singillatim | you're a drifter, a shapeshifter

Entry tags:

you're a drifter, a shapeshifter

Who: Vasiliy (

m1895) + assorted others!
What: Non-event happenings.
When: Throughout July.
Where: At the homestead, around Milton & Lakeside.

Content Warnings: See individual toplevels!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ More than a month goes by, and the creature doesn’t make a second appearance, or perhaps more accurately, it doesn’t make a second appearance Vasiliy is aware of—until it does, and a rigid elbow to the upper arm wakes him from what was apparently fairly deep sleep, considering that it took this much to interrupt it.

Konstantin is facing him this time, jaw spread so far open it looks like it might unhinge, eyes an inky black in the moonlight, and—then, directly across from his face, the creature is slithering out of him, opening eight perfectly circular eyes as it grows less and less wormlike by the second, head splitting through the thin membrane of the almost saclike protective cover it emerged in like a chick hatching from its egg.

He’s seen it once before, but it’s still something of a shock, enough for him to freeze in place, wide-eyed, his mouth slightly ajar for a few seconds before he launches himself backwards to put space between the thing and his face and eyes, all but tumbling out of bed as his bare feet hit the cold wood with a soft thump.

He realizes he should say… Something to it, establish his presence as still-unthreatening. Vasiliy keeps his voice low, quiet—but warning. ]

Don’t… do not bite me. No attacking.

Edited 2024-07-09 19:21 (UTC)

[ Unbeknownst to Konstantin, the creature has made an exit a good handful of times — although still so sparingly in comparison to its consistent, nightly routine before this place. But it's had little reason to face the outside world and its harsh elements here. It's kept fed, and warm, and safe. Any excursions outside of its host's body have been kept short.

And after facing an Aurora night last time... it seldom dares to come out after-hours. Maybe it's a little hungrier tonight — in need of a midnight snack, as it were. Maybe it's having some difficulty staying still, restless after waking up from its hours spent sleeping during the daytime and with no stimulation to be found tucked deep into the nest of Konstantin's stomach, apart from the subtle movements of his body from within. Whatever the true reason, it's emerging now — squirming out of the membrane it sheds and unfurling there on the soft bed, a much different surface to land on than the hard floor it had fallen to last time.

It knows Vasiliy is there (he's always there when its hosts is sleeping; it can hear, feel the vibrations of the other man's system working, the pulse of blood and heartbeat) but it isn't quite so afraid to face him this time — all eyes locked onto the man as he stumbles from the bed and back a bit, frilled head lifting towards him to watch. No, the thing is blatantly bolder, this time. Cautious to be sure; it hesitates as it stares up at the man, tensing a bit, but it isn't actively flinching back or trying to hide from him.

If anything, it seems almost... expectant. It gathers and orients itself more quickly this time, patting one thin appendage against the bed's material before pulling its little body closer. With that, it keeps peering up at the man, recognising his response as speaking to it, even if it can't understand what's being said. But it knows to respond back and so it does — emitting a trill-like sound, hood rippling. It certainly seems to be speaking at him, given the fact those eyes never leave the man's face and it stays with its head pointed right at him. ]

[ It's... talking to him. The alien.

It takes his breath away, bringing it to pause in his chest for a split second before he remembers to exhale. It communicates; it's social, it's intelligent, this thing that lives inside of his roommate. It's... smarter than a human fetus, or even a newborn infant—much smarter. He's not sure what to make of that, or what to do next here, or what the creature wants him to do next, because it's clearly waiting for... something. ]

Are you... hungry?

[ He asks, quietly. But he'd have to leave the room and go into the kitchen to get blood, and that would mean leaving the thing entirely unattended while its appendages are unfurled, while it's able to get up to something or maybe even escape. His heart beats a little faster; he glances toward the door, lips pressed together, conflicted, then—risks it, and in a fit of courage, steps closer to the bed, crouching down and extending his arms to the edge of it—climb in if you want.

He won't be snatching the alien up like a predator or something this way. It'll be entirely the alien's choice if it gets picked up, which should, in theory, lessen the risk of his being bitten... ]

[ It's still shifting even now, growing just a little, arms and back legs giving it more structure and mobility — though the tinier vestigial limbs stay dangling against its sides, useless, and it keeps them tucked in close. It can't form into anything much more complex than this, and won't expend the energy trying. It can feel the cold temperature of the environment around this cabin, the pressing chill. And it's weakened from a lack of getting its needed hormone from humans. No, it won't dare try to use up more energy than it has to.

