly very different. ]

I only have to eat it sometimes. Not always. But... regularly enough that it could be an issue around here. The man I live with has started raising grouse that I can... use, when needed. I suppose it's not the most common thing to find connection with someone about, right?

[burying]

[ Kieren's quiet as he listens, his expression thoughtful, brow furrowed a little. There's a small, tight-lipped smile and he nods. It's not contagious — he almost wants to laugh. Kieren doesn't think he'll... ever really be able to get sick. Not from stuff like that. Diseases, infections. Can a body that's only half-alive get sick? He knows this place has affected him in ways: made him hallucinate, made him feel pain. But— but actual sickness? He doesn't think so.

He's just— he's just there. Suspended. Never getting older, never getting sick. He hasn't changed in over four years. Jem's nearly older than he is now. Kieren Walker, eighteen for the rest of his life.

A hormone found in blood. There's a tiny inhale, sharp. That... sounds foreboding, and Kieren's face goes a little rigid. He tries to keep himself composed, because the last thing he has any right to do is be absolutely horrified — It's the most effective if it comes from brains.

Oh, fucking hell. ]

I mean— well, needing a hormone to fight a disease isn't... totally 'out there'. [ It comes out a little awkwardly because what does he even say to... all of that? ] I— I guess it's like... um, there's stuff like hormone replacement therapies, and stuff. Or— chemicals, to help when something happens and your body can't make things on its own anymore.

[ Granted there's stuff his body can't make on his own anymore. That's why he needs Neurotriptyline. But, yeah. Kieren huffs a little; Christ this is mad. He's a zombie and this guy's a cosmonaut with some funky infection that requires him to eat brains. Kieren isn't sure where he wants to laugh or cry. ]

Sometimes the world's really small.

[ Smaller than any of them ever actually realise. ]

I'm sorry. [ He looks to the man for a brief moment, his mouth upturned and sympathy in his brow. Commiseration. ] That sounds really shit. Just... all of that. I mean, it's good the guy you're living with's doing that for you, at least. That you've got help for it. Makes it a bit easier, but—

[ God, it's really shit. ]

Is that just... there's no cure or anything? You can't... fix what the infection did?

[sputnik]

[ There's so much to this he can't say. That the hormone is what the 'disease' feeds off of — that they're symbiotically bound. The only reason that hormone stabilises his body is because it stabilises the creature who eats it. They're connected more severely than anything imaginable, although this place... has seemed to alter some things. He has to wonder just how strong that tether may be, here.

(Could the creature be killed, now? Without him also dying? How would he even test something like that?)

He looks over at Kieren as he keeps walking (still at an easy pace, conversational, although.... now that he's noticed the boy doesn't seem to be winded at all despite the odd shuffling gesture to his gait, Konstantin does pick it up juuuust a tiny bit.) There's a small smile at the words — 'I'm sorry.' He's sorry, too. Sorry for both of them, sorry that it's something somebody else in the world can relate to at all. Sorry that it's somebody so young, and kind.

There's something about feeding off of the brains of a thing that makes him feel..... tainted. Knowing that the most important source of life of a living being has been consumed by him — and before here, it was humans; the creature fed on human brains, more than he could count — makes him feel.... like a stranger in his own body.

Has Kieren fed from a person, too? Is it just animals? He won't dare ask that. ]

There was a doctor. She was trying to help me find a... cure. A way to be rid of it.

[ Tatiana. Is she..... still alive? She'd risked so much to help him. To save him. He hated to leave her the way he did. ]

Very little is known about it, so she thought... if I could get to a better hospital somewhere, find the resources, there might be hope.

[ .....But. But. Some part of him insists that it already knows that's all that it ever was. Hope. How in the world could any doctor with simple Earth medical facilities separate an alien entity from his body? Something capable of adaptability and functioning beyond anything ever before documented?

It can't even be outside of his body for more than an hour before he starts breaking down. He needs it, to survive. ]

...In any case, there's certainly no help for it here. I'm just trying to find ways to help manage it more easily. [ He draws in a slow exhale, and then breathes it out through his nostrils with a puff of white fog before looking back over at Kieren. This brings him back to thoughts he's been nursing ever since he'd last encountered the boy, kneeling over a torn-apart thing out in the woods, face dripping with blood, weeping. ]

...Have you found any ways to make your situation easier?