singillatim | the chilly worlds, and the silent fields

Entry tags:

the chilly worlds, and the silent fields

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ The alien watches him, then the glass, like it's never seen such a thing before. He watches it slurp up his offering with a strange sense of satisfaction—though he finds himself slightly jarred when it unexpectedly steadies the thing with long, lizardlike alien digits that stand in sharp juxtaposition to the primatelike nature of the gesture itself—it's something a monkey would do, or if not some creature of the same clan, at least something with a similar level of dexterity like a raccoon.

Then, holding the glass in its bizarre, spindly digits (fingers doesn't quite feel like an accurate descriptor), it makes a chittering noise at him, to him, while looking directly at him, while... making eye contact with its eight beady black eyes, or so it feels&mdashlt's hard to be certain, when they lack the white sclera of the human eye—as though deliberately addressing him. His breath pauses in his throat; a strange chill runs down his spine. He feels seen, acknowledged—by a parasite, a worm, an... alien life form. A real alien, in the flesh, allowing him to come so close to it.

The creature, for some reason, drags the now-empty jar under the bed again—maybe it wants to lick it clean like Mukhtar does with his bowl (does it have a tongue?).

What does it mean, the chittering—what is it saying? Is it extending an olive branch?

He speaks up again, voice quiet, even though he knows it won't understand his words. ]

You were hungry.

[ Sliding backwards to return to the shadows beneath the bed, the creature keeps its eyes locked on the man as it moves. While its motions are still decidedly wet, there's less viscous residue; its body has shape-shifted more with the seconds that pass, causing the sounds it makes to include a skitter here and there as its back legs scrape the wood of the floor.

The man speaks again, and again the alien seems to pay attention, having learned that it's how humans largely communicate — through vocals, sound. Its own auditory sense is a fresh thing; it's only recently developed such a capacity. It doesn't know what the man says, but it understands he speaks to it, and also that the low, soft tones to his voice are much less stress-inducing than the louder screams or the angered shouts that humans can make.

Belly full and the man posing no threat, it could almost relax and examine its new item — this glass thing in its grasp — but the cacophony outside continues, and suddenly there's another sharp crack of sound from outside, some surging buzz of electricity from a nearby cabin, perhaps. The alien is freshly frightened, letting go of the jar, which falls to the floor with a loud ping and rolls; the creature screeches and scrambles back to the wall, huddled up and trembling away from the Aurora lights that dance on the floor. There's nothing to hide in; it feels too exposed. ]

[ Something buzzes and pops like a failing power line outside as the lights brighten, accompanied by a sharp ping as the creature drops the glass in its... hands isn't the right word, neither is paws, digits is really the only descriptor that suffices—regardless, the creature drops it with a screech and it rolls down the uneven wooden floorboards to stop at his feet.

Vasiliy crouches further down, watching it as it trembles, flattening itself against the solid barrier of the wall behind it like it wants to go much further than that. Fear. It's not that different from a frightened cat in the way it behaves, really, reduced to something much less than an apex predator or a threat to human life as it cowers outside of its comfortable, familiar environment in the cold unknown. He feels... a degree of sympathy for it. For the extra-terrestrial causing Konstantin so much pain and psychological distress. It's a troubling thought, no matter how much he understands it to be an innately human reflex.

And it's also hard to decide what to do. It might want to go back inside of Kostya and be too disoriented and confused to figure out which way to go to do that. Maybe the pain is keeping it from wanting to return, trapped between one unpleasant extreme and another. And he doesn't want to wake Kostya just to suffer through the horrific abdominal pain he's been having these past few aurora nights, either. ]

Easy. Easy. You're okay. It's alright.

[ He uses the same tone of voice he'd use to reassure a very small child—he hasn't actually interacted with many animals in his lifetime, and that's the closest relevant experience he has.

