singillatim | Part Two: The Detective

It's not a particularly subtle avoidance of Arthur's gaze. And it's not like he's missed the way that smile isn't quite as genuine as it might have been before that whole clusterfuck went down. He's got his own eyes again now - he does notice things.

He was a good fucking detective before and he's not about to let anything else stop him from playing the part now that he can see again.

"Ah, they didn't break anything I couldn't fix. I-I only came here with a few items, after the first attempted break-in I just- keep everything in my satchel." That he nudges with his foot, tucked behind his stool slightly. "Someone tried to stab me, but that's rather par for the course - honestly I was more distracted helping people get to the community hall so Methuselah could take care of people rather than worry about any injuries I might have gotten."

That gets Konstantin to look up at him finally, brows lifted up in a concern he can't hide. On the subject, he himself did end up stabbed — and healed by Svetlana's... ability, though he's not sure whether he should tell people about that part or not.

"I'm glad you're all right! Things could have gone so badly, but that's good work you did. The community is lucky to have you."

Hyping his friends up comes naturally — he was never even a particularly strict commander during his military or cosmonaut days, more the sort to offer older-brotherly support to the others.

"It was truly a dark thing... I heard there were many deaths." His voice quiets, sobering.

The hyping up gets a soft smile, bashful but sincere, but it's gone again in a moment when Konstantin continues.

"It's... a lot of the Forest Talkers died, I believe," he says quietly. "Enough of them that the remaining few seem like they were able to be... converted, to join the Interlopers. Safety in numbers - though I suppose with how many of the Forest Talkers were secretly living amongst us and causing the chaos to try and drive us to despair, it's... hardly making up the difference."

He sighs, toying with the slack reel in one gloved hand. "I don't know. We do what we have to to survive, but it all felt... unnecessary. They were a cult on the wrong side and they were in too deep to realise it."

"I heard about that — the converting. I'm not sure how good of an idea it was to allow them in, but... in truth, it seems like no matter what we do, this place will remain a danger."

So much has gone wrong, and he's been here for long enough to see the foundations of the community crumble and crumble again. Konstantin sighs, nodding thoughtfully to the words.

"It's a frightening thought, at the core of it. We're doing what we think is best for survival, for our lives, but they thought they were doing the same. I suppose anyone could justify just about anything they do to others."

"One would hope that any group that feels the need to... to justify and ritualise murder would realise they're in the wrong, but after a certain point they just- can't see other options exist."

That comes out a little cooler despite himself, not aimed at Konstantin but the general concept of cults is clearly one that puts him on edge. So he forces himself to take a breath, letting the crisp air fill his lungs and burn on the way down, before he releases the hot puff of condensation.

"Regardless." And his tone is lighter, a habitual rally, putting the heavy topic aside. "At least it's behind us, now. No real difference in mouths to feed, at the end of the day, so we can focus on- on what's important. Working together, recuperating."

Edited (mad at repetition) 2024-10-24 02:13 (UTC)

Konstantin gives a soft sound to agree, mouth a grim frown for a moment. He certainly cannot argue that, and yet... there's some deep-down squirm of discomfort, guilt. What would people say if they knew what he'd justified, before this place? He'd never killed anyone with his own hands, but... he let humans be killed by this horrible thing inside of him, for his own survival. Doesn't that make him just as much of a monster?

He pushes those thoughts aside though, looking over at the other man for a moment. He doesn't miss the way the subject seems to touch upon a sore spot in his companion. He must have some sort of experience with this kind of thing, though to what degree or in what way that might be.... Perhaps it's something reserved for another day. Konstantin won't forget it though, tucking the thought away in his pocket.

He's an expert at moving on to lighter topics, in any case, and the smile that appears on his face is almost disconcertingly quick and too-bright.

"Right you are, my friend. Maybe we'll have a good haul, today. Bring back enough fish we can have a feast!" He chuckles, knowing it's unlikely; at most, he's only managed to catch three or so at a time.

"Do you feel any tugs yet?"

