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.

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[ Her threat level awareness stays tuned to the highest setting, so Sam jumps into action from the very second she hears footsteps outside. She reaches for the hunting knife that she had on her when she first found herself on the outskirts of Milton— the one from Richie's fucked up museum, the one from case evidence bought off of crooked cops, the one that Billy Loomis used in 1996. The original, because that's what it always comes back to.

The fog clouds visibility from as close as the window nearest the front door; she can't see more than a human-shaped silhouette. But she hears the urgency in his voice and how his words shake from the effort to keep his body warm. Sam has only strayed a few feet from the fireplace but she felt the temperature drop with each step.

In the windowpane, her father's bloodied reflection smirks at her. "You're not really gonna let him in, are you? C'mon Sam, you're smarter than that! Fuck this guy."

Sam closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, she starts for the door, not checking back to see if the vision is gone. She opens the door just wide enough for the man to step inside and shuts it immediately behind him. Then she raises the knife where he can see it, not a threat but a warning. ]

I'm gonna have to pat you down.

[ Those initial seconds pass by and they feel like so much longer. He's afraid in a way he rarely ever is, some fear that feels as bone-deep as the cold. This is different, this.... severity of cold, the way it's affecting him — it's unexpected, an unknown, and he doesn't know how the alien might react if its host doesn't find warmth immediately. Will it evict itself from him in the attempt to find better shelter? He can't let that happen, can't let it out, but if it decides to then he can't fucking stop it—

There's the sound of footsteps, movement, and the door's opening; he's being let inside. Konstantin stumbles in without a second thought, his breathing strained and painful as his lungs struggle to process the stinging wet cold of the air that's been forced inside of them.

But his head's immediately snapping up again as he realises there's a knife in clear view: a surprise further exacerbated by its wielder, a young woman. Quickly, Konstantin's nodding as he lifts both of his hands up in the air like he's on the bad end of an arrest. He won't resist the search, and fortunately there's nothing on his person that should register as damnable, no weapons. ]

There's nothing, [ he manages to say inbetween the shudders that rack his frame, almost convulsively. ] I'm not dangerous.

[ Which is, of course, a lie. ]

Okay. [ Sam remarks, drawing the end of the word for exaggeration. He is at the mercy of her hospitality; she wouldn't expect him to admit to being dangerous.

She proceeds with patting him down until she is reasonably convinced that he wasn't lying. Then she locks the door, all four deadbolts, and waves him toward the fireplace with her empty hand. ]

By the way, [ she starts, following him to the fire, ] Don't take any of this personally. I'd receive any stranger the same way.

[ Konstantin glances back to the door when she locks it, only just now really taking notice of the fact it comes with four deadbolts (Came with? Or did she put those on herself? The latter seems more likely, given that no other buildings he's seen come with that amount of security).

He stays as still as possible until she's finished checking him, and then nods gratefully as he's coaxed towards the fireplace, trying to keep his calm as much as humanly possible, but he can't quite stop himself from rushing towards it soon enough, quickly moving in as close as he can.

But it's not enough heat, not quickly enough; nothing's enough. Konstantin's shuddering uncontrollably, hair and skin damp from the wet chill of the fog, and stomach coiling with ache and nausea from its unhappy occupant. Dizzy sparks burst just behind his eyes; abruptly, he tilts forwards as his body loses its balance, managing to catch himself against the nearby wall so he doesn't topple right into the fireplace, drawing a sharp hiss in through his teeth. ]

Shit. [ He's panting as he leans against the thing for support, eyes pressing tightly shut. ] Sorry. I'm just— I feel like I'm going to pass out.

Oh fuck. [ Sam is forced to do the very last thing she would want to do: she sets the knife down on a shelf above the fireplace. It's still within reach, just not hers alone. In his state, it seems unlikely that he'll make a grab for it. Of course, it could be an act to get her guard down; she has fallen for a convincing performance before.

On the other hand, if this is all genuine and he dies on her watch, Sam will have a lot of explaining to do. Not having to deal with that kind of attention has been the one upside of this place. And he may be a stranger to her but that doesn't mean she's fine with him dropping dead. She just wishes she knew more about treating the deadly cold. ]

You should sit down. [ She doesn't warn him that she is going to touch him, mainly because he seems too out of it to care. Sam guides him as best she can to sit down in the armchair by the fireplace. ] I might be able to help you warm up but it's... I can't always control it. So I need you to keep still and avoid sudden movements. If you startle me, I could set us both on fire.

[ The weapon is set down — a fact Konstantin observes from the corner of his eye when he opens them back up, leaned to the wall in attempt to desperately keep himself upright. Losing consciousness would be a problem for a variety of reasons, but the most pressing of which being that it could give the creature opportunity to do whatever the fuck it might do in such a harrowing situation. He doesn't know. It might try to escape him, might seek out more sustenance to strengthen itself, and he's in a small, enclosed space with someone he's presuming lives here alone. A young woman with a knife; she'd have some chance against the alien, at least; this place seems to weaken it. But maybe not much.