Which means it doesn't think it can get off of this surface by itself. And last time, the man helped it back up, so... he must be able to help it down, now.

When he opens his arms like that, it's moving almost disconcertingly quickly, enthused and even pleased by his open invitation — because it's exactly what it wants him to do, and so it helps itself to that invitation, crawling right into his arms perfectly willingly. Some lingering nerves do persist; even last time, it was held in a blanket, not directly, and this is... very new. It can sense the man's heartbeat so much more directly, like this. (It sounds, feels, like the same kind of heartbeat that its host has, but.... this man isn't like Konstantin. Something is different.)

But maybe it truly is nothing dangerous. In this moment, at least, it seems to trust him with its well-being, tail slowly curling in on itself as it allows itself to be held. ]

[ He's touching it. Directly this time. An alien life form. Fear flares in his chest as he looks down at it, but he does his best to rein it in—if the thing now held against his body feeds off of cortisol, it can undoubtedly sense fear and anxiety, and who knows if that might trigger some kind of predatory instinct.

But, also, what if it starts to panic the moment he moves while it's in his arms? What if it tries to fight him off, assuming he's a predator himself? The thing's small body trembles with the shaking of his hands and arms.

Vasiliy takes a slow step forward, then another. ]

I'm going to go get you food. You understand? Food.

[ He swallows tightly heart in his throat, and opens the door, edging toward the kitchen and then... reaches for one of the glass jars sticking out of the half of the sink they keep full of snow and ice as a makeshift refrigerator. As he pulls it from the frozen bath, the color of the blood inside becomes apparent, as does the shape, the same as the container the creature last fed from. ]

[ It swells in the man, and despite this place subduing the creature in so many ways, it can still sense such things — the flare of adrenaline, that particular fluctuation of hormone into something that almost screams to all of its senses. Fear.

He's afraid of it, and that certainly is nothing new in regards to how humans have reacted to it in the past, but... the creature finds itself surprised all the same. Despite its easy willingness to settle into the man's arms and be helped down, this is new and it's perhaps just as nervous, especially when the man starts walking forwards instead of immediately crouching to place it on the floor. No, he's.. keeping it with him, trembling, and the alien begins to tremble slightly in response, a feedback loop of anxiety.

It doesn't think to attack him, though. Not him. This man has already been established as an insufficient source of food (there's something not right about him, his blood or skin or internal organs perhaps; it's difficult to tell exactly what it is, just a wrongness, like something not quite dead and not alive), but it isn't only that fact that keeps it from launching into something predatory.

It knows the man provides for it. Even when inside of its host, it can feel him, hear him. He's always there, speaking to Konstantin, lying close to him, always close. Konstantin is happy because of that.

And the man has fed it, helped it; the creature understands that. It's too intelligent to risk losing that. It doesn't want to. And so, despite its own flare of nerves, it doesn't become hostile in Vasiliy's arms, makes no movements or sounds, only stays there like that. And as he walks, as new things open up behind that door that leads out into the rest of the home, the alien shrinks back, pressing itself into his chest, hood flattened back and eyes wide — alarmed, curious, nervous, excited. There's so much to look at in the darkness of the small cabin, so much that's new. It's equally awed and frightened, throat rippling with vibrations as the man nears an unidentifiable object that gapes open (the sink).

It isn't sure it likes whatever that is, pushing insistently back against him even more, but then the man's pulling something out of that hole, and it pauses. That's familiar. The same kind of container as before, filled with the same dark liquid. Immediately it understands, and now it's daring to lean forwards a bit more, though still won't easily leave the protection of Vasiliy's arms. Its hood lifts; it gives an excitable chittering, neck craning a little. ]

[ He feels his gut reflexively tighten a bit every time the creature slinks back against him, but he supposes that the fact that it edges closer to his body in its fright instead of away from it is a good thing, an indicator that it's less likely to harm him if it panics. Maybe it even sees him as a source of (relative) security. Or a human shield.

The alien immediately seems to recognize the meal for what it is, even shows excitement. ]

Yes... That must be what you wanted, [ he murmurs, half to himself. Mostly.

Slowly and carefully, Vasiliy crouches down, first setting the alien down on the cold tile floor, then unscrewing the lid of the jar and placing it a good ten inches away from the small creature at his feet.