But, like an animal, it probably would benefit from something to hide in until the aurora ends. If only they had cardboard boxes here. Vasiliy presses his lips together and glances quickly around the room—still reluctant to take his eyes off of the creature for long—and then his eyes come to rest on the extra throw blanket folded atop the chest at the foot of the bed. That would at least give it something to hide in, would at least provide darkness and a sense of concealment.

He gets up slowly, taking a few steps to get it and walking back before he crouches back down, unfolds it, and shoves it in a messy pile under the bed. ]

Here. You want to hide?

[ Everything's too much — the brief reprieve is over, and the world is back to being something frightening, over-stimulating. It couldn't be more different to the silent stillness of outer space; the creature doesn't know how to handle any of this. Any lingering aggression fizzles out, and there's no desire to make itself bigger, scarier; it only wants to be as small as possible, to hide away.

But there's nothing — until..... the human moves again, and once more returns quickly enough. This time it's with a new object, something shoved under the bed, something bigger. The alien tenses, but only waits a brief moment or two before it's moving to squirm its way into the folds of the material, pushing deeper until it's fully concealed, tail slithering inside. A hideaway.

It's another New Thing; the creature's never been inside of a blanket before. But it's tight, warm, and sound is muffled through the cloth. Everything's muffled, a protective buffer against the outside world and all of its terrors. It's also similar enough to being inside of its host that the alien is immediately calmed enough to no longer be panicked, and the blanket moves slowly as it adjusts its position within, curling up, making itself comfortable.

And finally, it goes still. Unmoving, making no sound, for the duration of the Aurora night. It doesn't dare sleep, it can't quite relax enough for that, but it makes no more ruckus. ]

[ When he finally glances at the clock, Vasiliy realizes that he must have awoken in the wee hours of the morning, because only an instant seems to pass between his waking up and the sun beginning to rise. It's subtle, here; the aurora fades and the sky becomes a dark, brooding gray, everything dim and quiet outside. The winter birds begin to sing.

And still the alien is hiding under the same blanket.

He recalls Konstantin saying something about the duration of its ventures outside of its host, that it doesn't stay out long. Maybe it's like a salamander, and will dry out if it goes too long outside of a moist environment. Either way, it's been hours, and the creature still hasn't left its hiding place; it must be getting cold outside of its host, and soon there will be more light, which Kostya also said it doesn't like.

How does he coax it back in? He'd rather not touch it, but what if it can't get back up the bed? It didn't climb down, it just fell. What if it strikes at him when he pulls away its hiding place, like a snake might? He presses his lips together, brow furrowed. There's really no good answer.

It's easier, safer to do nothing, but Kostya's wellbeing, and his life, are connected to the health of this thing. It has to find its way back in. He lets out a sigh and issues a verbal warning: ]

I am going to move your blanket.

[ Then, slowly, he begins to pull it out from under the bed, reeling it in like fishing line and leaving the alien with less and less square footage to hide under... ]

[ Time passes. Hours, maybe; the creature doesn't have the same concept of time as its companion in the room. It only operates on instinct, on the natural functioning of its body — and that's a body capable of adapting to its environment in extreme ways. Even now, in this place, the alien's capacity to remain outside of its host has shifted. Everything's slowed down by cold and by stagnancy; it spends so much more time inside of him now, doesn't exit nightly like it once did.

It can go slower, dormant, body in a state of rest. The hours pass and it's not a state of emergency that it hasn't returned to Konstantin. Though by the time the Aurora lights finally flicker away, and morning is slowly stretching out, the creature does feel weak, ill, very cold, and extremely tired. It needs to return to its host, needs to recover, to sleep.

But it doesn't move. Not until the man speaks again for the first time in a long time, and moves first — its hiding place suddenly changing, sliding slowly away. It startles, but it's too tired to do much, only curls its tail around itself and clings onto the blanket, even when the man pulls all of it out, and even when it's more exposed as a result.

It curls into whatever bit of blanket it still can, but the gesture has peeled back what was covering the creature's face, and it blinks up at the man, each small round black eye fixed. It stares at him, waiting to see what new thing will happen now. Apprehensive, but so far the man hasn't harmed it, and it's too exhausted to offer much upset. It's been a long, harrowing night. ]

[ The creature looks... different, its body moving slower, curled into a ball like a cat as though to make itself smaller, gangly limbs folded beneath it. It seems to have slowed down, like an insect in cold weather; it's not altogether surprising, seeing as it seems to fall somewhere between that and a reptile or amphibian in its fully developed form, and he's sure, in any event, that it must be cold blooded.

And it's been away from its heat source from quite some time.

The creature doesn't immediately return to Kostya, and instead just... stares at him, like it expects him to do something. Is it that intelligent? It's a worm. A parasite. But... it's also an extraterrestrial. It showed interest in an item it hadn't seen before. He's not sure how to feel about that.

It occurs to him that it probably won't be able to get back up the bed, or move much of anywhere, in its weakened state. He does know how he feels about that: not thrilled. Uneasy. This thing definitely has the teeth to bite him, and he isn't sure that an offering of one jar of blood is enough to appease a natural predator with a long history of unpleasant interactions with humans.

If he doesn't move it, though, Kostya could die. The creature is getting weaker. Ideally he'd at least have some oven mitts, but he doesn't dare take his eyes off of it—what if it's able to use those long, almost lemurlike digits to open the window and escape or something? What then?

Vasiliy inhales deeply and lets out a slow sigh, an attempted release of tension, then leans over the bed and pulls off two pillowcases, wrapping one around each arm as a makeshift falconer's glove.

The cold wooden floorboards creak as he lowers himself into a crouch a few feet away from the alien, making direct eye contact with all eight of the glistening black eyes. He keeps his voice low—but a warning tone, if the creature can even recognize what that means. ]

Don't bite me. I'm going to help you, but you have to let me pick you up. I'm not going to hurt you. I'll drop you if you bite me.

[ He feels like fucking Steve Irwin, or whatever that man's name was. The alligator man from Australia who came on Animal Planet reruns in the nurses' breakroom sometimes.

Slowly, very slowly, Vasiliy rests one protected hand on the thing's tail, gradually sliding it toward its back, then another hand on the other side of it. He lifts the creature very awkwardly, like a cat, trying to keep its hands—paws?—together in one hand and strange hind digits together in the wrapped hand that supports its hindquarters. ]

[ The creature stays just like that, unmoving and staring in silence as the man crouches lower, closer, and this is as close as they've ever been, face to face.

All it knows is how humans have behaved towards it since its unexpected arrival to this alien planet. And they're... strange creatures, frightening ones, for how unpredictable they are. The same humans that fed it, hurt it. Trust is so slow-growing, but.... again, the entity knows this man has been providing it with sustenance, and so far has not hurt it. Granted, it's stayed inside of its host so much that there has been little opportunity for this man to harm it, but... now here they are, face to face, and he hasn't tried to cause it pain.

If anything, this is very reminiscent of how the woman from before interacted with it. She'd crouched down low, to its level, nervous of it but not flinching away. She'd tried to keep its host safe — and it had absorbed those attachments from Konstantin, glimmers of trust and security.

Konstantin also trusts this man. And there is affection there, and maybe now that things have slowed down and it's too exhausted to be upset, the creature feels the ripples of similar waves towards Vasiliy as it stares up into his wide brown eyes and the man speaks directly to it — with words it can't comprehend, but it does feel the shifts in voice, in tone. The man is very intentional with how it addresses the creature, and it's rare that a human has spoken to it like this. Communicating.

In any case, it's too tired and too weak to resist anything. It makes no sound at all, unable to even expend the energy to growl. It even goes a bit limp there in the man's grasp, though it is afraid, and its little body shudders. It's never been picked up before, this is new and strange and it doesn't understand what might happen. ]

[ He tries to lift the creature—the alien, he reminds himself, this is a real alien—as smoothly and slowly as he can; who knows how it might panic if he suddenly swoops it up like an owl would? Even through the trembling of his own hands in their thick cotton wrappings, he's able to recognize the quivering of the small body they hold, and it gives him pause—perhaps it's finally shivering after hours in the cold, but there's also the possibility that it's looking at him with fear. It, an extra-terrestrial, afraid of him—but it is in a weakened state, and further, it knows something about him that Konstantin doesn't. It knows he's different than the humans it killed.