He certainly notices the way Konstantin's face lights up, almost in relief at having something else to talk about, and inwardly Arthur admonishes himself a little for letting an easy transition to the topic he actually wants to talk about slip away.

Still, they'll be here for a while yet. There's plenty of time.

So he allows himself a soft snicker at the obvious joke. "Nothing yet, but I'm not sure the gloves are helping with that," he admits, flexing one hand idly. They're clean now, technically, but irreperably stained, the once-tan suede a much murkier brown along his palms and fingertips. "Makes it a little difficult to tell when the fish are trying to be sneaky, that's all. They certainly don't seem to be wanting to eavesdrop on the conversation," he adds with a huff of amusement.

Let's definitely talk about nice pleasant things like the trials of ice fishing! It's such a stimulating subject!

Konstantin looks over at the other's gloves, then shifts his gaze to his own. It's true that the thick material makes it a bit difficult to tell when there are any subtle little shifts below the surface of the ice.

"If only it were possible to do this from the warmth of indoors, without pesky gloves!" He laughs jovially, before looking back down to the other man's hands, noting the stains on the material. "If you could use a new pair, I'm sure I might have some. Vasya and I have collected quite a bit of clothing; he even brought some back from Lakeside."

"Ah, I'm..." He laughs softly, ducking his head slightly. "I'm afraid it's just- sentimentality, that's making me keep them. It's- they're one of the last things my partner and I found together when we were- e-exploring, before I arrived here."

Certainly the last thing that came with him, if he doesn't count the fresh layers of scars that cross his chest like something tried to gouge him open.

Ah. That bright, easy-going something in the older man pauses, sobers — softens.

"I'm sorry."

He's never been much of a sentimental man. In fact, he's almost the opposite — he doesn't get attached to things, whether objects or places or people. He.... moves forward, he stays just distant enough that nothing infiltrates beyond the surface layer.

At least... he used to. Now, there's people in this place he's grown to care about maybe too deeply (and there's Vasiliy, whom he can't imagine being without, and for the first time in his life, Konstantin is genuinely afraid to lose someone).

"What is your partner's name?" Not was but is. Present tense.

"John," he says softly. "He's John Doe."

(Is, because he can't imagine a world in which John doesn't tear down every iteration of the universe in order to find him again. Is, because to let himself believe even for a moment that he won't see his other half again is to give in to fear entirely.)

"H-he chose it himself, or- or I suppose more accurately it was given to him, but he decided to keep it. Make it something that means everything to himself."

Though it's not of his culture, Konstantin understands the context associated with the name, information garnered through learning about English in general — it's... used as a sort of placeholder when someone is unknown.

"He sounds like an exceptional sort of fellow. To turn an unknown into something that belongs to him, instead."

A moment's pause, something tight in the back of his throat. He's never been good with addressing loss.

"Does it bring you comfort to talk about him, or... is it something you don't want to look at too closely?" He's almost curious as he asks, conversational, though gentle.

Edited 2024-10-24 04:09 (UTC)

He can't help how the phrase 'look at' makes him chuckle tightly.

"No, no, I want to," he says warmly, with a light wave of one hand to dismiss the question. "We only met, er- nearly five months before I arrived here, and- well, by all measures it was a difficult start. But he's proved himself time and time again, that he wants to change - that he wants to be better than his..." An awkward but brief pause, as he tries to think of the right word. "Progenitor."

Another soft huff. "He was my left hand man. My eyes, in a world gone mad."

Konstantin listens, smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Despite his own tendency to run and keep running, he likes slowing down enough to hear other people talk about the things that are important to them. It's... nice.

It feels human, somehow. He's afraid to forget what it means to feel that way, finds himself clinging tightly onto anything that does.

"You relied on him," he deduces with a fond smile, even if he can't know just how literally that might be meant...

"It reminds me of Vasya. When I first arrived here, I was very.... sick. Truthfully, sometimes I still am. I don't think I could make it without his care, in this... this strange, mad world."

See? Given the opportunity, half of everyone will walk themselves into the topic he's angling for. It's certainly easier than ice fishing.