The thought flashes, cutting and uncomfortable: he shouldn't be in here. It's an enormous risk to someone else's safety — his own survival could come at a cost. But if he can just.... stabilise himself, get himself warmed up, calm the thing down, it'll be okay. It doesn't want to come out of him here, he knows that much. It would only do that if it were desperate enough. He has to take care of this. ]

Thank you. [ The words come in a pained strain of breath as the cosmonaut stumbles towards the armchair she guides him to, falling down against it and letting his head loll back, but her words give him surprise, brows furrowing as he stares up at her. ]

You can— You have that... ability? From this place?

[ He's learned that people have been "obtaining" supernatural abilities — a result of experimentation, he's still inclined to believe — and he's briefly seen the one she seems to be speaking of. ]

Did it happen to you after a dream?

Yeah, it was... a really weird dream. [ Remembering any dream after waking is atypical for Sam; she's been lucky for that, considering the gruesome imagery that her mind can summon from memory. But she remembers that dream even months later. ]

I'm going to try to turn myself into a human radiator. Fair warning, it's my first time trying something like this. Here goes nothing.

[ Sam rolls her sleeves up past the elbow and stretches her forearms toward the man, nodding her indication that he's okay to touch her. Then she takes a deep breath— without closing her eyes— and concentrates on channeling heat through her skin. She runs warm already, a passive consequence of her ability. She has played with warming herself further to fight the cold but she has never tried to transfer that heat to someone else. Within a few minutes, Sam's arms are shining with sweat. She takes that as a hopeful sign. ]

Are you feeling anything?

[ A beat as he listens to the stranger whom he's pushed his well-being onto, having to trust in this immediate moment — the warning of potential fire-starting is alarming, and he's tensing, but he has no other choice. If he doesn't get warm quickly...

So he nods as he watches her, willing more words from inbetween his spasming shudders. ]

I've met someone else who can do that. Not me. I had the dream, but... no heater powers.

[ After shakily peeling off his gloves, he carefully, slowly, he reaches out his bare hands to place his fingertips against her forearms to begin with, and he tries to stay as still as possible, hardly daring to breathe. Then he feels it happening, her skin starting to warm like a heating pad, and even though he's seen Randvi do this, it's still such a novel thing to witness in person.

Konstantin's eyes widen as he looks down at her arms, and he's gently opening his fingers a bit to let his palms rest against her arms instead, giving a shuddery gasp of relief. ]

I feel it. It's working. [ God, it helps so much to directly touch a heat source, and the man's eyes close. He can't quite ignore the pain in his stomach, but at least to begin with, this is helping coax warmth into his body. After a moment he's opening his eyes again to ask, with the faintest hint of a smile— ]

So have you set something on fire before?

You didn't get any of the other ones either. [ An observation, not a question. Sam bases her assumption on his recent luck: any of the dreamed-up superpowers going around Milton could have given him an edge to avoid ending up on the brink of freezing. Then again, maybe he's the luckiest one of them all, to not have been affected by the dream and any future consequences these abilities may yet reap.

Sam jerks slightly, as if physically pulling herself back from that train of thought. Control is a tenuous thing.

It's usually the last thing she would want, for someone to touch her when she's already hot. But the heat doesn't stifle like it used to and the brush of his fingers against her inner arms is the most gentle physical contact she has had in months. She pushes away the immediate judgment— that it's weak and pathetic and she shouldn't succumb to that base instinct of any social animal— and lets herself sink into the feeling.

She looks relieved when he confirms that it's working. They're still a ways off from a full recovery but at least he doesn't seem like he's on the verge of unconsciousness anymore. His next question makes her smirk, not as embarrassed as she perhaps should be. ]

Intentionally or unintentionally? Doesn't matter, the answer's yes to both. I could've used a manual but all I got was that cryptic dream.

[ A little smile of affirmation— ] I don't know whether that's a good thing or a bad one. [ Of course, if his ongoing theory is correct and everyone here is being experimented on, maybe it makes sense that he'd be spared from that, given he already has plenty going on to be observed.

Konstantin pauses when he feels that slight flinch, readying himself to pull back, but the young woman seems to ease through it, and he relaxes again, breathing out a slow, steady exhale. Being indoors is helping — no longer breathing in the bitter, stinging air outside — and the fireplace nearby, the warmth of her skin.... he's feeling better, even if it's mostly on the surface, and even if the thing inside of him keeps squirming, eliciting little shudders of pain. He tries desperately to ignore it, to concentrate on her words as long as he's able. ]

Sounds... terrifying. [ That's the only word for it, something that can't be sugarcoated, even if Konstantin has a tendency to make everything sound lighter than it is, almost playful. Maybe it's a coping mechanism in a harrowing situation, or some attempt to put her even more at ease with a stranger in her home who's unexpectedly required physical touch, or a mix of both, but he's smiling again. ]

Well, if you accidentally set me on fire, I won't hold it against you. You didn't ask for some stranger to knock on your door in the middle of—

[ The attempt to be light-hearted is abruptly cut off as there's a sharper pang of ache that seizes his gut, and he's gasping aloud, leaning forward before he can stop himself, fingers wrapping more tightly against the girl's arms for a moment. ]

Shit—!

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the chilly worlds, and the silent fields

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