There's a chill, to that thought. A sudden awareness of his own otherness that he pushes to the side after a split second. He has to focus on this, and it could suddenly panic at any moment and try to get away from him and hurt one or both of them in its fear.

After what feels like an eternity, he sets the creature down on the mattress beside Konstantin's head and slowly slides his hands out from under it. He exhales, stiffness leaving his chest, and takes a generous step back. ]

Go. Go back inside.

[ The man who lifts its body upwards is just as much an Other — just as much an alien. Something strange even among the strangeness of human beings. Something that doesn't fit into the norms of the creature's understanding of humans.

It is afraid of him, to be so close to him. It doesn't know what he might do; he hasn't harmed it yet, but humans are so very unpredictable.

But it doesn't attack, doesn't do much of anything. It just stays like that, tense and shuddering and exhausted, and then it's being placed upon the soft surface of the bed, and it realises, with some bewilderment, that the man has positioned it next to its host.

There's a beat or two of that stun, of confusion and realisation alike (the man, whatever sort of not-human or somewhat-human he is, has intentionally given it back its host body) before instinct kicks in and the creature moves towards Konstantin. More slowly than it usually would; it's tired, unable to exert the energy for quicker movement, but it's an intentional gesture forwards, propelling itself directly towards his head.

And as it moves, it makes itself even smaller, shrinking (it's so easy to do, given its current state, weakened and tired out.) By the time it reaches the man's lips, it's small enough to easily slide down his throat — but even this takes some initial effort as it nudges into his mouth, having to rest for a moment there hanging half out of him before it's able to push itself forwards, tail disappearing as it finally reaches the soft tunnel of his throat, leaving a slick trail that drips from his parted lips.

Even when it's small, the process of re-entry isn't easy on the cosmonaut's body. It thrashes a bit as its foreign invader forces itself downwards, gag reflex working against the unnatural sensation of something too-large sliding down.

But finally, finally, it reaches the stomach, its safe nest, where it curls in on itself, shuddering a few more times before it goes still. Konstantin's body gives another convulsive spasm or two before it, too, goes still — both the alien and the cosmonaut settling. ]

[ Vasiliy watches, transfixed, as the thing slithers back into his friend's body, seemingly unhinging his jaw in the process, like a snake's—it, and everything else he's seen tonight, is so far from the reality he's known for the past 33 years that it feels like a very strange, chilling dream.

Konstantin grows still as the thing seemingly makes itself comfortable deep within him, and his immediate urge is to shake him, to ask him if he's okay and if this is normal and what happened—but he needs rest now even more than he normally would, so he curbs the urge. He's reluctant to let his eyes leave his companion for even a moment, but he does, at least, pad across the cold wooden floorboards to the living room, where he lights a small candle on a dessert plate and takes it with him as he pulls a book on outdoorsmanship from the bookshelf against the wall.

He sets the candle on his bedside table, dim enough as not to be disruptive but providing enough extra light to illuminate the words on the pages once he settles into his side of the bed, spine resting against the solid wood headboard behind it.

There are no more disturbances to his friend's sleep—and eventually, Kostya does wake up on his own. Vasiliy lightly closes to the book and looks over at him, voice quiet, not too jarring. ]

Good morning.

[ The rest of the early hours of morning pass by uneventfully. One would never know that something so horrific happened; Konstantin sleeps calmly, his breathing slow and even. Finally, he stirs awake — with a soft exhale, eyes fluttering open, vision a little glossy with the haze of morning. But something catches hold of him, helps prompt him into wakefulness sooner, and he's blinking, slowly pushing himself upwards a bit with one elbow.

Vasya's awake. Sitting right up in bed with a book. How early did he wake...?