"Would that be because of the, er." He wedges his rod between his boots, tugging his left glove free of its sleeve, but not quite removing it. "That creature, living inside you?"

This conversation has had a few discomforting moments so far, and a couple of sad ones, but really, overall, it's pleasant! It's nice to just be able to sit back and relax with a new friend! Surely nothing will happen to figuratively knock Konstantin off of his own stool!

The fishing rod in his own hands does slip from his grasp — literally, not figuratively. It happens as his hand opens in surprise, and he leans forwards in the same moment, then jumps a little as he tries, and fails, to catch the thing. It goes down to clatter softly against the ice, but he doesn't bother stooping down to retrieve it, not yet. No, he's just turning his head to stare widely at the other man. It's rare Konstantin displays such outright surprise, but learning that someone has encountered his unwanted passenger will always be a shock.

He might've once played dumb, tried to manipulate the situation, but he knows better now. The thing's been out, and there's no sense pretending that it hasn't.

"You—" he begins, abruptly losing his usual easygoing, chipper nature. "You know about that?"

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Did someone tell him? Or did he... see it for himself?

The complete panic doesn't bother Arthur at all, besides the small weight of guilt in having upset him so immediately in the first place.

But the angle of Konstantin's rod means that it's within his reach, so he finishes pulling his left glove off.

And Konstantin will see how there's dark, raised veins striating down his left pinky, leaving the finger almost completely black - except for the final phalanx, which is a dark brown, almost purple extension, narrow like bone and textured like wood. The veins run down the side of his hand, all the way to the wrist - but through the meat of that side, through black and red veins and part of his knuckle, is a human bite mark, well and truly scarred now but still obviously fresh. And all of it is skinny, unhealthily so, pale already from the lack of insulation that brings.

"I found it eating someone, with you unconscious nearby." He picks up the rod, and tilts it to offer the handle back to Konstantin. "It allowed me to pick it up, and I took you both back to the community hall, where it... went back inside you."

There's not really any way to say it nicely. But he meets Konstantin's eyes with intent, and he might truly notice now how there's flecks of unnatural yellow in Arthur's eyes, too bright and precise to be truly human. "I'm not going to tell anyone else, or harm it."

He's never been someone to react this way. Not him, the calm, reliable commander, conditioned to be able to withstand as much mental pressure as he is physical.

Yet here he is, heart skipping several unpleasant beats, and stomach abruptly tightening with a spike of anxiety. In the next moment Konstantin tries desperately to calm himself, knowing if he gets too stressed, it could prompt the very creature in question into agitation.

But horror's flooding in. Even if there's something to look at that grabs his attention — eyes falling to the hand that's revealed to him with a different type of horror, brows lifting, confused and concerned and maybe that stops him from immediately getting up and taking steps away from this... situation, and the way it always makes him feel like his back's pressed to the wall whenever someone brings up the creature.

So Konstantin just stares, mouth slightly parted as he listens to the other man's words. So he saw... not only the alien, but what it was doing. Konstantin knows now that it fed from someone, but he doesn't know... all of the details. He swallows, hand numbly reaching to accept the rod back, grasping it tightly.

He also saw it enter his body again. The thought is almost unspeakably grotesque, and— shameful, and he's speechless for a few long moments as he looks into Arthur's eyes. Arthur, who doesn't seem afraid of him, somehow.

(Who is this man? What is he?)

"....I didn't want it to hurt anyone," he finds himself saying first, breathless. "I've been feeding it animals— that's been enough, but—" But it wasn't enough.

"Did it try to hurt you?" He said it let him pick it up, which is... a bizarre thought, but...

There's no fear, no wariness in Arthur's eyes. Just a deep, resonating empathy.

But he breaks eye contact first, glancing down as he puts his glove back on. It's fucking cold. "No, uh. No, I saw it and thought it had attacked you, my initial plan was to- to remove you from the scene before it could attack us as well, but- when I started moving you, it followed us, and I..."

He shakes his head slightly as he finishes tucking his cuffs again. "It was- it was acting like an animal. A-a dog, almost, like it... like it knew it wouldn't be able to keep up with me if I took you, so it... begged. Submitted, belly up, and - it let me pick it up, so it wouldn't get left behind."