He takes a step back after that, so that it won't be hesitant to approach the offered meal with him looming over it. ]

There. Eat.

[ It may have only happened twice now, but it's enough to form a pattern. The man is providing it with food, directly, once again. This is the routine, one it's quickly adapting to.

When he sets it down, it shudders a little at the sensation of the floor — different from the wood of the other room, colder in a particular way. It slowly takes a moment to look around in some bewilderment at this new setting, still resting somewhere between nerves and excitement, its long tail winding protectively around itself as it crouches there on the floor and stares upwards.

But the allure of food temporarily takes over everything else, and once the man takes that step back, it's moving forwards — this time knowing exactly what to do with the jar. Its digits wrap around the cool glass and it tips the thing towards itself, sucking noisily into its contents. Some spills out on the floor in the process and it slurps that up, leaving not a drop. It feeds enthusiastically, making soft noises, and when everything is gone, lets the jar clatter to the floor.

Finished..... And now that's done, its attention is soon enough taken again by this new room. Everything's quiet, still; there are no flashing lights and crackling pops of static tonight.

Which means maybe.... time to explore. And so it starts to move again, slowly and cautiously to begin with, crawling across the cold tiles, not liking the way they feel against its belly; it starts to head towards the wooden floor of the living room, instead... ]

Edited 2024-07-19 03:21 (UTC)

O-oh.

[ It's on the move, leaving the jar behind this time instead of trying to bring the jar with. He's not sure in the moment if it's good or bad for the alien to become more familiar with the environs beyond the closed room in which Kostya is sleeping every time he emerges—will it make him less likely to panic and try to escape out into the snow in search of safety? Or will it make him want to venture further, bored of the more immediate landscape?

There's not much room for him to make any kind of decision, let alone act on it, because the alien is already moving with a rather iguana-like sort of locomotion toward the living room, which is full of things it could potentially hurt itself on (the fireplace, the sharp edges of the tools they use to tend the floor...)—so Vasiliy follows behind it at a good distance of a foot or two behind its small body, letting it take the lead for lack of anything else to do, but close enough to quickly swoop down and pick it up if it starts to get into trouble (or so he tells himself). ]

No food here. Only the fireplace. Are you cold?

[ It is cold. This wooden floor is still uncomfortably cool and hard against the creature's sensitive body, a complete contrast to the consistent wet warmth that its host's internal organs offer.

But it isn't wholly unfamiliar with such spaces. Back in the facility, with its concrete walls and flooring, everything was very sterile, clean, and cold.

This is... different from that, though. The alien realises that as it crawls slowly into the living room, cautious but perfectly willing to explore. There are many more things to look at, in this place. Furniture and objects... The pair who occupy the cabin keep it clean, but there are things here that the creature can sense — particles of dust and dirt, things that belong to a space that's lived-in. It's never been in such a place before. A household.

It gives some rumbly little growling noises, not agitated, only making sounds as it continues on its journey. But... yes, it is cold in here, and it's shuddering as its movements start slowing down noticeably, as its tail winds around itself again and it peers around the darkness. ]

[ He talks to the alien, and again, by Vasiliy's perception, the alien talks back with its little grumbles and churrs. It slowly moves into the living room, investigating, but he doesn't miss the way its movements seem to slow slightly, and then... it's shuddering, like a human shivering with cold.

It winds its tail around itself—preserving heat?—and Vasiliy isn't entirely sure what the right course of action is here. Surely it will follow the heat emanating from the low fire behind the wrought iron grate of the fireplace (thankfully, the mesh is already too fine for the alien to slip through even in its smallest state), but should he help it get there? Does it want him to? The fireplace is on the other side of the living room, and while the distance would be nothing for a little dog of the alien's same size, it might be more difficult for the otherworldly creature, which does, after all, move much more slowly.

...It would probably ask, like when it came to the edge of the bed, and Vasiliy is stunned anew at the fact that this creature, this gastric parasite, is intelligent enough to ask, to communicate, to come to him for help. Like only the most intelligent of dogs, or... like a fellow primate. It's a strange feeling, one that he doesn't quite know what to do with yet, so he continues to let the extraterrestrial take the lead in this exploration, standing an arm's reach away, waiting. ]

[ Every single thing is so new, and the creature is a mix of curiosity and caution as it tries to make sense of this new environment and all of the stimuli it presents. It is aware of a heat source coming from somewhere in the room — but it's only ever known heat to come from human bodies. Is there someone else here? It doesn't sense another human, but.... it can't help being nervous of some sort of ambush.

It hesitates, its cluster of spider-like eyes glittering black in the darkness of the living space. But the man (..."big alien", is really how it's thinking of Vasiliy, as human beings are wholly alien to it), doesn't seem to react to anyone else there, and the creature truly can't detect any heartbeat coming from the opposite end of the room. Whatever creates warmth is... not alive. (How is that possible?)

It shudders again, finding itself instinctively drawn towards that heat source, every cell of its sensitive being seeking warmth, but uncertain about what's at the other end of the room. After a few moments, it turns its head to look back (and up, and up) at Vasiliy, staring pointedly at him for a moment or two, almost as though considering something, before it once again emits a few clicks his way. There's no mistaking that it's talking to to him — and when it starts crawling back right to him, maybe no mistaking what it wants.

Up, please... ]

[ It’s like he can see the alien thinking, considering its options. Thinking. It thinks. Like a human being. Every time he interacts with it, he finds himself stunned afresh at its sheer complexity—what else don’t they know about it; how deep does this rabbithole go? Konstantin has told him about the seeming telepathic connection between the two of them back in Kazakhstan; that would certainly imply a remarkable level of neurological development, some otherworldly biology no life on earth could replicate, but… somehow, he’d still conceived of it as something driven by basic instinct and nothing else, a Descartesian automaton and little else.

But, face to face with it, he watches it reason and carefully assess its environment, and the novel situations it’s presented with, before it acts. There’s no other way to interpret its deliberate pauses, such as this one, in which it studies him—and he finds himself feeling a bit like a bug under a microscope, like everything in him has been laid bare. (It knows. Somehow, it knows. )

It chitters at him, making eye contact. Like a dog. A human, a primate. How does something from another world know to make eye contact? Vasiliy swallows. The thing crawls up to him again with its almost iguana-like, clumsy gait, clearly not a being made to traverse great distances, at least in this form.

He crouches down, heart beating faster—it’s still very unnerving, and this situation could theoretically turn in an instant—and extends both arms, almost like a forklift waiting for a pallet to be brought to it: climb in, then. On its volition and free will only. He’s not about to corner this thing, or swoop in from above, or God forbid grab it when it doesn’t want to be grabbed. ]

[ Caretaker. That's one of the roles that this man's kind have played for it. And it's easy for the creature to understand him in that way, too — for everything else this strange being may be, he's caretaker in some capacity, as well. It has to trust that none of the frightening, painful things will follow. It has to trust that he'll only help it, not hurt it. It doesn't trust him fully, still wary, but it knows that this is the best, most safe choice for it right now.

To be carried across the cold floor, to whatever that source of heat is. It learns so quickly; already it knows exactly how to enter the man's arms, imitating how it had earlier, when being taken down from the bed. It crawls into them and to his chest, a more secure, stable place, not particularly fond of the thought of falling. It isn't used to being up high like this, digits curling against the material of his shirt, tail winding securely around one of Vasiliy's forearms, latching itself onto him that way.

But he's so afraid. It can sense it, feel it — blood pulsing, adrenaline spiking, heart fluttering faster. It's understandable; the creature knows it mere presence is enough to frighten and upset... nearly every other entity it's ever been exposed to, human or animal alike. But its intention isn't to elicit fear, not in this man — no matter how tantalising that flare of cortisol might be, it isn't hungry right now; it's just been fed, after all, and fortunately for Vasiliy, does consider him to be particularly unappetising...

....but how to convey this?

With its body language. The alien curls in tighter on itself, and actually seems to shrink a little, mass-wise. It keeps its limbs intact (the usual ones, anyway; the smaller vestigial ones remain tucked in uselessly to its sides) — but its general size reduces a bit. Smaller. If it's smaller, it won't seem like a predator. And there's something else — its hood flattens back, no longer flared outwards. This is a risk, makes it weaker and less swift with reacting to stimuli, but right now, it has this man's body as protection. And so it tries to show him that he needn't fear it. ]

[ It clutches his shirt, like a lemur or some sort of primate or... a small child. Every new thing it does leaves him stunned, and this is no exception; there's a bizarre, utterly unprecedented closeness to its holding onto him for what can only be understood to be security, even if he's less than thrilled about the feeling of its smooth, increasingly cool tail wrapping around his arm like a constrictor snake.

The alien shifts in his arms as he carefully crosses the living room rug, and it's shrinking, flattening its hood. It's getting cold, he assumes. Better get it in front of the fire soon.

So he does, setting it down some two feet away from the fireplace grill, but he's uneasy about it—there's no fire in space, and it might not understand that the open flames can hurt it.

How to make it understand that?

He's silent for a moment, brows furrowed with thought, then decides upon demonstrating: maybe, like a primate, it's also capable of learning by example. So he holds his hand almost close enough to touch the grate and makes a show of grimacing and quickly pulling his hand back, as if burnt, and hopes that sends the message clearly enough. ]

[ When the man lowers it to the floor, the alien relinquishes its grasp on him willingly — though slowly, tail uncurling from Vasiliy's arm and coiling around itself as it sits there near the source of heat, staring in stunned curiosity. It still can't identify what the thing is, but it becomes immediately clear that it truly is no living, organic entity. It's.... devoid of life, despite its warmth.

It's a good thing Vasiliy does what he does next, as the creature's inquisitive drive to learn and adapt might indeed have it drawing closer to that source of warmth and light. After all, it's never known warmth to be painful. Light, yes — flashing too bright, hurtful. But not this sort of softly glowing, flickering thing before it now. Perhaps such heat would be soothing, the way its host's body is, or the heating pads that have sometimes been used to help lull it when it's fitful. Or the pair of softly-glowing hands that someone placed upon it once here.

But the man's moving his arm out towards the warm thing, and the alien stares, watching with fixed attention. Then— his features contort, he yanks his arm back. The alien knows what humans look like when they're in pain, too, and it immediately understands that such a display exhibits this.

Its body vibrates with a rush of alarm, and it emits a trill, anxious in response to Vasiliy's reaction. Tensing down to the ground, staring at the fireplace to see if it might attack in retaliation — but it stays stagnant, still, and after several long minutes, the alien moves from its defensive position, but only so that it can lie down on its side, exposing its underbelly to the fireplace. From a safe distance, and cautiously — but the warmth does feel good, and it knows it needs to recharge some lost energy. So it will lie there for a while like a cat, not too close to the fireplace (closer to Vasiliy than anything, head mere inches from where he lingers.)

Just a brief rest, it will be on the move again soon enough... ]

[ It feels as though he can anticipate no new behavior from the alien any better than the last, always catching him off-guard, and this is certainly no exception. Perhaps he's seeing it for what it is for the first time: almost catlike, once it's sprouted hind legs, and about the same size. It lies down and basks like a cat in a windowsill, seemingly entirely unconcerned with his presence, and he's stunned anew: it really doesn't fear him at all now, it would seem, and its behavior is familiar to him in his knowledge of the animals of earth.

A cat, a dog. It's acting almost... domesticated. A raccoon or weasel or iguana brought in freshly from the wild wouldn't be nearly this calm around him, nor would it just lie down like this, and again, he's not sure what to do with that thought.

So he just...addresses it, slowly crouching down into a squat. ]

Do you like that? Fire.

[ Even if it can't comprehend what the man says, it once again understands he speaks to it, and emits a low vibrating hum that travels down its throat as it lies there on the floor for a while longer. It's hard and flat, not an ideal place to settle down, and it won't for long, but for the moment... it's simply enjoying warming its body up near this strange source of heat.

Strange, potentially painful, but as long as it stays a safe distance away (and the man is there to keep protecting it), it isn't afraid.

After a bit, the creature seems content, and its energy is returning. It finally moves again, lifting itself from the floorboards and seeming to want to continue its journey across the living room. Now it's ready to properly explore. And now it's moving a bit faster, rejuvenated, walking more than crawling. And it's curious by everything — tentative but enthusiastic as it examines various items. Nothing else seems to emit heat the way the fireplace does, so it's not as cautious, and actually reaches out to grasp a few objects on its way.

One of Konstantin's field guides.... the alien pats the surface of the little booklet, before deciding it's not very interesting and letting go of it. Then one of their slippers, which it holds in its hands, turning over, sticking its head into the hole — it decides to keep this particular item for a while, dragging the slipper with it as it moves around.

....Only to abruptly let go of it halfway to the sofa, in favour of something else. A small twig that must have come in on someone's clothing, but it's nothing the alien has ever seen before, and it can smell outside on the object, and it's clicking excitedly as its digits grasp the skinny thing, turning it around and around.

And then it puts its mouth on the stick, as though to taste it... ]

Edited 2024-08-10 05:04 (UTC)

[ O-oh, it's able to move pretty fast once it's energized, isn't it. Vasiliy can't help but to feel a momentary surge of alarm, a single exclamation point in his brain as the alien suddenly picks up its pace, grabbing this and that only to se the objects down somewhere else as soon as a new one catches its attention.

It's like... a dog, a small child. It grabs a slipper like a dog, and then a stick.

This has been such a strange night already. He doesn't know what to make of this, or the implications of Kostya wanting it out so desperately he'd surely do anything if he could—in the back of his mind, there's a split second in which he feels a little guilty, like it's traitorous to maybe enjoy his interactions with the little creature, somewhat. He should be an impartial monitor, just making sure that it doesn't escape or hurt itself and hurt Kostya as a result.

Instead, as he briskly follows behind the alien as though connected by the handle of an invisible leash, he feels a bit like one of those nature scientists who spend years living among the wild animals, cataloguing their every behavior and feeling. It's showing him part of its world, it's welcoming him into whatever... hierarchy it had, back home. It's a dizzying thought nothing in life has prepared him for. ]

Do you like to chew, Sput'ka?

[ He asks, lowly, without much thought—little tagalong, in his own language. ]

[ The twig doesn't taste particularly appetising, and the alien's giving quiet little rumbly noises, considering flinging it away completely, but the texture is new, and interesting, and it starts to think... maybe it does like to chew.

So it keeps the thing in its mouth as it resumes its journey across the living room, needle-like teeth gnawing and sucking on it as it moves. This is a research mission — exploring, gathering data.... it's all very important and very severe.

It begins to near the little sitting area where Vasiliy sees patients, poking around a few things there. Intriguing.... Catching the metallic glint of his stethoscope where it's been neatly curled up and set into place, the alien pokes its head up curiously, letting go of its twig so that its senses can focus on this new object instead. As it noses the thing, it uncoils startlingly quickly, and falls the short distance to the wooden floors. The clatter it makes isn't particularly loud, but the alien is sent into a frenzy by the suddenness of it all, an interesting, shiny unknown at once becoming a frightening tool that seemed poised to attack...

The creature immediately scrambles away from it, digits scraping as it finds traction and then bolts — right back to Vasiliy. Trembling and making fretful sounds, it hides behind his legs, curling up there as though to make itself smaller and unseen. That was very scary, honestly.... ]

[ It happens in an instant, before Vasiliy can anticipate and respond—the alien stretches out its neck to examine his stethoscope, presumably drawn in by the metal's shine, then noses it, at which point it comes crashing down onto the floor. The creature bolts directly towards him, scrabbling on the smooth floor, clearly frantic, and—curls up behind him, like it's hiding.

There's no other interpretation, as outlandish as it is, than it finding a sense of safety in him. Than it trusting him, and, in light of that revelation, it's hard not to feel... some degree of fondness for the being that has so chosen to invest its trust in him. He feels similarly compelled to help it. ]

It's okay. It's okay.

[ It (probably?) doesn't understand human speech, but he already knows it understands tone, so that's what he focuses on, keeping his voice low and soft as he addresses the creature at his legs. ]

It's just my stethoscope? See? All safe.

[ The creature barely knows what it is to be soothed by one of these strange species it has found itself suddenly surrounded by. ...But it did happen, once or twice, in the form of Tatiana reaching out to it. A cautious hand, a step closer, a song sung, shaky and soft. It does know that humans are capable of this, too.

'It's okay. It's okay.' No, it can't understand those words, but— it can feel them.

After a few moments, the creature peeks around Vasiliy's leg, staring in the direction of the fallen item, now categorised — (shiny and alluring, but unexpectedly flexible. Intimidating)

Still, its curiosity is a pressing thing, and it can tell that the object isn't alive. Now that it's on the floor, it's completely still again, unmoving. So after a few cautious moments, the alien ventures forth again, emboldened by the man's soothing words, though it keeps low to the ground, almost as though stalking. Creeping its way closer, it stops a good safe foot or so away from the stethoscope, and sits there.

Then it turns its head back to look at Vasiliy, again with something almost expectant. Show?? The man can show it this item, it's safe if it's in his hands; the alien's not quite ready to risk touching it directly, just yet. ]

[ Every new action from the creature is one he couldn't have expected based on the last, or so he feels. Still rather stunned by its sudden scramble to seek shelter—comfort?—behind him, he then watches as the alien creeps forward, belly brushing the ground as it... stalks the new object, like a cat approaching a mouse (or any flicker of movement, really).

But it never swats at the stethoscope like a cat would its prey, or makes any physical contact in general. Instead it looks over his shoulder at him, very deliberately, like a dog in a movie asking someone to... follow it, or help. This night just keeps getting more and more bizarre, and the entire encounter feels almost dreamlike. ]

Do you want me to... come over there? Okay.

[ Slowly, Vasiliy approaches it again—clearly, it's okay with him being in its space now, but it still comes with reflex, being in the presence of something that could kill him as easily as a tiger if it wanted to. He swallows when he realizes that he'll have to crouch down right beside the thing to pick the instrument up and demonstrate that it's nothing to be afraid of—he'll be vulnerable, posed like that, unable to immediately flee if this goes south. He might pick it up and suddenly have the alien decide that he's a threat and attack him when it hasn't before.

Vasiliy stands there for a moment, weighing his options, and for reasons he doesn't fully understand, he shakily lowers himself until he's in a flat-footed squat, his face and all of its vulnerable points so much closer to the creature's deceptively innocent maw and the rows of teeth he knows are hidden behind it. It can only be beneficial to keep establishing trust, right? Maybe they can... tame it.

What does it say that he's having an easier time with an alien than Mukhtar—?... ]

Easy, [ he whispers, keeping his voice low as he slowly reaches toward its forked arms. ] I'm going to pick it up now.

[ And he does, holding the chestpiece with his other hand so nothing swings, sloely turning it this way and that in front of the alien's eight eyes. ]

See? Nothing to be afraid of. Stethoscope.

[ Each gesture of communication that is then reciprocated only serves to strengthen the trust the alien does feel in the man — and continues to be a learning experience all in one. It tilts its head expectantly to him, and he comes; the man understands what it wants.

The frustration that the creature has continuously felt towards this species is diminishing in the face of Vasiliy — then again, it's already registered him as an atypical type of "human", if he even is that. Whatever he is, the alien feels much more comfortable around him than with anyone else it's ever encountered.

It waits, patiently, as Vasiliy crouches down close and so carefully takes the object to display it safely in his own grasp, as if this is exactly what the alien was waiting for. Though it's never seen such tools with its own eyes before, it has felt them from inside Konstantin, poked and prodded in a variety of ways.

Its eyes glitter as it watches, head moving to follow as Vasiliy turns the objects, transfixed... and emboldened by his demonstration (and presence... The man will protect it if the item starts acting up again). Giving a quiet, curious chitter, it sits back a bit on its back legs — still not fully formed but enough to support itself that way, and reaches up, tips of its digits patting experimentally against the cool surface of the item. Woah... ]

[ Its sound can only be described as a chitter— the sort of sound a squirrel might make, accompanied by tilting its head this way and that, sitting back on its haunches like a bear. And then it... reaches out, and Vasiliy's freezing, breath caught in his throat, careful not to make any sudden movements.

The creature—the alien, he reminds himself; he's interfacing quietly and calmly with a real extra-terrestrial species, something no other human except for the scientists back at the facility Konstantin came from has ever seen—touches the smooth cool metal with its fingerpads, which look almost like a gecko's up close. ]

Do you... want that? Want to look at it?

[ Slowly, he lowers it to be more within the alien's reach, setting it down on the floor and removing his hands as though to turn it over to his strange charge. ]

[ When the man lowers the object to the floor before it, the alien hesitates only a moment before leaning over, digits continuing to pat against the object, probing its surface gently. A very intriguing thing to inspect.... Smooth and cold, unyielding to the touch — hard.

At least, some of it is; as it continues to examine the rest, it finds that the long, thin part is different. Very interesting indeed.... It lifts its head into the air, bobbing it slightly as it allows its hands to do all the exploring, not really needing to look at the item — so allowing its eyes to sweep upwards, staring at the ceiling instead. Noticing things that it hadn't before — chips in wooden beams, jagged lines and patterns. This cabin is full of new things to see and touch and smell.

This exploration will take awhile, several long minutes. The creature's also still able to feel warmth emanating from the fireplace not too far away, and steadily finds itself recharged by that warmth. When it finally sets the item down to resume its journey, it's freshly invigorated, and once again emboldened...

This time, it doesn't hesitate to approach foreign objects, moving over to touch things, placing its hands on various items around the household, before it moves on to other ones. It moves slowly, making it easy for its babysitter to follow along behind it, taking its time. And it seems to be enjoying itself, enthused and curious, tail flicking behind it as it chitters quietly to itself, talkative.

After some time of this, it's explored most corners of the home. Some nooks and crannies will have to wait for another evening; it's beginning to get a bit tired.

But it's as the creature is shuffling along behind the sofa that it notices something just beneath, something new and small: a solitary can tab.

Gurgling quietly with intrigue, the alien reaches for this item, drawing it close. There's not much to sniff, here; the item has no real smell or sensation to it. But it's pretty, silver and shiny, with two holes. It's also very charming, small enough for the alien to comfortably hold in its hands. Though the creature can infer no immediate use for such a thing, it seems important. It surely is, to these humans, if it was to be found under the sofa. Maybe it's something they've lost?

Clutching the tab to its chest with one arm while the other turns itself around and pulls itself towards Vasiliy, the alien then offers the little treasure up to him. A gift: reciprocation. ]

[ A can tab. There passes a split second in which Vasiliy thinks that the creature might be handing the item to him (held so delicately in its dextrous hands, like a primate's and offered to him like a child would—) with the desire for him to demonstrate its use, its purpose to humans. But it doesn't present it like it did the stethoscope, doesn't give him that same pointed look.

A gift.

This extra-terrestrial being, one which has killed, which could kill him, which is causing his dearest friend so much grief... is offering him a gift.

It's the most surreal this situation has felt since it began. With one shaking hand, Vasiliy cautiously accepts the offering with a soft 'Thank you' — but a moment later, it occurs to him that the alien doesn't understand human language, only tone and maybe facial expressions. He should make it clear that he's pleased by this overture of friendship, to encourage it to continue to be... non-hostile. Almost tame.

So he plasters on a bright, seemingly genuine smile and makes eye contact with the largest and most central of its eight black eyes. ]

Thank you, Sput'ka!

[ Indeed, there's no look of expectation as it offers the item up to the man — simply holding it out — take this....

Such a small, simple, and pretty item can't be any sort of tool. It must just be treasure — a concept the alien has minimal experience with, but some all the same. Like the little doll that its host's heart pulses harder for, each fluctuation in his hormone levels suggesting that the item has meaning to him. The alien feels drawn to it, too. There are a few other things: the jar, which did have a use, storing sustenance in, but afterwards... the alien found itself intrigued by the shape and feeling of the thing itself.

It's learning that there are such treasures as these. Interesting, smooth, shiny items. Things that roll or make sounds. Ordinarily, it might be inclined to keep this particular little treasure for itself, but— no, no it wants to give him something, recognising that the man has protected and helped it. It wants to express "affection", or whatever imitation or concept of the emotion it's capable of — it wants to please him.

And his response is striking. The alien stares, for the first time in its life being met directly with such a display aimed right at it — brightening features, a lilted, pleased, and an enthused tone that has its frill lifting attentively.

Sput'ka, there's that word again; it's heard the man say it twice by now, and it tilts its head curiously. "Sput'ka" must be a good word. A positive one. The man approves of this treasure, seems happy by it. The alien gives a soft, almost thoughtful croaking sound, tail languidly swishing, satisfied but also stimulated, recognising the significance of connection with another intelligent species. Of interacting with someone like it has with the man tonight, to experience back-and-forth, to converse with touch and the occasional verbal exchange.

After all of this it's becoming more and more tired, but it's a much better sort of tired than times in the past — exhausted from the terror of Aurora nights or the howls of wolves in the distance. There's none of that tonight.

Slowly, the thing lowers itself to the floorboards, laid out on its side as though taking a little rest. It's decided that yes, it very much likes the rest of the cabin beyond the bedroom door... ]

Edited 2024-10-26 19:40 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

you're a drifter, a shapeshifter

for kostya. cw: emeto, parasite horror

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