Konstantin smiles in the middle of a yawn, wide and sleepy, and leans on his pillow with that elbow pressed against it, looking up at the other man. ]

Good morning. You're up early... That must be a really good book.

[ Kostya yawns and stretches, smiling, at ease and languid, and it all but melts everything inside of him on the spot. It's attractive—he's attractive, even having just woken up, even after everything he witnessed the previous night (were the thought to even occur to Vasiliy).

Waking up, watching Konstantin slowly come into consciousness beside him, easy and comfortable and perfectly at home—it's too perfect, or would be, were it not for the occasional self-reminder that Konstantin does not love him, at least not in the way that he wants, and a woman could theoretically enter the picture at any moment and fracture this entire arrangement.

But he doesn't think about that right now, just smiles back, shrugs. ]

It's alright. Useful. [ Beat. His smile fades, slightly. ] How do you feel? You had an episode last night, with the... alien.

[ Somewhere along the way, Konstantin became used to waking up beside another person. Maybe some little lingering part of it feels strange, if he lets himself think about too much — he shares a home, a bed, all of his nights with a man now.

But those nights, and the subsequent mornings, are nice. There's someone to greet him. Sometimes they talk for awhile before getting up. Sometimes Vasiliy's already up and about, and Konstantin goes to find him. They share breakfast, conversation, space.

Even when he's just woken up, that natural ease and playfulness is evident in Konstantin as he looks up at Vasiliy, drowsy and comfortable. Then come the words, and his smile immediately halts — the lingering glaze to his eyes clearing a bit as it sinks in, fast and unwelcomed and with a kneejerk pulse of alarm. ]

I did?

[ He's moving to sit up all the way now, faster than before, one palm flat against the bed as he pushes himself upwards. An episode. That could take on a few different forms, but the most alarming one is, of course— ]

Did it come out?

...Yes. It was...

[ He glances down with a flicker of dark lashes, mouth barely open, trying to find words to describe it. What if Kostya thinks this changes something between them? That he's suddenly repulsed when he wasn't before? The thought is unbearable. ]

I've never seen an alien before. It didn't try to attack me, I think it was just hungry, so I fed it, and then—the aurora started and it got scared. [ He never would have attributed an emotion like fear to it before. Parasitic worms aren't capable of fear. But Konstantin's passenger, it turns out, is not... that. ] It hid under the bed and it was still shaking, so I... gave it a blanket and it hid under it. And then the sun started to rise. It was barely responsive. I think the cold made it weak, Kostya, and it—I had to pick it up and... help it onto the bed.

[ He hesitates, guilty—it feels like some kind of violation, touching it. ]

I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do, and I was worried something bad would happen if it stayed out much longer.

[ It came out. Which— has happened before, in this place, but only one other time, that Konstantin knows of. That first night spent with Vasiliy. The creature had ejected itself, whether to look for food or to investigate its new surroundings... but Vasya hadn't seen it directly. It didn't... bother him. Didn't attack, didn't try to feed from him. And since then, it's stayed inside of Konstantin.

Hearing that it emerged again, and that Vasiliy encountered it directly... reels him sideways; his stomach drops unpleasantly, and his throat tightens with a flare of anxiety he's not used to experiencing. There's horror clear in his face as Vasiliy continues — he fed it... gave it a blanket to hide under, spent hours with it so close... and then he— picked it up.

The thought is almost absurd. Almost unthinkable. No one's ever... held it. No one's ever even touched it. And he's horrified, but in more ways than he ever thought he'd be — upset by the thought of the thing coming out at all, of course, and by the thought that it could have hurt his friend, but... there's something else, something that makes his blood pressure feel a bit too high, his neck burning at the nape. Something unexpected, actually.

Embarrassment.

Konstantin sits there, mouth tipped open as he stares at Vasiliy, and finally he manages to swallow a little, but he still looks shaken. ]

No, I.... I'm sorry. That you had to... deal with that.

[ At some point through his words, his eyes fall from Vasiliy and down to the bed covers in front of him, and he just stares. He feels extremely odd, and knows he should be saying more, but he feels far-away from himself. It's all so unexpected, and maybe he's not able to handle the unexpected as well as he used to. ]

[ Konstantin looks about as horrified by it all as Vasiliy feared he would be, and it plays out on his face in real time, completely unguarded, unfiltered. ]

Kostya, no.

[ He's quick to lean forward, squeezing the other's near shoulder, searching for eye contact. ]

It's okay. I've dealt with worse. I promise.

[ And it's not a lie. In the grander scheme of things, he's witnessed injuries far, far more gruesome than a seizure and a strange creature exiting an otherwise unharmed, intact body, even if he's never seen something quite so strange. ]

Just getting a drunk person on an ambulance there is piss, vomit, blood... this is nothing. It's alright. I knew to expect it.

[ He does look up at him — but only briefly, eyes wide as they flit to Vasiliy's when the other man reaches to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance. This is... weird. It's weird that he's so embarrassed about it — so ashamed. Because yes, some of it is the normal shame, that Vasiliy had to face such a distressing situation because of him, but then there's some part that's ashamed because of how... unfavourable it all is.

(How disgusting. It's disgusting. He may not retain memories of the incidents here the way he did back home, but he'll never forget it. How he convulses, wretches, body pushed to its limits as the thing inside of him forces its way out. And the creature itself is disgusting to look at — much less to touch.)

It's an uncomfortable awareness he has no idea what to do with. He's never felt... embarrassed by his body before. He listens to Vasiliy speak, understands; he's an EMT, he's seen... all manner of horrors, probably, but he hates the thought of it being him. He's stricken by some sudden urge to check himself in the mirror, to brush his teeth, make sure there's no dried slime at the corners of his mouth or on his clothing... ]

It's just so disgusting, [ he can't help almost blurting out. A parasite that slithers out of somebody and then slithers back in. How can Vasya even stand to be near him, right now? Almost before he can think about it, Konstantin glances downwards at himself, cringing slightly as his fingers brush against the covers gathered at his lap. It surely left residue, the way it always does. What about on the floors? Under the bed? Did its slime get on Vasiliy's hands? And then he had to witness it... getting back into him; it must have been absolutely horrific. ]

I'm sorry— I'm disgusting. I don't know how you can even sleep in the same bed as me, Vasya.

[ His chest aches, hearing Konstantin say such a thing, bearing witness to his revulsion and alienation from his own body. Vasiliy wants to tell him just how far his self-assessment is from the truth: he's more than just not disgusting, he's the most attractive person he's ever encountered in his life. He can't imagine a situation that could make Konstantin seem disgusting to him.

But he can't say that. He can't offer up how arresting he finds the strong, masculine jaw and high cheekbones and deep brown eyes with their long lashes, can't inform him of just how much thought he's devoted to what it might be like to kiss him, or... the less physical thoughts, the truly dangerous ones.

All he can say, soft but firm in his reassurances, is— ]

No, Kostya. You could never be disgusting to me. You're a space hero. You're like Yuri Gagarin. Born to be on the cover of Pravda. You're just sick. That's not your fault. It doesn't... reflect on you.

[ The words surprise him, catch hold of some very specific place — they're exactly what he'd most want, most need to hear. Every single one (you could never be disgusting to me, space hero, like Yuri Garigan.... born to be on the cover of Pravda....)

They're the sorts of words that someone back home might say to him — the types of things he's familiar with, but in this place... hardly anyone knows to make such associations. He's not much of anything, anymore. His title, what it means, what he's done... it carries little, if any, weight.

But not to Vasiliy. Vasiliy, who knew exactly who and what he was, what that meant — who looks at him sometimes as though he could light up a room. And he knows the other man is sincere with the words, and it makes something up under his sternum tighten, not with upset, but... something else. Relief? Happiness? Whenever he feels lost in himself, Vasiliy always manages to find him again. He's the only one here who really can.

He fidgets, still restless and uncomfortable by the news of last night's events, but the other's words are reassuring. He can't help the smallest tug of a pleased smile at the corners of his mouth, even if he keeps his eyes downwards again, still bizarrely embarrassed. He really would prefer to check himself in a mirror... ]

You're too kind to me, as always. [ But the smile lingers, even if he won't make eye contact just yet. He reaches up, broad palm against his mouth before he lowers it again with a heavy sigh. ]

I don't understand why it would come out and bother you. I thought it would stay... inside. Out of the cold.

I think it was in pain, from the aurora. Like us. Its skin is always touching yours.

[ Vasiliy pauses, contemplating. ]

It also could have been hungry. It drank all of the blood I gave it, but I don't know if that's just because it was there. I gave it the food so it would... trust me.

[ He knows it sounds insane, he knows. It's a parasite, an alien, and occupies the form of a worm when it's in his body—and there's something uncomfortable, something that feels wrong, about interacting with the unwanted thing that brings him so much pain and grief while he's not present for it. It almost feels like all of this has happened behind Konstantin's back.

It's his turn to break eye contact, looking down at the edge of the blanket covering their legs, lips pressed together. ]

It seemed... a lot more intelligent than what they told you, Kostya. [ There's another pause as he considers whether or not to share the information on the tip of his tongue—it's already suspicious enough that the alien didn't try to eat him on that first night, that it's avoided him, and the last thing he wants is for Konstantin to think he's anything other than thoroughly ordinary. When he does speak up, his voice is quieter than it was before, an unconscious shift he doesn't seem to recognize. ] ...It seemed afraid of me. It was staring at me and shaking. And it was afraid of the aurora, it sort of... shrieked and hid under the bed when things turned on. Maybe something's different about it here.

[ The Aurora. Konstantin frowns as he looks downwards to his lap again for a long moment, thinking. This month, there's been... very intense pain during them, it's true, but he hadn't imagined the thing would.... remove itself. Was it really trying to escape that pain? So desperate to do so that it would leave the safe warmth of his body?

Or maybe it's the food situation. Konstantin listens to Vasiliy further explain, his eyes steely, focused. They try to keep it fed consistently, but... it isn't as healthy, without regularly feeding from humans. Maybe over time, it's gotten sicker. Maybe the grouse aren't enough. Or maybe it needs more of them to compensate for what it isn't getting anymore. So many maybes. It's all incredibly distressing.

But there's something especially distressing about what Vasiliy says next. 'It seemed a lot more intelligent than what they told you, Kostya.'

He knows the creature is capable of.... intelligence, but this, too has contained unknowns. How intelligent is it, really? It absorbs from him, but it also is clearly capable of... learning on its own, too. And now that he retains none of its memories... he has no idea what it might be learning in this strange new environment. What it might adapt to. He sits there, unnerved by all of it, and finally lifts his eyes back to Vasiliy, though he still finds it hard to maintain eye contact. ]

Afraid of you. [ Is that why it hadn't fed from Vasiliy, that first night? He shakes his head slowly, reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. ]

Back at the facility, the workers did... harm it, at times. To control it. And I think it's frightened of loud sounds, bright lights. It's very sensitive.

[ He lowers his hand again with a sigh. ]

Usually when it's frightened, it would become... bigger. More deadly. I don't think it can do that, here. Something about this place keeps it weaker. But... Vasya, I don't know how long that might last. If it ever does this again, comes out like this, it might be for the best if you do frighten it a little. It needs to know it can't ever be allowed to harm you.

[ Vasiliy presses his lips together, and nods slightly, in understanding—but there's a slight discomfort with the idea he doesn't voice. Based on his experience, it doesn't seem likely that the thing would dare attack him, or that it would be capable of such a thing at all. It wasn't even able to climb back up the bed, and it was shaking and hiding like a skittish dog the entire time it was out.

And there's the fact that he knows why the alien won't touch him, why he's not appealing prey, and Konstantin... doesn't. Can't know.

He's also uncomfortable, almost traitorously so, with the idea of the thing being harmed just to keep it controlled—it was already so fragile, so vulnerable. He has to make a deliberate point of reminding himself that it wasn't always like this. It kills people; it causes the man closer to him than anyone in the world a tremendous amount of pain. He shouldn't feel so conflicted. It's a parasite.

But it's... alone. It's likely terrified, an alien on a strange planet, surrounded by things it's never seen, unsure of what will and won't harm it. He thinks, for just a moment, of walking through the outskirts of Moscow on that first day, as forest gradually turned to small homes, and then—high rises, apartment complexes, rushing streets with hundreds of cars so much larger than anything he knew of. People everywhere. Devices he'd never seen. Clothes that hardly resembled anything he knew. How... sickening, and chilling that was, how cut off he felt from the rest of the universe.

Vasiliy glances down for a moment, collecting his thoughts, sweeping the memory into a dark corner of his mind. ]

I will, [ he offers, quietly. It's Konstantin's body, his parasite. He owes it to him to do what he wants. Whether he's uncomfortable with it doesn't matter. ]

But it might... I think it might react with aggression. It hissed at me first, when it was afraid, but after I gave it food and somewhere to hide, it... stopped. It stopped showing aggression.

[ Konstantin pauses at that, trying to push through his odd more personal discomforts and think about it objectively. He knows the thing reacts to how it's treated. Tatiana had been making some headway with it, reaching out to it bit by bit. There were a couple of times she'd even seemed to have tamed its bloodlust — but only ever so briefly, and precariously. It's still so unpredictable, its behaviours. Who knows how this environment might shape that behaviour in new ways? What if it reacts with hostility to Vasiliy, and next time worse than hissing?

....But then again, if it stopped showing aggression to him in response to how he'd treated it... it could be a huge risk if he tries to frighten it into submission next time.

Konstantin sits there, expression tight, body tense. He doesn't know what the right answer is, here. Not being able to remember anything the creature does has been a mercy, but in a moment like this, it's a horror.

Vasiliy is the only bridge he now has to the creature's behaviour when it's outside of him. Konstantin has to place his trust in him — he does, it's the alien that he doesn't trust. ]

Since you're the one there with it, seeing how it reacts... whatever you think is best, I trust you, Vasya. [ He looks to the younger man's eyes, holding his gaze even if some strange sense of shame continues to linger. There's a few moments' pause before he adds on, and it's softer, something strained to his voice. ]

I just don't want you to get hurt.

[ It feels a little raw, vulnerable, this admission — not some grand statement for the people's benefit or proudly upholding some duty. It's—... it is personal. It's how he feels, honest and sincere and maybe a little foreign. He isn't used to voicing things like this. ]

[ Vasiliy swallows, holding the eye contact without shying away. It's not the first time someone's said that to him—Nadya had said that, too, when he joined the NKVD; it had been the beginning of the end of a two-year relationship. Yuri had said that after he escaped Beria's purges with his life.

It's been a long time since someone has held those thoughts for him, beyond his squadmates' superficial wish for him to remain sound on calls because they generally liked him, on however shallow a level that may have been. They wouldn't like him, and they certainly wouldn't care if he got hurt, if they saw any deeper, if they knew even a quarter of the real him.

But Konstantin does know the real him, or as close to it as he safely can, and there's a lump in his throat as he thinks about that—nobody's known him like this since he died; it hasn't been safe to allow anyone to know him. But Konstantin is a communist too. A devoted, principled Communist, and were it not for what he did during that time... he would trust him with the knowledge that he had died once before.

Vasiliy presses his lips together, wets them with the tip of his tongue. ]

I won't. I'll be careful. But it's better I handle it than someone in town. It seems to... trust me. Maybe it understands that we're friends.

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sputnik - 2024-07-07 18:56 (UTC) - Expand

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m1895 - 2024-07-07 19:02 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

the chilly worlds, and the silent fields

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cw: invasive / oral parasite horror

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