Konstantin's eyes linger on the other man's hand for a few moments, even after he slips the glove back on to conceal the... injury? Marring? What happened to his skin? It doesn't look like any wound that Konstantin's ever seen before.

He runs a hand over his jaw for a moment, mind spinning, trying to keep himself steady. Look at the facts, ground himself, even though it feels like the ice is opening up under his feet.

A dog. He knows it's capable of communicating, to some extent — even back at the facility, it reached out to Tatiana. And then here, Vasiliy's been... spending time with it some nights. Feeding it, trying to tame it. But to hear that it went belly up, allowed itself to be... picked up and toted around like some... pet...

"...Thank you. For helping me." He starts there, lowering his hand from his mouth. "This creature and I... we're connected. If something happens to me, it could die. And vice-versa. I guess it knows that. Enough to... ask someone to help it return to me."

He swallows, finding the words. "It can't... live without my body. It's a sort of parasite."

"I'm familiar with the type," he says gently, hands folding in his lap - or more accurately, the right wrapping around the left, massaging the side of his hand Konstantin now knows those dark veins are on. It's not a new habit, but there's certainly new context to it.

He's quiet for a moment, takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly, as if that'll do anything to release the tight grip of panic threatening his own chest. "John lived in my eyes. I was- blind, quite literally, before I arrived here, because of him."

Konstantin stares. In this place, he's certainly no stranger to odd things, he's met a variety pack of people who aren't... fully human, or have some non-human element to them, but it startles him every time.

This... partner of his — lived in his eyes?

"He's.... is he an alien?"

It's his closest frame of reference for such a thing, eyes locked onto the other man, voice oddly hushed.

"In a sense, yes."

It's not the same way the conversation went with Noel- with Charlie, who had accepted the lot of it at once, ready to engage with John in the same second he learned his name. But John wasn't here, so there's no way to prove it, but... still. At least it's definitely the sort of thing that's hard to lie about.

"He doesn't..." That didn't make it easier to explain, however. "There are beings that live - not just on other planets, but other universes. Like how we've all been drawn here, to this world, there are others like it in my own universe, tangled and overlaid in inexplicable ways. John is a- a-a being from one of those, where- in our, our layer of reality, where humans live, he doesn't have a physical form. So he... uses mine. My eyes, my hand-" he lifts his left hand again, an idle gesture. "-and my foot. He sees for me, explains what we're looking at, and helps me navigate."

Konstantin is immediately reminded of a conversation with the humanoid being here known as The Doctor. The concept of such things isn't too difficult for him to accept; Konstantin is an explorer, and his livelihood is rooted in science, in possibility. The concept of other universes, realms, realities... may still be just science fiction in his time, but all science fiction is based on fact, expanding what is known further, pushing it past its limits.

And he of all people... someone who's been touched by a life form that no other man on Earth ever has been before... is open to the concept of such things.

Still, it's striking to hear, and he's listening with rapt attention, curious and horrified in equal amounts as the other man describes this... situation. Someone else who has also made contact with something... Other.

"What does he... want? Why did he take you? ...Choose you?"

Between a cold truth and a kind lie, Arthur will always pick the former. But that doesn't mean he can't be gentle.

"Initially, just- freedom. He was tethered to a book, that- that trapped him in another world again, a place of utter darkness and torment, for- more lifetimes than you or I could possibly comprehend, though in our world it was only ten years. Time dilation, they ran- differently, non-concurrently. So when he first took over me, he just- used me, as a way out. Then we were trapped together, in my body, a-and our goal became trying to separate us."

His right hand comes up to brush his throat idly, though it's too covered in layers to see the skin - but he catches himself, and knits his fingers together instead. "We've come a long way, since then. It wasn't easy, but now... I trust him. More than- more than anything. And, a-as I said, it's been... five months, since I first lost my sight completely. To have it back again here was- jarring, to say the least."

Edited 2024-10-25 01:30 (UTC)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject